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

shoulders. Her hair was pulled back into an elegant twist. The United States Solicitor General sat next to her, a man by the name of Oliver Garrett.

         “We will hear argument 08-740 today, United States versus Gilman,” began the Justice. “And I would like to point out, that since there are so many of you, I will require the utmost respect and order in this proceeding. Now, Mr. Garrett.”

“Good morning, Mr. Chief Justice, and may it please the Court,” began Mr. Garrett, a narrow man with black hair and black beard. He spoke in a nasally tone. “Whereas Section 110 of Article III of the United States Constitution--”

“Yes, yes, I know,” interrupted the Justice, “He is being accused of treason and a host of other things, and his defense is that he has been framed. I am not living under a rock. I’ve read the brief, very well done on your part. If you have nothing besides what is in this brief, I would like to hear from the appellant.”

“I have nothing beyond the brief, unless you have questions, Mr. Chief Justice.”

“I have no questions. Thank you Mr. Garrett.”

Mr. Garrett sat down.

“Will the appellant please provide the argument.”

Justice Chammel turned to Mr. Stone and the former president. The latter sat quietly and dejectedly, his shoulders slumped. He stared in front of him like a man in a daze. One could barely recognize him to be the same man that so recently struck such admiration and respect into the hearts of millions. He had been betrayed--and he knew it. He sat, in the deafening silence.

Mr. Stone then stood up and was about to speak, when a man’s voice rang loud and clear throughout the chamber.

“I have new evidence--I will testify on behalf of Mr. Gilman--I will be his witness.”

         The Justice’s double chin shot up. A current like an electric shock passed through the room. All eyes searched--where did that voice come from? Who did it belong to? Whose was it? Necks strained and eyes searched, and gasps echoed. Murmurs circled the walls and bounced off the high ceilings, and the commotion grew from a whispering murmur to a hum, from a hum to a competition of sounds, of voices, of interjections and screeches and accusations. WHO SAID IT?

         “ORDER,” roared the Justice, pounding his gavel with all the might of his fat arm and bellowing with his ox-like tone. He did appear rather ox-like, up behind the bench, with broad shoulders, sagging cheeks, large sunken eyes, red-faced and irate. The first pounding having done consequently nothing to reduce the amount of noise coming from the crowd, he tried again, bellowing deep from within his stomach and stretching his lung capacity to the utmost. “ORDER. WE CANNOT PROCEED IF THERE IS NO ORDER IN THIS COURT.”

         The former president had risen to his feet with the rest of the crowd and was clutching his hands on the back of the seat in front of him. His knuckles were white and his body had suddenly come alive, tensed like an animal, his eyes searching the faces of the individuals in the room in a near frenzy.

         The third round of gavel-banging brought the noise down a little, and by the fourth bellow and pound the judge succeeded in restoring some semblance of order to the courtroom. People sat, but on the edges of their seats, chewing on their fingernails, eyes darting about the room, elbows drawn into their sides.

         Reed had gone white as a sheet, and looked quite stunned. He was not searching the crowd as the others were, but sat rigidly aloof, staring up at the judge. Adela sat on his right, her petite hands clasped in her lap and her face downturned. She also did not move.

         “Your Honor,” said Mr. Stone quickly, “I move that you accept the testimony of this witness now, rather than schedule a retrial, because this testimony may affect the upcoming election.”

         “Mr. Stone, that is never done. This is an appellate court.”

         “Your Honor, the circumstances are very unusual, and your Honor has discretion.”

Justice Chammel sat in silence and looked out in deliberation on the crowd. He cupped his chin in his hand and narrowed his eyes. After fifteen very long seconds, he spoke.

         “Will the witness approach the bench.”

          “OBJECTION YOUR HONOR—” screamed the prosecution shrilly, rising to its feet.

          “SIT DOWN,” bellowed Justice Chammel.

         From the middle of the left-hand section rose a tall, lean man with resolution in his eyes. Haley stared, stunned, and Elizabeth grabbed her hand so tightly that she thought her bones would break.

Jack took the witness box, looking out in front of him at the wide-eyed crowd. As he took the stand, one could have heard a pin drop. Reed, flicking his gaze towards the witness, turned seven shades paler and looked as if he might vomit. Adela nudged him with a confused expression on her exquisite face.

         “Your Honor, may I speak?”

         Again, his clear and collected voice rang out like music. Mr. Gilman still stood on his feet, dazed.

         “Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?”

         “I will,” said Jack.

         “You may proceed,” said the Justice, staring at him with very round eyes.

         “Well, this testimony needs some background to it. So will you permit me to tell a short story?”

         “OBJECTION” blurted out the prosecution—

         “Overruled. Proceed.”

         “Thank you, your Honor. There was a woman named Katrin Von Gorben. She was born in Hamburg, Germany, in 1966. Her grandparents were killed by the Russians during the second world war, not in combat, but carelessly, wastefully. Her father hated the Russians because they killed his parents. During the Cold War, he worked with the United States on the development of nuclear weapons. He assisted with many high profile operations and testings. He was a renowned physicist who used his talents to combat one