by Malcom James
One Republican Senator who had previously called Simpson an “excellent choice to lead the investigation” was now calling for a special counsel to investigate the special counsel. It was a fun-house mirror reflecting back on itself, which put the entire concept of rule of law into question, and they didn’t give a damn what the long-term consequences might be.
Eli could see what they were doing. He shook his head as he read the latest opinion pieces on his phone on the way to work, each side screaming into its echo chamber of self-reinforcing beliefs.
He was in the rear of a yellow Toyota Prius taxicab that reeked of cigarettes when he saw the alert on his phone: “President Franks fires Special Counsel Jonathan F. Simpson, Jr.”
***
The halls of the Eisenhower Executive Building were buzzing with the news as Eli raced to his cubicle. If firing Lonnegan had been a political bomb going off, firing Simpson was a thermonuclear detonation.
Eli logged on and began scouring the news. It turned out Franks had not directly fired Simpson, he didn’t have the authority to. Attorney General Shelby Butler was unable to, as he had recused himself. So the president fired Deputy Attorney General Gary Waldstein, who had appointed and was overseeing the special counsel, and replaced him with the Solicitor General Al Boons, a hard-core Franks supporter. Once he was promoted to deputy attorney general, Al Boons fired Special Counsel Jonathan F. Simpson, issuing a tersely-worded statement that he had “mismanaged the critical investigation by allowing partisanship and bias to infiltrate a process that the American people and the subjects of the investigation rightly expect to be fair and non-political.”
The letter was like a bad joke, in that it accused Simpson of doing exactly what the president and his allies had been doing to Simpson and the FBI and the Justice Department: politicizing what should have been left an independent process until closure.
Franks was following the script that Richard Nixon had written when he fired Watergate Special Prosecutor Archibald Cox, by firing a series of Justice Department employees who refused to fire Cox, until he finally got to one employee, Robert Bork, who would do the dirty deed. It became known as the Saturday Night Massacre, and now Franks had his own version, the “Monday Morning Slaughter” as one headline announced.
The president’s actions had created a full-blown Constitutional crisis. The Executive branch was refusing to be held accountable by its own institutions, or any checks and balances. Headlines of major news sites were screaming “Abuse of Power” and “President Franks Obstructs Justice.”
Congressional Democrats called an emergency press conference for 11 a.m. on the Capitol steps, and the word “impeachment” was flying across social and mainstream media. Firing the special counsel had been called by political leaders, law enforcement specialists, legal scholars, and influential analysts a “red line” that President Franks simply could not cross. Even Franks said he wouldn’t cross it. And yet, he just had.
What would happen to the ongoing Russia investigation? Would Deputy Attorney General Al Boons shut it down? Or starve it of the funds and resources it needed to effectively continue? No one knew what came next.
Eli jumped from site to site, but this early in the cycle it was all basic explanations of what had just happened, and reports from countries around the world of shock and outrage at the crisis unfolding in the United States, once the gold standard of democracy.
The New York Stock Exchange opened at 9:30 a.m., and the DOW fell over 1,200 points in minutes, forcing a temporary halt on trading. Global futures markets began going haywire in response.
The White House issued a short statement, echoing the Justice Department’s press release, trying to steady markets and calm the media storm overtaking the world, by insisting that this was not an attempt to impact the Russia investigation, but rather calling it a “DOJ personnel matter” and claiming that a “new, un-tainted special counsel” would be assigned to complete the work, and that the White House would “continue to cooperate fully with the investigation.”
Eli knew it was a lie. He thought of what Tate had said the night before, and it was obvious the timing was not coincidental. The goal was to disable the investigation, when major additional indictments were due to be unsealed. Something huge was about to happen, and Franks cut it off at the head, going farther than anyone imagined, and daring the world to stop him.
***
Eli tried calling Walter to take his temperature, and got his voicemail. Three minutes later he got a text from Walter saying “Not now, Rome burning.”
Eli tried reaching Natalie by text. “Imagine Rome is burning right now?” he inquired. She replied nearly immediately: “total clusterF*CK - talk later.”
Eli paced his cubicle with nothing to do. He checked the New York Times website but saw no story by Sherry Andrews or anyone else on a taping system. He didn’t want to spend his day chained to his monitor searching for updates when the action was happening right next door, but he didn’t know what else to do. He went outside for some air. He walked through the cars parked on Executive Avenue, his pulse racing with anxiety. Was Franks really going to get away with this?
He had no faith Republicans in Congress would enforce the “red line.” They all put loyalty to Franks above their oath to the Constitution, and the Democrats, a minority, could scream all they wanted on the Capitol steps and on Twitter, but none of it would matter if there wasn’t an overwhelming cry in the country to take action. Watering that down had been the point of discrediting Simpson; it was all leading to this.
Eli dialed Sherry’s number. After a few rings, she answered.
“Hey,” she said out of breath.
“Are you going to run it?”
“It’s going up tonight, if all goes well. Need one final approval. Should you be calling me?”
“Are you kidding? What are you waiting for — it might already be too late,” he yelled, and then remembered he was standing in the White House parking lot, spun around in a circle, and saw no one but a black-clad Secret Service agent on the White House roof. The agent had stopped patrolling and was looking down from his perch at Eli. Eli turned his back to him.
“Sorry, but fuck, it’s now or never, right?” he whispered.
“Yeah. Gotta go.” She hung up.
He looked back at the White House. Somewhere inside, Franks was plotting his next move, desperate to avoid whatever Simpson had coming, and willing to do whatever it took to stop him.
A massive crowd of television reporters and cameras lined up on the grass. Normally they took turns, but now they were all shooting at the same time. Eli turned and walked back inside.
***
Eli was at his desk just after lunch when his cell phone rang. He didn’t recognize the number, but he answered it.
“Eli Green.”
“Mr. Green? This is Amanda Morris, senior defense counsel with Schumacher, Kronberg & Stone.”
Eli straightened in his chair. “Yes?”
“We’ve received a letter from the Office of the Special Counsel requesting you to come in for an interview this Friday. We have twenty-four hours to respond.”
“Simpson was fired.”
“We’re being told it’s business as usual. Confidentially, I can tell you there’s a large team of lawyers and FBI agents working the investigation, and apparently they’re increasing their speed now that the boss is gone. Maybe they’re concerned they’ll be gone too, we don’t know. As you probably heard, the White House says a new special counsel will be assigned. In the meantime, you need to go in. Are you available this Friday?”
Eli pulled the phone away from his head for a beat, caught his breath, and then answered “Yes, of course.”
“Okay good. We’ll confirm for Friday at one p.m. They’re operating out of a secure facility. We’ll be with you during the interview, but we should meet beforehand, to make sure you’re clear on the ground rules, when you may need to plead the fifth
, that kind of thing. Make sense?” she asked.
“Yes, it does.”
“I would recommend you come in about 10 a.m. on Friday, and we’ll spend a few hours coaching you. We can order lunch, and then escort you over. Sound good?”
“Sure, that sounds fine.”
“Oh and Mr. Green, get a good night’s sleep, and wear a suit and tie.”
“Sure, no problem…” he trailed off as he stared at the ceiling. After she hung up, he tried calling Walter again. This time he answered.
“I said Rome was burning, didn’t I?”
“The Office of Special Counsel wants to interview me. On Friday.”
There was a long pause.
“Fuck, okay. You have those lawyers, right?”
“Yeah, but we should talk. I need to know a few things, for everyone’s protection. I am the chief data scientist in the White House, after all.”
“Can you swing by in an hour?”
“Yep.”
“See you then,” Walter replied, and hung up.
***
Exactly fifty-five minutes later, Eli cleared West Wing security and entered Walter’s office, only to find his old boss David Berringer already sitting inside across from Walter.
“Come on in,” Walter said. “And close the door.”
Eli and David shook hands. “Been a while, you look fit,” David said, as if they were there to drink beer. Eli didn’t feel fit at all.
“Thanks, good to see you,” was all Eli could think to say.
“I thought it might be a good idea to include David at this point,” Walter started out.
“Absolutely.”
“So they called you in?” David said with a nervous smile, stating the obvious and pretending to be relaxed.
“Yep,” Eli said.
“Like I said, bound to happen sooner or later. And what are you going to say?” David asked.
“I guess that depends on what they ask me. That’s why I’m here.”
There was a knock on the door, and Walter said “Come on in,” one more time.
It was White House Counsel Ron Tyler, slick as ever.
“Eli, good to see you again,” Ron said as he closed the door, shook Eli’s hand and took the last remaining chair. He crossed his legs and showed everyone the bottom of his two-thousand dollar Italian loafers.
“Should’ve booked a conference room for this,” Walter mumbled.
“I won’t be long,” Ron said, then he turned to Eli. Ron spoke in his usual, fast-paced and patronizing tone.
“Eli, I know you have to go in for this interview, and you’ve got great legal support, thanks to David and Paragon,” he said as he nodded toward David. “That’s a real blessing, a lot of staffers are starting ‘Go Fund Me’ accounts and shit like that. Terrible, what this whole witch hunt has everyone going through. That said, I want to give you some simple advice, okay? Same as I would give to anyone here.”
“Okay.”
“Everything you have done inside the White House since you came here is protected by ‘executive privilege.’ We’ve told the special counsel’s team — what’s left of them anyway,” he said chuckling, and Walter smiled with him and then Ron continued: “That’s our position. Executive privilege. So anything that touches on your job here, anything related to the president, it’s all protected, you just say those words, and whether they agree or not, keep on saying ‘em, understand?”
“Sure. Executive privilege,” Eli said, like a second-grader trying to prove to his teacher that yes, he actually heard the words just spoken.
“Good. This is only an interview. Now, you shouldn’t lie, it’s the FBI. But you’re not a target at this time.”
“At this time?”
“Right, and we don’t want that to change. So you take a very helpful posture, but anything related to the White House is protected. They will argue, but we’re not in court, so you stick to your guns. Tell ‘em it’s not your preference, but it’s your orders. They’ll mostly be asking you about the campaign, which was before my time, and I’ll leave that up to you boys,” Ron said, and he stood and patted Eli on the back like a dog and said “executive privilege” one more time and left, closing the door.
“Okay. That was easy,” Eli said.
“It’s a clear line, we don’t want it to get blurry. The campaign and the White House are different worlds. We can’t claim executive privilege for the campaign,” Walter explained.
“Makes sense,” Eli said.
“I just really wanted to drop by to offer encouragement,” David said. “After you leave the White House, I’m looking forward to bringing you on under the deal you and Walter discussed,” David added.
Eli could see where this was going. David was reminding him of all the money he stood to lose if things didn’t go the right way for Paragon and the White House.
“I’m planning on it,” Eli said. “But I have one question. Did we do something? Something I should be concerned about?”
David looked at him, and then Walter.
“Thanks for coming by David,” Walter said. David stood and shook Eli’s hand again.
“Good luck,” David said, and then he left, closing the door behind him.
“What the fuck is going on, Walter?” Eli asked.
“Calm down,” Walter said louder. Eli took a deep breath.
“I’m calm. What the hell was that?”
“Look, he’s getting interviewed too. It’s nerve-wracking, right? And if you don’t talk about it, then you won’t be lying when you say he didn’t tell you about anything, right?”
“Tell me about what, Walter?”
“Fuck kid, get off it already. You know the deal. That’s why we let you in the circle of trust, don’t turn dumb on me now,” Walter said, anger building.
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Eli said.
“Oh bullshit. You think all those Russian trolls and bots and fake fucking news ads on Facebook that magically hit just the right people in Wisconsin and Michigan and Pennsylvania were targeted by teenagers in Macedonia? Give me a goddamn break,” Walter roared.
Eli was in shock. “We gave the Russians our data?”
“What do you mean, our data?”
“The data we used for the targeting models.”
“That was never our data. It’s nobody’s data, it’s everybody’s data, it’s just out in the fucking ether. We did what we had to. Jesus, since when did you become so fucking soft?” Walter said in a suddenly low and threatening voice, like the walls might hear.
“No one ever told me.”
“Consider yourself told. Play dumb ‘till the cows come home with the rest of the world, but never with me, got that?”
“I got it,” Eli said, numb. Even if he was ignorant at the time, it happened, and he was involved. It was collusion with the Russians and treason against the United States.
“You’re not worried? I mean, what the hell comes next?” Eli asked.
“Of course I’m worried, but the president and our friends are taking care of it, piece by piece. That’s how the game is played, Eli. Hardball. We use every weapon we have. That’s how we got here, and that’s how we stay.”
Walter calmed slightly, became mater-of-fact. He seemed tired. “Say what you need to say to get through it, but forget we talked, and go back to your innocent perspective. You’ll be happier there, trust me. Besides, if we get caught, we have the ultimate ‘get out of jail free’ card.
“What’s that?”
“The pardon. As long as we’re loyal.”
Eli looked in Walter’s eyes, and they exchanged one of those split-second moments, shared knowledge between two people, when they both know the older has let the younger down, but the older knows the way the world works, and now the younger does too.
“Okay then,” Walter said as he stood, and Eli got up. Walter walked around his desk, put his hand on Eli’s sho
ulder and walked him to the door, and just before opening it, he said very low, “We’ll get out alive, and we’ll get our cut. We just have to stay on the winning team.”
Walter opened the door, and patted him on the back like a coach sending his player back onto the field. Eli exited, and smiled lamely at Walter’s pretty young assistant, and just before Walter closed the door, Eli turned and asked:
“Are we’re winning? Because right now, it doesn’t feel like it.” It threw Walter for a moment, but then he doubled down.
“Stay the course, kid,” Walter replied, and shut the door.
***
That afternoon, twenty-three Congressional Democrats stood on the Capitol steps and held a short, intense press conference where they proclaimed that President Franks was obstructing justice, and they would bring Congress to a grinding halt unless their Articles of Impeachment were allowed to proceed by the Republican Speaker of the House Mike Allen.
Eli was watching it all unfold, but was totally consumed with how far his interview might go, and whether he might find himself in a position where he would be forced to lie to protect himself and the Franks Campaign, even though he was now totally engaged in an inside attempt to try and take down the president by assisting the investigation.
How could he do that without damaging himself? Should he tell them what Walter had admitted? Did it mean he had to claim he knew things he didn’t know first hand, and ask for a plea deal? His head ached just trying to sort it all out, and there was no one he could ask for help.