Page 173 of Hush
“Every story needs a hero, Tom.” McDonough stood, buttoning his suit jacket. “And you’re the hero of this one.” He squeezed Tom’s good shoulder, smiling broadly. “I also want to tell you I think you’re one hell of a judge, and you’ve catapulted your way to the top of my short list of candidates for the Supreme Court. If you want it…” He winked. “We’ll see what happens in the next few years.”
The world spun, and Tom stumbled, just slightly, as he stood. “Mr. President— I can’t— I—” He slowed down, taking a steadying breath. “Mr. President.” He closed his eyes. Opened them. “You should know. I’m gay.”
McDonough’s smile grew even wider. “Fantastic! It’s high time we had a justice on the Supreme Court represent the LGBT community.” He squeezed Tom’s shoulder again, and then dropped his hand. “Are you seeing someone?”
This wasn’t real. This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t the reaction he was supposed to get when he came out. Blinking, Tom fumbled for words, for his own breath. “Uh, yes, Mr. President. I am.”
“Well, we’ll have to have you and your partner over for dinner soon. I’d love to meet him.” He gestured for the door out of the Oval Office. “Will you join me, Judge Brewer?”
McDonough’s speech was an arrow to the center of the DC Sniper attacks.
He began by thanking law enforcement, the national security and intelligence agencies, the courts, and the judicial system, for their diligent, exacting work. He heaped praise upon their efforts to uncover the true roots of the DC Sniper attack.
And then, he let it all out of the bag.
Russian President Vasiliev’s role in the attacks. His using a cutout, and framing Kryukov for an attack he knew nothing about. His goal, to push the world to war, which had very nearly succeeded.
“A short time ago,” McDonough said, his voice booming. “I ordered the State Department to rescind diplomatic protection for Russian President Dimitry Vasiliev, and further instructed the Attorney General to issue an arrest warrant for President Vasiliev. He is a murderer. He meticulously planned an operation that led to the deaths of three American heroes. In America, we bring justice to those who have suffered, and to those who have lost. We bring justice to those who have been wronged. The whole world has been wronged by your actions, President Vasiliev. And if you ever attempt to enter the United States again, for any reason, you will be arrested. You will be tried. And you will be sentenced.”
He turned to Tom, then, smiling wide, and launched into a lengthy speech about Tom’s dedication to the truth and his pursuit of justice, and how he’d been crucial to uncovering the true depth of the plot. The full details were classified, but he gave the public a face and a story to cling to, the good guy to hold up. Tom felt the burn of the cameras on his skin, the eyeballs of millions and millions of Americans staring at him through their lenses like he was a hero in some kind of fairy tale.
“Judge Tom Brewer, on behalf of a grateful nation, I thank you for your actions.” President McDonough shook his hand and pulled him in, hugging him for a long, long moment. Tom heard the whirr and snap of a thousand cameras flashing. He closed his eyes and smiled.
After, McDonough led him back down the hall, away from the press and the mob of reporters, and back to the Oval Office. Winters was there, and McDonough shook his hand, traded small talk for a minute, and then reminded Tom that he’d be coming over for dinner soon, him and his partner both. President McDonough signed his cast, an ornate scribble with an American flag doodled at the end. Winters escorted Tom out of the White House.
In Winters’s SUV, Tom finally exhaled, letting go of the panic that had circled his heart, clenched his lungs until he felt like he couldn’t breathe. “I didn’t expect that.”
“What part?”
“Any of it. All of it. I thought—” He shook his head. “I always thought it would be so much worse.”
Winters frowned.
The world was still spinning. Tom gripped the edge of the seat and tried to hold on. He closed his eyes.
“Pasha Baryshnikov has cooperated with us. We now know his cell was only Barnes, himself, and Vasiliev. We’ve downgraded the threat level against you, and against Mike. You don’t need personal protection anymore.” Winters smiled. “And, Mike was released from the hospital. He’s back at home.”
Tom whipped around, staring. His heart hammered, joy thundering through him, a million lines of fire and lightning racing to his heart, his soul. “Take me to him.”
Mike stared at the TV screen, clutching his pillow to his chest. Another tear rolled down his cheek, running sideways to his temple. Kris brushed it away and then went back to running his fingers through his hair.
He’d been secreted out of the hospital by a team of marshals and brought back to his place with Kris. Kris thanked them for their chauffeuring and threw the entire team out, and then settled Mike on the couch. He pillowed Mike’s head on his thigh and stroked his hair, over and over and over.
“Your man is a hero.”
“I know.” Another tear slipped free. “I’m scared, Kris.”
“Why?”
“This isexactlywhat he doesn’t want.Exactlywhat he was terrified of. Public exposure. The world focusing on him, putting him under the microscope. He never wanted this.”
Kris was quiet. Long fingers ran over his scalp, smoothed through his strands, again.
“I’m so scared. I told you it would end this way.”
Banging on the front door made them both jump. Kris cursed, Spanish and English mixing together as he gently shifted Mike’s head to a pillow and stood. “If it’s someputareporter who got in, I’ll give them something to cry about.” Mike heard him rip open the door.
A beat. “It’s for you.”
