Midnight by Anna Dove (love books to read txt) 📗

been in late March--and I saw a folder underneath the box of pens, halfway hidden. I felt something telling me to take it out, and I did, because I hadn’t seen it before, and everything that the President lays eyes on, so do I. I opened it and saw unintelligible data, so I made copies and took the duplicates and replaced the originals. Thank god I did. In a few days I had figured out --they are all included in your brief--what the data meant. It was the layout of the EMP plan. The bomb was constructed on Baker Island.”

“What did you do once you figured this out?”

“Nothing. I didn’t know who the president had on his side, and so I couldn’t trust the intelligence agencies or governmental departments. I just kept it to myself.”

“And you were evacuated to Chimaugua as well?”

“Yes I was.”

“And can you produce copies of what you found?”

“Yes, they have been produced and included in the brief.”

“Thank you, Mr. Reed.”

The three individuals from the DOD were then called one by one to the witness box, and recounted in great detail how they had received orders from the president to launch the nuclear weapon. Mr. Stone watched intently as they spoke, never interjecting, only listening.

Mr. Gilman was not listening, but rather sitting in a stupor. After a while he felt a hand on his elbow, jerking him up again, and he stood to come face to face with Mr. Stone, whose forehead was very large.

“We will appeal this, that’s the next step,” Mr. Stone was saying, and Mr. Gilman suddenly noticed that everyone was leaving the room.

“What’s happened,” he mumbled.

“They pronounced you guilty,” said Mr. Stone, “but it isn’t over yet. We will appeal this, and if the Appeals Court doesn’t overturn it, I’ll take it to SCOTUS.”

During the first appeals hearing in front of three judges, Mr. Stone made an admirable attempt at identifying holes in the District Court’s interpretation of the law, but the court upheld the original decision, and Mr. Gilman again shuffled from the room with a blank stare. Not over yet, repeated Mr. Stone gruffly, and spent the next forty-eight hours writing his petition to the Supreme Court. He submitted it at ten in the morning on October 22 and then made his way over to see the Senator, who had invited Mr. Stone over to talk about finding witnesses.

“Even if we find witnesses now,” said Mr. Stone, after the Senator asked if anyone had come forward as a witness, “it would be up to the Supreme Court Justice if they want to accept the testimony. They could send the case back down to the District Court--it’s really up to the discretion of the justice. We aren’t arguing the merits of the case; we are arguing the legal interpretation.”

“I understand,” replied the Senator. “But there’s a better chance at a retrial if witnesses come forward.”

“Yes. Do you know of anyone besides Miss Tremont?”

“There are three people I know who have damning firsthand evidence; one of them is dead, the other’s testimony was compromised from her intoxicated state, and the last refuses to testify.”

Mr. Stone leaned back in his chair and growled something under his breath.

“So,” he said after a pause, “you really think he didn’t do it, then?”

“I don’t think he did. I think he’s been set up.”

“And you think the witnesses against him are all just lying?”

“Yes.”

“That is a serious accusation, Senator.”

“I know,” replied the latter. “I don’t make it lightly.”

Mr. Stone seemed to be thinking.

“The worst part is,” said Mr. Stone, “that Mr. Gilman won’t give me anything to work with. I’ve tried talking to him at least seven times. Never more than a yes or no. It’s like he wants to die. He’s given up on it all, has no hope. Without any leads from him and without any defense witnesses, I don’t see any way out.”

+

That evening in the Senator’s house was very quiet. A sadness seemed to hang heavily at the table as they ate.

Haley and Elizabeth were on duty for cleaning up afterwards. They finished up the dishes together, and swept the floor. Haley wiped down the counters with a damp rag and Elizabeth took out the trash. Then, they changed into sweatpants and t-shirts for sleeping and retired to their room with books.

They had both laid down their books and snuffed out their candles, and were about to sleep, when there sounded a loud pounding on the door. Both jumping from under the covers, they snatched the candles and raced into the hall, almost colliding with Landon and the Senator. Elizabeth took the gun from the closet, and they all approached the door.

“Who is it,” hissed Landon, his own gun in his hand.

“Me,” said a voice, and Haley recognized it as that which belonged to Jack. She reassured the others, and unbolted the door. As she opened it Jack stumbled into the room, his tall body catching against the doorframe and moving in a disjointed, off-guard manner. Haley closed the door as he stood in the room, swaying slightly.

“She’s gone, she’s gone.” His eyes glazed unseeingly in the candlelight, and his hands crept up to his head, where his fingers pressed against his temples. “She’s gone. They’ve taken her.” The smell of alcohol reeked from his mouth, and Haley’s heart sank.

         She started forward and caught his arm as he fell towards her unwittingly. Elizabeth locked both bolts on the door and put down her gun.

         “Jack! Jack! Who? Who’s gone? What do you mean?”

         Jack dropped to his knees at her feet, and suddenly his shoulders shook with silent sobs and he crunched forward. He rested his head against her shin.

         “She’s gone. I should have been there. I could have protected her.”

         Haley bent down, and sat on the floor.