The cherry blossoms were in bloom along the Potomac. The sky was a pastel blue with here and there tiny bits of fluffy white clouds. The air was soft and balmy with very little humidity. Today it was impossible to believe the nation’s capitol was built on a swamp.
It was late in the afternoon and the rush hour traffic was just beginning. Cars were still moving at a good pace up and down the broad expanse of Independence Avenue. The Mall was crowded with visitors from everywhere. Flags of all nations were furling and unfurling in a gentle breeze. The white marble government buildings shone in the sunlight each displaying the American Flag.
Washington was at its best – a fitting capitol for the most powerful nation on earth - impressive to all those privileged to see it.
The Domed Capitol, situated half way up the Hill, dominated the scene – a truly magnificent symbol of American Democracy. The broad marble steps invited all to make the climb.
Beside the Capitol, to the right, a road climbed upward and gave access to important buildings above.
On this road there was there was little traffic. On the first road to the left, along which were the Library of Congress and the United States Supreme Court, there was no traffic. The broad marble steps of the Supreme Court, frequently the setting for loud debates, were empty.
This was a noble, marble Roman structure – impressive, massive – fronted by ten, gigantic, fluted Corinthian columns, engraved above which were the words, chiseled in capital letters: EQUAL JUSTICE UNDER LAW.
Possibly it was the hour or the fact that it was Friday, but the entire street was empty.
A small black sedan appeared having turned into the road from the right and cruised slowly past the Library of Congress continued past the Supreme Court and disappeared. Moments later it reappeared going in the opposite direction. It came to a stop just below the center of the great marble steps. The motor was running. The occupants remained inside.
The massive door of the Court opened and a lone figure appeared at the top of the steps. He was tall and dressed for spring in a sand-colored khaki suit. He stood for a moment, able from his perspective to see the back of the Capitol and part of the Mall beyond. Still looking outward he began the descent.
Both the rear and front windows in the black sedan lowered and the barrels of two weapons appeared. The tall figure was about half way down when the guns began firing. Sharp staccato sounds as the guns, trained in tandem, fired into the man’s body, slowly, systematically, riddling it. The figure collapsed slowly, its forward motion stopped; blood spurting and oozing from the myriad of wounds, staining the shreds of the sand–colored suit. The firing continued upward, the bullets chipping pieces of marble, until they were bouncing and ricocheting off the massive doors – a potent deterrent to the guards, guns drawn, now crouched inside.
The firing ceased. The guns were withdrawn. The windows closed, and slowly – very slowly – the black sedan proceeded toward the end of the street and turned into what had become the full flow of rush hour traffic. The sedan lost its identity as it merged into the main stream just below the Capitol.
**** **** **** ****
President Walter Whitredge, seated behind his desk in the Oval Office, picked up the Washington Post from the top of a disorderly pile of papers.
The news was everywhere. The assassination of an Associate Justice of the Supreme Court was a first, its import not yet possible to assess. One journalist had already suggested that it was more significant than the assassination of a President.
Walter Whitredge frowned. Had the columnist just degraded the office of the Presidency? As a newly elected President who had run as an Independent, possibly there were those who would consider a non-party electee expendable. He focused on the article below the black banner headlines. There were few facts beyond the name - Associate Justice Eliot Shapiro.
The District Chief of police surmised, based on the concentration and intensity of fire, that there were probably at least two guns and therefor two gunmen and possibly a driver. It was confirmed that it was Shapiro’s custom in good weather to exit the building by the broad marble steps. The other surmise was that there was only one vehicle, probably a sedan, because a sedan would blend more easily into the rush hour traffic. No organization had claimed responsibility, but terrorism could not be ruled out. No witnesses had come forward.
Walter Whitredge put the paper into the wastebasket and regarded the jumble of papers on his desk that required his attention. He stood up and went to the windows that looked out onto the White House lawn. Another beautiful day. Washington was showing off and he wished he could go for a long walk, well aware he could not go alone - even here. He returned across the beautiful royal blue rug, circling the Official Seal woven into the carpet, questioning the taste that made it possible for anyone to walk on the United States Official Seal. His experience as a fighter pilot in Viet Nam had intensified his patriotism, even though he had not approved of that war.
He regarded the desk, a desk that had a name – Resolute. It had been made from the remains of the Resolute, sunk by the American Navy during the Revolution - a gift from Queen Victoria.
Whitredge inspected the oval room. There was history here – the scene of momentous decisions, some of which had been made alone without benefit of any advice or against advice. However made, the ultimate responsibility for decisions was the President’s. He called to mind ‘give ‘em Hell’, Harry. It was Truman who had said, “The buck stops here.” Walter Whitredge smiled. Harry had made a whopper.
Whitredge frowned as he contemplated a decision he was about to make.
After being given permission, a short dapper man, apparently in his late forties, entered and sat in a chair to the right of the President’s desk. He preferred sitting, having long ago decided he appeared taller when seated. His lack of height was due to the shortness of his legs. Even sitting, however, he was still much shorter than President Whitredge who, at six foot six, was after all abnormally tall.
“Good Morning, Cliff. What’s on your mind on this lovely day?”
President Whitredge was still an enigma and Sharp was wary of enigmas. Walter Whitredge was the first political naïf Sharp had ever encountered, and Sharp prided himself on his ability to assess and handicap every politician on the Washington scene. He considered Whitredge a political freak, but one he could maneuver. Outwardly the man was perfect, commanding, tall, well spoken and apparently sincere. He was handsome, had a noble profile and a wide grin reminiscent of Eisenhower. The fact that Whitredge had told Sharp – and others – he believed in the people, had moved Sharp right down to his shoes.
“The assassination of Shapiro is one of the most pressing items on your agenda, Mr. President as I’m sure you agree.
‘I had heard of the man, of course. I had no idea of his stand on anything. I suppose he’ll be missed. I have the uneasy feeling we will never discover the assassins or their motive in taking such a terrible risk” He frowned and looked thoughtfully into space.
“Professional assassins are always difficult to discover, Mr. President.”
“What makes you think they are professional?”
“The absence of spontaneity, the careful planning. They must have had at least one informant as to his schedule.”
“An inside job, Sharp?”
He shrugged. “Anything can happen in Washington. We have created a lot of enemies, sir.”
Whitredge nodded. “At home as well as abroad.”
“It’s not too early to consider Shapiro’s replacement. It’s an excellent opportunity.’
“We haven’t had the man’s funeral yet. What’s the rush?”
Sharp ignored the question. “You’ll have lots of help, of course.”
“From whom – besides you?”
Sharp blinked “The Committee of Fourteen.”
“Who is the Committee of Fourteen?”
It was just the kind of question Sharp relished as it made him feel needed and wise. He was invariably patient and replied in detail.
“The Committee of Fourteen is headed by the president of the American Bar Association who selects thirteen respected professionals, federal judges, graduates of the most prestigious law schools such as Harvard, Stanford and Yale – all with impeccable legal credentials. It is that Committee who will ultimately recommend to the President the names of suitable candidates.”
“Sounds like the Wolves appointed to guard the chickens.”
Sharp blinked again. “But you make the final choice, Mr. President – and that will make the appointee your man.”
“I doubt that, Sharp.” The President looked sternly at Sharp. “You are obsessed with power which may affect your judgement.”
“Power is what it’s all about.”
Sharp suddenly found it difficult to control himself in the face of such naiveté. He started again much more slowly.
“Without power, the President is helpless to get his agenda across. As an Independent you don’t have the backing of any political party. If you hadn’t received the support of your friend, Senator Bradford Justice, I’m not sure you would have made it. It’s a damn shame he decided not to run for a second term.”
Sharp paused for a moment.
“Every President has wanted the opportunity to get his man on the Supreme Court. It is after all a political institution. Roosevelt tried to pack the court. You’re fortunate that there is an opening for you to fill. You can appoint anyone you want. You can appoint a woman. Of course we already have two.”
“You mean I can appoint anyone – as long as my appointee is a lawyer.”
“Well, of course. It would be wrong to consider anyone who is not a lawyer. I mean the idea of appointing any one but a lawyer to the highest court in our legal system is unthinkable!”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but there isn’t anything in the Constitution that would make such an appointment illegal.”
“No, but there should be!”
Suddenly Sharp realized he had gone too far. For years he had tried to be always in control. He had let himself be caught off guard.
“Forgive me, sir. I got carried away.”
The President nodded.
“That’s quite alright, Cliff. I wouldn’t keep you on as my Chief of Staff if you were afraid - or unwilling – to speak your mind.”
Sharp knew Whitredge really meant what he had said, that he should feel relieved, but he didn’t. Something was amiss.
“I don’t know your reaction to the assassination of an Associate Justice, Cliff, but for my part I have to admit, although shocked at the idea, I don’t feel any personal grief. Apparently you don’t either, and I have the feeling we’re not alone. I don’t really know much about the Justices - as people, their likes and dislikes, their feelings. I don’t know their legal credentials or their opinions and nothing whatever about their character. They are too remote, too isolated from the rest of us.”
“And that is as it should be. Their sole duty is to uphold the Constitution. They should live apart from the rest of us.”
“Do I detect a trace of worship, Clifford Sharp? You who are the ultimate pragmatist and cynic. I’m shocked.”
Whitredge smiled. He decided he had gone too far with the little man.
“I never would have made it without your advice, Cliff, and I am grateful, though I have wondered why you were willing to act as my campaign manager. I know you don’t believe in the people – as I do. I also know that, even with all your help and know-how, I would not have succeeded without the people. It was the people who did the voting, prompted by the fact that I am not a politician and their belief that my primary concern was for them.”
Sharp looked away to hide his disapproval. The idea that that anyone could believe in the people was absurd. He knew better. He also knew there was no such thing as political loyalty. He had been the campaign manager for Whitredge’s predecessor, and the son of a bitch had dropped him.
Sharp regarded this big handsome man with the Eisenhower grin and frowned. Sharp had backed this coinable face and grin because he sensed Walter Whitredge was a possible winner, that with the right guidance – his guidance – Whitredge might even become an effective President and certainly Whitredge was probably his last chance to be the power behind the throne. Whitredge’s apparent naiveté had proven public appeal. His belief that the people, properly appealed to, could do anything was foolish, but Cliff Sharp felt he could educate the man, and after all this stated belief had certainly been effective. Walter Whitredge had been elected by the biggest landslide since Roosevelt, and so far Whitredge had constantly relied on Sharp for advice. It was turning out better than he had anticipated. Of course, Sharp had to recognize that Whitredge’s popularity had been helped by his predecessor’s misbehavior. The political climate had been right for the acceptance of an independent – non-party - candidate.
Walter Whitredge was smiling at the contrast between them. Cliff Sharp was quite small - not more than five feet six and slight. People were already referring to Cliff as his mascot, but not to Sharp’s face. It did not pay to make fun of a man so close to the President. Cliff was always ready with the information that his President had been captain of an undefeated University of Michigan football team and a fighter ace in Viet Nam.
“You do have a candidate, Clif?”
“Not specifically, sir.”
“Well?”
“Since the deceased was a Jew, I – we – you – should seriously consider appointing a Jew.”
“As I understand it, one of our most distinguished Justices now serving is a Jew. Anyway, the only thing Jewish about Eliot Shapiro is his last name. He married an Episcopalian of distinguished American lineage and joined the Episcopal Church.” Whitredge smiled. “If his appointment was because he was a Jew, it was ridiculous.”
“Possibly, but there will be a cry among Jewish groups that he was assassinated because he was a Jew and will demand that his replacement be a Jew.”
“Nobody knows the identity or the motives of the assassins, but that idea never crossed my mind. I suppose, in our increasingly polyglot nation, there will probably always be hate groups, but American Jewry doesn’t have to worry. My father’s generation risked their lives to get rid of Hitler and his awful progroms. This country has welcomed Jews, contributed billions to establish and support the Jewish State of Israel. Jewish political power in this country is substantial.” He paused. and regarded Sharp sternly.
“My Appointee’s religion – if any – will be the last thing on my mind.”
Cliff Sharp blinked again.
Whitredge decided this was not the time to tell Sharp he had already made his decision as to Shapiro’s replacement. He knew his decision would be against Sharp’s ‘religion’. Up to now, he had thought that Sharp didn’t believe in anything – certainly not in the law.
The President returned his attention to the pile of reports on his desk and Sharp realized he had been dismissed. He squelched, with difficulty, the questions he suddenly – urgently - wanted to ask and left, closing the door quietly behind him.
Whitredge had noticed the blinks. It was the first time he had seen any uncertainty on Sharp’s face. The man was certainly astute. Maybe, for the first time, he was not quite so sure of his President.
Walter Whitredge had already given considerable thought to Shapiro’s replacement. He smiled. It was naïve; Whitredge savored the word, for Sharp to believe that anyone did not have a mind of his own – certainly not this President.
