The Election Heist

by Kenneth R. Timmerman

  “What possible justification could he have for doing that?” Granger asked.

  “Apparently some kid with the State board of elections did a test run on one precinct using a tabulator from Carroll County. The results were completely upside-down.”

  “On whose authority? The state supervisor?”

  “No, I just called her. Lisa Rasmussen says it’s a firing offense. He just went ahead and did it without asking. But if she fires him now, the optics won’t look good.”

  “I hope you got some of our money left over in your campaign account,” Granger said. “Because you’re going to need it. I’m going to send you Harvey Simon. He’s one of the best election lawyers we’ve got. You’re going to need him. And he’s not cheap.”

  “He’s holding a press conference at 5:00 PM.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “My opponent.”

  “Well, let’s make sure we have a lot of friendlies in the crowd who are well-briefed on Maryland election law. I’m going to call Harvey now and tell him you’ll be calling him in five minutes. Your future depends on this, Hugh-boy.”

  Granger maintained his composure long enough to call Harvey Simon and briefly explain the situation. He had to do everything—whatever it took—to prevent the recount in the Maryland congressional race. Yes, this was more important than Florida, at least for now. No, the retainer would not be coming from the presidential recount fund but directly from McKenzie’s campaign.

  And then he exploded. He threw his phone against the sofa and started pounding a fist against the coffee table until it jumped across the rug. Damn Bellinger! They were all going to jail because of him. If he hadn’t had a soft spot for that pathetic excuse of a congressman from suburban Maryland, none of this would be happening.

  But Granger was not one to wallow in a dark mood. He poured himself two fingers of Maker’s Mark, no ice, and as he sipped the whiskey, he knew that Navid would have a solution. He couldn’t possibly have left traces in Maryland that would point to the national campaign. Those were the orders: no fingerprints.

  50

  Granger was getting a live feed of the Aguilar press conference from one of Harvey Simon’s attorneys jammed in with the crowd outside the Montgomery County board of elections in Gaithersburg. It was a low brick building, set on a hill, so Aguilar stood naturally higher than the reporters in the parking lot. Simon and his team had worked hard over the past few hours, Granger could see. These reporters were loaded for bear.

  “Mr. Aguilar!” the Washington Post’s Darcy Macintosh called out. She was a lamp post of a woman, with a head of long dark curls dripping with grey. But because she was from the Post, the local reporters deferred to her. “Mr. Aguilar, what legal basis do you have for calling on the county board to do a recount?”

  Aguilar exchanged a glance with AB, who had already briefed him on what to expect. “As I set out in my prepared statement, Darcy, State election law does not specify which contest shall be audited, nor does it establish any timetable for the audit, except that it must be completed within 120 days of the election.”

  The reporter had expected this. “Section 11-309 of the Election Law Article, sir, sets out parameters for a two percent state-wide audit and gives specific instructions for how one precinct from each county is to be selected at random.”

  “I will defer to my attorney for a specific answer to your question—that was a question, wasn’t it, Darcy?” he said. The local reporters who had been following the race for the past three months laughed. “But let me just point out that in the Wheaton precinct where the paper ballots were recounted by a clean tabulator—”

  “—Are you saying that the tabulators used on election night were somehow tainted?”

  Aguilar nodded to Gail Copeland, a Frederick County attorney who volunteered with the Republican Lawyers Association and had immediately answered Aguilar’s call for help over the weekend. Granger thought he detected a smirk on the face of the Hispanic businessman. Did he know something?

  “We cannot draw any conclusions at this point about the accuracy of the precinct tabulators used for the election night count,” she said. “That is precisely what the audit will determine. As for Section 11-309 of the Election Law article, you are correct: It sets out parameters for a state-wide audit, not for the purpose of determining the accuracy of the election night vote count, but merely to determine in general the accuracy of the new voting machines. It passed the General Assembly during the 2018 session amid widespread misgivings about the new machines. We do not base our request on 11-309 but on Section 11-307, which states—”

  She pulled up the reading glasses suspended around her neck and opened her binder.

  “‘If a board of canvassers determines that there appears to be an error in the documents or records produced at the polling place following an election, then it immediately shall investigate the matter to ascertain whether the records or documents are correct.’”

  What the FGB Duck was that? Granger wondered. It sounded like an open door for McKenzie’s opponent to do whatever he liked with the recount. Surely Harvey Simon’s people had thought of that, no?

  “We assert that the results of the verification audit conducted on the paper ballots cast in Precinct 13-44, which is Arcola Elementary School, demonstrate in and of themselves that there ‘appears to be an error’ in the election night results,” Copeland went on.

  Aguilar called on a tall male reporter in the back who was holding a legal pad.

  “Clifford Lucas, Mr. Aguilar, of the Legal Times.”

  “Please go ahead, Cliff,” Aguilar said.

  “I think, sir, my questions are more appropriately addressed to Ms. Copeland, if you don’t object.”

  Atta boy, Granger murmured. He could detect the not-so-subtle hand of Harvey Simon and his team.

  “Ms. Copeland, you say you are basing your petition on 11-307 of the Election Law article.”

  “That’s correct,” she said. “We also note that Section 2-202(b)(8) empowers the County boards to ‘make determinations and hear and decide challenges and appeals as provided by law.’ So we have addressed our appeal to the Montgomery County board.”

  “Well that gets to my question,” Lucas went on. “As provided by law—in this case, Section 2-301(6)(b)(1), subparagraph ii—no employee of the state board of elections shall ‘use the individual’s official authority for the purpose of influencing or affecting the result of an election.’ Isn’t that precisely what the employee who conducted the unauthorized audit of the Wheaton precinct did? Used his official authority to affect the result of an election?”

  Brilliant, Harvey. Absolutely brilliant, Granger thought. Attack the messenger, discredit the message.

  Aguilar chuckled. “Good thing you work for the Legal Times, Cliff, and not the Post. I have a hard enough time reading the Post as it is. Gail?”

  She was scribbling something in her binder and didn’t join in his mirth.

  “Once again, we assert that the result of the initial precinct audit speaks for itself, and no attempt to discredit the manner in which the audit was conducted, or by whom, can erase that fact,” she said.

  “Let’s give them the actual numbers, Gail? What do you think?” Aguilar said.

  “That’s up to you, sir.”

  “On election night, that precinct was called for my opponent with 73.4 percent. When the state election board official ran the paper ballots through the clean tabulator, I won the precinct with a bit over sixty-two percent. So the real result is literally upside down from the results declared on election night. I believe the people of District 8 deserve to have their votes counted as they cast them, not as some computer software made them appear.”

  The actual numbers got the reporters humming, and they pulled out cell phones and started frantically calling their news desks to report. The press conference had
ended. Aguilar was ecstatic.

  “Gail, you did it!” he said.

  “It’s only beginning, sir. And you can bet they’re going to oppose us every step of the way.”

  “Hey, where’s my cocodrilo?”

  They looked around and couldn’t find the Crocodile. At some point, he must have tucked in his head and sunk away in the crowd.

  “Strange,” Aguilar said. “Just when we are getting traction, our Crocodile disappears.”

  Later, as they were preparing to leave, Annie drew the attorney off to the side and cupped her hand over her lips in case anyone was watching.

  “Do you think Gordon is in trouble for having conducted that audit?”

  Gail shrugged. “Too early to tell. We’ll have to see how dirty they want to play,” she said.

  51

  The next morning, Tuesday, a brilliant autumn sun licked the skies over the Atlantic with streaks of fire that woke Granger in his top floor suite even through the black-out curtains. He had barely finished shaving when his phone rang. It was Chuck Myers, the lead attorney for the Florida certification effort.

  “Are you watching the morning news?”

  Granger groaned. “It’s barely 7:00 AM.”

  “Turn it on,” Myers said.

  “Any particular channel?”

  “Unfortunately, no.”

  He went out to the sitting area and turned on the remote. It was still set to MSNBC, and host Sondra Veil was interviewing the local NBC affiliate reporter after her stand-up in front of the state election office in Tallahassee.

  “So what does this recount mean, Krissie?” she asked.

  “Well, it’s too early to know what they will find when they actually examine the paper ballots. But I can tell you, the Tomlinson team is absolutely steamed. They are doing everything they can to shut this down, Sondra.”

  “I sure hope you are,” Granger said into the phone. “What recount?”

  “The Nassau and Okaloosa County supervisors of elections filed notice about a half hour ago that they would be doing a recount of the paper ballots. The law requires a forty-eight-hour notice, so we’re looking at Thursday morning,” Myers said.

  “Isn’t that bumping up to the deadline to certify the vote?”

  “Thursday is nine days after the election. By law, the counties have until noon on the twelfth day to certify their results. That’s Sunday.”

  “If they find something—and that’s a big if—it’s going to take them all day. That only gives them three more days to do the rest of the state. Tell me that’s not possible. Right?”

  “Nassau and Okaloosa are small counties. Sixty-some thousand registered voters each. So it shouldn’t take them more than an hour. And they are heavily Republican.”

  “We didn’t win them, anyway, so why are they doing this?”

  “That is the $64 million question, Granger.”

  Why would Republican supervisors of election go through the effort, let alone the expense, to conduct a recount of paper ballots if their guy won anyway, he wondered. There could be only one reason: They suspected something.

  “Can you slow them down?”

  “By all means at our disposal.”

  “So if we make it through Sunday, we’re clear?”

  “Politically speaking, yes.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “Legally, the losing candidate can still file a petition to contest the election with the circuit court within ten days after certification by the state. But they would have to have awfully good grounds to do so. Losing by two percent statewide isn’t going to cut it with public opinion. Or the courts.”

  After a half hour of laps in the pool, and a sturdy breakfast of grits, local sausage, and eggs, Granger’s day started to look better. Harvey Simon called in from Maryland to tell him that the McKenzie campaign had just filed an injunction with the Montgomery County Circuit Court to prevent the recount of the Aguilar-McKenzie race.

  “All three judges are Democratic appointees,” he said.

  “That’s good news.”

  “It’s Maryland. We’ll get two of them.”

  “Why not all three?”

  “Because the third judge sees himself as some kind of Zorro in black robes. He actually campaigns for re-election. Styles himself as the ‘people’s advocate.’”

  “Does he have a name?”

  “Jorge Alvarez.”

  “Plus, he’s Hispanic.”

  “There’s that, but you’ll never hear me or one of my lawyers make the mistake of mentioning it. We expect him to carry the ball for Aguilar, but our two guys will win the day. We will argue that because of the intervention of the state election official, who conducted a recount of the paper ballots of a Montgomery County precinct with no representatives of the parties present, that the election results have been hopelessly tainted. Chain of custody of the ballots has been compromised. Different tabulators were used, without county certification. The official’s actions were illegal. Indeed, we will assert they constitute a felony. Our opponents will seek to convince the court that if the recount were conducted again under proper legal authority, it would achieve the same result. But we assert that this is unknowable—and irrelevant. Because the election results have been tainted, they could count them a thousand times and it wouldn’t make any difference. The county must certify the election night returns.”

  “Not bad for a lawyer,” Granger said.

  “We try,” Harvey said.

  52

  For Annie, it had been a bad day all around. It began with news of the injunction, then the 2:00 PM emergency hearing where the circuit court over-ruled their objections and, in a two to one vote, ordered Montgomery County to certify the initial results. Their hopes of getting the county board of elections to actually count the paper ballots were dwindling and would require an appeal to more Democrat-appointed judges. And now, Annie just got word from Marcie that the FBI had come to Gordon’s office in Annapolis to arrest him.

  She was distraught. She felt guilty for pushing Gordon to act on his suspicions, and now he was the one paying the price, not her.

  “We’ve got to get him out,” she said to their volunteer attorney, Gail Copeland.

  “I’d be careful about that if I was you,” the Crocodile said. “Don’t forget you’re dealing with the FBI.”

  “We should pray on it. Come on, Ken,” Aguilar said to the Crocodile. “Give me your hand. If ever we were in need of prayer, it’s now.”

  The four of them joined hands in a small circle in front of his desk.

  “Father God,” Aguilar began. “We acknowledge our smallness before you. We acknowledge that we are in your hands, and that we are but vessels of your will. Inspire our sister Gail with your holy spirit as she argues before the courts today. Give courage to our brother Gordon as he suffers oppression. Keep him strong in the knowledge that justice is not in the hands of men, but in your hands, Lord. And whatever happens, let your will be done. In the name of Jesus, savior and creator, Amen.”

  “Amen,” they joined in.

  “Do you really think God intervenes in the affairs of men?” Gail asked.

  “I do,” Aguilar said. “In big ways and in small. But especially in big.”

  “How so?”

  “Just look at us here in this room. Who would have thought that a son of immigrants would be able to raise $4.6 million on his first political race and win a seat in Congress? God has blessed me. He has blessed each of us. And so it is right that we give him thanks and praise.”

  “Gordon could use a little divine intervention right now,” Gail went on.

  “And that is why we have prayed for him. And we will keep praying for him,” Aguilar said.

  “It was a gutsy move on the part of the FBI to actually arrest him, especially on state fel
ony charges.”

  “We’ve had dealings with that particular FBI agent,” Aguilar told her. “Jim Clairborne.”

  “You mean the head of the FBI’s elections division?”

  Gail was visibly shocked. Clairborne was not some low-level agent. He was the public face of the FBI’s entire effort to reassure voters and election officials that our election systems were secure.

  “That’s him.”

  “And he’s actually going out in the field to make an arrest, not handing that off to one of his squads?”

  “From what Gordon told his mom, yes,” Annie said.

  “Wow. That’s kind of like Peter Strzok going to the White House in person to interview Mike Flynn in January 2017. Line agents should have conducted that interview, not a supervisor.”

  “What do you mean?” Annie asked.

  “Look, when the FBI is doing its job, it’s got thousands of employees who line up shoulder to shoulder to get it done. When someone is off the rails, or conducting political espionage, he or she flies solo or with a trusted partner in crime. I’m not a criminal defense attorney, but I know a couple we can call. I can’t imagine them being able to hold Gordon more than a day or so for arraignment. They’ll have to release him on bond.”

  “Don’t bet on that,” the Crocodile said.

  53

  At night, the Antifa thugs all looked alike. They were dressed in jeans and black hoodies and black bandannas covering their faces and had inked out any bright spots on their running shoes. They emerged out of the darkness of the giant live oak trees in knots of four or five, suddenly charging in total silence until they found their target. They first hit the broad bay windows of the Florida Chamber of Commerce, shattering them with baseball bats, then went next door and attacked the Florida Health Care Association. Another band emerged from the darkness of Kleman Plaza and swung their bats at the front window of Andrews restaurant, then ran across South Adams street and smashed shop fronts. They had reached the brick and glass-fronted FEA building when the owner of the Andrews caught up with them.