Capitol Conspiracy (30 page)

50

S
ENATE
C
ONFERENCE
R
OOM
-D12

B
en couldn’t help feeling guilty about leaving the Senate chamber in the midst of the heated debate, but the truth was, it was likely to go on for days, and the flaming oratory taking place was not going to persuade anyone of anything, nor was it intended to do so. The senators were taking advantage of the television coverage to explain themselves and to shore up their support with their key constituencies. Viewed from that perspective, the speeches were little more than free political ads, and on those rare occasions when Ben was able to watch television, he habitually skipped the commercials.

One political truth had become apparent to him in his short time in Washington: If there was any persuasion occurring among senators, it did not take place on the Senate floor. It happened in the proverbial smoke-filled rooms, where private deals were done. Any persuasion came not as a result of flaming oratory but pursuant to standard quid pro quo; you give me something I want and I’ll give you something you want. And we both go home happy. A little.

The conference room to which the folded note had directed him was not filled with smoke, but he knew the principle was the same. Smoking was supposedly forbidden in the Senate complex now, although Ben knew that in reality it occurred fairly frequently behind closed doors. He hoped his visitors didn’t indulge; he still couldn’t be around cigarette smoke for more than a minute without gagging.

A few minutes later, the door opened and Senator Dawkins entered, trailed by the new minority whip, Senator Pollitt of Pennsylvania. They took a seat on the opposite side of the conference room table.

“Here we are again, Ben,” Dawkins said, smiling faintly. Dawkins had been on the Senate Judiciary Committee when Ben represented Judge Roush during his Supreme Court confirmation hearings. Dawkins had been bitterly opposed to Roush’s nomination. To say that there was no love lost between the two was an understatement in the extreme. Ben wondered if the lingering tension between them was the reason he had been chosen by the powers that be for this meeting.

“Our fearless leader couldn’t make it,” Dawkins explained. “He’s going to be speaking soon. Doesn’t want to miss his turn. He gave me full authority to deal.”

“That’s swell,” Ben said cheerily. “Shouldn’t we get the new majority leader in here?”

“Why bother? Everyone knows you’re the one in charge on this bill, even if you are supposedly a Democrat. You’re the president’s hand-picked playmate.”

“I wouldn’t put it quite like that.”

“The truth hurts, huh? And to think people were concerned that you would prove too liberal for the modern Democratic party.”

“I follow my conscience, not my party. The president and I just happen to agree on this proposal.”

“Right. You’re a man of conscience.” He gave Pollitt a knowing look. “Hard to imagine anything that could be more trouble in Washington than a man of conscience.”

Ben had heard this trite line of reasoning so many times, it was hard to resist the urge to drum his fingers. “I assume you’re authorized to make some sort of deal?”

“Well, now, that’s very direct, isn’t it? No monkeying around for you.”

“I have a busy schedule.”

“Ah. As opposed to the rest of us slackers.” He gave his companion the nod. “Read him the formal proposal, Dan.”

Pollitt looked down at his notes. “We’re willing to trade SB-4582 and SB-4888 for the proposed amendment.”

Dawkins’s eyebrows danced. “What do you think, Ben?”

“I think I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“We’re offering to support the amendment in exchange for your withdrawal of support on two other matters. That would include the support of any senators who have made pledges to you with regard to those bills.”

“And I’m supposed to recognize the bills by their numbers?”

“Most of us do.” He paused a moment. “But you rely rather heavily upon your chief of staff, don’t you? Let me spell it out for you.” Dawkins leaned forward, laying his hands flat on the tabletop. “We’ll throw our support behind your amendment—a guaranteed twelve votes you don’t have yet—in exchange for your dropping these two other bills.”

“I can’t believe your magic twelve will go against public opinion on such a high-profile issue. Every poll has shown that a majority of the general public wants this bill.”

“That may be so, but the twelve senators I have in mind come from very liberal jurisdictions. They aren’t going to suffer any damage from failing to support a Republican president’s initiative that appears to abridge civil rights.”

“The amendment only creates a temporary—”

“Yes, yes, I’ve already heard your song and dance, thank you. Note the use of the word ‘appears.’ The point is, they are free to vote as they like. You now have an opportunity to determine what they’re going to like.”

Ben sighed wearily. He hated politics. And he didn’t mean that in a general, abstract way, either. He hated politics. “What two bills do I have to kill? Don’t make it the Alaskan Wilderness Bill. My wife has been working on that for months. My support is nonnegotiable.”

“We’re aware of that.” Dawkins nodded at Pollitt.

Pollitt cleared his throat. “We want you and yours to drop your support for the antipoverty bill and the education initiative.”

Ben’s eyes fairly bulged. “Are you kidding? Those are the two most important bills pending, other than the amendment.”

“We’re aware of that, too.”

“I’ve been an outspoken proponent of both. Christina has been working the floor to accumulate pledges of support for both.”

“Still aware.”

“Are you saying you don’t favor education and favor starvation?”

“These are difficult, changing times. It might’ve been different when Senator Hammond was still minority leader—he knew how to assemble an alliance and collect pledges and get things passed. But we don’t have him now. We have an all-new slate of leaders with much less experience, little political capital, and no one owing them anything. We don’t know that we could get those bills passed. And even if we could, the simple fact is, Ben—we can’t afford all three.”

“I don’t follow.”

“We can’t afford it. Not politically or financially.”

“I don’t think the expenses relating to the amendment are all that great—”

“But the expenses relating to the war on poverty are enormous. We finally managed to scale back welfare not that long ago and to restore some sense to the budget. This looks too much like a reversal.”

“Tell that to the people in the South who can’t feed their children.”

“I wouldn’t bother. They don’t vote.”

“They’re still Americans.”

“Thank you for that helpful clarification.” He sighed wearily. “The truth is, we can’t represent all four hundred million Americans. It’s not shameful to suggest that our primary efforts should be devoted to those who actually contribute to the nation’s betterment.”

Ben could see this was going nowhere. “I thought the goal of having more people contribute was the reason we want to improve the American education system. Oh, wait—you want to kill that bill, too.”

“Throwing money at schools isn’t going to make anything better.”

“Why don’t we try it and find out?”

“Because we can’t afford it. And this bill looks too much like No Child Left Behind—a Republican effort, if you’ll recall. And one that resulted in little discernible improvement in the American education system.”

“So we should just abandon the schools? No! We should try again.”

“Ben, there are a lot of things out there I’d like to fix, but the reality is, even if we knew how—which we don’t—we can’t afford to do everything at once. We are still carrying the debt of the Iraq War and are likely to be doing so for a good long time. Given our financial limitations, it’s better to abandon what we can’t afford or can’t guarantee we can pass. Better to have one successful initiative and two that don’t come to a vote than three initiatives that fail, which is what we’re looking at right now.”

“That’s a cold viewpoint.”

“Every senator has to learn to prioritize. Comes with the job. You will, too, in time. Unfortunately, right now you’ve somehow managed to acquire a measure of power that far outstrips your senatorial experience, so I’m having to explain these fundamental principles I would never have to explain to a more seasoned senator.”

“If this is supposed to win me over, it isn’t working.”

“Look, Ben, in the subcommittee hearing, you said this proposed amendment is the most important matter before us as a nation. Did you believe that, or were you just foaming at the mouth for the television cameras?”

Ben did his best to suppress his irritation. “I meant it.”

“Fine. So prioritize. Make a deal. Guarantee the passage of this amendment by forfeiting two other probably unpassable bills.”

Put that way, Ben had to admit that what he said made a certain amount of sense. He hated this business of trading one law for another—it wasn’t the way government was supposed to work. But he also knew that without those twelve votes Dawkins controlled, he would never get this amendment out of the Senate.

“What do you say, Ben? Do we have a deal?”

“I…I don’t know,” Ben hedged. “I need some time to think about it.”

“We don’t have time, Ben. This thing will come up for a vote in a few days. We have to give our people their walking orders.”

“I don’t care. This is important. I want a chance to think. Talk it over with Christina.”

“Who’s wearing the senatorial pants in this family, Ben? You or your wife?”

Ben tried not to let such an obvious ploy get to him—but it was hard. “There’s nothing wrong with seeking the opinion of people you trust. Only an idiot thinks he’s so smart he can’t benefit from input from others.”

“Ben—are you having doubts about this constitutional amendment?”

Ben felt his question like a stabbing pain in his gut. Had he betrayed himself with a word, a facial expression? Why would he ask that?

“I…don’t have any doubts. I’m behind this bill one hundred and ten percent.”

“Then do what you need to do to ensure its passage.”

“I told you already. I want more time.”

“Can I at least tell the twelve that you’re tentatively accepting the offer? They need to know how they’re going to vote. Just in case someone asks. Or their turn to speak comes up.”

“I already told you—”

“Come on, Ben—give the poor boys something.”

“I…guess…if you made it clear my acceptance was tentative…”

“Good!” Dawkins slammed his hand on the table. “That’s what I wanted to hear. I’ll talk to all the people in charge. They’ll be very glad to hear that you’ve made the right decision.”

“But—I haven’t—”

“You’re doing the right thing, Ben. I promise. You are. I mean, personally, I don’t care that much for the amendment. But the people want it, and sometimes you can tell when a law’s time has come. The new majority leader is giving me a nice piece of pork barrel for my home state. It’s worth it.”

“You mean—you don’t even—”

“So bottom line, everyone gets what they want. Or what they need. This is a win-win scenario, Ben. It really is.” He rose and shook Ben’s hand vigorously, then ran to the door, Pollitt following close behind.

When the door was opened, Ben saw Christina in the corridor outside. She saw him, too.

“Ben—there you are! I didn’t know what happened to you.”

“I, uh, had to take a meeting. I—”

“Never mind. You can tell me later. I just got a message from the hospital about Mike.”

Ben felt a hollow sensation in the center of his chest. “And?”

“He’s awake, Ben. And stable. He’s going to make it.”

Ben felt such a rush of emotion he could barely speak. “Really?”

Christina hugged him tightly. “It’s true. And Ben—he’s asking for you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I’ve already booked you a flight. Jones will take you to the airport.”

“But—the debate—”

“Will go on for days. It’ll survive without you for a little while.” She gripped his shoulders tightly. “Ben—Mike wants to see you.”

He didn’t hesitate a moment longer. “I’m on my way.”

51

T
HE
O
VAL
O
FFICE
T
HE
W
HITE
H
OUSE
W
ASHINGTON
, D.C.

T
he top figures in the entire domestic security force were sitting together under one roof in the Oval Office, a gathering that would normally violate emergency procedure protocols. In this instance, however, President Blake felt it was necessary. As a compromise to the concerns about a “catastrophic event,” he allowed the FBI director to send Joel Salter in his stead. On the two facing sofas were Homeland Security Director Carl Lehman and his assistant Nichole Muldoon, and two selected members of his Secret Service detail, Max Zimmer and Tom Gatwick.

They did not sit on the same sofa.

President Blake leaned against the front of his desk, which had the effect of locating him at the apex of the pyramid, its vertical walls formed by the two sofas and the four men and one woman located upon them.

“I have to do it,” the president said. “It’s nonnegotiable.”

“It’s suicide, is what it is,” Salter said. He was as nervous and twitchy as ever, the president noted, and being seated next to Nichole Muldoon seemed to be causing him some considerable trauma. “The FBI votes no.”

“This is not subject to a vote,” the president said firmly. “I’m going to do it. I’ve called you here so you can figure out how you’re going to keep me safe.”

“I don’t understand why this appearance is so essential.”

“You don’t have to understand. It’s not your job.”

“All my sources tell me the amendment will get through Congress and then be readily approved by the states. This is unnecessary. It’s like you’re daring the original killers—who I might remind you are still at large—to try again.”

“I said, this is nonnegotiable.”

“I mean, if your strategy is to get this amendment passed by martyring yourself, I could understand that. But I think it’s a poor strategy.”

The president almost smiled. Maybe Salter had more spunk than he realized. “Carl. Your thoughts?”

“Well, we’re not nearly as skittish as the FBI, but what else is new?”

Salter was seething now.
Good. Let him redirect his anger at someone else.

“Which is not to say we think it’s a good idea,” Lehman continued. “But if you’re determined to do it, we’ll keep you safe.”

“But we’d still prefer you didn’t do it,” Muldoon interjected hastily. Did she always dress like that? the president wondered. He could see why she had come so far so fast. “Better safe than sorry.”

“Pardon my subordinate,” Lehman said, stimulating the irked ire of Muldoon. “We wouldn’t presume to tell the president what he should or should not do.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” President Blake said. He was enjoying this exchange. It had been a good idea, despite what his advisors thought, to gather all these people together at once. Sped things up considerably. And he also gained substantial insight into the players by watching them interact with one another. “Have you prepared any plans?”

“My boys have,” Lehman replied. “Tom?”

“Wait,” the president interjected. “These two? Zimmer and Gatwick?”

“They’re the senior members of your security detail, Mr. President.”

Gatwick sat on the sofa, silently reminding the president how he had resisted the suggestion that he resign.
What the hell. I’ll be working double-time to prove myself now.
“Are you two going to be able to work together?”

After a moment’s hesitation, they both simultaneously said, “Yes, sir.”

“Seriously. I know what’s been going down between you two. And I know you were both on duty on April nineteenth. Are you going to be able to do this job?”

“Absolutely,” Gatwick said, evidencing not the slightest trace of doubt, much less disdain for his colleague. “We’ve taken the liberty of drawing up a full-scale security plan. Would you like to hear about it?”

“Of course.”

“We call this Domino Charlie. It’s a variation on Domino Bravo—but we think we’ve improved the old protocol in many respects. Our security team will arrive in Baltimore long before you get there to plan and make sure you’re secure. We’ve chosen a site with no rooftop access that could be used by snipers. We’re going to put you in a thirty-one-car motorcade. That will include local police escorts, a car for your personal physician, a communications van, a disguised ambulance, and a SWAT truck bearing a full-scale counterassault team. Just let them try to start shooting like they did in Oklahoma City. First second these guys hear a gunshot, the shooter will be a dead man.”

“How can you be sure of that?” Salter asked, obviously skeptical. “The communications array will be scanning the area constantly. Its sensors are trained to immediately track any gunshot to its source. We’ll radio the information to the SWAT team, who will be equipped with long-range laser-tracking rifles. Plus the men are all crack shots. Like I said, even assuming a killer could somehow penetrate our defense perimeter, which is impossible, a shooter could get off one shot at best. Then he’s dead. Period.”

“Well, I like the sound of that,” the president said dryly.

“We will have three Cadillacs just like yours. The decoys will carry additional Secret Service agents to the site. Yours will also be full of agents, so the three will be indistinguishable to potential snipers. All roads from the airport to the speaking site will be cleared and sealed off, well in advance of your arrival.”

“How many men are involved in this operation?” Muldoon asked, an eyebrow raised.

“Enough,” Gatwick said curtly. Apparently Muldoon didn’t scare him, the president noted, and he knew he didn’t have to take any grief from a deputy director. “Max, why don’t you tell the president what happens when he arrives?”

“Sure.” Zimmer scooted forward on the sofa. He was doing his best to make it appear that there were no conflicts between him and his fellow agent. But they both knew better, didn’t they? “Once The Beast arrives at the speaking site, it will park at a predetermined location that has completely unblocked exit points. In fact, we have secured three such points, and the decision as to which one you will actually park at will not be made until minutes before your arrival, so even if—” He broke off. “Just in case.”

Nice one. But the president knew well what he meant to say. So even if there is a security leak, and even if it turns out to be from within the Secret Service, no one can reveal the debarkation point much in advance—because it simply will not have been chosen yet.

“You will enter stage left and leave the same way. More than a dozen agents will be discreetly deployed but nonetheless able to reach you in under two seconds. Your physician will also be close by. The podium you speak from—the Blue Goose—is both bulletproof and bomb resistant. Countersnipers will be concealed in the nearby treetops. The kill zone—pardon the expression, sir—will be scrupulously covered at all times. The crowd will be searched and forced to pass through metal detectors. Psych experts will scan the crowd using closed-circuit monitors, watching for any indicators of possible trouble. Aberrant or suspicious behavior. Faces will be scanned and run through the FBI database.” He took a deep breath. “Let me assure you, Mr. President, that we are taking every possible precaution and then some. There will not be a repeat of April nineteenth. It simply will not be possible.”

The president nodded. “How will you secure the receiving line?”

Zimmer and Gatwick exchanged a glance. “No receiving line, sir.”

“What? I’ve got to shake some hands. It’s what I do.”

“Not this time, sir.”

“If I left it to you people, I’d never shake anyone’s hand.”

“True enough, sir. But on this occasion, so soon after the previous attack, and with the nation feeling vulnerable—it’s out of the question.”

The president frowned. “I don’t like it.” Pause. “But I suppose I can live with it.”

He could immediately see the relief on the Secret Service faces. He knew they wouldn’t allow it, but he wanted them to sweat a little, just the same. Wouldn’t do for the Secret Service to get the idea they could tell the president what to do. Even though they pretty much could.

“Let me just say again,” Salter interjected, “that I find this whole plan unduly risky. Doesn’t matter what these people do. There’s always a chance that a determined killer might slip through the cracks.”

“Now you’re just being paranoid,” Lehman said, shaking his head. “Get a testosterone injection already.”

“This isn’t about showing who can be the cockiest badass in the federal government,” Salter said. “It’s about protecting the President of the United States. Sir, I ask you again. Please. Don’t do this.”

“For once, I actually agree with Agent Salter,” Muldoon said. “Perhaps this would be best postponed to a calmer time.”

“Not an option,” the president replied. “My advisors don’t share your confidence regarding the passage of this amendment in the Senate. I have to get out there and stump. Stir up enough public support that those congressional toadies can’t say no to me. Understand? So work together, people, and make it safe. We’re going to do this. Let’s make sure we do it right.”

He hoped he had been firm enough. He knew they thought this was a crazy, dangerous scheme. Didn’t matter. He had to do it. He saw everything so much more clearly now. This would be his legacy, what he would be remembered for. The Emily Amendment, that’s what future generations would call it. It would become his greatest achievement and his wife’s living memorial.

Emily would like that. Wouldn’t she?

Maybe he had failed her on April 19, maybe he had failed her even before that as a husband, but now, finally, he could give her what she deserved. And if that meant taking a few risks—

So be it. Emily had never been afraid to take risks, even some that broke his heart. But she was fearless. He would follow her example. He would get this amendment passed. And God help anyone who tried to stand in his way.