79

SAUDI ARABIA

It seemed to Wyatt like he had been riding for an eternity in the backseat, hands cuffed, the hood covering his eyes, seeing nothing. He could tell that it had been dark for several hours. The others rode in silence. The roads had become rough, and the vehicle bounced around at a slower speed.

They had stopped only for prayers and twice to go to the bathroom—both times on the side of a deserted road.

He dozed in and out of sleep as the night wore on. He heard only a few cars passing in the night. The desert air became cool, and his guards rolled up the windows. The car smelled like stale sweat.

Wyatt was half-asleep and half-awake when the vehicle slowed, pulled off the road, and stopped. Larry untied the niqab and yanked it off Wyatt’s head.

Curly got out of the front seat and opened the back door. Larry motioned with his gun for Wyatt to step outside. Slowly, Wyatt obliged.

The old lawyer had been waiting for a break like this. In the last several hours, he’d had plenty of time to think, and he had come to a few conclusions. If these men were al Qaeda or ISIS, they probably planned to behead Wyatt and post a video of it on the Internet. It would be better if he died trying to escape. But if these men were operating under orders from Saleet Zafar to keep Wyatt safe, they wouldn’t rough him up too much if Wyatt made a run for it. Either way, he had everything to gain by trying to get away and not much to lose. At least he would know if they were going to kill him.

He glanced over his shoulder as Larry opened his door and started to get out the other side. He seemed to be the only one of the three with a gun. Wyatt’s only chance would be to take him out first and grab the gun, but that would be nearly impossible to do with his hands cuffed.

They pushed Wyatt toward the back of the car and opened the trunk. Larry shoved a few of the AK-47s off to the side, pulled out all of the ammunition and a few of the canvas bags, and motioned for Wyatt to climb in.

Wyatt scowled at him and told him where to go. Curly had pulled out Wyatt’s passport and motioned to the road ahead of them, apparently saying that they were approaching another border check. Regardless, Wyatt wasn’t about to voluntarily climb in that trunk.

He furrowed his brow as if he didn’t understand, and Curly started explaining again. Wyatt took a step toward him and looked at the passport in the dim light coming from the trunk. Then, without warning, he whirled and lunged at Larry, landing a vicious head butt just above Larry’s eye. He swung back around with a kick to take out Curly, the way it was done in the movies, but Curly grabbed his foot and pushed him off-balance. He fell halfway into the trunk and saw Larry coming at him, blood streaking down his face. The injured man grabbed Wyatt by the front of his robe and pulled him straight up.

Wyatt was helpless, his hands cuffed in front of him. Larry cursed and spit and then punched Wyatt in the gut, doubling him over as the wind went out of him. It felt like every rib had been shattered. The two men then shoved Wyatt into the trunk as he gasped for air, sharp pain shooting through his side with every breath.

Larry reached down and pulled a needle and syringe out of one of the backpacks he had put on the ground. He came at Wyatt, and Wyatt started kicking and bucking, his eyes wide with horror. But Moe had joined the others, and there were arms and elbows pinning Wyatt down while one of the men pulled up Wyatt’s robe and jammed a needle into his thigh.

They slammed the trunk shut and Wyatt moaned in pain as the darkness engulfed him. He wiggled around and pushed the AK-47s aside, trying to get more room. The vehicle took off and the road jostled Wyatt, pain piercing his side with every bump, while the trunk seemed to shrink in on him. For a few minutes, he thought he would pass out from the pain. But soon enough, the drug did its work, and he drifted off into a deep, hard sleep.

WASHINGTON, D.C.

Once inside the Supreme Court building, Paige, Wellington, and Kristen wandered the halls, looking at the marble statues, reading plaques about the Court’s rich history, and killing time until they had to report to the lawyers’ lounge. Maybe it should have intimidated her to be walking the same halls that Thurgood Marshall had walked before his argument in Brown v. Board of Education, or Leon Jaworski had walked in his battle to subpoena Richard Nixon’s tapes. This was the stage where history was made, and in a few minutes Paige would be staring down nine justices who would decide a case that would probably appear in every constitutional law book studied by students for an entire generation.

But for some reason, she felt equal to the task. Yes, she was worried sick about what the justices might say or think about the grand jury proceedings. Yet she was still confident in her argument. She had used her time to prepare well, and she believed in the rightness of her cause. And a few times, as she studied the pictures and read the plaques memorializing the great decisions that had been made here, she closed her eyes and saw the waves washing up on the beach, smoothing over the words she had written in the sand. There were larger forces at play here. Her job was to do her part and do it well.

At nine thirty, her team of three entered the lawyers’ lounge, where they joined the other lawyers whose cases were being heard. SEAL Team Nine was outnumbered by at least a dozen lawyers milling around for the defense, including Dylan Pierce and Kyle Gates. Philip Kilpatrick and John Marcano were there as well, huddled with their lawyers, talking softly, smiling, and occasionally stealing a glance at Paige, Kristen, and Wellington.

Paige found a seat on the ornate furniture and pulled out the folder she would be taking to the podium in just under an hour. She glanced through her argument and the case cites as well as the excerpts from the record. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched a relaxed Dylan Pierce chatting with his team. Everything about his demeanor was designed to send the message that this wasn’t his first rodeo.

After ten painful minutes, the clerk of the Court came in and gave all the lawyers a final briefing.

“The Court does not allow computers, cell phones, cameras, or other electronic devices in the courtroom. You may leave them here. The chief justice likes to keep things moving quickly. Do not wait to be prompted to take your place at the lectern. When your case is finished, please clear your table quickly so the next set of lawyers can get started. The chief will recognize you by name, and once he has done so, begin by saying, ‘Mr. Chief Justice, and may it please the Court.’ Do not introduce yourself or your cocounsel. Refer to the justices as Justice Sikes or Justice Augustini or Your Honor. Do not use the title judge. If you are in doubt about the name of a justice, it is better to use Your Honor than to make a mistake in the justice’s name.

“With five minutes left in your argument, a white light will come on at the lectern. Five minutes later, when the red light comes on, you are finished. If you are in the middle of an answer, ask the chief for leave to finish your answer and then sit down.

“There are quill pens at each counsel table, and they are gifts for the lawyer making the argument—a souvenir from your time before the Court. Take them with you. They are handcrafted and usable as writing quills.”

The man spoke like a tour guide rattling through a lecture he had given hundreds of times before. When he finished, he asked if there were any questions.

It seemed to Paige that everyone in the room looked at her.

“Then in five minutes I’ll walk you into the courtroom. Please take your seats right behind counsel table. As soon as your case is called, move up to counsel table and prepare to make your argument.”

The butterflies were out in full force now, and it was hard for Paige to get them in formation. She knew that once the argument started, she would be fine. Once she was up there, she wouldn’t focus on the occasion, only the case. But that didn’t help her now.

As they lined up to walk into the courtroom, the lawyers placed everything they were leaving behind on the side tables. And on top of a pile of documents left by Dylan Pierce, placed prominently on a table that Paige would walk by, was a copy of the New York Tribune with the front-page story about the grand jury prominently displayed. Kristen was standing next to Paige and saw it too.

“You’re ready,” Kristen whispered to Paige.

Paige reached up and touched the ring on her necklace. “I know.”