to anyone on foot—“but only on the outside of the field. We don’t want any of our kids hurt,” Jennifer said. Unmanned penetration by vehicles or robots was identified by a system that located all moving metal above a certain mass within Sanctuary. Any moving metal that did not carry a special signaling device designed by Donald Pospula, a Sleepless who had patented important electronic components, was suspect.
“Of course, we’re not set up for an air attack or an outright army assault,” Jennifer said. “But we don’t expect that. Only the haters in self-motivated hate.”
Leisha touched the hard-copy of the security plans with one finger. They troubled her. “If we can’t integrate ourselves into the world…Free trade should imply free movement.”
Jennifer said swiftly, “Only if free movement implies free minds,” and at her tone Leisha looked up. “I have something to tell you, Leisha.”
“What?”
“Tony isn’t here.”
“Where is he?”
“In Cattaraugus County jail in Conewango. It’s true we’re having zoning battles about Sanctuary—zoning! In this isolated spot! But this is something else, something that just happened this morning. Tony’s been arrested for the kidnapping of Timmy DeMarzo.”
The room wavered. “FBI?”
“Yes.”
“How…how did they find out?”
“Some agent eventually cracked the case. They didn’t tell us how. Tony needs a lawyer, Leisha. Bill Thaine has already agreed, but Tony wants you.”
“Jennifer—I don’t even take the bar exams until July!”
“He says he’ll wait. Bill will act as his lawyer in the meantime. Will you pass the bar?”
“Of course. But I already have a job lined up with Morehouse, Kennedy & Anderson in New York…” She stopped. Richard was looking at her hard, Jennifer inscrutably. Leisha said quietly, “What will he plead?”
“Guilty,” Jennifer said, “with—what is it called legally? Extenuating circumstances.”
Leisha nodded. She had been afraid Tony would want to plead not guilty: more lies, subterfuge, ugly politics. Her mind ran swiftly over extenuating circumstances, precedents, tests to precedents…. They could use Clements v. Voy. …
“Bill is at the jail now,” Jennifer said. “Will you drive in with me?” She made the question a challenge.
“Yes,” Leisha said.
In Conewango, the county seat, they were not allowed to see Tony. William Thaine, as his attorney, could go in and out freely. Leisha, not officially an attorney at all, could go nowhere. This was told to them by a man in the D.A.’s office whose face stayed immobile while he spoke to them, and who spat on the ground behind their shoes when they turned to leave, even though this left him with a smear of spittle on his courthouse floor.
Richard and Leisha drove their rental car to the airport for the flight back to Boston. On the way Richard told Leisha he was leaving. He was moving to Sanctuary, now, even before it was functional, to help with the planning and building.
She stayed most of the time in her townhouse, studying ferociously for the bar exams or checking on the Sleepless children through Groupnet. She had not hired another bodyguard to replace Bruce, which made her reluctant to go outside very much; the reluctance in turn made her angry with herself. Once or twice a day she scanned Kevin’s electronic news clippings.
There were signs of hope. The New York Times ran an editorial, widely reprinted on the electronic news services:
PROSPERITY AND HATRED: A LOGIC CURVE WE’D RATHER NOT SEE
The United States has never been a country that much values calm, logic, and rationality. We have, as a people, tended to label these things “cold.” We have, as a people, tended to admire feeling and action. We exalt in our stories and our memorials—not the creation of the Constitution but its defense at Iwo Jima; not the intellectual achievements of a Linus Pauling but the heroic passion of a Charles Lindbergh; not the
“Of course, we’re not set up for an air attack or an outright army assault,” Jennifer said. “But we don’t expect that. Only the haters in self-motivated hate.”
Leisha touched the hard-copy of the security plans with one finger. They troubled her. “If we can’t integrate ourselves into the world…Free trade should imply free movement.”
Jennifer said swiftly, “Only if free movement implies free minds,” and at her tone Leisha looked up. “I have something to tell you, Leisha.”
“What?”
“Tony isn’t here.”
“Where is he?”
“In Cattaraugus County jail in Conewango. It’s true we’re having zoning battles about Sanctuary—zoning! In this isolated spot! But this is something else, something that just happened this morning. Tony’s been arrested for the kidnapping of Timmy DeMarzo.”
The room wavered. “FBI?”
“Yes.”
“How…how did they find out?”
“Some agent eventually cracked the case. They didn’t tell us how. Tony needs a lawyer, Leisha. Bill Thaine has already agreed, but Tony wants you.”
“Jennifer—I don’t even take the bar exams until July!”
“He says he’ll wait. Bill will act as his lawyer in the meantime. Will you pass the bar?”
“Of course. But I already have a job lined up with Morehouse, Kennedy & Anderson in New York…” She stopped. Richard was looking at her hard, Jennifer inscrutably. Leisha said quietly, “What will he plead?”
“Guilty,” Jennifer said, “with—what is it called legally? Extenuating circumstances.”
Leisha nodded. She had been afraid Tony would want to plead not guilty: more lies, subterfuge, ugly politics. Her mind ran swiftly over extenuating circumstances, precedents, tests to precedents…. They could use Clements v. Voy. …
“Bill is at the jail now,” Jennifer said. “Will you drive in with me?” She made the question a challenge.
“Yes,” Leisha said.
In Conewango, the county seat, they were not allowed to see Tony. William Thaine, as his attorney, could go in and out freely. Leisha, not officially an attorney at all, could go nowhere. This was told to them by a man in the D.A.’s office whose face stayed immobile while he spoke to them, and who spat on the ground behind their shoes when they turned to leave, even though this left him with a smear of spittle on his courthouse floor.
Richard and Leisha drove their rental car to the airport for the flight back to Boston. On the way Richard told Leisha he was leaving. He was moving to Sanctuary, now, even before it was functional, to help with the planning and building.
She stayed most of the time in her townhouse, studying ferociously for the bar exams or checking on the Sleepless children through Groupnet. She had not hired another bodyguard to replace Bruce, which made her reluctant to go outside very much; the reluctance in turn made her angry with herself. Once or twice a day she scanned Kevin’s electronic news clippings.
There were signs of hope. The New York Times ran an editorial, widely reprinted on the electronic news services:
PROSPERITY AND HATRED: A LOGIC CURVE WE’D RATHER NOT SEE
The United States has never been a country that much values calm, logic, and rationality. We have, as a people, tended to label these things “cold.” We have, as a people, tended to admire feeling and action. We exalt in our stories and our memorials—not the creation of the Constitution but its defense at Iwo Jima; not the intellectual achievements of a Linus Pauling but the heroic passion of a Charles Lindbergh; not the
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