The Latina President...and the Conspiracy to Destroy Her

by Joe Rothstein

  During those tightly scheduled three weeks, a conga line of remarkable witnesses snaked in and out of the witness chair. Juan Manuel Ibarra, a clerk at Hotel Bolivar in San Salvador, verifying a signature for Gabriel Montes, one room, king-size bed, two people, on a night Montes’ diary said he and Señora Tennyson shared a room.

  Carl Tessen, a Chilean bank examiner, testifying that señora Tennyson committed fraud in withholding vital information as the Temuco bank merged with Groupo Aragon.

  Jesus Guzman, identified as a regional cartel boss, shown on video, face in shadow and voice garbled to hide identification, testifying he had connections inside the management of the U.S. Drug Enforcement Agency helping move heroin across the border from Ciudad Juarez to El Paso, Texas.

  The governor of California, Harold Thompson, denying that he appointed Isabel Aragon to the Senate because of their “personal” relations.

  No, said the governor, Ms. Tennyson did not blackmail him into the appointment with threats to expose their history. And no, he knew of no situation where the president used her body to gain any advantage during her terms in Congress or their work together in the L.A. Lights movement.

  Richard Legar, an American who worked at the Fiesta Hotel restaurant in Tampico, testified to seeing President Tennyson, then a U.S. senator, meeting a man there. Legar was from San Diego, California, and was certain the woman he saw was his senator, but because he feared the criminal climate of Tampico, he was afraid to approach her. She obviously did not want to be recognized. He didn’t know the man, but it could have been Montes. Senate records showed her in Mexico City on that date. Why the subterfuge in a place as dangerous as Tampico if she had nothing to hide?

  Committee counsel Polanski also presented a thick file of executive branch documents that committee staff authenticated as having passed through the Department of Treasury and the Department of Homeland Security, messages that could be interpreted as coded instructions to clear a path for Mexican contraband. Was the White House tampering with border enforcement and banking practices in ways that helped cartels and Latino banks? The paper trail was suggestive, but not clear cut.

  How do you respond to such charges? Deny. Deny. Deny. But it was like taking a scissors to smoke. The charges were sensational. Those making them seemed so certain. A few pieces of hard evidence were like anchors, holding the looser accusations in place and making it difficult for the defense to sweep circumstantial testimony aside. Worse, it was good theater. Novel entertainment. As the hearings continued, the committee’s viewer rating increased. Networks were finding they could charge more for advertising during the live daytime hours and the nightly reruns of the day’s testimony. That was all they needed to give the hearings more air time and to promote them more heavily.

  The president had given her deposition early, heeding advice from her strategy team not to appear live before the committee. That would only draw a larger audience and subject her to the hostile questions of the committee’s Republicans. The growing wall of testimony refuting her sworn statements prompted a decision to have her return for a second round of closed-door depositions. Many of the lies had to be challenged. Her research team provided strong rebuttals, backing up her own memory and testimony.

  Would Tenny’s denials and the weak case against her allow her to survive? No one on her team felt particularly confident. As Federico correctly pointed out, this was a political fight, not a legal one. The media sowed considerable doubt about Tenny’s integrity. The accusations were grafted onto embedded nativist prejudice against Tenny’s Latino background. A strong minority of Americans still hadn’t overcome that hurdle.

  On straight party-line votes, the House Judiciary Committee approved three articles of impeachment.

  Article One accused the president of illegally interfering with the proper enforcement of border security by using her office to directly abet the movement of weapons and narcotics across the United States-Mexico border.

  Article Two accused the president of participation in an illegal scheme to hide drug cartel money from authorities.

  Article Three accused the president of lying to a committee of Congress about her involvement in these alleged crimes.

  The action would move to the House floor, where Speaker Bo Willard and his Republican majority were waiting with barely concealed glee. The Democrats had sent President Nixon off to inglorious early retirement. Republicans had failed to return the favor with Bill Clinton. They would not miss this time. Willard lost no time in scheduling the debate.

  During the Clinton impeachment, more than 200 members spoke. Willard expected no fewer than that for and against President Tennyson. Even with tight speaking time limits, the whole process would likely take three weeks. No one on either side of the debate believed the outcome was in doubt. This was a battle the President was not likely to win in the House. And she didn’t.

  The day the House voted to impeach President Tennyson was also the day Senator Reed Guess died.

  Guess died at home, his family at his side. Tenny had been a frequent visitor there, and for weeks earlier at Bethesda Naval Hospital. The call informing her of his death was no surprise. For the past two days he had been in a coma. But the finality touched her as deeply as the deaths of her own mother and father had. She rested her head on her desk in the Oval Office and did something she rarely did—let tears flow freely.

  The Senate went into temporary recess so that members could travel to Connecticut for the final services. Tenny was there as well, delivering a eulogy for her friend, the man whose untimely cancer diagnosis made it possible for her to be president.

  35

  Removing a president from office is not civil war or a military coup, but it is wrenching to democracy. The majority of voters have elected a president. Now a majority of Congress is asked to override that decision. Because impeachment awls to the very core of a democratic process, the Constitution sets up a number of safeguards and hurdles before a president can be removed. The chief justice of the U.S. Supreme Court, not an active political figure, presides over the Senate trial. Senate rules require each senator to walk to the front of the chamber and sign an oath book pledging to do “impartial justice.” The vote needs to be overwhelming: two-thirds of the body, 67 of the 100 senators must agree. There is no cross-examination. Senators submit questions in writing. The Chief Justice reads them and the prosecution and defense answer them.

  The House sent ten “managers” to the Senate to argue for the removal of President Tennyson. Eight defense lawyers represented the president. For two days the prosecution argued its case. On the third day the body was stunned to see President Tennyson in the Speaker’s well. An enormous risk, but a calculated one. The defense team looked ahead and saw only uncertainty. Every argument in its arsenal would need to be deployed, including the president herself.

  She stood alone in the Speaker’s well of the United States Senate, stripped of the trappings that go with the State of the Union address and other symbols of presidential power. A lonely figure, armed only with a lapel microphone in the fight to salvage her honor and her legacy. No written speech. No teleprompter. No aides handing her notes.

  But President Tennyson didn’t need any of it to keep 100 Senators, a packed visitor’s gallery, and a television audience counted in the tens of millions riveted on her performance.

  For thirty-eight minutes she held the floor, extemporaneously answering each of the impeachment articles voted on by the House. Point-by-point, she defended herself, with names, dates, and context. While her presentation was heavy with facts, it also was light with personal vignettes, even humor when she discussed her relationships with men. And no surprise, considering the pummeling she had endured through the U.S. House impeachment proceedings, she often surfaced barely concealed anger.

  The usually staid senators could not suppress smiles and even some laughter as she dismissed the charge that she helped former Peruvian banker Gabriel Montes launder Mexican cartel money.
/>
  “Did we have an affair?” she said, “We certainly did, and it was a great one while it lasted. As most woman and even many men will agree he’s a handsome and charming devil. But he’s also a lying, thieving scoundrel. It took me a few months to catch on to the real Gabriel Montes. When I did I promptly ended the relationship. Mr. Montes stalked me for years afterward with notes and phone calls. His testimony that we resumed a relationship or that we have had any contact since I stopped seeing him is total fabrication.

  “Numerous handwriting experts have testified that the hotel registers he presented as so-called evidence were doctored to make it seem we were there on later dates. Analysis shows that his so-called diary was created not over a period of years, but over the course of a few days to fool gullible people who preferred not to accept the scientific proof of its forgery. I’m stunned that the majority of the Judiciary Committee would fall for this charade. If this were a court of law none of what he presented as evidence of my involvement with him or money laundering on his behalf would be accepted. There is no evidence of it. There is no case. There are no grounds for this article of impeachment.

  “For those of you who are happily married, I envy you. But let me ask, did you have relationships with others before marriage? Were there some relationships you would prefer to forget? And for those of you who no longer are married or have never been married, have you had relationships that are no longer enduring? That’s life, isn’t it? We move on, don’t we? These are not criminal acts. And neither was mine with Mr. Montes.”

  In comparing her love life with theirs, the president connected with many of the senators sitting in judgement. Her comments evoked considerable nods, smiles and more than one senator to exhibit momentary embarrassment.

  Countering charges that the White House had interfered with border enforcement of drug and weapon control laws, the president reaffirmed what her counsel had argued during House impeachment hearings, that incriminating agency documents were forgeries.

  “Ask yourselves,” she demanded of the senators, “why on earth would I do such a thing? Where is the motive? Money? Really? I’ve revealed my wealth. Check it out. My interest in getting more Americans hooked on drugs? I spent six years of my life working the streets of Los Angeles, helping drugs’ victims. Helping the gun trade? The NRA has spent millions trying to defeat me in elections. It makes no sense at all. I have no answer for how those documents got there or who put them there. But I do have an answer for whether I or anyone I instructed tampered with border security. The answer is an emphatic no.”

  In interviews that followed her speech, the president’s supporters were ecstatic.

  Senate President Pro tem Stuart Alcantra said, “I believe she secured her position today. From beginning to end, it was one of the most powerful presentations I’ve heard in my thirty-six years in the Senate.”

  Senator Lisle Garabali of New Jersey said, “She came through the fire stronger than ever. She’s like steel.”

  When the president completed her testimony there was no applause. Neither was there anyone to immediately challenge anything just said. She spoke long enough to consume the morning session and require a break. It was the ultimate in media management. All of the day’s stories were about Tenny and her defense.

  The media generated by Tenny’s performance flowed like fine champagne. She had delivered many perfect edit points for broadcast news to clip and air. Her frankness was jarring and rang of truth and authenticity. Her energy was compelling and contagious. The print media, which for months had feasted on ominous stories about her, radiated with writers and editors won over by her. It was a great day for the home team.

  Ben had known her for twenty years, through multiple political campaigns, countless speeches on her own behalf and for other candidates and causes. With her Senate defense she had reached the top of the mountain.

  It was too early to declare victory, but the scent of it was in the air. Federico was scheduled to deliver his evidence the following Tuesday. After Federico’s testimony, Ben planned to double down on the media campaign to win public support.

  That was on Friday. On Saturday, the defense team met to discuss Federico’s appearance and final arguments. With momentum clearly on their side and poll numbers confirming it, Ben allowed himself a second martini Saturday night during dinner with Lee. Later, back in his apartment, still in an upbeat frame of mind, he watched the movie Moneyball for the third time. He loved that movie. The path to success in sports was presented as he had walked it in politics. Decades ago, in his first political campaigns, Ben had to overcome generations of campaign dogma. Until then, campaign decisions were about feeling things in the gut, getting Charley in ward six to deliver, distributing enough campaign pins and bumper stickers and yard signs. Ben was a pioneer in changing all of that.

  He demonstrated that gut decision making worked much better if based on polls and other research data. He was one of the first consultants to go all-in on television ads, even if it meant no money for bumper stickers. In Moneyball, past performance was dissected and analyzed, and where it competed with the gut of the long-time team scouts, the numbers won. And so it was in politics. For his first six years in the business Ben didn’t lose a campaign. Not one. No matter the odds or how steep the hill to climb.

  Tonight, Ben emptied much of the bottle of his favorite gin while he watched baseball parallels of his own career flick by.

  So when the phone rang at 7:30 Sunday morning, he was groggier than usual. At his age, getting up was more of a process under any circumstance. Feeling the first aches and pains of the day. Compounded this morning by something he seldom felt any more. An alcohol-driven hangover.

  “Ben, Deacon.”

  That woke him up. Deacon? At this hour on Sunday morning?

  “Federico’s dead.”

  “How?”

  “Bullet in his brain.”

  “Oh my God, they murdered him.”

  Ben was standing now, fully awake. Ice replacing blood in his veins.

  “They found a suicide note.”

  “Suicide? Federico didn’t commit suicide.”

  “The note said he realized his sister was guilty and he couldn’t live with the shame.”

  Ben sat back on the bed. Legs weak. He suddenly felt a powerful urge to defecate.

  “Does she know?”

  “She’s in with the White House counsel team now. I think she’s working on a letter of resignation.”

  36

  In little more than half an hour, Ben managed to compose himself, pick up Bob Reynolds in a taxi and arrive at the White House. The front lawn was shoulder to shoulder with television cameras and media people waiting for anything, a blowing leaf, a passing sentry, or expectantly, a chastened president prepared to make a statement.

  Ben and Bob Reynolds didn’t pass through that gauntlet. They entered on the National Mall side where the White House cooks and cleaners and other functionaries enter and leave. If they were seen by media eyes, they were not recognized. Ben was counselor to the president, a familiar figure to White House security. Reynolds was used to faking his way past surprised guardians. Few want to quibble with a priest, especially when accompanied by a known insider like Ben Sage.

  The West Wing was in a state of paralysis, an army without marching orders, not knowing whether to gird for a fight or turn over their swords to a conquering enemy. Phones were ringing but few knew what to say other than, I’ll call you back. Ben stopped at Deacon’s desk.

  “Where are we?”

  “They’ve been in there for about an hour. The only others except her counsel are Lawson and McKitrick from the national security team. I’d guess they brought her more details about what happened. “

  “How did she take the news?”

  “With a stony stare. No screams, no tears, no words at all. I’d say if that bullet had hit her brain, not Federico’s, that’s how she would look in the first seconds after. Like she was either instantly dead or o
nly temporarily upright before the body recognizes that it’s all over.”

  “We’re going in.”

  “You can’t. She said absolutely no one. Including me.”

  Without a word, Ben grabbed Reynolds by the arm and sprinted into the Oval Office, past a very surprised Secret Service agent at the door, who quickly collected himself and barged in after them.

  The president was at her desk. The White House counsel and national security executives were seated in chairs facing her.

  “It’s all right,” said Tenny when she saw Ben and Reynolds, “Leave them be.”

  The guard retreated.

  “Sorry, Ben. I can’t talk with you now. You’ll have to leave.”

  “Not until you hear what Father Reynolds has to say. This is Father Bob Reynolds, a friend of Federico’s, a great friend. Federico trusted him to deliver a message to you if anything happened to him.”

  She stood up, startled.

  Without waiting for an invitation to speak, Reynolds told of Federico’s secret visit to Washington weeks earlier. The letters, the copies of emails, photos from hidden cameras, the audio recordings. The network of priests and other Federico loyalists who had been collecting this evidence for nearly a year, ever since the first rumors began. That’s what he hoped to deliver in person at the critical time, to break the back of the conspiracy. He was supposed to be here today. He was planning to go public with all of this right here in Washington Tuesday. That’s why he was murdered.

  Tenny stood staring at Reynolds, both arms on her desk for support, leaning forward, straining forward, as if with effort she could hear Federico himself.