Ballots and Blood

by Ralph Reed

  “I don’t think we’ll ever get there,” said Shapiro.

  “But you could,” fired back Battaglia. “I know LA Superior Court. Been there, done that. You get the wrong judge in the draw, you’re shafted.”

  “What happened with this girl?” asked Hector, his eyes boring into Jay. “I mean, is she just making this up out of thin air?”

  Shapiro leaned forward in his seat. “Don’t answer that, Jay.”

  Hector nearly came out of his chair. “What? You’re instructing a White House employee to take the Fifth? Come on, Walt, we’re all on the same team.”

  “Charlie, this meeting is subject to discovery. This very conversation is discoverable,” said Shapiro, his face hardening. “I can’t have Jay say something in this meeting that appears to contradict what he might say in an affidavit in the lawsuit.”

  “This conversation is protected by executive privilege,” shot back Battaglia.

  “Oh, you mean like Jay’s conversations with Treasury about Andy Stanton?” asked Shapiro. “That he’s going to testify about under oath? Like that?”

  Jay had heard enough. “Walt, I appreciate your concern, but Charlie has to know the facts.” He looked directly at Hector. “I took her out a couple of times. We made out. Fooled around a little bit. To the best of my recollection, I never had sex with her.”

  “To the best of your recollection?” asked Hector, incredulous. “You sound like Clinton.”

  “There was a lot of drinking.”

  “Jay’s going to offer to take a DNA test,” said Shapiro. “That will call her bluff.”

  Battaglia raised his eyebrows. “You sure you want to do that, Jay?”

  Jay shrugged his shoulders. “No. But if it gets this behind me, I’m willing to do it.”

  “Alright, here’s the deal,” said Hector, bringing the meeting to a close. “Phil, you and Walt work up a statement Lisa can read in the press briefing. I don’t want a bunch of lawyer-speak like, ‘There is no controlling legal authority,’ or ‘It depends on what the meaning of is is.’ Got it?”

  “Got it,” replied Battaglia.

  “Walt, we want this thing settled,” said Hector, his eyes boring in on Shapiro. “Make it go away. That’s what you do, right?”

  “I’m not a magician,” said Shapiro. “But that’s the objective. If it’s doable, we’ll do it.”

  “Good,” said Hector. He stood up, signaling the meeting was over. Everyone looked drained. “Well, hasn’t this been fun?”

  Everyone filed out, Jay heading back to his office, Shapiro joined at his hip. Jay’s mind raced. He wondered: if he made it through the Senate Finance Committee hearing alive, would he survive the Panzarella flap? He wanted to kick himself for being such a fool. He sure hoped Claire’s prayers were answered.

  33

  Jay’s bimbo eruption gave the media a field day. The crawler at the bottom of FOX News read: “She’s Having My Baby: LA ‘Party Girl’ Accuses WH Aide Jay Noble of Fathering Her Child.” In a play on the old Bob Dylan song, the New York Post headline read: “Lay, Layla, Lay!” Inside the issue were splashed paparazzi photos of Samah Panzarella arriving at her apartment in West Hollywood, wearing a sheer top, black leggings, and a denim miniskirt, her face obscured beneath a floppy hat and large sunglasses.

  Jay tried to ignore the storm raging around him. He e-mailed Lisa the statement Phil and Walt worked up but received no reply, then called her direct dial and got voicemail. She did not return the message. She was giving him the silent treatment.

  It didn’t take long after Lisa walked into the briefing room for the shooting to start.

  “Lisa, are you going to comment on the paternity suit filed by Samah Panzarella, a.k.a. Layla?” asked ABC News as he vainly attempted to wipe the smirk off his face.

  “This lawsuit is a personal, legal matter between Mr. Noble and Ms. Panzarella. It does not relate to Mr. Noble’s official duties as a member of the White House staff,” said Lisa. “The administration does not comment on pending legal matters or purely personal matters.”

  The briefing room broke out in laughter. “Oh, come on!” someone shouted. Lisa ignored the outburst and pointed to Dan Dorman of the Washington Post, who was puffed up like a blowfish. “Yes, Dan? I assume you have a question,” she deadpanned.

  “Without commenting on the specifics of the lawsuit, can you tell us if the president continues to have confidence in Jay Noble?” asked Dorman, head cocked.

  “The president has confidence in all his staff,” said Lisa, quick on her feet. “They are working hard to serve the American people. That includes Jay Noble.”

  “It’s a yes-or-no answer, Lisa.”

  “I answered it. I just didn’t answer it the way you wanted me to,” she said, her jaw tightening, the muscles in her face hardening with hatred.

  “Let me rephrase the question,” said Dorman. “Is the president personally aware of these allegations, and does he continue to have confidence in Noble?”

  “I don’t think that’s a rephrasing of your original question. I think it’s an entirely different question.”

  “Aaaaah,” moaned the press corps in protest. “Answer the question!” shouted a disembodied voice from the mob.

  Lisa shook off the zinger hurled from the cheap seats. She held up her watch. “Folks, you can ask questions for twenty minutes about this topic,” she said with a smile. “You’ll get the same answer. The answer’s not going to change. The White House does not comment on personal, legal matters.”

  “Is Jay going to grant any press interviews?” asked Politico. “Or is he going to hide behind his lawyers?”

  “If Jay decides to address these issues, we will certainly make that known,” said Lisa. “In the meantime we have provided you with a copy of his statement. Any further questions should be directed to his personal attorney, Walter Shapiro.”

  Jay sat in his office watching the carnage unfold on the TV screen. The cable networks covered the briefing live, which was a bad sign. The only good news: his Senate testimony would blow the Panzarella scandal off the front page, if only for a day.

  THE HEARING ROOM ON THE second floor of the Hart Senate Office Building was packed. Hundreds were in line since before dawn to get one of the coveted seats. Members of the Finance Committee sat on the dais beneath a gold U.S. Senate seal carved into the white marble wall, contrasting with the wood paneled walls on either side. They chatted among themselves as they awaited Jay’s much anticipated arrival.

  Suddenly Jay entered the room accompanied by two Capitol police and Walt Shapiro. The senators snapped to attention and cameras flashed. Jay stepped across the dais to shake hands with Aaron Hayward, chairman of the committee, and went down the dais, shaking hands cordially. He then walked to the witness table and sat down.

  Hayward banged his gavel, his white hair combed immaculately, his facial expression grave. He came loaded for bear. “This hearing of the Senate Finance Committee is hereby called to order,” he said. “The witness will please rise.”

  Jay stood to his feet. Dozens of photographers crouched on the balls of their feet or on their knees jockeyed for position. “Mr. Noble, please raise your right hand.” Jay lifted his arm. “Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”

  “I do,” he said as camera shutters exploded. Well, he thought, they got their money shot. Now it’s my turn.

  “Mr. Noble, I understand you have an opening statement.”

  “I do, Mr. Chairman,” replied Jay. “I will read only portions and would ask that the entire statement be entered into the record.”

  “Without objection, so ordered,” said Hayward.

  “Chairman Hayward, members of the committee,” Jay began. “I appreciate the opportunity—”

  “Excuse me, Mr. Noble,” interrupted Hayward. “Could you please introduce your legal counsel to the committee? I mean for those few who don’t already know him.”

  The crowd ch
uckled knowingly. Jay had one of the most famous white-collar criminal lawyers in the nation by his side.

  “Walter Shapiro with the Webster and Puck law firm,” said Shapiro.

  “Thank you, Mr. Shapiro. Please proceed, Mr. Noble.”

  “Yes, Senator,” said Jay. “I appreciate the opportunity to appear today and testify about the events this committee is investigating. There is a great deal of misinformation and misunderstanding about my role in the Internal Revenue Service’s audit of New Life Ministries and other charitable organizations. I am grateful for the chance to set the record straight.”

  The committee members stared down from the dais impassively. Some of them flipped through copies of Jay’s prepared statement, following as he spoke.

  “Last August, the president held a meeting in the White House with religious leaders about the nomination of Judge Marco Diaz to the U.S. Supreme Court, which I attended,” said Jay. “After the meeting, Ross Lombardy, the executive director of the Faith and Family Federation, asked if he could meet with me briefly. He informed me of the concerns his boss, Reverend Andy Stanton, and other evangelical leaders had about what he characterized as politically motivated and highly invasive audits of conservative ministries and alleged bias by the IRS agents conducting them. He asked me if anything could be done to ensure greater fairness, as he felt the audit process constituted harassment. I told him I would pass on his concerns.”

  Jay reached for a glass of water, taking a sip. “Two days later I called David Thomas, political director of the White House, and asked him to check in with Carl Bondi, the White House liaison at the Treasury Department. I related my conversation with Mr. Lombardy to David. I told him I heard similar concerns during the presidential campaign from religious leaders. I told Mr. Thomas to ask Mr. Bondi to make the appropriate individuals aware of the fact the White House was receiving complaints.” Jay lifted his head, looking directly at the senators, his eyes like lasers. “At no time did I ask anyone at the Treasury Department to modify its audit procedures to reduce scrutiny of tax-exempt organizations.” His leaned into the microphone, his voice rising. “I instructed Mr. Thomas to tell Mr. Bondi that we were confident the decisions regarding the audits of tax-exempt ministries were being determined on the merits alone.” He paused for dramatic effect. “There was no attempt by me or anyone else at the White House to influence any audit.

  “Mr. Chairman, I know some have claimed I interfered with the audit of New Life Ministries,” said Jay, his voice firm and resonant. “That is a lie.” A few of the Democratic senators flinched. “I never spoke with anyone at the Treasury Department regarding this issue. I never tried to influence any decision by the IRS. These allegations have more to do with partisan politics prior to an election in which control of the Senate hangs in the balance than they do with my conduct as a White House employee.” Jay paused. “I am happy to take your questions.”

  The entire room held its breath; Jay’s denial was categorical. He had all but accused the committee of conducting a witch hunt. Everyone waited for the fireworks.

  Hayward leaned back, eyes narrowing as a staffer whispered in his ear. He nodded silently, then pulled his microphone close. “Mr. Noble, I read your statement with great interest. You claim you never spoke to anyone at the Treasury Department and thus could not have influenced the outcome of the audit of New Life Ministries.” Hayward hunched his back, rounding his shoulders. “But Mr. Thomas did it for you. Mr. Thomas is your deputy, correct?”

  “Senator, he is one of them,” said Jay, his voice even. “I have many people who report to me, including the head of public liaison, the director of policy planning—”

  “I don’t need the White House organizational chart,” said Hayward, his voice withering. “When someone at the Treasury Department or any other cabinet-level department gets a call from Mr. Thomas, they know they’re really getting a call from you, right?”

  “Not necessarily,” said Jay, fouling off the pitch.

  “Not according to Mr. Bondi. He testified Mr. Thomas said he was calling on your behalf.” A staffer quickly produced a transcript. Hayward put on his reading glasses. “Mr. Bondi said, and I quote, ‘David said Jay asked him to call and relay the concerns of Andy Stanton and other conservative religious leaders about the IRS.’” He snapped off his reading glasses. “Mr. Thomas delivered your message, didn’t he? And your message was: we’re getting blowback from the evangelicals. Back off. Isn’t that what happened here?”

  “Senator, my message was to make all decisions on the merits alone.”

  “Then why, pray tell, have the White House political director call?” asked Hayward, his face animated, throwing up his hands. “If the audits were so fair, and you fully concurred with the way the IRS was conducting the audits, why not send the message by . . . the tooth fairy?”

  The room exploded with laughter. Jay sat stoically.

  “I suppose I could have, Senator,” he said with a wry smile. “But I wouldn’t want the tooth fairy to have my legal bills.” The crowd laughed appreciatively. A few Republican senators enjoyed a chuckle. On the majority side of the dais, they just glared at him.

  “Is it that, or you don’t want the tooth fairy to file a paternity suit against you?” asked Hayward, flashing a wicked grin. There were gasps and guffaws at the reference to the Panzarella scandal.

  Jay’s lips turned up and his eyes twinkled. “Senator, I can state categorically and without fear of correction, I have never partied with the tooth fairy in Los Angeles.”

  The room exploded in laughter. Even Shapiro’s face stretched into a rubbery smile.

  Hayward glowered over the top of his glasses. Jay’s testimony was turning into a comedy routine. He’d had enough. “When the political director of the White House, whose job it is to oversee the political interests of the president, calls an agency on the carpet that is supposed to be free from any political influence, it speaks volumes about what the president’s advisors want, does it not, Mr. Noble?”

  “With all due respect, Senator, the only message we conveyed was that we were receiving constituent complaints regarding audits of ministries,” said Jay. “Given the vital work these ministries do helping the poor, feeding the hungry, educating the illiterate, and helping people find jobs, if they had concerns about selective enforcement, it was entirely appropriate to pass them on to the relevant individuals in the government. Indeed, it was my job to convey their concerns. Had I failed to do so, I would have been delinquent in my duties. The agencies deal with that information however they deem appropriate based on the merits alone.”

  “I see. You would have been delinquent,” said Hayward sarcastically. “Is that particularly true if the organization in question turned out millions of votes for Bob Long?”

  “No, sir. But they raised the concerns, and I passed them on. That’s my job.”

  A staff member handed Hayward a sheet of paper. His eyes scanning the contents. “Mr. Noble, please turn to Exhibit 450-A.” He waited as Jay and Shapiro flipped through a large binder to the page. “This is an e-mail from Mr. Thomas to Ross Lombardy on November 20. It reads, ‘OPP sent nomination of Lee Fenty for IRS commish to Hill. Solid guy. Andy will be pleased.’” He stared down at Jay, his eyes accusing. “Obviously a reference to Reverend Stanton getting more favorable treatment from the new commissioner of the IRS. I suppose this would be another example of something being decided solely on the merits?”

  “Yes, sir. Mr. Fenty was a career civil servant with impeccable qualifications.”

  “You see nothing unusual about the White House political director telling a prominent supporter being audited by the IRS that he’ll be pleased with the new management?”

  “Senator, Mr. Fenty has already testified no one at the White House encouraged him to give favorable treatment to Andy Stanton,” fired back Jay. “If you’re suggesting this e-mail was part of a White House attempt to influence the IRS, then apparently Mr. Fenty disagrees.”

&nbs
p; “Mr. von Fuggers agrees,” said Hayward impatiently. “So do two other IRS agents who have testified to White House interference.” He picked up a stack of papers, waving it for the cameras as still photo shutters fluttered. “How would Mr. Fenty know? He was not confirmed until after von Fuggers was reassigned and resigned in disgust.”

  “If that is the case, then according to your time line, Mr. Fenty could not have been part of a conspiracy to influence an audit if he came to the IRS after the fact. You can’t have it both ways, Senator.”

  “Don’t tell me what I can and can’t have, Mr. Noble,” bellowed Hayward, his eyes narrowing to slits. “You’re the witness. Keep that in mind?”

  “Yes, Senator.”

  Walt Shapiro nearly came out of his chair. He leaned into the microphone. “Mr. Chairman, with all due respect, is this a hearing or an inquisition?”

  “Counselor, I’ve served in the senate for twenty-four years and chaired this committee for eight years. Are you trying to tell me how to conduct a hearing?”

  “No, Senator, but I believe this is known in a court of law as brow-beating the witness,” said Shapiro, eyes aflame, his jaw firm.

  “You’re not in a court of law!” shouted Hayward. “You may well be in court before this is over. But today you are at my hearing before my committee, and your client will answer my questions.”

  “He has answered all your questions, and he will continue to do so pursuant to the White House’s agreement with this committee, Senator,” said Shapiro. “I’m only asking that he be treated with a modicum of decency and respect.”

  “Well, I see my time is up,” said Hayward, ignoring Shapiro. “I’ll turn it over to the other side of the aisle.”

  IN THE RADIO STUDIOS OF New Life Ministries, Andy Stanton spun in his chair, clapping his large hands together. “Ladies and gentlemen, you heard it yourselves! Aaron Hayward didn’t lay a glove on Jay Noble. This isn’t a fair fight. It’s child abuse! I’m waiting for a referee to call the fight before someone gets hurt.”

  He pressed a button on his console, playing a tape with the sound effects of a flurry of punches landing. “Is this it? Is this all they have? Some innocuous e-mail and the testimony of a disgruntled government bureaucrat with liberal sympathies who’s flogging a book on CBS and MSNBC?” He leaned into the microphone, lowering his voice to a silky baritone. “Brothers and sisters, we are at war. The chairman of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee is dead. The French foreign minister is dead. Both murdered by terrorists working for Rassem el Zafarshan. Two U.S. officials are missing. Iran has a nuclear weapon. Zafarshan has enough yellowcake to build a dirty bomb and blow up a major U.S. city.” He dropped his voice to a hush. “In the midst of the worst national security threat since September 11, who do the Democrats target? Momar Salami? Not on your life! Zafarshan? No . . . me. Poor little old me, someone who pastors a church and a ministry. Imagine that!”