The Confirmation

by Ralph Reed

  “Yes,” replied Andy. “There is one other thing that is important, not just to me, but to the entire faith community. That’s the commissioner of the IRS.”

  The president nodded.

  Andy lowered his voice. “Within ten days after I let Petty have it in the last campaign, the IRS showed up at my doors and launched an audit of my ministry.”

  The president chuckled and shook his head. “I’m sure that was purely a coincidence,” he said sarcastically.

  “We think Bill Diamond was behind it,” Andy said, referring to the former vice presidential chief of staff and senior advisor to the president in the previous administration. “They wanted to punish me for not supporting the Republican ticket. And not just me. They parachuted IRS audit teams into every major conservative evangelical ministry in the country.”

  “What are they looking for?” Long asked.

  “Anything that might trip me up.” His eyes widened. “The first thing they asked for was my personal expense reports, as well as documentation of any personal use of the ministry plane by me or my family. It’s a witch hunt.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice again. “I’ve had twelve agents on the grounds of my ministry for four months. The lead agent showed up wearing an ACLU membership pin on his lapel.”

  “Good night!” said Long, astonished, casting a glance at Hector. “You’ve got a dozen agents working right out of your headquarters?”

  “No, we built a special place for them,” Andy said grinning. “We brought a double wide trailer onto our campus, and we put them in there.”

  Long barely suppressed a chuckle. He shot a glance at Hector, who smiled. “Andy, in my experience, you don’t want the commissioner. You want the head of the exempt division.”

  “Fine,” said Andy. “I’ll take the head of the exempt division.”

  “Get some names to Charlie. He’ll work with OPP.” Andy was beginning to get the distinct impression that Hector was running the White House, not the president. It was another nonresponsive answer. Unfazed, he plowed ahead.

  “Mr. President, I just returned from Israel. I met with the prime minster and foreign minister. There is grave concern there about Iran.”

  “I know,” Long said, his face projecting worry. “Salami has gamed the UN and the IAEA for years. Now the gig is about up. If we don’t do something, Israel will.”

  “Iran with a nuclear weapon would be a disaster.”

  “We can’t let it happen,” said Long crisply. “That’s our policy. The question is, what’s the best way to proceed. Invading Iran is not an option. Our forces are already stretched thin in Afghanistan and elsewhere.”

  “What if Iran invades Iraq?” asked Andy.

  “Why would they do that?” asked Long, a surprised look on his face.

  “It’s in the Bible,” Andy replied, not missing a beat. “Isaiah 13 predicts the Medes will turn Babylon, which is now Iraq, into a wasteland. The Medo-Persian Empire arose in what is now modern-day Iran. The rise of Salami and a nuclear Iran represent the second fulfillment of that prophesy, the first being Cyrus of Persia.” He looked at the president, his eyes unblinking. Hector’s legal pad fell from his lap to the floor. He reached down to pick it up.

  Long looked as though someone had hit him in the head with a brick. “Iran has funded splinter Shiite militias in Iraq. But they’ve never amassed troops on the border. If they did, we would do whatever was necessary to defend Iraq.”

  “I’m not a military strategist; I’m a pastor,” Andy demurred. “But Iran will move against Iraq. It’s only a matter of time. Israel will strike Iran unless we act soon. And Russia, which is selling antiaircraft defenses to Iran, has said that if Israel attacks, they will move in to protect Iran. It’s all lining up into a situation prophesied in Ezekiel 38.”

  Long’s eyes widened. After a long pause Hector jumped in.

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to work this into the president’s State of the Union address,” Hector deadpanned.

  Andy broke up with laughter. “No, this is just between us.” He cocked his head. “Mr. President, would you mind if I prayed for you?”

  “I’d be honored, Andy.”

  Andy reached over and put his hand affectionately on Long’s shoulder as Long closed his eyes tightly. Hector bowed his head. “Lord, I thank You so much for President Long, for what he means to America and what he means to the entire world. I thank You for his leadership, for his character, and for having a heart for You.” The president sat completely still, not moving a muscle. “I pray for strength and wisdom as he seeks to do Your will. Surround him with godly men and women who will give him wise counsel. Grant him supernatural understanding as he makes the hard decisions for our country. Bless him, Lord, and his family and his administration.”

  Long and Hector raised their heads and opened their eyes. “Thank you, Andy,” said the president, patting him on the arm. “You’re a dear friend.”

  They stood up and Long took Andy around the room, pointing out the portraits of Lincoln, FDR, and Washington he had hung on the walls. There was also a portrait of Big Bear Lake, which roughly approximated the view from Long’s weekend cabin in the mountains that he would now rarely see. Andy paused to admire a bust of Winston Churchill. The president’s assistant knocked gently on the door. Andy shook the president’s hand and left. The assistant closed the door behind him. They looked at each other, eyes wide.

  “Boy, Andy’s a little nutty, isn’t he?” asked Hector, breaking the silence.

  “Andy may be a nut,” said Long with a sigh. “But he’s our nut.”

  A GROUP OF REPORTERS huddled together against the cold wind at the “stake-out” location, which was marked by a thicket of microphones in the West Wing driveway. Word had spread to the press corps that Andy was in the building, and a small media horde had gathered, hoping to liven up the day by stirring up still more controversy after the flap over Andy’s prayer at the inaugural. As Andy and Lombardy emerged from the building, the reporters snapped to attention. Andy walked casually to the microphone, placing his hands behind his back.

  “I had a very good meeting with the president,” he began. “It was really a courtesy call, if you will. He’s a good friend, and it was an honor to spend some time with him today. He is in great spirits, he’s upbeat, and he’s excited about doing the job the American people sent him here to do.”

  “Reverend Stanton, did you discuss Peter Corbin Franklin’s medical condition?” asked Reuters.

  “Very briefly,” Andy replied. “I told the president that we were praying for Justice Franklin.”

  “So you did discuss Franklin—and did you give the president your advice on what to do if there is a vacancy on the Court?”

  “I don’t advise the president,” said Andy firmly. “I’m a pastor. I prayed for him.”

  “You prayed for him?” asked the Associated Press, sensing a headline.

  “Yes.”

  “What did you pray about?”

  “None of your business,” said Andy with a smile. The reporters chuckled. “I prayed that God would help him deal with all of you.” More laughter.

  “You worked hard to elect President Long, turning your back on the Republican Party in the process, and you would like to see the Supreme Court overturn Roe v. Wade,” said McClatchy News. “You expect us to believe that you weren’t here today to call in your chits and remind the president of his commitment to appoint a conservative to the Court?”

  “Well, first of all,” replied Andy, a look of bemusement crossing his face, “I didn’t turn my back on the Republican Party; the Republican Party turned its back on us. In the last election the GOP ticket forsook the moral values that had attracted millions of evangelicals to its banner, including the issue of life. As for judicial appointments, the president’s stance on judges was a major factor in winning evangelical support in the last election. I fully expect him to fulfill his commitment to appoint judges who will interpret the law, not l
egislate from the bench.”

  “Did you say that to him today?”

  “Yes.” Ross Lombardy flinched slightly behind Andy at this acknowledgment.

  “What did he say in response?”

  “I don’t discuss what the president says to me in private. But President Long is a man of integrity. I believe he will govern exactly as he pledged he would during the campaign, and that includes in the area of appointing judges.”

  “So you’re satisfied he will appoint Supreme Court justices to your liking?” asked the New York Times.

  “Not to my liking,” corrected Andy. “Consistent with the commitment that he made to the American people. They elected him.”

  “Some people say you elected him,” shot back UPI, chuckling.

  “Those people are wrong,” said Andy. “I supported Bob Long in my capacity as a private citizen. But he won the election on his own.”

  “Did the president express any regret to you today about the controversy over your prayer at the inaugural?” asked the Christian Science Monitor.

  “Honestly, it didn’t come up.”

  “Surely you regret the embarrassment you’ve caused the administration, and the riots you have caused in the Middle East?” asked the Washington Post.

  “I regret if anyone was offended, but I am a minister of the gospel. I believe that Christ is the Savior of all mankind, and it is my job as a pastor to say so,” said Andy. “What I really regret is that Islamic extremists have tried to turn my prayer into an expression of U.S. government policy, which it was not, in order to stoke hatred against the United States among Muslims. That is unfortunate.”

  “Thank you all very much,” said Ross firmly into the microphone as the reporters shouted more questions. He had had enough, and he clasped Andy by the arm and guided him down the driveway to the Town Car that was warming up on the curb. They both got in the back seat and closed the door.

  “Well?” asked Ross, eyebrows arched. “How did it go?”

  “I think it went as fine as it could,” said Andy, looking slightly crestfallen. “We prayed together. He’s with us on judges. I don’t think he’ll let us down. But he didn’t show his hand. He kept his cards close to his vest.” He turned to Ross, looking directly into his eyes. “He’s the president now, Ross. He’s surrounded by people who didn’t elect him and by forces he doesn’t control. I don’t even know if he realizes it. The one-worlders, the bureaucracy, the State Department.” He frowned. “I’ll probably never meet with him alone again.”

  Andy and Ross rode to the airport in a silence broken only occasionally by gossipy asides. Like the rest of the world, they were spectators now. They had little choice but to wait for word of Peter Corbin Franklin’s fate, and for Long’s much-anticipated nomination of a replacement.

  NINE

  “Who leaked this?” asked Long, his voice raised, his face flushed, the veins in his neck bulging. Long rarely blew his top, but when he did, the effect was volcanic. Behind his back the White House staff called these his “Crazy Eddie” moments.

  “I don’t think it came from here, sir,” replied Charlie Hector, who stood in front of the president’s desk stoically absorbing the blast. “Only two people at NSC had access to it, Greenglass and his deputy. I think it was the CIA.”

  “Why in the world would Jacobs do that?” Long asked.

  “To force your hand,” said Hector matter-of-factly. “CIA tells you that Iran has a nuke. In their mind we slow-walk it so they tell the world. Now we have to act.”

  “Get Greenglass in here,” Long ordered. “I want someone hanging by their fingernails for this.”

  Hector opened the door a crack, stuck his head out, and asked the president’s assistant to buzz Truman Greenglass. Three minutes later Greenglass appeared at the door.

  “Yes, Mr. President?” He looked warily at Hector slumped in a chair, looking like a punching bag. Long was visibly agitated.

  “Get in here, T. G.,” Long said curtly. Greenglass took the chair on the right side of the president’s desk. Long looked him up and down. “Do you think there’s any chance that someone in your shop leaked this story about Iran to the New York Times?”

  “No, Mr. President,” Greenglass replied. “The reporter called me and asked me to be a confirming source, which I declined to do. By the time they talked to us, the story was already written. This definitely came from somewhere outside the White House.”

  The president frowned. “Charlie thinks it was CIA.”

  “Makes sense. And probably high up.”

  “Jacobs?”

  Greenglass shrugged. “I doubt it. He’s too much of a patriot.”

  “We need to take them down a notch,” Long said firmly. “I mean, when has the CIA ever been right? They put Saddam Hussein in power in Iraq in 1953. They botched the Bay of Pigs. They said the Soviets were a major threat two years before the Soviet Union collapsed, and they were dead wrong about WMD in Iraq.”

  “No one wants to take them on,” said Greenglass. “The corporate culture at Langley goes back to Wild Bill Donovan and the OSS. It’s a bunch of Ivy Leaguers playing spy games. Crossing them is dangerous.”

  “The problem is this could dominate the news cycle for days. Jimmerson’s going to be all over cable calling on us to take military action against Iran,” Hector said in disgust. “Talk radio will erupt. Everyone will genuflect to the Israel lobby, demanding action.”

  “Well, we can’t confirm this report,” Greenglass warned. “It compromises sources and methods and puts you in a box, Mr. President.”

  “Change the subject, then. Make the Times the issue,” suggested Hector. “Irresponsible journalism, anonymous sources, endangers national security—”

  “Unpatriotic,” snapped Long.

  “All the above. I’ll make sure Lisa is loaded for bear for the press briefing,” said Hector.

  “Gentlemen, we’re sleeping with the enemy.” Long’s eyes blazed as he tapped the desk firmly with his index finger. “Langley’s a snake pit. The joint chiefs aren’t much better. They’re cutting the legs out from under us.”

  “The bureaucracy is fighting back,” said Hector.

  “This isn’t normal bureaucratic infighting, Charlie,” Long seethed. “I have no problem with internal dissent. But selling out the country by compromising its intelligence-gathering capability is unacceptable.”

  “I think we should say that.”

  “You bet we should. And you tell Golden to look into what we can do within the chalk marks to plug these leaks. That includes a grand jury issuing subpoenas to reporters.”

  “I hope we don’t end up with the Times reporter on a hunger strike in the DC lockup,” said Greenglass.

  “Judith Miller, call your office,” interjected Hector.

  “If that’s what it takes, so be it.” The president glanced away, staring out the window at the Rose Garden. “T. G., call Jacobs right now. Tell him I want the person who did this escorted out of Langley by security.”

  Hector exited the Oval Office and headed back down the hall to his own office, head down, wheels turning, his thoughts a jumble. People passed him in the hallway, but he never made eye contact. The thought entered his mind: he wished he could go back to being just a member of Congress. What an easy job that had been compared to White House chief of staff. Now in addition to managing the president, he had to deal with the fallout of a national security leak without committing Nixonian excesses, and find a conservative Supreme Court nominee confirmable by a Democratic Senate.

  “Buzz Lisa and ask her to come to my office, stat,” he said gruffly to his assistant and closed the door behind him.

  LISA ROBINSON WALKED INTO the White House briefing room at 12:30 p.m. and stepped to the podium. Every seat was filled, and an unusually large crowd of reporters lined the walls. The networks turned on their cameras as print reporters pulled out their tape recorders and flipped open steno pads. Rumors had flown all morning that the White House was going
to take on the Times in a frontal assault. Everyone waited for the fireworks to begin. “I have a statement and then I’ll take your questions,” Lisa began. She cleared her throat. “There is a report in the New York Times today based on unnamed, anonymous sources claiming to relay information contained in the Presidents Daily Brief, a summary of intelligence provided to the president by the CIA. This administration has a strict policy against commenting on leaks of classified material. We will neither confirm nor deny this story. But if someone did provide the Times with information contained in the president’s brief, it is a felony and a serious breach of the law and our national security. The Times’s decision to print this story was reckless and irresponsible. Journalists do not surrender their citizenship or its obligations when they obtain a press badge.” Someone in the back of the room let out an audible gasp. Lisa paused, leveling her gaze. “Any questions?”

  “So you’re not disputing the story. The CIA has informed the president that Iran has a weaponized nuclear device?” asked CNN.

  “I cannot comment on the president’s classified daily intelligence briefings.”

  “The Israeli ambassador told Reuters today that unless the United States acts militarily, Israel may be forced to take action on its own,” said CBS News.

  Lisa arched her eyebrows. “Is there a question there?”

  “The question is, how do you react to Israel threatening to act unilaterally?”

  “I have not seen the ambassador’s statement. Israel is a sovereign nation. We do not tell them what to do. Besides, I don’t do hypotheticals.”

  “The IAEA is shortly going to issue a report on Iran’s uranium enrichment program, and the preliminary indications are that they will say their investigation is basically stalled due to Iran’s lack of cooperation. What are your hopes for additional sanctions by the UN? Or is military action the only remaining option?” asked the Washington Times.

  “Well, the IAEA report only serves to underscore that Iran is refusing to cooperate with the international community. I don’t really have an update in terms of additional sanctions. As you know, the secretary of state is in the Middle East as we speak and is seeking to resolve this situation by the diplomatic process underway, not by military action, which is the choice of last resort,” Lisa replied. “But as the president has said, all options are on the table.”