Free Choppy Water by Stuart Woods Page B

there’s a Rutledge who has been proposed for membership. Any relation?”
    “Yes, my nephew, Carter. He’s just moved up from Richmond to take a job at State. Doesn’t know all that many people in town.”
    Sykes slid his card across the table. “E-mail me his CV, and I’ll be glad to put something together.”
    “That’s very decent of you, Colonel.”
    “Not at all. Someone I didn’t know was kind enough to write a letter for me, some years back. Now I can pass on the favor.”
    They chatted on amiably for a few minutes. Sykes had hoped the judge might bring up the case, but he didn’t. So he made his own move. “Didn’t I see in the Post that you heard the case of this young man, Simmons?”
    “Yes, a tragedy at his age.”
    “It read like nothing more than a young man’s high jinks,” Sykes said. “Has he been sentenced?”
    “Next Monday. The DA wants eight to twelve.”
    “Whew! That’s mean! Does the prosecutor have some personal interest in the case?”
    “I don’t believe so, but he came to Justice from the ACLU. I had the feeling he was personally offended by what the boy had done.” The judge looked around to be sure they were out of other members’ hearing range. “The attorney general is Jewish, you know.”
    Sykes nodded sagely. “What a shame. I know some of the boy’s folks down in my neck of the woods, and they’re fine people to a man. He’s the sort of young fellow I’d offer a job to when he’s out.”
    “Really?”
    “Really, Judge. I think justice should be merciful, when possible, not just mean.”
    “That’s my philosophy, too. I’m going to read his record again, see what I can do.”
    “God bless you,” Sykes said. “You’re a humanitarian, Judge.”
    The judge waved off the compliment. “One does what one can.”
----
    —
    A few days later, Sykes asked Bess to dinner again.
    “Did you see the papers today?” she asked.
    “No.”
    “The Simmons boy got time served and four years of probation. My boss was beside himself!”
    “Sometimes justice does prevail,” Sykes said.
    “Did you have anything to do with that?”
    “I ran into the judge at a club we both belong to, and we had a drink. I offered to write a letter to the admissions committee on behalf of his nephew, who is a candidate for membership. The judge asked if there was anything he could do for me.” He shrugged. “I guess he wasn’t just saying that.”
    “You are wonderful,” she said, squeezing his arm.

18
    Holly had spent a week in New York with Stone when they were dining with the Bacchettis at Rotisserie Georgette, an East Side restaurant specializing in roasted fowl.
    “I’ve got to stop living as if I’m on the lam,” Holly said, broaching a new subject.
    “Is that how you feel at my house?” Stone asked.
    “It’s nothing to do with you or your house,” she replied. “When I’ve taken office I’ll be surrounded by all the security my government can manage. But right now I’m a president-in-waiting, and I don’t want to make presidential demands. Also, from now until my inauguration, I don’t want to be seen as hiding from the public. It would seem cowardly somehow, and that is just not in my nature. I’m my father’s daughter.”
    Holly had been raised as an Army brat by a mostly single parent, a rawhide-tough master sergeant whose wife had died young, moving every few years and attending a dozen schools. She had never allowed anybody to bully her, and she wasn’t going to start now.
    Dino spoke up. “How are those two Secret Service agents at the table behind you going to take that?”
    “I don’t mind them two at a time,” Holly replied, “but the other six scattered around the restaurant and in the vehicles outside are just too much. I’ve already gotten six of them killed, and I don’t want their replacements living in danger because of me.”
    “All right,” Stone said. “If that’s how you’re going to handle this, there are some things you