Protect and Defend (71 page)

“How many now? Seven?”

“Six. He thinks we’ve got the other thirty-nine. He also thinks Mac’s still stuck at forty-seven.”

“Including Palmer and Jarman?”

“Yes. But Palmer won’t actively help Gage, and Vic Coletti says Kate isn’t happy where she is. So we maybe could still flip her.”

“If
we
know that,” Kerry answered, “so does Gage.”

With that, Kerry fell silent, thoughtful. He remained at his desk, chin propped in his hand, almost forgetting that Clayton was there.

At length, Clayton ventured, “You’re thinking Gage might try a filibuster.”

Kerry looked up. “Yes,” he acknowledged. “It’s never been done that
I
know of. But neither was trying to kill a Supreme Court nomination in committee, and Gage nearly pulled
that
off.

“Gage may still worry he can’t dig up the four more votes he needs to get to fifty-one. All he’d need to sustain a filibuster
is forty-one
, and the willingness—or desperation—to sink the knife between her shoulder blades himself.”

Clayton shoved his hands in his pockets. “A lot could depend on Palmer.”

Kerry did not need to mention to whom he owed Chad Palmer’s distrust. Tersely, he answered, “I’ll call him. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to hear from me.”

“T
O START
,” the President told Chad Palmer, “I wanted to say thanks. You could have killed her in committee.”

“Not easily.” Palmer’s tone was cool. “Harshman’s main reason—the daughter—was something
I
knew from the beginning. If I didn’t think it disqualified her before, I can’t very well say that now, can I?”

The implicit accusation suggested that Kerry had ordered the leak, making Chad’s position untenable. But it was also self-deprecating: within his own party, the best thing for Chad would have been to go along. “Whatever the reason,” Kerry answered, “I understand you have to oppose her, at least as a formal matter. But I’m wondering how far you mean to go.”

“I mean to vote against her—period. I’ve said that.” Chad paused, then asked bluntly, “What is it you want, Mr. President?”

“Not me—Gage. He asked to see me.”

“So your press people made clear. And?”

“He’s getting a little anxious, I think.” Kerry paused, then decided on frankness. “I know you’re pretty well hemmed in, Chad, and I think Gage is about to make things worse. I thought you should know.”

*  *  *

“We’ve done our part,” Barry Saunders told Gage. “We’ve taken on the Tierney case, raised three million dollars in a month, and put up TV spots opposing Masters for almost two weeks. That on top of giving over two million to your party in the last presidential campaign. We wonder what we’re getting for it.”

Sitting to one side, Mace Taylor looked from Saunders to Gage. The counsel for the Christian Commitment had demanded a meeting, and Taylor had arranged it; now the lobbyist’s glance at Gage conveyed a warning—with respect to Caroline Masters, both men needed to come through. But Gage felt resistant; the President seemed to have darkened his mood.

“What you got for it,” Gage answered, “is Kilcannon. He uses you as a foil. You should have heard him today—you’d better pray we win next time, or you’ve really got some problems.” He paused, choosing a more ingratiating tone. “Believe me, Barry, we’re grateful for all your help. We need it. But if we’re to realize our agenda—
your
agenda—we can’t look like you’re handing us our lines on marble tablets. That can cost us votes.”

Saunders pursed his lips in disappointment, his shrewd eyes fixed on Gage. “You’re sounding like Senator Palmer, Mac. You really are.”

It was time to remind this man, Gage thought, how limited the Commitment’s choices were. “If I were Palmer, you wouldn’t be sitting here. At best, Chad has granted God diplomatic relations—He’s fine as long as He knows His place. Chad feels somewhat less enthused about you.”

Saunders gave the smile of a poker player in a two-man game. “When we go looking for a president, it won’t be Palmer. We were sort of hoping it’d be you.”

“So was I,” Gage said comfortably. “So was I …”

“We can’t have this woman,” Saunders said abruptly. “Not only did she undo all our work in the Tierney case, but she’ll clearly favor this campaign finance reform Palmer and Kilcannon love so much. It would keep us from being players—
and
from helping you.” Abruptly, Saunders snapped his fingers. “Those millions you’ll be wanting next time? Up in smoke.”

Gage felt something—pride, or caution—keep him from
delivering the answer which Saunders was expecting. Taylor gave him a puzzled glance, then said soothingly to Saunders, “Mac has a plan.”

With reluctance, Gage said, “I’m looking at a filibuster. All we’d need to keep Masters from coming to a vote is forty-one determined senators refusing to close debate.” He paused for emphasis. “But that’s a far riskier vote, Barry, than just saying you’re against her.”

Saunders considered this. “Undemocratic, you mean.”

“The
Senate’s
undemocratic,” Taylor rejoined. “That’s the beauty of Mac’s leadership position. All he has to say is that the Senate’s ‘working its will.’”

Though directed at Saunders, Taylor’s remark, Gage knew, was intended to prod him. “Except that,” Gage amended, “the Senate’s never ‘worked its will’ on a Supreme Court nominee in this particular fashion.”

Seemingly dissatisfied, Saunders glanced at Taylor. “I’m sure Paul Harshman would be willing to step up to the plate.”

“Sure he would,” Gage said. “And that’s precisely what Kilcannon wants. Paul has his virtues, but he’s far too easy to caricature. That’s not the image we need to put forth.” His voice grew firm. “I’m with you, Barry. I want her gone. But we have to do it just right.”

“Sometimes,” Saunders replied with equal conviction, “you just have to do it—period. You can’t treat us like some girl you’re seeing on the sly.

“You’re still not sure about your fifty-one. So go make sure about your forty-one. That’s ten votes easier.” Saunders’s voice abruptly lowered. “Don’t lose this one on us. Our people vote,
and
give you money. You can’t win without us.”

“Or with you,” Gage said gently, “if Kilcannon has his way. So where will you go, if not to us?” He raised a hand, forestalling an answer. “We’re all together here, my friend. It’s just a matter of approach.”

Saunders stared at him, unmollified. “Maybe Kilcannon thinks Paul’s amusing,” Taylor said to Gage. “But he wouldn’t laugh if Palmer were out front, would he?”

As Taylor had surely intended, Gage felt his freedom of action slipping away. The Christian Commitment wanted his pledge to defeat Masters by any means at hand; Taylor wanted
a final reason to destroy Chad Palmer as a future candidate for President. And as wary as all this made him, both men spoke to Gage’s first ambition—to secure his party’s nomination, and run against Kerry Kilcannon.

“We’ll find a way,” Gage told both men. “The first thing is talk to Palmer.”

Even as the meeting began, Mac Gage sensed that he would look back on it as a symbolic turning point—though symbolic of what, he was not sure.

It was late afternoon, and the half-drawn curtains in Palmer’s office admitted thin rays of pale sunlight, turning his yellow walls a muted gold. Palmer greeted him pleasantly, if cautiously; Gage’s eyes were drawn to the photograph on his desk, Chad and Kyle Palmer smiling at each other. If only our lives were as simple as we pretend, Gage mused; even in his own family, the most fortunate and upright, his fourteen-year-old granddaughter was experimenting with drugs and alcohol. Yet this was all the more reason, Gage affirmed to himself, for those in power—whether senators or parents—to draw lines.

But his mood, despite the tension, was also faintly elegiac. In this spirit, he stopped to examine his colleague, his rival. For all that he had been through, the years seemed to have touched Chad Palmer little: he was still trim, blond, blue-eyed—the golden boy, as youthful and as lucky as the country which he served. Except in the shadows of his family: perhaps it was this that accounted for the reserve with which Chad—who usually treated the most difficult moments with at least a show of blitheness—had greeted him.

“So,” Chad said at length. “Masters.”

“Yes. Does it sometimes feel to you, Chad, like Caroline Masters has always been with us?”

Chad smiled in acknowledgment. “She’s made quite an impact on us all, in a few short weeks.” His voice turned dry. “Of course a bit of that’s my doing.”

Equably, Gage nodded. “A lot of it, Chad. With a considerable assist from the President.”

Chad shrugged. “Our entente cordiale—if that’s what you’d call it—has expired. I opposed killing her in committee
because I think it’s wrong. But I’m voting against her on the floor.”

This much Gage knew—and therefore, he supposed, was Palmer’s way of sparring. He sensed this visit was no surprise, that Palmer had anticipated him. Quietly, he said, “I’d like your help, Chad. Beyond that.”

Chad’s lips formed another smile which did not reach his eyes. “A fiery speech?”

Gage prepared himself. “Yes. Against a cloture motion. I want you to help me round up the forty-one votes we need to maintain a filibuster.”

To Gage’s surprise, Chad laughed aloud. “A filibuster,” he said. “Our new president is such a clever boy.”

Gage felt mild alarm. “In what way?”

“He called a while ago. Predicted, in fact, that you’d be coming around to see me on this very subject.” The transient breeziness in Palmer’s manner yielded to seriousness. “Remember at the beginning of all this, when I told you not to underestimate him? It’s all coming true.”

Gage fought back his alarm. “Specifically,” he answered in his most pleasant tone, “you predicted this town would end up littered with the bodies of folks who’d underrated him. I’m afraid I didn’t take your warning for the kindness that it was.” Gage paused, taking the smallest sip of the bourbon Palmer had poured him—it would not do to dull his wits. “What else did Kilcannon say?”

“That it’s never been done. That if we take her down with a minority, we’ll look like tools of the far right. That he’ll say every vote against cloture is a vote
for
Masters, and that we’ve kept a nominee supported by a majority of senators from having a vote …”

“That’s rhetoric. We’ll all survive that.”

“He also said that two can play—that with forty-five Democrats in the Senate he can filibuster anything we want to pass. That presidential vetoes will start falling like autumn leaves. In other words, that he’ll use the power of his office to fuck you.”

Palmer sat back. “On a somewhat higher plane, he warned that you’ll set a precedent for
future
Supreme Court nominations by Republicans. Specifically, that you’d ‘reduce the Senate to a Hobbesian state of nature.’”

Palmer’s tone, Gage noted, was dispassionate, neutral. “Do you agree with that?” he asked.

“Some of it.”

“Enough to oppose our filibuster?”

Chad placed his palms on his desk, bending forward to look into Gage’s eyes. “Mac,” he began, “years ago, we let people like the Christian Commitment in the tent. We never thought they’d
own
the tent. Now they do, or think they do.

“Politics requires compromise, a messy process conducted to achieve a common good. But
their
belief system precludes compromise, and it’s changed our party for the worse.”

Palmer, Gage realized with alarm, was speaking from the heart. “I know you think I’m pious,” Chad continued, “a self-anointed truth-teller. But I honestly believe what’s bad for our country can’t, in the long run, be good for us.

“Some moments are defining, Mac. This is one.
How
we defeat Caroline Masters—if we do—is more important than
that
we defeat her.

“Maybe I’ll make the religious right unhappy. Maybe they’ll keep me from becoming President.” Briefly, Palmer smiled. “If so, it would be a damned shame for America. But at least I can respect myself.

“What about you, Mac? Is that kind of Faustian bargain worth it to you?” Palmer’s tone was even. “As you recently pointed out to me, we’re not friends. We both want the same job, and have different views of how to get it. But, at bottom, I have too much respect for you to think you want to sell your soul to them. Or won’t regret it if you do.”

It took a while for Gage to respond; he was restrained by a sense of foreboding, combined with the knowledge that—although Gage believed it too simplistic—Palmer’s view of the world contained a core of truth. “So,” Gage compelled himself to say, “to be clear about your position …”

Palmer looked disappointed, then resigned. “I’ll oppose her. But I won’t support a filibuster. We beat Masters straight up, or not at all.”

Gage folded his hands. He had never liked Palmer, and did not care for him now. Nor was he squeamish about the requirements of political life. But in this moment, he felt regret, and something akin to desperation.

Softly, he said, “Get out of the way, Chad. For your own sake.”

For an instant Palmer seemed startled, and just as quickly recovered. “Are you telling me something, Mac?”

For a moment as fleeting as Palmer’s alarm, Gage considered telling him the truth, then realized he never could. “No,” he answered. “Nothing you don’t already know.”

T
HE
P
RESIDENT
’
S
day was tightly scheduled—telephone calls to senators, a speech to a lawyers’ group on the Masters nomination, a strategy meeting with Chuck Hampton—and the last-minute intrusion annoyed him almost as much as its source. With repressed impatience, he said to Katherine Jones, “Clayton tells me this concerns the Masters nomination. And that it’s important.”

Jones nodded brusquely. “Not just important. Critical.”

The touch of self-importance irked Kerry further. Of the major pro-choice leaders, women whom Kerry generally admired, Jones was the only one he disliked. She reminded him of a Buddha without the compassion: gimlet-eyed, heavy-lipped, and self-satisfied, with a mindset so adamant that Kerry found it counterproductive. Her militant group, Anthony’s Legions, had demonstrated against Kerry in the primaries, and though he could not prove it, he believed Jones was personally responsible for spreading rumors about his relationship with Lara Costello. Their truce since then had been, at best, uneasy. Only her urgent request that they meet alone, and his knowledge she would not lightly exhaust her limited chances for a private hearing—gained solely through her support of Caroline Masters—had secured her this appointment.