The Guardian

U.S. Marshal Marcus O'Malley tucked the cellular phone tighter against his shoulder as he studied the latest photographs sent the North Washington district office. Eighteen faxes. The picture quality grainy at best; the information about each individual sketchy. Each had made threats against judges attending this July conference at the Chicago Jefferson Renaissance Hotel. The pages crinkled as only cheap fax paper could as he thumbed through them, memorizing each one.

"Kate, what are you not telling me?" He was trying to have a telephone conversation with his sister while he worked and it was . interesting. He would have said aggravating, but he loved Kate too much to get annoyed with her easily.

His sister Kate O'Malley could be clear or ambiguous at will. As a hostage negotiator she knew how to choose her words, and she was being deliberately obtuse at the moment. It was 7:05 P.M. Friday night; Supreme Court Justice Philip Roosevelt would give the keynote speech at 8:00 P.M. before an audience of over twelve hundred, and Marcus did not have time to read between the lines.

Kate was trying to tell him something without breaking a confidence; that told him it was family related. And it was important enough she was willing to go to the edge of that confidence to let him know about it; that told him it was serious.

"She was supposed to tell you last night ."

Marcus flipped back to the ninth fax and frowned. Something about the picture was triggering a glimmer of a memory. Tom Libour: Caucasian, early forties, clean shaven. It was an old memory, and he could feel it flitting just beyond his recall. He didn't forget cases he had worked. Maybe something his partner had worked? He scrawled a note beside the photo, requesting the incident report be pulled. He passed the stack of faxes back to his deputy. "Who?" Jennifer, Lisa, or Rachel? In a family of seven, Kate had just cut the list in half.

The seven of them were related, but not blood- choice. At the orphanage-Trevor House-the decision to become their own family had made a lot of sense; two decades later it still did. As the oldest, thirty-eight, he accepted the guardianship of the group; as the next in line Kate protected it, kept her finger on the family pulse. He didn't mind the responsibility, but it often arrived at inconvenient times. What was going on?

"I've said too much already; forget I called."

"Kate-"

"Marcus." Her own frustration came back at him with the bite in her voice. "I didn't ask to be the one she chose to tell. I'm stuck. I'll push her to tell you; it's the best I can do."

The family was close, but Kate-she was the one he talked with in the middle of the night; they had shared the dark days. They were the oldest, the closest, and there was no one he trusted more than her. "How serious is it?"

He retrieved his black tuxedo jacket from the back of a folding chair. He would be standing behind the Supreme Court justice during the speech doing his best to look interested while he did his real job-decide who in the crowd might want to shoot the old man.

"I'm pacing the floors at night."

Marcus, reaching to straighten the lapel of his jacket, stopped. Kate had the nerve to walk into situations where a guy held a bomb; the last thing she did was overreact. Something that had her that worried-his eyes narrowed. "Who, Kate?" He couldn't take the weight off her shoulders if he didn't know. If Kate had given her word, she would never say, but he couldn't just leave it. He needed to know.

"Can you get free later tonight?"

Time was tight. This was the biggest judicial conference of the year, but he wasn't about to say no. Quinn would do him a favor "The banquet and its aftermath should be wrapped up ten-thirty. I can meet you after that."

"We'll join you even if I have to drag her there," Kate replied grimly.

"Deal. And even if it's just you, come over."

"I'll be there. Besides, it's probably the only way I'll get to see Dave."

Marcus spotted FBI Special Agent Dave Richman on the other side of the room, deep in a discussion with the hotel security chief.

This conference had attracted explosive media attention. The Supreme Court was about to go conservative. With the announcement the president of a nominee to replace retiring Justice Luke Blackwood, the landscape of the law across the nation would forever change. Most of the judges on the president's short list were in attendance. Dave had drawn the unenviable job of trying to figure out how to control and manage the media access.

"He's here. Do you want to talk to him?" Dave and Kate were dating. Dave having even gone so far as to formally ask all the guys in the family for permission. It was serious on her side too-Kate didn't let just anybody outside of the family get close to her heart.

"No, I know you're swamped. I just miss him."

She was in love. Everyone in the family knew that. Her face brightened when she saw Dave, and that impassive control she kept around her emotions, so necessary for her job, disappeared. Even her Southern accent intensified. Marcus kidded her about being love struck and she teased him back about hovering. That was okay; she needed a big brother watching out for her. "Then you definitely need to come over tonight. I'll tell Dave to expect you."

"Let me surprise him. Besides, knowing my job, I'll probably get yanked a page on my way over there."

She sounded irked, and he enjoyed that. "Love can be so rough."

"Just wait; your turn is coming."

He wasn't seeing anyone now, and short of someone colliding with him, at the moment he didn't have time to notice anyone. His hands were full with his job and the O'Malley clan. But knowing Kate, she would probably try to set him up the first chance she got. She loved to meddle in his life, just like he did in hers.

And he knew if she did he'd have to grouse about it just for the principle of it, but he wouldn't really mind. There was never going to be time to date in his schedule; it would simply have to be found. "Good-e, Kate. I'll see you later."

He closed the cellular phone and his amusement faded. What was wrong? Jennifer O'Malley had just gotten engaged; he didn't think it was her. That left Lisa or Rachel. Lisa was always getting into trouble with that curiosity of hers, but if he had to place a bet he would guess it was Rachel. She had been unusually quiet during the Fourth of July family gathering only days before.

Marcus had no choice but to set aside the problem for the moment. He joined his partner Quinn. "Are we ready?"

"I think so." Quinn looked like he hadn't slept in the last couple days, but then he normally looked that way so it was hard to tell. Quinn had general hotel security: 37 floors, 1,012 rooms, and 50 meeting rooms to cover-it was like trying to plug a leaking dam with cotton balls. Unlike a federal court building where they could screen who entered or left the building, what they carried, this hotel was wide open to the public.

"I got the hotel to agree to close delivery access to the kitchens for the evening; it freed up another three men for ballroom security," Quinn noted. "And I moved Deputy Ellis to Judge Blake. Ellis has covered the Fourth Circuit in the past, maybe he'll be able to talk the judge into following basic security guidelines."

"Thanks. Nelson was showing the strain."

"I can't blame him. Blake is far the most difficult of the judges on the president's short list." Quinn closed the folder of assignments and tossed it on the cluttered desk. Neatness had disappeared under the churn of numerous problems. "Do you think any of them have a chance of getting the nomination?"

To the U.S. Marshals, who knew the judicial personnel across the country better than the president who appointed them and the congress who confirmed them, a Supreme Court nomination was a race they handicapped with the skill of veteran court watchers.

Marcus considered the names for a moment, then shook his head. "No." The names on the list so far were good judges, but not the great ones. They were the political appeasement candidates, on the list until the scrutiny of the press gave the president something he could use as cover for not nominating them. The real candidates would be in the next set of names that surfaced.

Marcus adjusted his jacket around the shoulder holster, checked the microphone at his cuff, then did a communication check on the security net. He tried to get himself mentally prepared for the long coming evening covering the justice. "I swear Deputy Nicholas Drake ate bad sushi for lunch on purpose. Tell me again how I got elected for this honor rather than you?" he asked while he scanned the room, reviewing where they were at with a check of the status boards. As usual, they were having a conversation but their attention was on anything but each other.

"You're better looking."

Marcus grunted. "Sure. That's why I get asked for your phone number." His partner Quinn Diamond attracted attention without trying. The man looked like he had just stepped off his Montana ranch. There was something untamed about him and women seemed to know it. His face was weathered the sun and wind, he could see to the horizon, and his gaze made suspects fidget. He called women ma'am and wore cowboy boots whenever he could get away with it. Marcus enjoyed having him as a partner; life was never dull. They had tracked fugitives together, protected witnesses, and kept each other alive. Quinn didn't flinch when the pressure hit.

"Actually, Marcus-I'm afraid I kind of blew it the other night," Quinn admitted.

Surprised at the sheepish tone of voice, Marcus glanced over at him. "How?"

"Lisa." Quinn reached into his jacket pocket and took out a folded cloth. He flipped back the folded velvet to show a sealed petri dish. "She sent me a petrified squid."

It was so like his sister Lisa, Marcus had to laugh. "Sounds like a no to me," he remarked dryly. Was this what Kate had stumbled into? A tiff between Quinn and Lisa? It didn't fit Kate's reaction, but it was certainly an interesting development.

"Where did she get this thing?"

"A forensic pathologist-I imagine that was one of the more tame replies she considered sending you."

"All I did was ask her out."

"Quinn, it is painfully obvious you did not have sisters." Marcus took a moment to explain reality. "Two years ago you asked out Jennifer-she's now engaged. Last year you asked out Kate-she's now serious with an FBI agent. This year you asked out Lisa. You just told her she's your third choice. Rachel might forgive you; Lisa will never let you forget it."

"Can I help it if you've got an interesting family?"

Even a friend like Quinn wasn't going to be allowed to hurt his sister. "Flowers will not do; you'd better get creative with the apology."

"I'm still going to get her to say yes."

"I wish you luck; you're going to need it." Quinn would be good for Lisa. He was one of the few men Marcus thought would understand her and the trouble she got into because of her curiosity. Marcus was beginning to feel a bit like a matchmaker having just subtly pushed Kate and Dave together less than a month ago. "Tell you what. I need to free some time late tonight to meet with Kate. Swap the time with me and I'll talk to Lisa for you."

"And tell her what?"

"Only your good points."

"Why don't I believe you?"

Marcus grinned. "I've already told her the bad."

The security net gave the five-minute warning to the start of the evening program. Judge Carl Whitmore would speak first, and then it would be his Honor Justice Roosevelt. Marcus would be glad when the evening was over. "Come on, Quinn, we need to talk to Dave about press access to Justice Roosevelt after the keynote speech."

"Please-give me crowd control; anything but his Honor. I love the man, but he likes nothing better than to rile the media for the fun of it."

"He's appointed for life; his life is boring without controversy."

"You mean he's too old to care if someone decides they want to kill him."

"Exactly."

"You're going to owe me for this one. The last time his Honor held one of these media question and answer sessions, I had to expel a heckler and I ended up all over the evening news."

The Jefferson Hotel served chicken kiev, rice pilaf, and steamed asparagus for the main course at the banquet. Judge Carl Whitmore was too nervous to eat. He politely ate a few bites and moved food around on his plate before finally pushing his plate aside.

Soon after the dinner plates were cleared away, the man beside him rose, moved to the podium, and gave a warm welcome to the guests. He began an introduction that Carl knew would take at most two minutes to give. Carl reached for the folder he had forced himself not to open during dinner.

The introduction finished.

Carl took a deep breath and rose to his feet. He shook hands with the man who had introduced him. Polite applause filled the room.

He slipped off his watch and set it down on the edge of the podium, removed the pages of his speech from the folder and arranged them neatly to the left of center on the podium, and then took a final moment to slip on his reading glasses.

Shari had written a note at the top of the first page with a bright pink felt tip pen-Remember to smile-and she had dotted the i in her name with a small heart. That fact, as much as her note, made Carl smile as he lifted his head, faced the bright lights, and smoothly began his prepared remarks to the twelve hundred guests in attendance.

Bless her heart. What would he ever do without her?

Carl had been given such loyal friends. He had gone to law school with her father. Shari, her brother Joshua, and her parents William and Beth, had flown out from Virginia to be here for this speech. The hour of his greatest disappointment was also the hour he learned how rich his life really was.

The president's short list of judges had become known Tuesday, and his name had not been on the list. There had been early rumors that he was being considered, and those rumors had taken on substance when the FBI quietly began checking his background. Carl had begun to let himself hope. He was a bachelor, his life was the law, and to serve on the Supreme Court was his lifelong dream. His disappointment was intense. But in the audience were four people who understood, who shared his disappointment, and were determined to lift his spirits. He had been blessed in his friends. He had the important things in life.

He began the speech he had waited his lifetime to give-a perspective of conservative thought in judicial law.

The lights had partially dimmed as the speech began. Shari Hanford was grateful, for it helped hide the fact she had started to twirl her fork, reflecting her nervous energy.

Even though she had not written this speech, she had worked on minor refinements and knew it word for word. Fifteen years in politics, the last ten of them as a speechwriter, and she still couldn't get through listening to a speech without holding her breath. She knew how important his was to Carl. If something she had suggested didn't work .

She gave up trying to hide the obvious and reached for a roll left in the basket on the table and tore it in two. Maybe it would settle her stomach. She regretted eating the chicken kiev; she should have been smart like Carl and waited to order room service later.

She would much rather be the one giving the speech. When she was at the podium, the nerves gave way to the process of connecting with the audience, adjusting the presentation: the inflections, the timing, the emphasis necessary to persuade people to her point of view.

Her brother Joshua looked over at her and gave her a sympathetic smile. Normally he would be kidding her about her nerves, but not tonight.

Carl began page two of his prepared text. His presentation had been flawless so far. Shari rested her elbow on the table, her chin against the knuckles of her right hand, and ate the bread as she watched him, feeling his passion for the law come through in his words. She didn't understand why he was not on the Supreme Court short list. Someone at the Justice Department had really fumbled the ball in not recommending him.

Lord, I still don't understand why he was passed over. The quiet prayer was a running conversation that had been going on for days. It's an enormous disappointment. Didn't the hours invested in prayer mean anything? It's not like I expect every prayer to be answered, but the big ones-

(Continues.)