The Last Justice

A Thriller

Anthony J. Franze

18 U.S.C. §§ 351,1111

"The reason that the Solicitor General of the United States has the greatest lawyering job in the world is that one of his two responsibilities is to handle litigation for only one client, the United States of America, before only one court, the United States Supreme Court. In other words, he represents the world's most interesting client before the world's most interesting court."

- Rex E. Lee, Solicitor General, 1981-85

"[Solicitor General was] the best job I've ever had."

- Thurgood Marshall, Solicitor General, 1965-67, Associate Justice, U.S. Supreme Court, 1967-91

Black Wednesday

olicitor General Jefferson McKenna fell forward onto a screaming woman, smearing her crisp blue blazer with his blood. The government's top lawyer, bleeding from the shoulder and chest, lay helpless on the floor of the United States Supreme Court, watching the chaos unfold.

Pop! Pop! Pop! That horrible sound again. McKenna tried to get up, but managed only to roll onto his side before a violent pain ripped through him. He felt himself slipping in and out of consciousness but was determined to stay alert. He shifted his eyes toward the sound and strained to make out the blurry silhouette standing at the center of the elevated mahogany bench.

It can't be. The black-robed, silver-haired figure waving a pistol came into focus: Chief Justice Thomas W. Kincaid.

To Kincaid's right, four other justices were slumped over, blood and brain matter spattered across their high-backed leather chairs. To his left, another black robe down ...

Pop! More screams. A Supreme Court police officer staggered and landed on the floor with a thud next to one of the Siena marble columns that encased the courtroom. McKenna's eyes trailed the two black wing tip shoes that stepped calmly over the officer's body.

Four more quick pops, and Chief Justice Kincaid grabbed his chest with his left hand. He paused, jumped onto the long wooden counsel's table, and then collapsed over the edge and hit the floor. And there he and McKenna lay, staring at each other across the courtroom's red rosette-patterned carpet.

The next instant, two officers jumped onto Kincaid and secured the gun still clenched in the elderly justice's hand. Blood dripping from the corner of his mouth, Kincaid gazed into McKenna's eyes.

My fault,was McKenna's last thought before losing consciousness.

All my fault ...