The 37th Amendment: A Novel (26 page)

Friday, July 21, 2056

The unmistakable thundering roar rattled the windows of the house. Ted dropped his newspaper and raced outside to the driveway. The rider killed the engine and stepped off the bike, removing his helmet. It was James Dixon.

“How’s this?” James asked with a big smile.

“A new Harley!” Ted nearly shouted. Jordan walked up behind him. “What’s that for?” she asked anxiously.

“It’s for all those hours Ted sat in that office upstairs making recordings for me,” James said. “When this is all over, I’m going to have a best-seller.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Jordan said with forced pleasantness. “Why are you bringing Ted a motorcycle?”

“He said he needed to borrow a vehicle to get to L.A.,” James answered cheerfully. “So I rented a Harley.”

“A what?” All the noise had brought Tiffany out onto the driveway.

James pointed to the motorcycle. “A new Harley,” he said. It was a fine-looking piece of machinery, finished in the new crystal chrome paint, glinting like a diamond ring off the finger of King Kong.

“It’s beautiful,” Tiffany said. “Jimmy, would you come inside and change a light bulb for me?”

“Sure, Grandma,” he said. They walked inside together, leaving Jordan and Ted on the driveway. Jordan slipped an arm around Ted’s waist. “Don’t go,” she said again.

Ted didn’t answer.

Jordan ran her hand over the back half of the Harley’s seat. “It’ll take two,” she said.

“No,” Ted said firmly. “It’s much too dangerous. You’re the one they want.”

“I don’t care,” Jordan said, tightening her grip around Ted’s waist.

“I care,” Ted said very quietly.

“What was that?” Jordan asked.

Ted looked at her. “I care,” he repeated.

Jordan smiled radiantly and stood on her tiptoes to kiss him.

Ted had calculated that a 9:00 a.m. departure would miss most of the traffic at both ends of the trip. At 8:45, Jordan and Tiffany stood in the driveway, squinting slightly into the morning sun, watching Ted pack everything onto the bike.

“Please be careful,” Jordan said. “Don’t stop anywhere, just go straight to Dobson Howe’s house. Everyone is legally obligated to turn you in except your lawyer.”

Ted nodded. He walked up to Jordan and kissed her lightly on the mouth. “Don’t worry,” he growled. Then he kissed Tiffany on the hand and on the cheek. “You’re an angel,” he said. Tiffany smiled.

Ted got on the bike and fired up the engine. “Take care of her,” he yelled to Tiffany.

“I will,” she answered, putting an arm around Jordan’s waist.

“I meant the Corvette,” Ted said. Then he grinned and roared off.

The soft, burbling ring was the private line in Dobson Howe’s office. Howe picked it up. “Yes?” he answered.

“Dobson,” said the voice on the other end of the phone, “Carl Gonzales.”

“Hello, Carl,” Howe said warmly. “How are you?”

“Fine, just fine,” Gonzales said. “Working a little too hard, not playing enough golf, but fine, just fine. How are you?”

“I’m well, thanks,” Howe replied. “How are Katy and Maryna?”

“They’re great, thanks for asking. Katy’s in a school play tonight, I’ve got to try to get out of here early.”

“Well, how can I help you today?”

“It’s this Julia Thomsen case,” said Gonzales. “You know we don’t have to go to trial on this theft-of-information charge.”

“I’m listening,” Howe said.

“Plead to the misdemeanor, unauthorized access to confidential data, and we’ll ask for a suspended sentence. No jail time, no fine.”

“In exchange for?”

“Her cooperation.”

“Meaning?”

“She gives us Ted Braden.”

Dobson Howe picked up a pen and wrote a note on a leather-bound pad. “I’ll certainly bring my client your offer, but I’ll have to recommend strongly against it,” he said.

“Aw, Dobson, help me out here,” Gonzales said with exasperation. “She’s a tool. You’re not going to let her serve time for following orders, are you?”

“Carl, a guilty plea on unauthorized access to confidential data would end her career. Additionally, I have no knowledge that she was following anyone’s orders, nor that she is in possession of any information that would incriminate Ted Braden.”

“I’ll take that chance,” Gonzales said wryly. “If you don’t want her to plead to unauthorized access, maybe there’s something else. How do you feel about trespassing?”

“Same problem,” Howe said.

“You’re going to make me go to trial on this?”

“I’ll bring her your offer.”

Howe heard a sigh on the other end of the phone. “Okay, Dobson, let me know,” Gonzales said. There was a click as he hung up.

Howe was still holding the handset when the intercom beeped. “Ted Braden on line two, Mr. Howe,” said his assistant’s voice.

“I’ll take it,” he said. He pressed the speakerphone button. “Hello, Ted,” Howe boomed warmly, “How are things in Las Vegas?”

“I don’t know,” Ted answered. “I’m at your house.”

“I hope you like Thai food,” Howe said, placing a large brown paper bag on the kitchen table.

“I’m starving,” Ted said. “Sounds great.”

“You came straight here without stopping?”

“I stopped once for gas. But I kept my helmet on.”

“And you paid cash?”

“Yes.”

Howe sighed. “Helluva chance you took. Anyone who recognized you could have turned you in. There’s a reward, you know.”

“No!”

“Yes.”

“It’s not like I’m some dangerous criminal,” Ted said, extending his arms in a gesture of bewilderment. “I mean, what did I do?”

“At the moment, my information leads me to believe they’re leaning toward a charge of conspiracy to disrupt government operations.”

“That sounds like terrorism.”

“That’s their view.”

Ted was silent.

“Sit down,” Howe said in a soft voice. He tore open the paper bag. “So,” he said conversationally, “you met Mrs. Chang.”

“Yes,” Ted said. He smiled. “She let me in immediately. She said she recognized me from TV.”

“Mrs. Chang’s been with me for thirty years,” Howe said. “She only works half-days now. It’s lucky you got here before she left. You wouldn’t have been able to get in.”

Ted had seen that Howe’s home was full of valuable possessions, but then, most older people locked their doors. “You have a housekeeper and you have to eat carry-out food?” he asked.

“Mrs. Chang hasn’t cooked in years,” Howe acknowledged. “It’s better that way.” He finished unpacking the cartons and containers. “Plates,” he said. “Just a minute.” He took two china plates from a cabinet and a handful of sterling flatware from a drawer and brought them to the table. Then he opened the refrigerator. “Let’s see,” he said in a low voice. “Iced coffee, water, orange juice, beer; if I remember correctly, you do drink, right?”

“Not as much as I should,” Ted admitted.

Howe brought two imported beers to the table and set one down in front of Ted. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming back?” he asked.

“You’d have told me not to do it.”

“Not necessarily.”

“I couldn’t let Julia twist in the.... What do you mean, not necessarily?”

“I had a conversation with the deputy D.A. today. They want to offer Julia a deal. She testifies against you and walks away. Or she faces trial on charges of theft of information and a possible thirty years in prison.”

Ted grimaced. “Are those the only two choices?”

“Not necessarily.” Howe served Ted some beef in oyster sauce. “Try this, it’s outstanding,” he said.

Ted pushed his fork listlessly in the direction of the food. “I can’t let Julia go to prison for me,” he said. “That’s why I came back.”

“Then you want her to take the deal?”

Ted looked up from his plate. He nodded.

Dobson Howe reached for the phone and handed it to Ted. “I’ve been telling her that all day and she won’t listen to me,” Howe said. “You try.”

Ted dialed the number. “Julia!” he said, “It’s me.” Julia’s tiny screams wafted over the table from the phone’s small speaker. “I’m at Dobson Howe’s house. We’re just sitting here having some Chinese food...”

“Thai food,” Howe interrupted.

“Thai food,” Ted continued, “So why don’t you come by and . . . Yes. . . . No. . . . Yes. . . . Uh, yes. . . . Sure. . . . Okay. Bye.”

“What did she say?” Howe asked.

“She asked if I was really at your house, if I had lost my mind, if I was going to try to talk her into taking the plea bargain, if there was any Mee Krob left, and if we would save her some. She’ll be right over.”

Julia arrived at Dobson Howe’s home in less than twenty minutes. “Oh, Ted,” she said when he opened the front door. She threw her arms around his neck and squeezed against him. “I’m so happy you’re back,” she said. When she pulled away, he saw that her eyes were wet with tears. “Don’t worry,” he said soothingly, “Everything’s gonna be fine.”

“You must know something I don’t know,” Howe said dryly.

Monday, July 31, 2056

Julia’s trial was another major media event, bigger than the Rand trial had been. A three-layer media encampment lined the street in front of the courthouse. At the back were two dozen satellite trucks parked bumper-to-bumper at the curb. A row of portable shade canopies was pressed up against the trucks, shielding news staffers and their computers from the July sun. In front was a near-endless line of knees and lenses, photographers and camera operators seated on risers, watching the courthouse doors for the daily arrivals and departures of the principal players. Jury selection commenced at 9:00 a.m.

In front of the NBC truck, Christina Ferragamo checked her blonde hair in a folding hand mirror and spritzed it thoroughly with hair spray. She tossed her head. Nothing moved. She put down the hair spray and adjusted a pale blue scarf around her neck, then turned and walked briskly to her set. Two chairs, six lights, some cable, two wireless microphones, three cameras, five security guards and two pay-offs had turned this section of the public sidewalk into Christina’s exclusive studio. She had arranged a real ratings-grabber for the first day of the trial.

At twelve noon the court recessed for lunch. Christina was in position. A man wearing a headset threw her a cue.

“This is Christina Ferragamo reporting live from the Los Angeles County Courthouse,” she began, “where the first trial resulting from the scandal in the Los Angeles District Attorney’s office got underway today. We now know that some individuals working in the D.A.’s office fabricated and withheld evidence as needed to secure the convictions of fifteen innocent people—two of whom were executed for crimes they did not commit, executed just weeks or months before evidence came to light that would clear them.

“Interestingly,” Christina continued, “the first person to go on trial in this scandal is not one of the wrongdoers, but one of the whistleblowers. Julia Thomsen is charged with theft of information for participating in a scheme to steal documents from the district attorney’s office and leak them to the press.

“In a few moments, I’ll be joined by defendants’ rights activist Ted Braden. He’ll share his thoughts on this trial and other matters of concern to all of us. We’ll be right back, so stay where you are, you won’t want to miss this.”

“Clear,” said the man in the headset.

Christina turned and looked over her right shoulder. She saw Ted standing against the truck. He was talking with Dobson Howe. “Ted,” she called, motioning to him.

Ted walked over to her. “All ready?” he asked.

“I am,” she answered. “Are you?”

“Yes,” he said, seating himself in the chair across from her. It was uncomfortably upright to prevent slouching. The man in the headset clipped a microphone to Ted’s jacket and stepped back again. “Thirty seconds,” he said.

Christina adjusted her scarf. Then she leaned over and adjusted Ted’s collar. “Thank you for doing this,” she said. “I know you could have gone anywhere with this interview and I appreciate it that you called me. I hope I can return the favor someday.”

“Maybe sooner than you think,” Ted answered.

“Ten seconds,” said the man in the headset. “Nine, eight, seven...”

Christina sat up straight and arranged her face in a serious, earnest, pleasant expression. The man in the headset cued her.

“I’m joined by defendants’ rights activist Ted Braden.” Christina gave him a shallow smile. “Thank you for being here today,” she said. “What are your thoughts about this trial?”

“It’s a sham,” Ted said plainly.

“A sham?” asked Christina, with apparent surprise. “Why is that?”

“Because Julia Thomsen is covering for me,” Ted said. “I’m the one who should be on trial. I copied the files. The only reason those disks were in Julia’s house is because I asked her to get them out of my house. I thought my place might be searched. It never occurred to me that her place would be.”