Stanbridge, with obvious disgust on his face, examined the sea of faces. “The President still doesn’t get it,” he said slowly, emphasizing each word. “What is it going to take for this President to stand up for the rights of American citizens?” he asked rhetorically. The Speaker proceeded to read the proposed rules into the record as his motion was immediately seconded.
The debate went on all night and C-SPAN carried every minute live. A large percentage of the country stayed to watch. The last month had made C-SPAN the most watched television station in the country. Suddenly people had an interest in what Congress was doing, because Congress was acting, instead of arguing or debating the budget.
Pete Peterson had had a harder time convincing the Senate it needed to debate the motion as quickly as the House. The gentlemanly rules agreed upon before the debate began were not easily arrived at. And Peterson had made it clear they were going to vote that night. Numerous senators were walking through the hallways with furrowed brows. The Letter of Reprisal, Rules of Capture, and the impeachment trial were simply too much for them to handle. Their necks were on the line and they knew it. It was the most exposed they had felt in years. They liked six-month debates. They liked committees that argued over language for months or years. They liked votes where they couldn’t be exposed. Peterson was making that very difficult for each of them.
Dillon saw the paper sign on the door as he pushed it open. The door was off a back corridor in the Capitol and not accessible to the press. Someone had drawn in big black letters, WAR ROOM! At the bottom of the exclamation point where the dot would normally be was a happy face. Dillon closed the door behind him. Grazio approached him as Dillon stared at the frenetic activity throughout the room.
“Video editing stations are up,” Grazio said, gratified. “I’ve never seen anything like this kind of technology. I’ve heard about it, but usually the government is about ten to twelve years behind the curve.”
“This guy’s amazing,” Dillon said, referring to Pendleton, who was in the corner watching a video play on a computer screen over the shoulder of one of the attorneys from his firm. Pendleton put a white mint in his mouth. “Look at Mr. Cool, there. Popping mints like he’s watching a movie or something,” Dillon added.
“Maybe they’re antacids. Maybe he’s finally showing some stress.”
“Never happen,” Dillon replied. “What’s he got you doing?”
“Mostly gofer stuff, handyman, jack of all trades, whatever I can do to help.”
Dillon set his briefcase down. “At least I have a nice desk,” he remarked, taking in the mahogany structure with his name on it.
“Nice desk?” Grazio asked. “Man, you’re one of the select. You’re one of the two managers to try this case.”
There were fifteen lawyers in the room, all sitting at desks facing computer screens. Some were watching videotapes of the President’s speeches, some were reviewing old news articles that purported to quote the President, still more were on the telephone talking to fund-raisers, lobbyists, and others who might have the silver bullet, the one piece of information that would prove Manchester was a pacifist. So far there had been nothing. But there had also been nothing that showed he wasn’t.
Pendleton’s instructions had been clear. He had convinced the Speaker that they had the right to subpoena the President to the trial. The separation of powers argument didn’t apply to impeachment. Obviously the Senate had power over the President during impeachment. They could remove him from office. Pendleton said that if the Senate can remove him, they can subpoena him. It had never been tried or decided before. Pendleton wasn’t going to do it until it was clear they had to, if it was clear the President wasn’t going to come and defend himself, just like Johnson and Clinton had done. But either voluntarily or by subpoena, Pendleton was confident Manchester would be there.
Everything was focused on the cross-examination of the President. He had spent the entire time since his appointment as a manager getting ready for this. Pendleton knew this was the pinnacle of his career, and he was relishing the opportunity. Every time he got one more cross-examination bullet, it went immediately into his outline, the reference went into his notebook, and the video clip or document went onto the CD writer. Pendleton saw Dillon and came toward him.
“Mr. Dillon. How are you?” he asked, studying Dillon’s face to find out how he actually was.
“I’m very well. Thank you,” Dillon replied.
“How are you coming on your preparation?”
“I’m doing fine, but I’m thinking that maybe this isn’t the best place to finish it. It’s crazy here. Oh, and thanks for letting the do a witness.”
“You’re welcome, and it really is crazy here,” Pendleton agreed, “but I find that Sometimes I think better when there’s a lot of energy around the. You do whatever suits you. You have your computer—you can take it home, use your old office, or work here. Your choice. I’ll even get you a conference room at my law firm if you want peace and quiet and a guarantee that you won’t be disturbed. Do you still have policemen around you?”
“How did you know about that?”
“Heard it.”
“The Honolulu police passed it to the D.C. police. They’re not sure whether to do anything about it or not. I don’t think there’s any real risk.”
Pendleton glanced around. “Don’t ever underestimate your adversary.”
“I don’t. Believe the.”
“So what you are going to do?”
“I’m not sure yet,” Dillon said. “I’ll probably work here for a while and then find Someplace more quiet, maybe even the Library of Congress.”
“Great idea,” Pendleton said.
Dillon thought Pendleton looked a little pasty. He seemed to be showing his age—more than Dillon remembered. “How’s your preparation coming?” Dillon asked.
“Right on target,” Pendleton replied. “I’m almost two thirds done and we have two days left before the trial begins. Shouldn’t be any problem. I just wish we could find a little better evidence. This guy is slick, he leaves no trail at all, but, of course, that’s what you’d expect from a master deceiver.... Oh, Janet may need some help in reviewing some of the campaign speeches. We’ve done them all, but we’re just taking one last look. She’s underwater. Frank, could you give her a hand?”
“Sure,” Grazio said. Janet was sitting in a corner with stacks of videotape next to her on the floor.
“I need you to check on the status of all the subpoenas too. I’d like you to put a chart on the wall that shows whether or not every witness that we intend to call has been served. I want one for the President too.”
Grazio was surprised. “A subpoena for the President?”
“Yes.”
“Can we do that?”
“In Clinton’s impeachment, everyone said they couldn’t. I think they were wrong.”
“That should get his attention.”
“We’re going to hold that in reserve. I’m going to invite him to come first. Give him a chance to say ‘no.’ ”
“So get it ready and hold on to it.”
“Exactly.”
The activity in the war room was intense and efficient. Pendleton had them working like a team, each knowing his or her assignment. Pendleton crossed the room and sat at a videotape editing console, watching one of Manchester’s speeches. He had sped up the videotape enough so the audio sounded like Alvin and the Chipmunks and the video looked like an old silent movie with numerous bizarre gestures. But Pendleton was just saving time. He knew he could listen and assimilate a lot faster than Manchester was going to talk in his speeches. So if he did it at twice the speed he could view twice as much video. He was after content.
Grazio sat on the comer of Dillon’s desk and watched Pendleton. “Think he even knows anyone else is in the room?”
“I really doubt it,” Dillon said. “He’s amazing. I don’t know how he does it.”
“Rumor is he may be showing t
he strain.”
“How?”
“Disappeared for two hours yesterday.”
“So?”
“Rumor is he went to see a doctor. Stress or something.”
“Says who?”
“People.”
“He was probably bored and went to find something more challenging to do.”
“You ever run into him in San Diego?”
“Only by reputation.”
“What do you mean?”
Dillon leaned back in his chair and put his arms behind his head. “He was considered the best trial lawyer in San Diego.”
“So?”
“So, I don’t know. You just always know who those people are. You hear about their reputation and feel like you know them long before you ever meet them. First time I ever actually met him was here, when the Speaker hired him for the President’s lawsuit.”
“He’s that good, huh?”
“Well, if you believe his reputation.”
“Like what? What reputation?” Grazio asked enthusiastically.
Dillon sat forward and looked around to make sure no one else was listening. “I’ll tell you what the mythology was.”
“What?” Grazio asked.
“One story made the rounds in San Diego about his cross-examination ability—that he was able to cross-examine anybody, on anything. That was like the one thing you didn’t want to do—be cross-examined by David Pendleton.”
Dillon glanced at Pendleton out of the corner of his eye. “One day when he was a fairly new partner in his firm, at a partners’ meeting—and he already had a reputation for Withering cross-exams—the managing partner asks him in front of everyone,” he said, “whether anyone could be made to look foolish in a cross-exam. Pendleton’s surprised, but says, ‘Of course.’ Managing partner says, ‘Stand up!’ Pendleton stands. Managing partner says, ‘Okay, give us your line of questioning for Mother Teresa. Now.’
“The other partners at the meeting smile and wait. Pendleton rises to the challenge. He stands up, thinks for a minute, then: ‘Now, Ms., excuse the, Mother Teresa, it’s true that you’ve never been able to lift yourself out of poverty, isn’t it? In fact, you’re not a “mother” at all, in the normal meaning of the word, are you?
“‘In fact it’s true that you’ve been unable to hold a paying job for fifty years?’ He gets into it. He’s looking at the managing partner like he’s Mother Teresa. So he goes on, ‘In fact you’ve never been hired by anybody to do anything for which they’ve paid you money, isn’t that correct?’ Pendleton pauses, steps a couple of steps to the side, and stares at the nonexistent Mother Teresa on the witness stand.
“ ‘You never graduated from a university, did you?’ His tone becomes a little more forceful. ‘Isn’t it true, Mother Teresa, that you have spent your entire life dedicated to an exclusionary religious organization which believes that most people on earth are going to hell? An organization which does not allow women to be in leadership roles? An organization which led crusades to the Middle East to subdue the indigenous people there? An organization which believes its male leader is infallible in issues of its exclusionary religious positions?’ By now the partners are in shock, everybody’s staring at him, and he closes in for the kill. ‘Do you believe yourself to be infallible, Mother Teresa? Do you believe your testimony here today to be infallible?’ So then his last question for her: ‘Mother Teresa, isn’t it true that your face is alleged to have appeared miraculously on a cinnamon bun in Tennessee?’ Pendleton sits down and his partners hoot, cheer, and give him a standing ovation!”
Dillon laughed as he remembered the story. “I heard that story every year from someone new. It’s legendary in San Diego, but actually happened.” Dillon watched Pendleton for a few minutes. “One day I’m going to ask him about it.” Suddenly he turned to Grazio. “What we really ought to do is make sure the President hears about it.”
Grazio smiled, slid off Dillon’s desk, and headed for the door. “I’m going to go tell him!”
Commander Beth Louwsma walked into the admiral’s wardroom and interrupted his dinner. “Admiral, it passed,” she said, holding a message in her hands. “I was watching CNN. It passed both the House and the Senate early this morning, Washington time. A messenger was on his way here with this. I took it from him,” she said, giving it to Admiral Billings.
He read it. “Well, we still can’t act, can we?”
“Not till the President either signs it or vetoes it.”
“What’s your take on that?”
“I don’t know, he’s really in a fix. The impeachment trial starts Wednesday. Stanbridge is putting the pressure on.
“Does he dare veto another one of these, right in the face of his impeachment trial?”
“It’ll just be more evidence.”
Billings thought for a moment, like everyone else trying to get inside the head of the man. The man who had gone after Billings personally. He pushed his plate away. “You know what he’s going to do, don’t you?” Billings said.
“No, sir.”
“Sit down, Beth,” he said, pointing to a chair. He was dining alone, which he rarely did.
“He’s not going to do anything. He can’t possibly act before the impeachment trial, and it will be over in ten days. You know what that means?”
“What?”
“Our boy George Washington will be long gone. If they killed Mrs. Heidel, as you suspect, then they’ll get rid of her and bingo out of there.”
Beth grimaced. “By then they’ll have figured out that we’re nearby, or will be on to the next island anyway. We may never find them again.” Beth thought about the admiral’s prediction. “Do you think the President is really a pacifist, Admiral?”
“I don’t know, Beth, he just won’t take a position in public. Except to announce Heidel’s kidnapping, he hasn’t had a press conference since, when Somebody yelled at him and asked him whether he was a pacifist. He didn’t answer then and he still hasn’t answered. I don’t know what he’s thinking about. I tell you what though, I’ve had it with him.” Billings’s face suddenly turned red. “He comes after me as hard as he can, gets the U.S. Attorney to come after the, has the court-martialed for following the Letter of Reprisal constitutionally issued by the Congress, and tries to put me in jail. If I ever meet that sonofabitch…”
“He is still the Commander in Chief.”
Billings replied, “At least for a while.”
“Don’t do anything rash,” Louwsma offered.
“Don’t worry, Commander Louwsma, strictly by the book from this point on. If he doesn’t sign the Rules of Capture, I don’t think I’ll be doing much. I’ve learned that lesson. Although—”
Beth stood up suddenly. “If you’ll excuse me, Admiral, I’ve got to check on something.”
“The SEAL Team.”
“Yes, sir, they’ve asked for a lot of information, which we’ve been working on all day.”
“Give them everything we’ve got, don’t hold anything back. I want them to go in there and knock the hell out of these guys.”
“I think that’s what they intend to do, Admiral.”
“Excellent. Tell them to be ready to go. It’s not up to me; it’s up to the President, but anything could happen. We may not get much notice.” He looked at the chart. “We’re already in range for the Mirage, but I’m going to go in closer. I want them to be able to get in there in a couple of hours once we get the word.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
“One other thing, Beth.”
“Yes, sir?”
“I got an e-mail from Dillon.”
“What about?”
“It’s kind of cryptic. He said, ‘Thursday night.’ ”
“What did he mean?”
“Don’t know.”
“Thursday for what?”
“The attack, I think.”
“How could he know that?”
“I have no idea.”
“What should we do
about it?”
“I think we should tell the SEALs to plan their rendezvous for Wednesday.”
Beth stared at him. “Seriously, sir?”
“Seriously.”
“I’ll get the message ready, sir.”
The floor of the Senate chamber had been rearranged to accommodate the trial. David Pendleton, with his compulsive attention to even minor details, had given Pete Peterson a hand-drawn diagram of where he wanted everything for the trial. The city was buzzing. Newspapers were putting out special editions that recounted the other major impeachment trials that had occurred. Two Presidents and one Justice of the Supreme Court.
The senators’ staffers had scrambled to find the rules and crammed to become experts. Only a few of them had been there for Clinton’s impeachment trial. The Chief Justice had been to the Senate the day before to make sure everything was in order.
Dillon had gotten up at four-thirty. He had gone to bed at one-thirty. He stared at himself in the bathroom mirror and tried to keep his hands from shaking as he shaved. He had lost ten pounds in the last week, five of which had been in the last forty-eight hours. His stomach was like a blast furnace, burning up anything that entered it in a manner of seconds. He put his head close to the mirror to see if his eyes were bloodshot. They were showing signs of strain. He dropped the razor into the foam-covered water and exhaled and growled, gritting his teeth. Why didn’t they make a razor with a real handle? He groped for the razor under the water and dried off the handle with a towel. He began shaving. He could feel the razor pulling and knew he needed a new blade. He also knew he was ten times more likely to cut himself with a new blade. The last thing he wanted was to be cross-examining a witness on world television with a piece of toilet paper on a cut under his ear. His mind began going over the witness he was scheduled to take, and all the documents that would be part of the trial. Whatever you do, Jim, he said to himself, don’t screw it up.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The Price Of Power Page 39