Olsen leaned back. He shook his head again, as if he knew he wasn’t going to get anywhere with what he had said.
Joe Benton frowned, gazing at the coffee table that stood between him and Olsen. Then he looked back at the other man. “Have you been working with the White House on this?”
Olsen looked at him in surprise. Then he laughed. “If you can show me a less competent administration in foreign affairs I’d like to see it. Senator, you’re insulting me.”
Benton smiled. “Unintended.”
“Fine.”
Benton frowned again. “You make a powerful case, Dr. Olsen.”
“Others have been making it.”
“Not as eloquently. Not to me.”
“So much depends on who you listen to, doesn’t it?”
“Yes,” said Benton. “Yes.” He said it emphatically. “You mistake me, Dr. Olsen.”
“How so, Senator?”
“You said I need someone at State who wants our foreign policy to be reactive. You implied that’s because that’s the role I think we should play. I don’t think either of those things is true. What I need at State is someone who does want to see this country take an active leadership role, and doesn’t use the domestic prism for foreign policy. I need that counterbalance. You said it yourself, it’s my job to make the call between domestic and foreign priorities. So I need that State viewpoint given to me sharp and clear every single time I have to make a decision, and I need it given to me by someone who won’t be afraid to stand up and say what he thinks, even if he knows that a majority of the people in the room are instinctively against him. Which they may well be, by the way. And I need that person to know how to work the State Department machine so he can go out and do what he has to do. And by the way, I need that person to have a very, very good grasp of Chinese affairs.”
The Senator paused. Olsen was watching him closely.
“But here’s the other thing, Dr. Olsen. I need that person to be able to live with decisions he doesn’t like. That’s what worries me about you. Because after that person makes the case—when we’re talking about the major foreign policy issues for this country, the crucial strategic ones— they’re going to be my decisions. And if he hasn’t persuaded me on one of them, then I’m going to ask him to go out and do something which he may not necessarily want to do. You talked before about having a voice within the administration. Well, that person will have a voice. He’ll have his chance in the debate, he’ll have his chance to persuade me—he’ll always have that chance—but after that, he’s going to have to execute the policy I agree with. Now, that may not sound great, but if I was in your shoes, it would seem like a pretty good deal to me. The only way you could get more is if you ran for president yourself. So what you have to ask yourself, Dr. Olsen, is do you want to spend the rest of your life talking about the things on that to-do list you’ve got in your head—or do you want to actually start doing some of them? Not everything, but something. Do you want to get out on the park, or would you rather stay in the dugout?”
Olsen stared at him. “What are you saying, Senator?”
Joe Benton hesitated. He had agreed to this meeting only because John Eales had pretty much insisted on it. Privately, he had thought it would be a waste of time. He had expected to have a conversation with Larry Olsen and then call up Steve Naylor and tell him he was offering State to Al Graham. Yet in forty-five minutes, Olsen had demonstrated a more crisp and cogent approach to foreign affairs than Benton had had from any other advisor. It was also more challenging, provoking, and demanding of his attention. And that, paradoxically, was the most important reason Joe Benton said what he proceeded to say next.
“Dr. Olsen, let me be clear about this. If you do come in as secretary of state, you come in for at least one term. You don’t sit there for six months and decide you don’t like it. And on critical issues, you execute the policy I authorize. But I’ve promised you I’ll always hear what you’ve got to say, and I’ll protect your ability within the administration to say it. Now, if I was you, I’d be asking myself whether Yale’s a more attractive proposition.”
Olsen shook his head slowly.
“If you find this a little hard to believe,” said Joe Benton, “that makes two of us.”
“Does Alan Ball know about this?”
“No,” said Benton. He wondered again if what he was doing was completely insane. Olsen’s views and style couldn’t have been more opposed to Ball’s. It almost made him wince to think what might happen if he brought them together at the same table.
“Can I have some time to think about it?” said Olsen.
“How much do you want?”
“A couple of days.”
“Take until Friday.”
Olsen nodded. “Senator, you’d better think about this as well.”
~ * ~
Thursday, December 9
CBS Webcasting Center, New Jersey
The journalists around the table had fallen silent. They were staring at Ben Lacey, a correspondent who had covered a good portion of the Benton campaign. Lacey couldn’t keep the smirk off his face.
“Say that again,” said Fran O’Lachlan. She was editor in chief of the CBS politics stream, a sharp, energetic woman in her fifties who had built a reputation as a shrewd political analyst, and it was her daily editorial meeting that Lacey had just brought to a halt with his announcement.
A week previously, President-elect Benton had presented the nominees for his economic team. Paul Sellers, Benton’s nominee for secretary of commerce was the only surprise. He was a moderate Republican congressman who had served as deputy U.S. trade representative under Bill Shawcross, and it was widely seen as a smart move by Benton to get a cross-party figure on the team. Hugo Montera, whom Benton had persuaded to join the administration, was named as his choice for labor secretary. And what Lacey had just said was that there was dirt on Montera
He explained. Two years previously, Montera’s law firm, where Hugo Montera was a senior partner, had been sued by an employee who claimed he had been unfairly dismissed. The case had been settled out of court with the usual nondisclosure provisions and nonadmission of guilt. For those two years, the nondisclosure condition had been kept. Now, according to Lacey, the plaintiff in the case wanted to reveal what had happened.
But Fran O’Lachlan was way too experienced to take something like this at face value.
“Why’s he talking to us?” she asked.
“He’s got an aunt who’s a friend of my mom,” said Lacey. “She said, go talk to Ben.”
“There’s a piece of fine investigative journalism,” quipped someone at the table.
O’Lachlan ignored the remark. “You don’t know him?” she said to Lacey.
Lacey shook his head.
“So he’s just going to break his nondisclosure?” Eleanor Engers was lead anchor of the CBS politics pod. “How much does he want?”
“Nothing.” Lacey grinned. “So here’s the cool thing. He’s dying. He’s got some kind of cancer in his brain and the medical folks say he has maybe six months left.”
There were grimaces in the room. On the wall screen, Matt Ruddock, the D.C. correspondent, frowned. “What was that, Ben? I didn’t catch it.”
“He’s dying. Six months max. The agreement means nothing to him. What are they going to do? Sue him? He’ll be dead before the case gets near a court. And what does that do to Montera anyway? You think the Senate’s going to confirm a secretary of labor who’s suing a terminally ill former employee over an unfair dismissal claim? Fran, this guy wants justice. He feels outraged. All this time, he feels justice wasn’t done, and now, when he’s got nothing to lose, that’s what he wants.”
“How do you know his brain cancer hasn’t done something to his memory?” asked one of the other journalists.
“He’s fine. He’s sane.”
“You’ve spoken to him?” said O’Lachlan.
Lacey nodded. “He’s dying, that’s all.”
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“Guys,” said Ruddock. “I’ve got to leave you now. Benton’s press conference is about to start.”
“What is it today?” said Engers.
“His national security team. For what it’s worth, I say, if the guy with the brain cancer has a story, we tell it. Fran, I’ll call later.”
Ruddock went offline. Someone switched the screen to the stream that would be showing the press conference. O’Lachlan turned back to Lacey. “So what’s he saying?”
Lacey leaned forward conspiratorially. “Montera himself was the one who sacked him. The pretext was insubordination. The truth is, he says, one of the other partners didn’t like him.”
“Didn’t like him?”
Lacey grinned. “It gets better. Not only did the partner not like him, he liked one of the other junior associates an awful lot. A female associate. And this other associate was kind of friendly with our man, if you know what I mean. So the partner goes to Montera, and says, we got to sack this guy. And Montera does it.”
“It’s like David and Bathsheba,” murmured Andrea Bartinevsky, an intern out of Columbia. She saw the way the others were looking at her. “What? I went to Bible class when I was a kid.”
“Exactly,” said Lacey. “What else do you want, Fran? Sex, deceit, unfair dismissal. . . Like Andy says, it’s biblical.”
“Did Montera know? Maybe the other guy convinced him there really was insubordination.”
“Fran, who cares? Throw sex into it and no one’s going to look into the nuances.”
“But did he know?” repeated O’Lachlan. “He may have been acting in good faith.”
“So what?”
“Fran,” said Engers, “if he didn’t know, he should have checked.” Engers didn’t much like Lacey, but she was with him on this. “If Montera just took the word of the partner against the word of the other guy, that’s negligence, if nothing else.”
“Come on, Fran. He’s nominated to be secretary of labor. If he’s been involved in an unfair dismissal, that’s a public interest issue whichever way you look at it. And if we don’t run with it, the guy’s taking it to Fox. The only thing keeping him alive is the desire to see the truth revealed. Whatever we do, this story’s coming out.” Lacey grinned. “What are the odds, huh? Getting shot down by some guy who’s got six months to live just when the president nominates you to the cabinet. Not even I’d take a bet on that.”
“Okay,” said O’Lachlan. “Do some checking. See if you can find the other associate who was involved. And the other partner. If they won’t go on the record, get them off. I want to be one hundred percent sure this is true before we use it. In the meantime, I’ll talk to our legal guys and make sure it’s okay for us to go ahead with this. Get me a copy of the settlement agreement.”
“That’s irrelevant,” said Lacey. “The agreement doesn’t involve us.”
“We’ll be abetting someone in breaking a legal agreement.”
“I’m not offering an inducement.”
“Document that. And get him to sign something.”
“I will.”
“And get me a copy of the agreement.”
Lacey rolled his eyes. “Fran, we’re not—”
“Ben, get me a copy of the agreement. Understand? If he won’t give you that, tell him we’re not interested and he can go to the National Enquirer.”
“All right. But Montera’s dead in the water, I’m telling you.”
“Maybe he is. Get it worked up so we can use it. And make sure I see everything. Nothing goes out until it’s watertight.”
Lacey nodded. He glanced at Engers. He had Montera. He had him like a deer in his sights.
On the screen Benton’s press conference was starting. The senator was speaking, with a couple of people standing either side of him. O’Lachlan turned to watch. Ben Lacey looked at the senator as well. He smirked. There stood Straight Joe Benton, with no idea what Lacey was about to unleash on him. He wasn’t going to look so straight after that, was he?
“That’s Larry Olsen,” murmured O’Lachlan.
“Where?” said Engers.
“Him. There.”
“Benton just said he’s nominating him to State,” said one of the other journalists.
“What?”
“That’s what Benton just said.”
Olsen was stepping forward to the microphone now.
“Turn up the volume,” said O’Lachlan.
Olsen made a brief statement. He really was going to be the next secretary of state.
“Look at Graham,” said Engers. “Look at his body language. He’s pissed.”
“What’s Graham’s job?” said O’Lachlan. “Anyone hear?”
“UN.”
O’Lachlan frowned. Her journalistic antennae were tingling. “What’s the message here? What’s the point of having Olsen in? We’re going to demand a tougher Kyoto 4? We’re going to walk away?”
“No way Benton’s walking away,” said Engers.
“So what’s he doing with Olsen? What’s changed?”
Lacey stood up. “We done? Fran, I’ve got stuff to do. We done?”
She was still watching the screen.
“I’ll get you that agreement,” said Lacey. “You’ll have it tomorrow.”
“Fine.”
“Fran, we’re going after Montera, right?”
O’Lachlan took her eyes off the screen. She nodded. “Just make sure the story’s tight.”
~ * ~
Tuesday, December 14
Capitol Hill, Washington, D.C.
The reaction of the right-wing press had been knee-jerk. That morning, Heather Benton had announced that she would continue in her position as CEO of YouthMatters. Ten minutes later, she was being accused of degrading the presidency. The liberal media were less strident, almost uncertain. Joe Benton found it interesting to see how they were reacting. Apart from the lunatic fringe, who wanted to be seen denying a woman the right to her own career? Benton thought it would eventually blow over and in four years no one would understand what the fuss had been about. In that sense, it was a truly groundbreaking step that Heather had taken, and he was all for it.
He had spent most of the day with congressional leaders reviewing the outcomes of the Relocation summit that had taken place the previous week in Cincinnati. Meetings with the Republicans had been cool but cordial. A couple had fired not-so-disguised shots at him over Heather. The Democratic leaders hadn’t said much about it. They weren’t happy, he could see that, but they were caught in the same dilemma as the liberal media. The meetings with them had been more substantive, going into his legislative requirements in some detail, particularly the key planks of the Budget Reconciliation Act, which would be critical to create the economic underpinnings of New Foundation. A number of Benton’s policy aides and cabinet nominees sat in on the discussions, as well as Ben Hoffman and Barb Mukerjee, who was coming to the White House as Benton’s chief legislative aide and would be essential in doing the legwork required to get majorities on board.
The Democrat leaders were attentive. At this stage, Benton knew, they were mostly listening. When they kicked back, it wouldn’t be in front of a dozen aides, advisors and cabinet secretaries. After they were gone, he had an hour scheduled in his senatorial office to start the process of drafting his inaugural address.
Sam Levy had worked with Benton for years and had been his senior speechwriter throughout the presidential campaign. He was a chubby New Yorker with thin blond hair and in his years working with Joe Benton had developed an intuitive grasp of the senator’s turn of phrase and style. No one had a better ability to crystallize ideas into words that would sound natural coming out of Benton’s mouth. For this initial meeting, which included Jodie Ames, Ben Hoffman, John Eales and Angela Chavez, Benton had asked Sam not for a draft speech, but to think through possible themes. Sam set these out, together with a number of key points, illustrations, and soundbite phrases that had occurred to him along the way.
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