Ballots and Blood (25 page)

“You didn't expect more support given your past service as governor?” pressed the Ft. Lauderdale
Sun Sentinel.

“I'm leading by a large margin. I've got the support of Floridians,” said Lightfoot, jutting out his chin, his jaw firm. “I'm confident I'll raise more than my opponent, and we estimate 90 percent of our contributions come from within the state of Florida. Most of my opponent's donors don't even live in the state. I think the next senator from Florida should be chosen by Floridians, not outsiders with their own agenda.”

“So you object to fund-raising over the Internet?” asked AP.

“No,” said Birch, his eyes ablaze. “What I object to is a special interest group run by a self-styled ayatollah trying to dictate the next United States senator from Florida.” He wagged his head back and forth, punctuating each syllable with a head bob, a smirk on his face.

The reporters chuckled. “So Andy Stanton's an ayatollah?” asked the
Miami Herald.

“That's for the voters to decide.” Lightfoot turned on his heel and headed into the community center, reporters in tow. His communications director, her face drained white, looked like she had been hit by a bus.

MERRYPRANKSTER'S HEADLINE IN TWENTY-TWO-POINT TYPE screamed just below side-by-side photos of Lightfoot and Andy Stanton. “Ayatollah Andy! Lightfoot Compares Stanton to Radical Clerics!” To add insult to injury, the story ran just beneath a flashing ad featuring the Jefferson money bomb. Faith and Family Federation was both making news and raising money hand over fist.

Sitting in his office off Georgia Highway 400, which split the Atlanta suburbs like a long knife, Ross Lombardy stared at his computer screen with a mixture of awe and ecstasy. He speed-dialed Andy's cell phone.

“Hello?” came Andy's voice.

“Andy, it's Ross. Lightfoot just got clotheslined by some reporters in Ft. Lauderdale, and they asked about our money bomb. He called you a ‘self-styled ayatollah.'”

“He called me
what?!”
squealed Andy.

“An ayatollah.”

“As in Khomeini? This guy is comparing
me
to someone who executes women who don't wear a burka? This guy is an anti-Christian bigot. Does he have a death wish?”

“Sure looks like it. I just wanted you to know about it before you went on the radio.”

“I need that sound bite” said Andy, wheels turning. “I'll play it all day.”

“This is going to be like Howard Dean's scream,” said Ross excitedly.

Andy giggled. “It really is, brother. Maybe I can have Jefferson on my show. This is big news now. Can you run him down?”

“Sure. I've got his cell phone.”

“Call him. Tell him I'd love to have him on in the third hour. That's when I have the biggest audience.”

“On second thought, I better give it to your producers. I can't talk to him when we're doing an independent expenditure for him.”

“Good idea,” agreed Andy. “Hey, what's the money bomb up to?”

“It's up to $2.9 million dollars.”

Andy let out a long whistle. “It'll be more by the time I get done on the radio.”

“Lightfoot is an idiot,” said Ross. “He was put out to pasture years ago, and he's been sitting on his porch chewing his cud, eating hay, and they bring him back and ask him to run the Kentucky Derby, and he breaks a leg on turn number two.”

“It isn't smart to attack one of the country's most respected religious leaders,” said Andy. “He's not gay, is he?”

“No,” said Ross, taken aback by the question.

“Just wondering.” Andy hung up the phone so he could finish his show prep for radio. Ross speed-dialed Don Jefferson's cell phone. In the space of eight hours, a little-known congressman from central Florida became one of the biggest political stories in the nation.
What a funny business we're in,
thought Ross.

20

M
ack Caulfield remained publicly silent on whether he planned to run for U.S. Senate or governor, setting the California political class on edge. Rumor in Sacramento claimed public employee unions dangled the prospect of a $40 million independent expenditure campaign if he ran for governor, thus sparing the Democrats a bloodbath Senate primary. For his part Caulfield played Hamlet, milking the speculation for all it was worth.

But Jay Noble had grown tired of the game. That was why at 10:30 a.m. EST, 7:30 a.m. Pacific time, his assistant placed a call to Caulfield at the governor's mansion.

The butler approached with a remote phone. “Jay Noble from the White House, sir.” Caulfield snapped to attention, grabbing the phone from the butler.

“Hello?” he said in an expectant voice. He was wrapping up breakfast, taking a final swig of coffee and wiping his mouth with a linen napkin as the kitchen staff cleared the plates.

“Governor, hold for Jay Noble,” said the assistant. It was the ultimate insult, making a sitting governor wait for a White House aide. Caulfield waited for a good thirty seconds.

“Governor, good morning,” said Jay when he came on the line, all business.

“Hello, Jay,” said Caulfield in a clipped voice, irritated at having to hold.

“Governor, I saw the item in
Hotline
about you negotiating with the public employee unions about an independent expenditure if you run for governor,” said Jay. He let the dead air hang.

“Yeah, I was going to call you about that, Jay,” said Caulfield, his heart racing. “That was an exaggeration. It was really a negotiation about reforming the pension system.”

“So the report is false?” asked Jay.

“The Senate race came up,” backpedaled Caulfield. “But there was no quid pro quo. That's just not accurate.”

“Well, the president is not happy,” said Jay. “There were only two people in the room when he talked to you in LA last month. We've now had a dozen stories claiming the president urged you to run and offered to raise money.” He leaned forward, putting his elbows on his desk, fairly shouting into his headset. “The president and I had what we
believed
was a private conversation with someone we
thought
was a friend. I'm the one who recommended you to the president as a possible Senate candidate, and this is how you pay you back? Do you have any idea how embarrassing this is for me, much less you?”

Caulfield sat down at the dining room table, trying to steady himself as he absorbed Jay's blast. “Hold on before you jump to conclusions, Jay. The only call I got was from the
LA Times,
and I didn't tell them anything specific. I told them I was looking at both options.”

“Mack, I got a call from Marvin Myers, who had the whole story. Do you think I'm
stupid
? Do you think I'm an
idiot
.”

“No,” stammered Caulfield. “But everyone knows the president can't stand Kate. That's hardly news.”

“Let me tell you where we are, Mack,” said Jay. “These stories are hopelessly compromising. You do what is best for you and your family. But whatever you decide now, you're on your own. Don't expect any help from here for governor
or
Senate. From now on, you're
naked
.”

Caulfield felt the blood rush from his head. He felt light-headed and thought for a moment he might pass out. “Jay, I understand why you're upset, but I think you're overreacting,” he heard himself say.

“I don't think so, Mack. I'm sorry I went to bat for you. But this is just not going to work. We're grabbing our parachutes. Good luck.”

The line went dead. Caulfield's head spun. He thought of calling Long directly, but he knew Jay would block the call. In a sense it didn't matter: he had always planned on running for governor anyway. But if Jay had him in his crosshairs, it was going to get ugly. He was now going to have to fight a two-front war against the Republicans and the White House.

ROSS LOMBARDY PULLED INTO HIS driveway after another trip for the Faith and Family Federation, this one to California. Jet-lagged and weary, he rolled into the garage and turned off the ignition, swinging his legs out of the driver's seat. He heard a characteristic
ping
indicating he had a new text message. It was from his Florida chairman. He opened it. It read: “Shocker poll: Lightfoot 39, Jefferson 42.”

“Wow!” exclaimed Ross to himself. He dialed Jay Noble. This was big news.

“Hi, Ross,” said Jay's assistant. “Someone's with him in his office, but let me see if I can get him for you.”

Thirty seconds later, Jay came on the line. “Hey, dude, what's rocking your world?”

“Did you see the new numbers in Florida?” asked Ross excitedly.

“No, I've been in meetings. What are they?”

“Lightfoot 39, Jefferson 42. Mason-Dixon poll released within the hour.”

“Amazing.” Jay paused. “Do you believe it?”

“We do. You know we raised $3.5 million with our money bomb for Jefferson.” Ross was working Jay hard. He wanted the White House to help Jefferson, if only to knee-cap Birch, who they both despised.

“I saw that. It's a start. But you think a Congressman can defeat a popular former governor like Lightfoot?”

“Lightfoot is a has-been. How old is he . . . seventy-two? The guy belongs in a museum. The party has passed him by.”

“If he loses, it's a black eye for Birch.”

“Big time. It's the first primary . . . and in his own back yard.”

“Hey, I've got something else that's time sensitive,” said Jay, shifting gears. “I'm sitting here with David Thomas, and we're talking California. Our original guy, Mack Caulfield, jumped the shark, so we're probably going to try to help Heidi Hughes, if only because she's the only game in town.”

“She's our girl,” said Ross effusively.

“We like her. But she can't beat Covitz straight-up. We need a third-party candidate to split the Democratic vote.”

“Alright. What's the plan?”

“We need a c4 to contribute to the Green Party in California to pay for petitions to qualify their Senate candidate for the ballot,” said Jay. “It's going to cost about $4 a signature, and we need 100,000 signatures. We've got a c4 that will make the contribution, but we can't give it to the Green Party. Do you have a c4 that can take the money and pay for the petitions? It'll be an in-kind contribution to the Greens.”

“Is that reportable?” asked Ross.

“Yes.”

Ross thought for a moment. “That's dicey. I can't explain why I'm helping to qualify a liberal candidate.”

“I understand,” said Jay, his voice even. “The clock's ticking. So if you know of a c4 we can use, get it to Thomas ASAP. Keep in mind you don't have to report where you get the money from, just that you did the job.”

“Okay,” said Ross. “I think I know someone who might want to play. Can they get a piece of the action on the petition drive and make a little money?”

“I can't commit to that, but, sure, we're open to it.”

“On a less enjoyable topic, we got a call from a reporter with the
New York Times
today,” said Ross. “I was traveling back from the West Coast so I was in the air when he called. My press secretary said he was asking questions about the IRS audit of New Life Ministries. He said the guy who was leading the audit was reassigned, and he now claims it was due to White House pressure. Says the White House forced him off Andy's case.”

“What did you tell him?” asked Jay.

“I didn't talk to him. My press secretary told him we made the White House aware of our concerns about selective IRS enforcement but asked for no special treatment.”

“Good,” said Jay. “You handled it just right.”

“It sounds like it's going to be an ugly story.”

“The guy quit his job at the IRS and is shopping a book,” said Jay, nonplussed. “It is what it is.”

Ross hung up the phone, glad Jay wasn't mad at him for mentioning their conversations with the White House to the
Times
reporter. He hoped it didn't cause Jay any indigestion. He scrolled through his BlackBerry for the contact of the Arizona operative who had a c4 and liked to play on ballot petitions. Ross thought, they might just put the California U.S. Senate seat in play after all. That would be an unexpected gift.

JONAH POPILOPOS STOOD BEFORE A glass pulpit emblazoned with a lily-white cross, gazing out at his third consecutive sold-out revival at Madison Square Garden. He wore his trademark white waistcoat, black silk pants, and Beatle boots that added three inches to his five-foot, seven-inch frame. His bald head glowed like an incandescent flesh-bulb beneath the hot klieg lights. Some compared the controversial evangelist's invasion of New York City, bringing his gospel message to the belly of the secular liberal beast, to Billy Graham's 1947 crusade in Los Angeles that landed him on front pages of newspapers and made him a star. Even as the crowd hung on his every word and dozens of reporters crouched before him recorded the scene, Popilopos seemed strangely serene, apparently oblivious to the effect he had on people.

“My friends, I was born in Greece, and I have traveled all over the world, so I know of which I speak,” said Popilopos, his sonorous voice echoing off the rafters. “We are uniquely blessed among all peoples in the world to be here in America.”

The crowd clapped and cheered.

“Can you say amen?”

“Amen!” they roared.

“The Bible says when the righteous are in authority, the people rejoice,” he continued. “And we are especially blessed to have leading our nation at this critical moment Bob and Claire Long, a couple who love the Lord with all their hearts, minds, and souls.” (Loud applause.) “They are not ashamed of the gospel.”

“Hallelujah!” someone shouted from the back.