Uncertain Justice

Chapter 38

Then the ledge almost disappeared. Without stopping to think of the danger, he pressed on, crowding close against the rock wall until his right shoulder scrapped the rough stone. Moments later, he was walking with his right arm held tight against his belly and his body twisted to the left to give his shoulder more room.

The rock shelf became so narrow he had to face the rock wall and sidestep along the path. In moments, his heels were hanging over the edge as he moved slowly along the path. Sliding his feet along the slender width of the shelf raised a cloud of dust that billowed about him before falling away into the depths.

The hiking stick he'd whittled from a tree branch last week became too cumbersome; the hand carrying it was better utilized clamped tight to protuberances and thrust inside cracks on the rock face to keep him from falling. He released the slender pole and listened as it clattered down the nearly sheer wall to the bottom. The underbrush down there swallowed it soundlessly.

After an eternity, he came to a section where the ledge widened. Soon it was a full yard across. Putting his back to the cliff, he leaned against the rock until the trembling in his legs eased. He wiped the sweat off his face and tucked the bandanna away. If he stopped for too long, he would have trouble with stiffening muscles. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself into motion again. Occasionally he stumbled on irregularities in the rock. He was tiring fast and there was nowhere to rest.

The ledge widened and narrowed again as dictated by the whims of erosion. In places, eighteen-wheelers could have driven three abreast; at other points, it narrowed to a shoulder's width across but it had never contracted again to no more than a slender foothold ... until now.

He stopped to drink some water while he studied a gap where the ledge on which he was walking had collapsed into the canyon. At least four feet across, he would have to take a running jump to continue along the trail. If he missed his landing ... well, it was a long way down to the bottom of the canyon. For a moment, he was tempted to turn around, but he hated to admit defeat.

Nerving himself, he backed a few feet along the trail and lumbered forward to jump the expanse of open space. He surprised himself by clearing the edge by a good three feet. His heart remained in his throat for some time while his hands clutched at handholds in the rock to steady himself.

Looking over the edge, he shuddered as he contemplated the drop to the bottom of the gorge. He wiped his face with a bandanna that was getting a great deal of use today. Apart from the distance down the steep rock face, it was choked with rounded boulders and jagged rocks dumped there by rampaging waters in ages long past. In places, sparse underbrush found a precarious hold in the rocky soil but the spindly bushes only emphasized the desolation. Traveling in either direction would be impossible if he was trapped down there--assuming he survived the fall.

Shaking the canteen, he guessed he had a little less than half a canteen of water left ... about a liter ... plus the one-liter spare canteen lashed to the side of the pack. That was all the water he had left. He frowned. There was no doubt he could reverse his direction of travel and be back at the creek where he'd spent last night long before he began to suffer from lack of water but he didn't want to do that.

Deciding against another mouthful of water, he stowed the canteen away and stood for a long moment listening to the sounds of the sun-baked canyon. c*****g his head, he thought he heard running water somewhere ahead. The tantalizing sound faded ... returned ... and faded again. Miles shook his head in annoyance as it dwindled and died. There was only the breeze as it swept through the canyon.

He loosened the straps he'd tightened to jump the gap. Stepping carefully along the narrow ledge, he marched on.

Behind him, the wind brushed at his footprints until there was no sign anyone had ever passed this way.

§

Senator Jenkins tapped on the wood surface in front of him with a gavel big enough to pound stakes into the ground to secure a circus tent. The chairman of the Judiciary Committee repeated the tap four more times, each one a little louder than the last, until he judged the chamber was quiet enough for him to be heard without raising his voice.

He glanced to each side to see how many Committee members were in their seats at the huge semicircular desk and glowered at several late arrivers.

Centered in the well before the Senator, the nominee was carefully arranging a series of folders and loose documents on the table in front of him. A pencil was nudged into perfect alignment along the top of a notepad and Mr. Brady looked up expectantly.

"Let the record show," he began, "the Senate has received a request from the President to expedite the matter of Mr. Carl Brady's nomination to fill the post of Deputy Attorney General of the United States." He paused a moment to make sure there would be a clear gap, suitable for editing on the evening news broadcasts, before concluding.

"We are pleased to respond so quickly to our President's appeal in this matter." The message wasn't so much for the television audience as it was to fellow politicians inside the Beltway. Specifically, it was clear notice to the White House that they now owed a big favor to the senior Senator from New Hampshire and he would collect someday.

Carl Brady waited patiently with two advisors recommended by his long-time friend. The President had brought Carl into the Oval Office specifically to introduce him to the short black man on Carl's right and the cadaverous looking Hispanic on his left.

They were owed favors too, and Brady knew he would be expected to hire the pair as aides once he assumed office. He indulged himself in a bit of speculation about where they might fit into his staff.

"Mr. Brady, I understand you have a statement you would like to read into the record. You may begin now, if you're ready, sir." Brady jerked his attention back to the Committee meeting and tried to respond. Caught by surprise, the stab of pain from his still healing neck wound strangled his reply and he could manage only an abbreviated squeak. He put his hand to his throat.

"Yes, Mr. Chairman," he finally grated. He massaged his neck and swallowed hard, eliciting more than a few sympathetic noises from the throng of reporters and the small audience behind him.

"Mr. Chairman, as a victim of a particularly violent crime myself, I bring to the office of Deputy Attorney General a definitive insight into the plight of victims nationwide and a firm resolve to seek out the perpetrators of these acts whenever and wherever they can be found. Federal Bureau of Investigation statistics show that crimes against persons is at an all time high in this nation and it's time...."

Brady continued speaking for several minutes before his still-tender vocal cords failed him and he turned over the reading of his statement to his new aide ... the short one. Brady sat back in his chair and watched the effect on the panel of Senators, wondering how the vote would go. He relaxed. Most of the Senators were directing sympathetic glances in his direction and making sure to catch his eye.

In the end, there were remarkably few questions asked of him ... presumably in deference to his injury ... and the vote to confirm him was overwhelming. In fact, only the conservative Senator from Texas voted against the confirmation, prompting some in the gallery to wonder if he knew something about Brady that the others didn't. Newspaper reporters assumed it was something else, condemning the Senator for mounting a personal vendetta and accused him of partisan politics.

The next Monday morning, before most of the employees had made their way into the building, Deputy Attorney General Carl Brady made his first appearance in the hallways of the Department of Justice accompanied by the short black man who Brady had decided would be his chief aide. The other man recommended by the President was too tall. Brady didn't like being around people taller than himself.

§

The ledge supporting the trail leveled out after having climbed more than a thousand feet in what he guessed was a little less than three miles. The bottom of the gorge, having earlier dropped precipitously away from the ledge, was now only a short distance below him as he shuffled tiredly down the trail. The tumbled rocks and tangled brush down there had given way to dust, sand, and the cracked remains of fallen rocks.

The sides of the gorge had closed in again until the gap was more a split in the rock than a canyon. When he craned his head back to look straight up, he could barely see a strip of blue sky that wasn't obliterated by vertical walls of stone that seemed to lean inward. He was shielded from the harsh sun though; it had traveled too far west to shine into the narrow slit. He reveled in the comparative coolness.

The bottom of the chasm rose imperceptibly as he walked until the ledge was no more. He found himself slogging along at the bottom of a deep canyon, scrambling over the occasional boulder and shuffling through deep dust and sand.

He worried about his ability to retrace his steps up the trail but there really wasn't any portion of the trail couldn't get through if he had to. On top of that....there was that maddening sound of running water. He had to find out what that was. He pressed on.

Abruptly he was bathed in bright sunshine. In the dazzling light, he could see a distant snow topped mountain framed by the walls of the cut. He cheered soundlessly; his throat was too dry to give voice to his relief. With any luck at all, he was near the end of the passage. The sun faded as he walked until he was in a welcome shade once more.

The sun came from behind a cloud and he stumbled to a halt as the brightness blinded him. The canyon through which he'd been traveling had broadened so abruptly he might have stepped from a narrow corridor into a concert hall. Lowering his head, he rubbed tightly shut eyes until the white-hot spots faded. He pulled the brim of his hat lower on his forehead and opened his eyes cautiously. His left hand rose as a shield from the bright rays.

There were tall cliffs to his right and a mountain rose on his left with a river and pristine meadows between them. Everything clamored for attention in a kaleidoscope of colors and shapes he couldn't immediately absorb. As he squinted, the panorama gradually came into focus. He was looking along the length of a valley, right into the face of the late afternoon sun.