Page 80 of Hush

“A foreign leader was nearly assassinated on our soil, and a Russian member of his security team was murdered, along with three of our Secret Service agents. The FBI, Secret Service, and CIA are reaching out to the FSB, the Russian state security service, to try and coordinate investigations. Lucas Barnes at the FBI has already set up a joint command post out of FBI HQ.”

Lucas Barnes. Tom knew that name. He’d worked with him in the past. Barnes was a solid FBI agent, and he’d moved up the ranks quickly. Last he’d heard, he was a senior agent running a counterterrorism team out of the FBI’s special operations unit at headquarters. He was a big gun, brought in for the big cases.

“Desheriyev is awake. He’s not talking at the moment. I’m getting ready to go to the hospital.”

“What are you authorized to offer?” Again, Fink spoke, asking the questions that Tom should be thinking about.

Ballard glared hard at Tom. “The White House has authorized me to offer to take the death penalty off the table. We want this son of a bitch to pay, but we want his handler and the rest of the cell even more than that. We need to know what he knows.”

Fink nodded, but said nothing.

Silence. Ballard shifted. Threw down his pen. Leaned forward, lacing his hands together on the tabletop. “So, Brewer. I assume you’re going to give this guy all the benefits in the world. Gonna agree to the defense motion that he’s insane, or too shocked and shaken by police brutality to stand trial? Roll out the feather bed for him—”

“All right, that’s enough—” Fink tried to regain control.

“This is going to be your chance to parade in front of the cameras, show off how much you despise law enforcement—”

“How dare you,” Tom hissed. His teeth clenched, and he glared back at Ballard. “I do not despise—”

“You’re a fucking bleeding-heart, Brewer! You’re a defendant’s wet dream!”

“I don’t violate the law, and I respect due process! Unlike you!”

Ballard pointed his finger at Tom. “I warned the White House aboutyou. They areveryconcerned. You are thewrongjudge for this trial. There’s no room for your bullshit, your bleeding heart, and the way you jerk off all your defendants.”

“I am a federal judge, Ballard. You will speak to me with respect.”

Ballard stood, slamming his chair against the conference table. “You havenofucking business being a judge. And I’m going to prove it.”

He retreated to his office after Ballard stormed out. Fink hadn’t said a word, just stared at him with a mixture of pity and disgust. Ballard and Fink were close, and Ballard had a one hundred percent conviction rate in Fink’s courtroom.

If Ballard knew he’d been assigned, then the whole U.S. Attorney’s Office knew, too. Ballard would explode, venting his rage on anyone who would listen. And, in minutes, the news would leak to the press. Maybe it already had.

Swallowing, Tom turned on his computer. Opened the internet browser, and went to CNN.

It was all over the front page. His photo, the one that had been taken after his appointment to the federal bench, when he had a giant smile and thought his appointment was the most amazing, unexpected thing that could happen to him in his life. His name, right above a shout line that screamed:Judge Tom Brewer to Preside Over DC Sniper Trial. Who is Judge Brewer?Sub-headlines, bullets about his grades in law school, his nineteen years as an Assistant U.S. Attorney. The media was already starting to dig, excavate through his life.

Jesus, they were going to sit outside his house.

Where was Mike?

He fumbled for his cell phone, his thoughts coalescing to a single point.Mike. Mike.Mike.

Where are you?

[Your place. Was sleeping. Everything okay?]

Turn on the news.

He waited.

[Oh my God. Tom…]

Are reporters at the house yet?

[Let me check.]

[Shit, they are. There are two news vans outside. Fuck!]