Protect and Defend (62 page)

Adams hesitated briefly. “Yes.”

Kerry began to pace. The sunny morning, casting light on the White House lawn, seemed deceptively mild; any misstep might dwarf the bitter controversy already surrounding Caroline Masters. “I did know,” he said simply. “Judge Masters told me, before I nominated her. When I decided to proceed, she asked me to protect Brett Allen.

“She acted with complete integrity. And I agreed that this was private, completely irrelevant to her fitness to be Chief Justice. I still do.” Kerry’s voice, though quiet, was forceful. “So if the idea that she deceived me is your rationale for damaging her—or her daughter—you’ll have to find another one.”

“There’s
also
Senator Palmer, Mr. President.”

It was unraveling quickly, Kerry thought. “What about him?”

“According to our sources on the committee staff, he restricted access to the files. No one saw the memo.”

Which implied, Kerry thought, that the source was not the staff; if so, the FBI was among the dwindling possibilities. “What difference does it make?”

“A big difference,” Adams retorted. “Because it suggests that
Palmer
knew as well. Perhaps, like you, before the FBI found out. Perhaps because you told him.”

Kerry felt a rising dismay—he did not want Chad dragged into this. “What’s your point, Julia? That Chad Palmer’s a decent man? That’s hardly breaking news.”

“No. But it
is
news when a Democratic president and a potential Republican nominee agree to withhold from the Judiciary Committee information that many other senators would find relevant. To say the least.”

Kerry strained for a tone of patience. “I can’t speak for Senator Palmer, even off the record. What does
he
have to say?”

Adams hesitated. “We haven’t reached him yet.”

“Then let
me
suggest another way of looking at this. You’re implying that, somehow, Chad Palmer ‘conspired’ with me to suppress something—which makes that ‘something’ news. But does it matter to you
what
we were supposedly suppressing, or whom it hurts if you report it?” Kerry’s voice became sharp. “It’s become far too easy for the media to find some reason to expose a public person’s private life. This ‘conspiracy’ you imagine is a rear-guard action against indecency—in this case, yours.”

“Mr. President,” Adams said with unwonted sharpness, “are you telling me that this story doesn’t serve your political interests?”

The first seeds of suspicion began to grow in Kerry’s mind. “If I wanted to leak this,” he rejoined, “why would I ask you not to run it?”

At this, Adams laughed. “Perhaps because you’re right about us. You already know we will.”

“Fuck,” Chad Palmer murmured into the telephone.

“The FBI,” Kerry told him. “Who else could have done this?”

“Who else?” Chad responded coolly. “Anyone who knew.”

Once more, Kerry felt unsettled. “It sure as hell wasn’t me.”

“Then take her down, dammit. That’s the only way to kill this story.”

Kerry stared out the window. “It’s already too late to kill it, I’m convinced. And withdrawing her would look like I was caving in to the forces of reaction.”

“We surely can’t have
that
,” Chad retorted. “So instead you’ll hang me out to dry—the pro-life senator who conspired with the Antichrist. Which might also serve your long-term interests.”

Torn between defensiveness and regret, Kerry hesitated. “I didn’t give you up,” he insisted. “The
Times
doesn’t even know we talked.”

“Don’t they? Doesn’t it strike you that they’re awfully well informed?” Chad’s voice became flat. “I’m not going to lie to them. And it would be stupid to try.”

Kerry reflected. Chad Palmer was a resilient man, both confident and fatalistic, but today he seemed weary. “Not everyone in your party,” Kerry told him, “will want to pillory her for
this
.”

“No,” Chad snapped. “They’ll pillory
me
, if Mac Gage has his way. I’ve betrayed our brotherhood for a libidinous pro-abortionist. Speaking of whom, Mr. President, is
she
prepared to go through this?”

“We’re trying to reach her at home. No one answers.”

“I wonder why.” Pausing, Chad’s tone combined resolve with resignation. “Time for me to face the firing squad. But you’d do yourself a favor by arranging one for
her
. Because the only way for me to atone for my sins is by helping Gage defeat you.”

This was what Kerry had feared. “I understand,” he said. “But let’s see how it looks when this is out.”

“I know how it’ll look,” Chad said with a trace of bitterness. “What I don’t know yet is who leaked it.”

Before Kerry could respond, Clayton walked into his office. “Masters,” he mouthed, “line two.”

“She’s on the other line,” Kerry told Chad. “I’d better go.”

“So should she,” Chad answered crisply, and hung up.

Kerry pushed the flashing button. “Caroline?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. President.” Caroline’s voice was arid. “But I’ll have to call you back. Right now I’m talking to my daughter.”

C
AROLINE HAD
imagined this moment a thousand times— with dread, hope, despair. But what she had not appreciated was the depth of her inadequacy.

“Are you my mother?” Brett asked.

“Yes,” Caroline said softly. “I am.”

Brett sounded stunned, as though awaking to her feelings of confusion and betrayal. “When they told me, I knew it must be true. It explained so much about both of you. But I didn’t even know who to call—you, or Betty.” Her voice turned quietly bitter. “You remember her, ‘Aunt Caroline.’ The woman formerly known as Mom.”

On the other end, Caroline closed her eyes. “I’m sorry …”

“
Sorry
.” Brett’s voice tremored with emotion. “I’ve just found out the basis of my entire life—twenty-seven years—is a lie. That my father isn’t my father …”

“He was
dead
, Brett. Before you were even born …”

“My mother is my aunt, my aunt’s my mother, and the three of you cooked up this Gothic nightmare and then lied and lied and lied to me.” Brett stopped—holding back tears, Caroline guessed. “I had to hear the truth from some reporter. Why didn’t any of you respect me enough to tell me?”

Through her grief and shame, Caroline felt a deep anger toward the unknown person who had called the
Times
. “Sometimes I wanted to …”

“Sometimes? I didn’t even see you for twenty
years
.”

“You already
had
a mother. And a father.” Caroline stopped, feeling anew the anguish of her sacrifice. “Giving you up was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I couldn’t trust myself to see you and not
want
you, couldn’t trust myself not to tell you. I never imagined that the
New York Times
would do it for me.”
Fighting her own bitterness, Caroline felt it turn back on herself. “I was selfish,” she finished. “As selfish as trying for the Court, knowing this might happen.”

“But you
did
try.” Her daughter’s voice betrayed a quiet anger. “It’s why they’ve done this to me, isn’t it.”

“Yes.”

“So what do
you
plan to do, Caroline? Now that our mutated ‘family tree’ is public knowledge.”

Caroline paused, trying to pick through the maelstrom of her own emotions. Her dream of becoming Chief Justice, she acknowledged bleakly, was so strong that even this act of cruelty had not quite killed it. But she did not want Brett dragged through this battle any further. “Of all the things I’ve thought about,” she answered, “that hasn’t been one. I expect I should withdraw …”

“Why?” Brett asked sharply. “For me? Haven’t you ‘protected’ me enough?”

Caroline flinched. “It’s not just you, Brett. There are a lot of reasons. They’ll accuse me of dishonesty—”

“Then that’s
your
problem,” Brett interrupted. “But it’s a little late to be worrying about
my
feelings, isn’t it?

“You wanted this, Caroline. Whatever you are to me, and whatever else you’ve done, I’m here because you also wanted me.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to unravel this. But I refuse—absolutely refuse—to be any part of the reason that the people who hate you drive you out. That would be no help to me.”

Caroline felt twenty-seven years of blocked emotion breaking loose inside her, as palpable as her need to cry alone.

“I love you,” she managed to tell her daughter. “I always have. But you really should call your mother …”

“Sit down,” the President said coldly.

Eyes vigilant and wary, his oldest friend sat across from him, saying nothing.

“Are
you
going to try to tell me,” Kerry asked, “that the FBI leaked this to the
Times
?”

Clayton’s own gaze did not waiver. “That’s not a question you should be asking, Mr. President. You might become responsible for knowing the answer.”

At once, Kerry understood the reporter’s skepticism, her inference that he was playing a cynical game. His feelings of anger and betrayal made it difficult to speak. “Don’t you see what’s been done to these people—
all
of them?”

“Fuck these people.” Clayton’s words, though harsh in content, were spoken in a monotone. “This isn’t about Caroline Masters—or Chad Palmer. It’s about whether you succeed.”

Kerry felt comprehension seep through his outrage. “So I’m like King Henry in
Becket
, saying
‘Can no one rid me of this meddlesome priest?’
Is
that
your excuse?”

Still Clayton did not flinch. “Not quite.”

“Well it damned well better not be. When did you reinvent me as some palace plotter, giving cues with winks and nods.” Kerry’s voice became caustic. “English isn’t my second language. If I’d wanted to screw Palmer, Masters, and the daughter, I’d have said that flat out. Or I’d be telling you now to find out whoever leaked this, and cut his throat.”

Clayton looked down, then faced the President again. “Do you want to consider the benefits? Or don’t they matter now?”

“‘Benefits,’” Kerry repeated softly. “What might they be?”

“Start with this—the daughter you were hiding is the best thing you’ve got going for you.” Clayton smiled with a certain grimness. “Disclosing Brett Allen turns Masters from a closet lesbian into an object of sympathy—a woman who chose to bear a child rather than abort it, then gave it a loving family which included her own sister.

“If Gage goes after her for that, he steps on his own propaganda—not to mention his own biography. And the professional pro-lifers won’t know
what
to say.
You’ve
always seen that.” Clayton’s gaze was steady. “There might be other reasons, too. But they’d be even harder for you to talk about. Or act on.”

Kerry propped his chin in a cupped hand. “I’m still listening,” he said.

“The right wing has its dirt now—the secret daughter. They’ll be distracted, trying to figure out how to play it.” Leaning forward, Clayton spoke intently. “Without a diversion—and with abortion as their line of attack on Masters— it’s far more likely they’d dig up the truth about Lara. And
ruin you
.”

“So Caroline,” Kerry said with disgust, “has become my shit-shield …”

“Not just a shield. A weapon.” Clayton’s tone was cool. “With Masters a much less plausible lesbian, Gage will be forced to argue that she’s a liar, and that protecting her child—twice—disqualifies her for the court. Which in terms of Christian charity is distinctly unappealing.

“And who’s the real embodiment of Christian ideals—her defender, the advocate of compassion, adoption, and family values in the truest sense?
You
.” Irony entered Clayton’s tone. “
You
protect her from this right-wing vendetta.
You
draw the line against trashing the private lives of public figures.
You
call on the righteous outrage of the American public against those who’d use a youthful indiscretion to destroy a decent woman.” Pausing, Clayton looked at Kerry intently. “In the process, you inoculate yourself against an attack on Lara. The American people are far more forgiving than a Mace Taylor or Macdonald Gage—after
this
, they’ll be sick of dirt and dirtmongers.”

Kerry stared at him. “And everyone will think Gage and his friends leaked this. While I just sit back and enjoy the joke. Not just on Mac, but Palmer.”

“I know you’d never do this,” Clayton said. “But as matters stand, Palmer will have to agree with you that private lives should be private—he committed himself when he agreed to sit on Masters’s secret. And with Masters and her daughter as the victims of reactionary viciousness, you’ve
still
got a chance to get her on the Court.

“You’ll have to be careful about how you play this, of course—
if
, as you believe, the leak came from inside the White House, the
Times
might reveal their source if you
then
suggest this came from Masters’s opponents.

“But if you end up taking the hit for this leak yourself— and if you go around asking questions, you may well—you lose to Macdonald Gage. And perhaps lose everything.”

It was as cold-minded an analysis as Kerry could imagine, and it was absolutely right. Unless Kerry paid more dearly than his presidency could afford, his closest friend had imprisoned him in a strategy as amoral as it was shrewd. And, for that, the two of them would never be the same.

Watching, Clayton seemed to sense this. “I know you, Kerry,” he said with an air of fatalism. “If you decide to, you can turn this into magic. But if you want to hold someone here responsible, I’ll resign. That risk goes with my job.”

A complex of emotions—hurt, rage, a sheer, appalled astonishment at his friend’s presumption—overcame the President. “Because you can’t trust me on my own, is that it? I’m not quite up to the job without you to sell my soul for me.” Circling his desk, Kerry stood over his Chief of Staff. “Who in hell do you think you are—or I am. What kind of role reversal makes me your fucking ward. And what kind of president accepts that.