The aide and Dillon watched the fiasco on the House floor as the admiral looked around. Billings saw his ops O standing across the bridge. “Hey. Are the Marines ready to go ashore?”
“Yes, sir, they’re ready—L hour is 0540.”
“Perfect. Everything else all set?”
“Yes, sir. Everybody’s briefed and ready to go.”
The admiral stood and leaned back, stretching. “Pass the word. Mission is a go.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” the ops O said, as he turned on his heels and headed off the bridge.
The speaker walked enthusiastically back into his office and removed his suit coat. He had closed the outer door behind him to exclude the teeming press. Only his staff members were allowed in at this point.
Robin looked at him. “Need I tell you, Mr. Speaker, that the phone is ringing off the hook, and about two million people want to see you?”
“Nope. I assumed that would be the case. Anything that can’t wait for forty-eight hours?”
“I don’t know, sir.” Robin stopped him. “But before you go in there, sir, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
The Speaker turned and gave her a confused look. “What?”
“While you were on the floor, the President’s Chief of Staff came to see you. He’s waiting for you in your office.”
The Speaker looked mystified. “Does the press know he’s here?”
“No, sir, came in when the press was covering the floor.”
“What does he want?”
“I don’t know. He just asked if he could wait in your office and it seemed the only appropriate place, so…”
“Of course. Well, this is something, isn’t it?” He stood a little taller. “This should be interesting.”
He entered his office, closing the door carefully behind him. Van den Bosch was sitting on the sofa by the coffee table, sipping from a china cup. He looked calm, relaxed, and confident.
“Well, Arlan,” the Speaker said, extending his hand, “good evening.”
Arlan stood up. “Good evening, Mr. Speaker. I’m sorry for intruding without being announced, but I just wanted to have a chat with you.”
“Not a problem at all,” said the Speaker, trying to read his enemy’s face. He didn’t dislike Van den Bosch; in fact, he had always respected him. He perceived him as the only adviser to the President who had his head screwed on straight. He seemed to understand the concept that strength was respected in foreign affairs, and weakness was preyed upon. That was the foreign policy the Speaker believed the United States should always have, but rarely did. Too often the United States would degenerate into misty-eyed wishful thinking, which resulted in disastrous decisions and a lot of dead people.
Van den Bosch seemed to grasp that. In some ways Van den Bosch was an ally on the President’s staff. That’s probably why he’s here, the Speaker thought to himself. Because he’s the only one I’d listen to for five seconds.
“Please sit down, Arlan,” he said, using the Chief of Staff’s first name again in a forced attempt at familiarity. The Speaker reached behind him for the silver coffeepot and poured himself a fresh cup. “So, what brings you to this side of the world?”
Van den Bosch leaned toward the Speaker with forearms on his knees. “Mr. Speaker, these are trying times.”
“Agreed.” The Speaker sipped his coffee.
“I don’t know that in my entire thirty years in politics I have seen anything that remotely resembles the past couple of days. I have never seen so many forces at work in so many directions, with people unable to foresee the outcome and plan accordingly. I know we are plowing new ground when The Washington Post sounds confused.” Van den Bosch stopped for a moment to see if the Speaker was going to respond. Then he pressed on. “As you know, we have a substantial disagreement on the issue of the Letter of Reprisal. It’s remarkable to me that Congress believes it has the right to order a U.S. Navy battle group around when the President is the designated Commander in Chief of the armed forces. That to me is a remarkable usurpation of—”
The Speaker inclined toward Van den Bosch and narrowed his eyes as he interrupted, “Did you come here to lecture me? I don’t need a lecture. I know what your position is and it’s wrong. We have historical precedent on our side, we have the lack of action on the…”
Van den Bosch raised his hand. “No,” he said, “I’m not here to lecture you. I didn’t even mean to raise that issue on the merits as such. I simply wanted to frame where we are to date.”
“I know where we are. Go on.”
“The Letter of Reprisal is with the Navy, as I understand it?”
“That is correct; the admiral has accepted it.”
“Do you know what the admiral is going to do?” Van den Bosch asked directly.
The Speaker sat back. “Well, if the President is the Commander in Chief, he should be asking the admiral that himself, shouldn’t he? With all of our technology, the President could ask that question in about two seconds. Has he done so?”
“I am not at liberty to discuss the communications between the battle group and the President. Let it be said that the admiral’s intentions are currently unclear.”
“Well then, what makes you think I would know?”
“We are not sure, Mr. Speaker. You seem to have ways of getting information.”
“Well, you certainly didn’t come over here to ask me the admiral’s intentions. Let me ask you a question. What are your intentions? Are you in fact sending another battle group down toward Admiral Billings’s battle group to stop them? Is it your plan to start a friggin’ civil war?”
Van den Bosch’s eyes showed surprise momentarily but he recovered. “Where did you hear that?”
“Is it true?”
“Well, if it were, that would certainly weigh against the President’s being a pacifist, wouldn’t it?” Van den Bosch said, smiling slightly.
“Maybe. Why don’t you have the President go on national television and announce that he is sending a battle group down to attack another U.S. Navy battle group, and that he in fact intends to attack them, and therefore he is not a pacifist. Let him make that statement before the American public that the proof of his manhood is his willingness to kill other Americans.”
“I didn’t say he had sent a battle group down there,” Van den Bosch replied quickly.
“Do you deny it?” Stanbridge pressed.
“I am not at liberty to discuss the President’s intentions concerning Admiral Billings,” Van den Bosch said with a tone of finality.
The Speaker was annoyed with the direction of the conversation. He lowered his voice. “Then why are you here? I’ve got a lot to do.”
“Because I want to see if we can lower the stakes a little.” Van den Bosch placed the cup on the table and looked intently at the Speaker. “This whole thing is now to the point where instead of one constitutional crisis, we are dealing with two or three simultaneously. I don’t know if the country can stand it. I don’t know if the government can stand it. What you have done, Mr. Speaker, could cause severe and lasting damage to the United States, not only by way of reputation with other countries but to the confidence people have that their government will be in existence a year from now. You’re attacking the Constitution itself.”
Stanbridge mimed his disgust. “If the President simply had the sand to do what he was obligated to do, none of this would have happened. Don’t try to blame this on me.”
Van den Bosch sat back. “I am not saying this very well. I am not here, Mr. Speaker, to accuse you of anything. I am not here to make our case on any of the major issues that have been raised. I think we have a case, I think our case is the right case, and I think we will prevail in every respect.” He saw the Speaker’s expression and raised his hand again in defense. “But I am not here to make that case before you; I am just here to see, as I said, if we can lower the stakes a little.”
“What do you mean?” the Speaker asked quickly, looking at h
is watch.
“Your threat to bring articles of impeachment before the House of Representatives was an insult to the President, Mr. Speaker. Accusing him of pacifism is unfounded. It was clearly a political move which you have now wisely abandoned.”
“Really?” the Speaker said angrily. He stood up. “Let him go before the people and tell them he’s willing and ready to employ U.S. troops as necessary, that he’s willing and ready to use our nuclear defense umbrella if called upon to do so. Have him make that statement, Arlan. You think I made that accusation lightly? You think I didn’t do my homework? You think I didn’t realize the implications? I had my staff review every speech he made in the presidential campaign. I looked at every debate, every written question he responded to, every publication he has made. He has never said that he will use nuclear weapons if called upon to do so, and he has never said he would employ U.S. troops to defend our interests. Oh, sure, he talked a lot about defense budgets, and increasing percentages of defense budget as a percentage of gross domestic product, blah, blah, blah. He said all the political things.”
“It’s not your place to challenge the President to respond, like some kind of a carnival dog.”
“Fine. Then why are you here?”
Van den Bosch waited for the atmosphere to clear. “Here’s what I am prepared to propose. If you withdraw the Letter of Reprisal, the President will withdraw his lawsuit for an injunction.” He looked for a reaction. “It’s as simple as that, one for the other. That way the Constitution will not be put on trial, and neither side can really claim victory.”
The Speaker stared at Van den Bosch, shocked. “You think this is all political, don’t you?”
Van den Bosch raised his eyebrows. “Everything is political.”
“But not everything is completely political.”
Van den Bosch shrugged. “Are you interested, or not?”
“Not,” the Speaker said immediately. “I am really surprised the President sent you over here. That really burns my shorts. What this shows, Arlan, is that your President is on the ropes. You have realized that you are going to lose now and you’re trying to scramble to limit the damage. You’ve lost twice in the courts and the third test is ahead. You know what happens when you lose that. The Admiral has already shown he’s going to follow the Letter of Reprisal and the President is going to look stupid. That’s why you are here.”
Van den Bosch shook his head, as if saddened by the comments of the Speaker. “This is not good for the country, Mr. Speaker. We do not need to test the war powers in this way. If there is any damage, you will be the cause of it.”
The Speaker stood up quickly. “I’m sorry, I’ve got a lot to do. I can see this isn’t very productive.”
“Sit down, Mr. Speaker.”
“I’m really not interested in sitting down—”
“Trust me, sit down.”
The Speaker sat back down quickly, impatiently. “What?”
“We want you to withdraw the Letter of Reprisal.”
“That’s it? Just…withdraw it? And why might I do that?”
“For your own sake.”
“My own sake? What are you talking about?”
“You’ve taken great risks to get where you are, Mr. Speaker. I found it particularly curious that someone like you, someone who hails the free market system as the solution to all economic problems, would jointly sponsor the President’s proposed bill requiring fifty percent of all shipping into the United States to be done on American-flagged carrier ships. Such a position is, almost by definition, anticompetitive. It will certainly increase the price of goods to consumers in the United States.” Van den Bosch sat back. “So I asked myself why. Why would the Speaker of the House propose such a bill? The answer, of course, is obvious. The only ones who would benefit from such a law would be the American shipping industry.”
“Do you have a point?”
“Oh, I definitely have a point.”
“The American shipping industry was almost completely gone,” Stanbridge said. “I did it to save the industry.”
“You did it to save one participant in the industry, which may have benefited others.”
Van den Bosch stood up and walked to the window overlooking the Washington Monument. He turned to Stanbridge. “Turns out that your good friend and constituent, Mr. Jack Stewart, president of Stewart Shipping Line, was within thirty days of filing for bankruptcy. I have located the attorney who prepared the bankruptcy filing papers.”
Stanbridge’s eyes showed his surprise, which he immediately tried to hide. “So what?”
“So, he didn’t file for bankruptcy. In fact, he seemed to take on political participation as his new hobby. From what I’ve learned, he had never donated more than fifty dollars to any political candidate until he decided to come to Washington and visit his congressman, John Stanbridge. What did he tell you?”
“What are you getting at?” Stanbridge said defensively.
“I can’t expect you to admit this. Well, obviously, Mr. Speaker, you and he entered into a very nice agreement. You had proposed the law that would save his company and the American shipping industry, and he would ensure that you got reelected.”
“I won with sixty-five percent of the vote. I didn’t need anybody to help me get elected.”
“I believe that’s the same defense Richard Nixon used as to why Watergate was unlikely to have happened. He was going to crush McGovern anyway.”
“Oh, please…”
“Let me continue. I won’t take up much more of your time. The point is this—I have now been able to trace approximately two million dollars that made its way from the shipping lines and Stewart’s friends into your campaign. He donated money to your campaign through employees, family, friends, subsidiary corporations, and a myriad of other ways. Mr. Speaker, from what I can tell, you’ve violated somewhere between five and twenty campaign-financing laws. I also learned another piece of this puzzle recently,” Van den Bosch continued. “Your pretty young secretary is very nice.”
“What does she have to do with this?”
“Well, I didn’t think anything, until I learned that her last name before she was married was Stewart. Is she related to Stewart Shipping Line?”
Stanbridge did not respond.
“I think you need to tell the admiral that he should hold off until the courts have decided this issue. I can make sure he gets your message. That’s not too much to ask, is it?”
Stanbridge remained silent.
“Well, I really should be going.” Van den Bosch headed for the door. “Please consider what I’ve said. I’ve prepared the information that I’ve shared with you, plus substantially more, in a memo that lists names, dates, amounts, and other tidbits I have not shared with you. If this Letter of Reprisal goes forward, that memo will be faxed anonymously to every newspaper in the country.” He looked at Stanbridge, who had balled his hands into fists. “Consider your next move very carefully. Now, it’s my understanding you need to get back on the floor. I’m simply going to wait here, and after you have gone, and the press with you, I will walk quietly out of this office and no one will know that I was here.”
Stanbridge walked to the door and began to open it. He stopped and turned back toward Van den Bosch. “I used to have respect for you. I thought you were the only one over there who had any brains. I was wrong. You’re just another sycophant. That’s too bad because I want you to take a message back to President Manchester from me. Tell him I said he can shove it up his ass. Be sure you get the words correct, shove-it-up-his-ass,” he said slowly, as if he were about to spell it. “And one other thing—I’m going to get him. He will not be President for long,” Stanbridge declared as he jerked the door open and slammed it behind him.
30
REBECCA LEANED ON PENDLETON’S DOORJAMB. “NOTHING yet?” she asked.
Pendleton shook his head. “I’m going to call. Come in.” He hit the speakerphone and the dial tone filled the room. He pu
nched the buttons to the private number for the clerk of the Supreme Court.
A woman answered, “United States Supreme Court, clerk’s office.”
“Good evening. This is David Pendleton, representing the Speaker of the House and the Congress. Is the clerk of the court, Mr. Compton, available?”
“Hold, please,” the woman said warmly.
After about a minute Compton came on the phone. “Good evening, Mr. Pendleton,” he said in his distinctive voice.
“Good evening, Mr. Compton. I was about to go home. I wondered if you could give me a feel for whether I should continue to stand by here in my office or call it a night. It’s not my intention to put any pressure on…”
“No pressure felt, Mr. Pendleton. I understand. I can tell you that the Chief Justice has the emergency stay in front of him, and he is considering it. I frankly don’t know what his intentions are.”
Pendleton thought. “Why are you still there?”
“Because as long as he is deliberating, I have to be here to make the calls if a decision is reached. The rules require us to notify counsel by reasonably expeditious means. That is the telephone for the parties. Later the public information office will notify the press and whoever else is interested.”
“Well, since we don’t know anything, I guess I’ll just hold fast.”
“If it were me?” Compton asked.
“What would you do?”
“If it were me, Mr. Pendleton, I would go home. I’ve got your home number and I can call you there just as easily. It is extremely unlikely that you will have to do anything; it will simply be me telling you what the result is.”
Pendleton considered. “Okay. I think I’ll take your advice. Is it possible, Mr. Compton, that the Chief Justice will stop deliberating and go home?”
“Very possible,” Compton replied immediately.
“Would you be so kind, Mr. Compton, if in fact the Court is going to call it a night, to give me a call and let me know that so I can get some sleep?”
Compton laughed. “Yes, sir, Mr. Pendleton. When I go home, I’ll give you a call.”
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