The Divine Appointment (19 page)

So without any ceremony he slid his finger under the flap and ripped the top out of the envelope. He removed five sheets of paper folded together and laid them on the coffee table.

Holland skimmed the first page, then the second, and so on. He digested only bits and pieces of information on any page. But it was enough. He realized that on the pages he held in his hands were the keys to deciphering the maze of limited partnerships and subchapter S corporations regarding the ownership of the town house where Tiffany Ramsey, and previously Jessica Caldwell, lived.

He retrieved his previous research from his bedroom and began comparing the public records with the information supplied by the woman with no name. After several minutes of drawing flow charts and comparing names, he came to a conclusion.

“Senator Proctor,” he mumbled to himself. “What have you gotten yourself into?”

Brentwood, Tennessee

Anna Grissom went to New Hope for the second Sunday in a row. She couldn’t rid herself of the inexplicable feeling she’d had last Sunday, nor did she want to. And she couldn’t stay away. She had driven past the church several times during the week. She had a thirst that she couldn’t quench. Twice she had entered the parking lot, circled through, and exited again. Those brief jaunts only served to whet her appetite more. Sunday couldn’t arrive soon enough.

Tag yelled at her again as she got ready, but not as much. She ignored him again, and it was easier the second week. The allure of New Hope was stronger than her fear of Tag, which was diminishing. She still hoped he would go to New Hope with her sometime. She was certain that Eli could obtain permission from Judge Blackwood for Tag to attend church. But Tag didn’t want to go, so there was no need to ask.

Anna parked her Infiniti SUV in the church parking lot and entered through the front door. She was again greeted warmly by members of the church as she entered. She sat in a similar location in the sanctuary as the previous Sunday, and those seated around her told her they were glad she was back.

When the congregation sang again, Anna sang along from words displayed on the screens in the front of the sanctuary. She didn’t know what the words meant, but the singing was beautiful and she couldn’t stop herself.

Soon Dr. Graham Frazier stood behind the podium and began to speak. His voice soothed her and his words captivated her. He read poetically from the Bible. Dr. Frazier said it was from chapter fourteen in the gospel according to John, whatever that meant. The words he read were displayed on the screen in front of her and she followed along as he read. After he finished reading he peered out into the congregation.

“Friends,” Dr. Frazier said, “listen to me closely.”

It felt to Anna as if Dr. Frazier was not only looking directly at her but speaking directly to her as well. She couldn’t divert her eyesight from him or prevent herself from listening. She readily obeyed his instruction.

“There is only one way for a person to get to heaven, and that is through a personal relationship with Jesus Christ.”

Anna recognized those words. They were virtually identical to the ones Eli had spoken. The words she had been unable to get out of her mind. She knew she didn’t have any relationship with Jesus Christ. She barely knew who he was. Did that mean she wasn’t going to heaven?

Dr. Frazier continued to speak, but the remainder of what he said was a blur to Anna. Thinking about his first statement consumed her. She had more questions than answers.

Soon—too soon—the service was over again. The piano and organ played, and people stood and sang. Dr. Frazier invited anyone and everyone who wanted to speak privately with him at the front of the sanctuary to meet him there.

Anna’s heart raced, and her palms grew clammy again.
Why do I feel like this?
She held on to the pew in front of her and her knuckles turned white. She wanted to speak with Dr. Frazier, but she couldn’t move. After a few minutes, the opportunity passed and the yearning eased. And just like last week, the music ended, Dr. Frazier prayed, and people began to exit.

“We hope you’ll come back again,” an elderly lady said to Anna as she was leaving.

Anna smiled politely and nodded.
Don’t worry. I can’t stay away
.

The Hart Building, Washington DC

Porter McIntosh waited in the expansive hallway outside room 216 for the beginning of the confirmation hearings. Judge Shelton had recovered physically, and Senator Proctor’s office had been singing his praises for the last two weeks. All the talking heads and editorials said how shocked they were by Senator Proctor’s support of Judge Shelton. But Porter was still worried. He didn’t trust Cooper Harrington or Senator Proctor one iota.

Porter and President Wallace prayed regularly for a speedy and uneventful hearing process. The end couldn’t arrive soon enough. Porter looked at his watch. The confirmation hearings for Judge Dunbar Shelton were scheduled to begin at 1:00 p.m. eastern time. It was the Monday after the Fourth of July. Two weeks later than the president wanted, but it couldn’t be helped. And there was still time to get Judge Shelton confirmed before the Senate’s August recess, but there couldn’t be any more delays.

Porter shook hands with several people in the hallway and made small talk. He saw Cooper Harrington across the hall near the entrance to room 216, and Cooper gave him a slight nod.
I can’t believe all hope lies with you and Senator Proctor
, Porter thought. He returned the acknowledgment and quickly diverted his eyes from Cooper. He didn’t want anyone to see him make eye contact with Cooper.

Porter moved toward a window that overlooked Constitution Avenue. The police had blockaded the area in front of the building, and Constitution Avenue was blocked off from traffic between First and Second streets. To the right Porter saw dozens of people behind the barricades carrying signs supporting Judge Shelton’s confirmation. But to the left, and to Porter’s dismay, there were not just dozens but
hundreds
of people, perhaps as many as a thousand, behind the barricades protesting the confirmation. Even from this distance Porter saw that the leader of the protestors was Stella Hanover, bullhorn in hand.

“Stella,” Porter whispered to himself. “Why don’t you just give up?”

Outside the Hart Building, Washington DC

“We can’t let them steal the Supreme Court from us,” Stella screamed into the bullhorn. She was only steps from the marble facade of the Hart Building. The raucous crowd holding Defeat Shelton and Save Roe and other similarly worded, premade signs echoed back its approval. Stella’s staff had worked days putting the signs together. The voices from this crowd easily overpowered the predominately passive supporters of Judge Shelton’s confirmation. And the television cameras that covered the protests were focused only on Stella and her minions.

“We’ve got to let the senators know that confirming Judge Shelton would be devastating to our country,” Stella screamed to resounding approval. Her face felt red from the exertion.

Soon the crowd was worked into a frenzy. Stella began moving her arms like an orchestra director as rhythmic chants rose. The cacophony from the proabortion protesters suffocated any noise being made by the pro-life supporters across the way. Stella stared up at the second-floor windows in the Hart Building and raised the bullhorn to her mouth.

“We will never give up!”

The Hart Building, Washington DC

Porter McIntosh entered and sat in the front row of the gallery seating in the austere chamber that was room 216 as the Senate Judiciary Committee opened its hearings on the confirmation of Judge Dunbar Shelton to the United States Supreme Court. Directly ahead, at a large mahogany table, sat the isolated figure of Judge Shelton. Judge Shelton’s back was to Porter and a single microphone was set in front of him. Immediately behind him was a row of aides, advisers, and attorneys who were assisting Judge Shelton. Porter referred to them as Judge Shelton’s handlers. They had all been carefully selected by Porter and President Wallace.

Judge Shelton’s wife, Victoria, was in the chair immediately behind his right shoulder. Her left arm was in a cast and sling. Porter glanced around the gallery area and saw that it was crammed with news reporters.

FBI and Secret Service agents blended in with the walls. Judge Shelton’s security detail had gone from two to fifty overnight, after the bombing. They were in the hearing room. They were in the hallway. They had the building surrounded, and a helicopter was on standby in case Judge Shelton needed to be evacuated. Every security risk had been eliminated. Porter felt more at ease. He was back to only having to worry about getting Judge Shelton confirmed, not protecting him.

Scattered on the floor directly in front of Judge Shelton were photographers from all the major newspapers and wire services—Senate aides called them “shooters.” Televisions were mounted in several strategic locations in the room to assure that every word, movement, and facial expression of Judge Shelton’s was captured for all of America to see.

Beyond the photographers, and slightly elevated behind the dais, sat the members of the Senate Judiciary Committee. They were a righteous bunch. Senator Franklin Montgomery, the senior senator from the state of New York, sat in the middle and chaired the committee. He was the most righteous. To his left sat nine members of his political party and to his right sat eight members of the opposition party—President Wallace’s party. Immediately behind each senator were several members of their respective staffs armed with, among other things, biographical information about Judge Shelton, copies of articles written by him, and copies of Mississippi Supreme Court opinions he’d authored. All looked intent on unlocking the mystery of Judge Shelton’s judicial philosophy.

Porter crossed his legs and stared at the arrogant Senator Montgomery. His thinning white hair was parted from left to right and slightly toward the back, and his dark eyes seemed to pierce through everything caught in their gaze.

Porter knew that Senator Montgomery fought bitterly against President Wallace’s initiatives at every turn. Cooper Harrington had assured Porter that Senator Proctor had obtained Senator Montgomery’s support for Judge Shelton, but looking at him now, Porter was unsure.

The chatter and other noises in the room dissipated as the time for the hearings to begin drew near.

Senator Montgomery peered over the top of his reading spectacles at Judge Shelton below as he called the hearing to order. “And now we’ll begin with opening statements. Each senator will have ten minutes, and please hold your comments to ten minutes each.” When he looked up and down the row of senators like a schoolteacher, each senator grinned. Laughter and smiles emerged briefly from all corners of the room. Everyone present knew that it would be impossible for any member of this pompous group to limit listening to themselves talk to ten minutes.

“Judge Shelton,” Senator Montgomery continued, “I know I speak for all of the committee members when I say this, but we are terribly sorry for what happened to you and your family.”

All of the committee members nodded. Judge Shelton nodded back in appreciation.

“We’re all glad you stayed the course. There are extreme factions in our society who try to manipulate the efficient operation of government through threats and violence. I trust you agree that we cannot allow those extremists to interfere with our responsibilities.”

“I do, Senator,” Judge Shelton replied respectfully.

“Judge Shelton, this is a very unique hearing. It is the first hearing on the confirmation of a Supreme Court justice in over eight years. I’ll reserve my opinion about your confirmation until the conclusion of the hearings. But I firmly believe that there ought not to be partisan politics in the confirmation process of a Supreme Court justice, whether Republican or Democrat. We all have a responsibility to ask probing questions to determine an individual’s qualifications to serve on the Supreme Court, and we must look beyond academic and professional accomplishments.”

Porter liked what he heard, even if he didn’t much care for Senator Montgomery. He released the tension in his back and exhaled quietly. Senator Montgomery appeared to be on the bandwagon.

“And I further believe that a candidate shouldn’t be asked questions about how he or she might decide on a particular issue. The judiciary should have the necessary independence to make decisions without the fear of keeping promises made to secure confirmation.”

Porter relaxed further as he listened to Senator Montgomery complete his opening remarks—twelve minutes after he began. Each committee member in order of seniority also gave their opening remarks. Nearly three hours after Senator Montgomery called the hearings to order, the opening remarks were finally over. Porter was bored to tears and wondered about Judge Shelton. He had noticed Judge Shelton shifting in his seat several times, but for the most part he remained tall in his chair. Victoria appeared uncomfortable the entire time.

“That concludes the opening remarks from the committee members,” Senator Montgomery said. “We’ll recess for the day. The hearing will resume at nine a.m. tomorrow and we’ll begin with Judge Shelton’s opening statement.”

Porter exited with Judge Shelton, Victoria, and their entourage. All requests for comments from the media were refused. Dinner, a final dress rehearsal, and a good night’s rest were awaiting Judge Shelton.

The Oval Office, the White House, Washington DC

President Wallace again summoned FBI Director Hughes to the Oval Office. It had been over three weeks since the bombing at the Shelton residence and still no Joe Moretti. The president was furious.

Director Hughes, hat in hand and with his bodyguards, entered the office. They stood erect in front of the president’s desk. Director Hughes pled his case to deaf ears. Porter stood beside the president’s desk and gloated.

“Are you sure it was him?” Porter asked.

Porter knew Director Hughes didn’t like conversing with him, and he didn’t care. Director Hughes thought he was too important to talk to anybody less than the president himself. That was precisely the reason Porter had initiated the conversation.

“Yes, we’re sure,” Director Hughes shot back at Porter. He looked at President Wallace as he answered instead of at Porter. “The voice analysis returned a perfect match.”

“But you can’t find him?” President Wallace used his grandfather voice again.

“It’s like he evaporated.”

“People don’t evaporate. Do you have any leads? We’re in the middle of confirmation hearings. If anything were to happen now—”

Director Hughes raised his hands in defense. “Nothing’s going to happen. We have around-the-clock security on Judge Shelton.”

“Les, what have I told you about interrupting me? I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all.” The president’s voice was still calm and collected, but had taken on a stern edge.