by Mark Spivak
“I’m sure you realize that an agreement with Persepostan on their nuclear program will be extraordinarily difficult to achieve. And even if we do achieve it, you’re bound to face huge hurdles in selling it to Congress.”
“David, it’s simply time for everyone to face the facts of this situation. The best way—and possibly the only way—to limit Persepostan’s ability to acquire nuclear weapons is to have a framework that allows the international community to monitor their program. We can’t continue to bomb everyone into submission. Being the world’s greatest superpower doesn’t allow us to act like a schoolyard bully. Behind the rhetoric, I suspect that Persepostan’s leaders realize they’ve painted themselves into a corner, and I believe they’ll welcome an opportunity to resolve things and restore their economy. And we know that the vast majority of the public there has nothing against the United States. The people of Persepostan want access to jobs and capital, like everyone else. They want to be able to surf the Internet, and they want to be free to express their opinions without being jailed and tortured by the secret police.”
“With all due respect, Mr. President, some of your critics think your beliefs in this area are naïve. They’re afraid that Persepostan, along with a host of other countries, will interpret your actions as weakness.”
“Negotiation isn’t weakness, David. If it fails, we still have the strongest military in the world. And the leaders of Persepostan are aware of that.”
“Even so—”
“I’ll tell you what’s ironic about this. If I announced that we were going to bomb and destroy Persepostan’s nuclear facilities—which by the way, our military experts tell me is impossible—I’d be hailed as a hero in some circles. But because I want to try and resolve the issue peacefully, if I can, some folks perceive me as weak. I’ll say it again: negotiation isn’t weakness.”
“Shifting to your domestic agenda, you’ve been very critical of the Supreme Court’s decision in the Democracy Unchained case. Many people still recall your negative reference to that ruling in your State of the Union message several years ago. Do you still harbor the hope that it may be overturned?”
“I’d call it honest and straightforward, David, rather than negative. I felt at the time that Democracy Unchained was a mistake. Along with a lot of other folks, I feel that way even more strongly today, as we see the effect that unlimited campaign contributions have had on our political system. Simply put, wealthy people shouldn’t be allowed to buy elections. I think if you spoke to some of the Supreme Court justices now, candidly and off the record, they would agree that the decision had unforeseen and unfortunate consequences. What I’d like to see is an outcome where everyone’s voice can be heard, and I’m hoping they can revisit that ruling at some point in the future.”
“Mr. President, let’s tackle perhaps the biggest domestic issue of them all: immigration. There are very few debates that are more heated in our country, and hardly any that inspire the extreme disagreements that people seem to have over illegal immigration.”
“Absolutely true.”
“Your position on this seems to have changed. Last spring, in advance of the Presidential campaign, your administration drafted the legislation now known as the Path Bill, which would create a path to citizenship for America’s nearly 11 million illegal immigrants. A number of those cynics you’re so fond of dismissed the bill at the time as an attempt to pander to the Hispanic vote, which was one of the key constituencies you needed to be reelected.”
“Much as I love my critics, David, that’s complete nonsense. As you know, the only members of the Hispanic community who can vote are the ones who are already citizens. The charge that I was pandering to that group of people to secure their votes presupposes that the entire Hispanic community supports unlimited illegal immigration, which we know is not the case. Research indicates that large segments of the Cuban and Puerto Rican communities oppose it.”
“Sir—”
“But that’s not even the point. The real issue is that we have 11 million people who are living in this country without legal status. Even if we wanted to, it wouldn’t be possible to deport all those folks—not physically, and certainly not financially. If we deported 10,000 people a day, which we can’t, it would take nearly four years and cost half a trillion dollars.”
“So it doesn’t bother you to be referred to as Khaleem Amnesty in some circles?”
“I think it’s time we stopped the name-calling and viewed this from a human perspective. Many of these 11 million people have been here for years, and some have been in the country for decades. They’ve put down roots. They’re law-abiding citizens who work hard, pay taxes, and play by the rules. Most importantly, many of them have had children who are citizens of this country. Are we going to start deporting the parents and break up families? Do we want to see these children grow up without guidance on the streets, and turn to gang membership for security? We don’t treat people like that in the United States of America. Historically, we’ve always welcomed immigrants who come here in search of a better life.”
“Most of us are descended from immigrants, Mr. President, as you and I both are. But as you know, this is a hot-button issue for many who oppose you on the other side of the political fence. Your critics would point out that our ancestors came here without breaking the law, and that present-day immigrants should be held to the same standard.”
“The Path Bill doesn’t let them off scot-free, as you know. It only provides a path to citizenship for those folks who have no criminal record, and who can prove that they have worked and paid taxes for a significant period of time. It’s not amnesty,” he said earnestly. “But if you recall, Ronald Reagan enacted legislation that did give amnesty to many people in our immigrant community, and you didn’t hear many of these same people complaining about it at the time. The fact is, my bill isn’t very different from the one President Reagan signed into law in 1986, but the political climate has become much more polarized since then.”
“Is there a chance, sir, that you might also resort to an executive order in this case? Because many observers are starting to feel that’s the only way you’re going to get a resolution of this?”
“I wouldn’t rule it out, no.”
“I’m sure you’re aware that would be an extremely controversial move on your part. If you ordered a halt to deportations and put into effect the mechanism for a path to citizenship, it might well trigger a Constitutional crisis.”
“Let’s give the system a chance to work, David. If it ultimately fails, we can always consider other remedies at that point.”
“What do you think your chances are of getting the Path Bill through Congress? The legislation has been stalled in committee now for nearly a year.”
“I think it deserves an up or down vote, so that folks can see how their representatives acted on the bill. I don’t know if that’s ever going to happen, but I can tell you this: the problem of illegal immigration isn’t going to go away. If we simply kick the can down the road for the next generation to deal with, they’ll be facing 20 or 30 million people rather than 11 million. As time goes on, it will become harder and harder to integrate these folks into society. I know this is a political issue for many people, but it’s really far more than that. This is one of the great moral challenges of our era, and it’s time we did something about it.”
Chapter 19
“What a motley crew,” said Chet Wallko, eyeing the group lounging in his living room. “Shall we call the meeting to order?”
“You don’t look too good yourself, bubba,” said James “Bull” Caldwell (R-Miss.), as he reached for another slice of pizza from the half-open boxes littering the coffee table. “Although I ‘spose I’ve seen uglier Democrats.”
“That’s because all the plastic surgeons are Republicans,” said Robert Insfield (D-SC).
“Forget about the uglies,” replied Caldwell.
“This pizza makes me nostalgic for Morton’s. Damn shame we can’t go back.”
“Maybe we can get them to deliver.”
“They ain’t gonna deliver to me, that’s for sure,” said Caldwell, drawing a laugh from the bunch.
The assembled Senators were known on the Hill as the Gang of Nine: an ad hoc collection of four liberal Republicans, four moderate Democrats and one Independent who frequently held similar views on controversial issues. They had first come to public attention several years earlier, when they coalesced around a resolution to pass the Federal budget and save the government from another shutdown. Since then they were in the habit of meeting informally once a month. After a dinner at Morton’s Steak House on Connecticut Avenue inspired banner headlines about the Vast Moderate Conspiracy, the monthly conclaves had been moved to Wallko’s house.
“Enough standup,” said Wallko. “Let’s start with foreign policy. Now that Cuba is behind us, we have to look ahead to Perespostan. As you know, Bethany Hampton has been shuttling back and forth to Geneva, where she’s been talking privately with their Foreign Minister.”
“That’s the worst-kept secret in town,” said Carlton Bridges of Connecticut, the Senate’s only declared Independent.
“Well,” drawled Caldwell, “if you’re gonna give away the store, you might as well lounge around in a five-star hotel and enjoy your fondue. No point in goin’ to the Holiday Inn.”
“We know that Atalas is desperate for an agreement of any kind,” said Wallko, “because he didn’t produce any foreign policy triumphs in the first four years. Everything he’s done thus far has been reactive. So we need to be particularly alert to the terms of any deal that’s struck, because the odds are they won’t be in the country’s favor.”
“Nothing worse than a lame duck looking for a legacy,” said Bridges.
“Chet,” asked Insfield, “do we know what she’s after? What are you hearing?”
“No specifics yet, but my sense is that they’re desperate to get any sort of deal that seems to limit Persepostan’s nuclear program and portrays Atalas as the great peacemaker. So we have to watch this one very carefully. My guess is that they’ll go very easy on inspections and verifications.”
“Damn shame we didn’t just bomb the sites when we had the chance,” said Insfield. “Hell, the Israelis would have done it for us free of charge.”
“That was never gonna happen,” said Caldwell. “This guy hates takin’ any kind of military action, because he doesn’t wanna look like George Cane. And if there’s one thing he hates more than that, it’s makin’ the Israelis look good. I’m sure the first thing Hampton and the Persepostan Foreign Minister will agree on is that America is the Great Satan.”
“Come on, guys,” protested Bridges. “He’s still the President. We all think we’re amusing, but there’s no point in making him out to be Darth Vader.”
“What do you think, Chuck? You probably know him better than anyone else.”
Charles Moscone was the senior Senator from Pennsylvania, who had watched the President’s astonishing rise from the streets of Philadelphia. After attending Princeton, returning home and serving as a community organizer, Atalas had dabbled in local politics before running successfully for the Senate. The two men had served together briefly during Atalas’ partial first term, a stint that culminated in his run for the White House and his surprise upset of Bethany Hampton for the Democratic nomination.
“He’s not the agent of darkness that some of you make him out to be.” Moscone spoke carefully. “But his politics are straight out of Saul Alinsky. He does believe that America has prospered at the expense of a global coalition of oppressed nations. So I think we should follow Chet on this one, and rely on him to monitor the situation carefully.”
“Agreed,” said two or three of them in unison.
“Let’s not forget,” said Moscone, “that his hands have been tied ever since the last midterms. He’s been facing a Republican-controlled House, and a miniscule majority in the Senate with very soft Democratic support. He hasn’t been able to do a damn thing. So Chet’s right—he’s desperate for any accomplishments at all. He may not be getting tired of governing by executive order, but he’s aware that it doesn’t look good.”
His colleagues nodded.
“Remember, too, that he’s the first black President. Don’t underestimate the impact that has with many different constituencies.”
“Hell,” said Caldwell, “he’s only black when it suits him—mostly when his name is on the ballot.”
“Even so, he has a large reservoir of good will among segments of the population that had never voted before. Whether they continue to vote when he’s not on the ballot is another matter.”
“Now,” said Caldwell, “since your friends in the liberal media have screwed me out of my dinner at Morton’s, let’s get to the meat and potatoes of the agenda.”
“Namely?”
“Illegal immigration,” drawled Caldwell. “Or as I’m fond of sayin’, the Future Democrats of America.”
Wallko laughed. “Go ahead.”
“Now the other night, during his interview with David Gregory, the Messiah held forth at length on the subject of immigration. Called it the great moral challenge of our time, if I recall.”
“He was talking about deportations,” said Insfield, “and the issue of separating families. And he’s more or less right—you have all these illegals who have come here and had children. The kids are citizens, but the parents could easily be deported if we had the money and manpower to do it.”
“Sounds like the makings of another executive order to me,” replied Caldwell. “Next thing we know, he’ll be proclaiming from the top of the mountain that the government can’t deport illegals if they have naturalized kids.”
“He wouldn’t have the guts,” said Bridges.
“I tend to agree,” said Moscone. “Anyway, it could easily be an impeachable offense. I’m sure he doesn’t want that kind of trouble.”
“No way,” said Insfield. “Since when is blocking deportations a high crime and misdemeanor?”
“You never know,” responded Moscone. “Look at poor Bill Hampton. You would have thought that he had sex with a Russian spy, rather than any woman staffer he could get his hands on..”
“First of all,” said Caldwell, “it wasn’t exactly sex in some cases. And if you recall, the real offense was lying under oath.”
“I have an idea,” said Insfield. “Why don’t we focus on the present day, rather than 1998? And more to the point, why don’t we just shut Atalas up and give him his vote on the Path Bill?”
“Because it might pass,” said Caldwell. “Stranger things have happened, so why take a chance? And let’s remember, nobody here is from a border state, so we can afford to be just a little wishy-washy on this.”
“You don’t have to be from a border state,” said Moscone. “Go to Philadelphia, go to New York, go to Boston—you’ll find people who are just as worked up about this as the gringos down in Texas. Middle-class whites are worried that their jobs are being threatened. They’re concerned that all the social services provided to the illegals are draining budget money away from them. And I don’t have to remind you, they’re the ones that vote.”
“So do Hispanics,” interjected Bridges, “and we’re coming to the point where you can’t get elected without them.”
“I don’t know,” mused Insfield. “Atalas actually made a good point in that interview the other night, believe it or not: the only Hispanics who can vote are the legal ones, and we can’t assume that all of them support illegal immigration without limits. The Cubans mostly don’t, and we know the Puerto Ricans don’t. And what about some guy who came here 30 years ago, and became legal during the Reagan amnesty? Say he’s working as an accountant, or a middle manager for some company. You think that guy wants to see illegals po
uring across the border?” He looked at Wallko. “Chet, what do you think?”
“I think we’re just as divided on this as the rest of the country. But apparently we agree that the Path Bill shouldn’t be allowed to come to the floor.” He paused. “If you bide your time, guys, I think you might see some interesting developments in this area very shortly.”
“Care to elaborate?”
“I can’t really do that. But like you, I’ve been here long enough to realize you never know what’s going to happen.”
Chapter 20
Charles Gardiner was relaxing in the living room of his sprawling ranch house outside of Chicago when he heard leaves rustling. He glanced at the window and saw a quick glimpse of a shadow against the pane. Gardiner slipped on his holster and edged to the front door. When a manila envelope slid under the transom toward him, he shook his head in disgust, drew his gun and abruptly opened the door.
Standing in front of him with a startled look on his face was Butch Watson, one of his lieutenants.
“Stop looking like a deer in the headlights, asshole.”
“Jesus, boss,” whined Watson. “You get your jollies scaring the shit out of people, or what?”
“You should know better.” He shook his head. “They have these things now called doorbells. All the fancy houses have them.”
“Well, it’s late. I didn’t want to disturb you.”
“I take it this is what I’ve been waiting for?”
“You got it. I’m afraid it’s one expensive piece of bad news.”
“Don’t be afraid—it gets paid for either way. The only important thing is that it’s honest.”
“Absolutely, yes.”
“Well, thank you. And ring the fucking doorbell next time, please.”
He slammed the door and walked into his office. Settling into a leather recliner, he removed the report from the manila envelope and began reading: