The Confirmation

by Ralph Reed

  Lisa gamely disguised her shock. Sullivan was a feared, even notorious Republican operative known for black bag jobs, nasty leaks to favored reporters, and backstabbing. Rumor had it that Sullivan was behind the most vicious attacks on Long during the campaign.

  “Well, this certainly gives new meaning to the phrase, ‘politics makes strange bedfellows,’” said Lisa, shaking his beefy hand warily.

  “Glad to be here, ma’am,” said Taylor. “Hope we can let bygones be bygones.”

  “Taylor’s going to be in charge of rapid response,” said Jay. “And keeping Penneymounter back on his heels.”

  “Sounds good,” said Lisa, still shell-shocked.

  “You’re gonna need me,” said Sullivan with characteristic brio. “Check this out.” He handed Lisa a copy of a press release from the Pro-Choice PAC announcing the hiring of Nicole Dearborn, late of the Long for President campaign, to head its communications strategy.

  Lisa read the release, shaking her head in disbelief. “This chick is shameless,” she said. “She’s cross-dressed more times than a transvestite.”

  Jay winced. “Christy Love’s trying to play mind games,” he said, shrugging. “It’s pathetic.”

  “Here’s our first salvo at Penneymounter,” said Sullivan, handing Jay a document.

  Jay stared at it. It was an article about a speech Penneymounter delivered three years earlier to a Chamber of Commerce in Minnesota in which he offhandedly referred to immigrants as “wetbacks” and said “You can’t get your lawn mowed or your house painted anymore without speaking Spanish.” Sullivan highlighted the offending passage.

  “He’s an anti-Hispanic bigot,” said Sullivan.

  “This is delicious,” said Jay, smiling. “Let’s see him defend this to La Raza.”

  “It’s a twofer,” replied Sullivan. “Diaz’s confirmation hearings are the opening salvo of his presidential campaign. It helps confirm Diaz and hurts Penneymounter among the Latinos.”

  “No question,” agreed Jay. “Penneymounter’s a bad guy. If we face him in four years, I want him walking with a limp.”

  “I already got the ‘wetback’ story to Merryprankster,” said Sullivan. “It’s up on the home page.” He spun around the monitor so Lisa and Jay could see the headline: “Penneymounter’s Anti-Hispanic Slur!” “This will be the buzz on every talk radio show in the country tomorrow during morning drive.”

  “Well done,” said Jay effusively. “This may even cancel out the blind trust story.”

  Lisa, her arms crossed over her chest, gave Sullivan a departing once-over. “Taylor, just don’t do anything stupid. I don’t mind the tough guy act, or even your insistence on wearing jeans around the White House. But this is important to the president. Don’t screw it up.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Sullivan, unfazed by Lisa’s cutting remark. He leaned back in the chair and placing his hands behind his head to reveal pools of perspiration at his armpits. “Things will happen mysteriously. Discretion is my modus operandi.”

  Jay turned to leave, with Lisa trailing a step behind. They left the room and began walking down the hallway back to the West Wing. Neither said anything for about ten paces.

  “I can’t believe you hired him,” Lisa finally said, spitting out the words.

  “We’re at war. We need killers. Sullivan’s the best in the business. Frankly, we’re lucky to have him.”

  “It’s not the way we operate,” said Lisa. “And it’s not how we won.”

  Jay felt his stomach flipping and not just because Diaz’s problems were mounting by the day. The prospect of dealing with Nicole, including the tabloid coverage of their former romance, was an embarrassing and needless distraction. Like a ghost from the past, she continued to haunt him.

  THIRTY-ONE

  The head of White House public liaison, who reported to Jay Noble, led the delegation into the Roosevelt Room, where paper nameplates before each chair marked assigned seats, subtle reminders of the pecking order. Andy Stanton sat to the immediate right of the president; Jerry Patterson, pastor of Sonshine Church in Orlando and president of the Southern Baptist Convention, to his left. In front of the center chair, in simple handwriting, the nameplate read simply: “The President.”

  It was the biggest gathering of religious broadcasters, evangelists, and preachers since Long’s inaugural. Everyone wore tight smiles and spoke in hushed tones. The purpose of the meeting was simple: the Diaz nomination was in triage, and the White House needed the black regiments that elected Long to ride in like the cavalry and save the day.

  Andy sat down at his assigned seat and leaned over to chat with Patterson. “This meeting certainly is a sign that they’re starting to get it around here,” he said, cupping his hand over his mouth.

  “When you’re drowning, you don’t care who throws you a lifeline,” said Patterson, acid dripping from his voice, letting out a low belly laugh.

  At that moment the door flew open, and Bob Long appeared at the threshold. Everyone bolted up from their seats. Long went around the table, shaking each hand and gazing into each face, his countenance filled with intensity. He was focused like a laser beam.

  Long patted Andy on the back and squeezed his shoulder as he took his seat, shooting him a wink. Warm fuzzies passed up and down Andy’s spine.

  “Thank you all for coming,” said Long earnestly. “I know you’re all busy men with major ministries and important work to do, so please know my decisions to ask you to fly into Washington today was not made lightly.” Heads nodded appreciatively as they reveled in presidential flattery. “We are in a battle over the Supreme Court vacancy, and the other side is going after Judge Diaz. I’m not at all surprised, given the stakes.” His eyes scanned each face, measuring his words. “You are absolutely critical to this process. I need you. Judge Diaz needs you. The country needs you.” Warm grunts greeted Long’s suck-up. “Now, as you know, because we worked with your legal teams at the time, I laid out clear and unambiguous standards for the nomination of judges during the campaign.” He paused, reloading. “They must be eminently qualified, possess character and integrity, and share my judicial philosophy. Judge Diaz is such a nominee.”

  He looked around the table, making eye contact. “Gentlemen, I wouldn’t be in this office if it were not for the help of the folks in this room. Don’t think I don’t know it.” It was a remarkable statement of Long’s debt to the evangelicals. Twenty-eight eyes were glued to him. “But it doesn’t do a lot of good to put me in this office if I can’t move my agenda. Confirming Marco Diaz to the Supreme Court is critical to restoring respect for the rule of law and ensuring that the courts interpret the law rather than legislating from the bench.”

  His opening statement finished, Long paused, his eyes soliciting questions. “So thanks for coming. With that I want to open it up for questions, comments, and discussion. Please speak freely. You can’t say anything the press hasn’t already said.”

  Everyone chuckled at the sideswipe at the media. The others hung back, waiting for Andy to speak first. In a room full of big fishes, he was the whale shark.

  “Mr. President,” said Andy, “I truly believe we are here for such a time as this.”

  “Amen,” seconded several of his colleagues.

  “I’ve been beating the drum for Diaz three hours a day on radio and an hour a day on television for weeks. You’ve given us a truly outstanding nominee, and the second Hispanic, which is important as the country becomes more diverse.” He paused. “We had a few hiccups along the way, but that’s within the family.” Long remained poker-faced at the reference to Majette, who Andy opposed. “But you came through. Now we’ve got to live up to our end of the deal and make sure the Senate hears from our supporters. Most of us have big audiences and constituencies, and we can mobilize them.”

  “Absolutely,” said Long. “If they don’t see the light, make them feel the heat.” Chuckles rumbled up and down the boardroom table. People began to loosen up, reaching for som
e of the hard candy in crystal bowls in the center of the table. Hanging out in the White House and strategizing with the leader of the free world was fun!

  “Mr. President, we appreciate your leadership so very much,” said Jerry Patterson in a syrupy, soothing baritone. “Not only the courage of your convictions but your witness for Christ. We pray for you every day, sir.”

  “Amen,” several of them said in a chorus.

  Long nodded and smiled. “I feel your prayers. I really do. So does Claire, by the way.”

  Jay sat against the wall, watching the proceedings like an anthropologist observing a tribal ritual. It was always the same, he thought . . . everyone groused and complained until they came into the president’s presence, then turned into blubbering sycophants.

  “What I’d like from your staff, Mr. President,” continued Patterson, “is a list of the targeted senators I can call. The Southern Baptist Convention has 18.3 million members. If 10 percent of them contact their U.S. senator, we can have a major impact. I will call all of them myself.”

  “We’ll have that list for you before the end of the day,” said Long, pointing his index finger at the head of public liaison. “Let’s circulate it to everyone here.”

  “Mr. President, I just have one request of you,” said Paul Parker, the president of Trinity University, the largest evangelical college in the nation. All heads turned. “We will go to the wall for Judge Diaz. Whatever happens, sir, don’t let him withdraw. Make the Senate vote. If we lose, we lose. We need every senator on the record so we can take them on next year at the polls.”

  “Hear, hear!” the pastors said, a few of them rapping knuckles on the tabletop.

  “We’re not only gonna make ’em vote,” said Long, his eyes flashing, punching the air with his hand like a blade. “We’re going to win. By God’s grace and your hard work, Marco Diaz is going to be on the Supreme Court when it hears the California marriage case this fall.”

  The evangelical leaders broke into spontaneous applause. Long had the eye of the tiger. He was up for the fight.

  The White House arranged for conservative radio and television hosts to broadcast from the grounds that day, reaching an audience of millions with the message that Diaz was the victim of a liberal smear campaign. Administration stars like Jay, Charlie Hector, Phil Battaglia, Lisa Robinson, David Thomas, Vice President Whitehead, and even the president were granting interviews throughout the day. It was the Jerry Lewis telethon meets Court TV.

  Lisa caught the president’s eye, signaling she was bringing the press for a quick photo, known as a “spray.” No questions allowed.

  Long leaned over to Andy. “I asked them to sit you next to me for a reason,” he whispered. “This is going to drive Joe Penneymounter up the wall.”

  Andy laughed. “Anything to help, Mr. President.”

  Lisa limited the pool to AP, Politico, USA Today, and Fox News. Once they were in position, Long made a brief statement.

  “I’ve just finished meeting with faith-based leaders from across America representing tens of millions of my fellow citizens,” said Long, jaunty and confident, his arm stretching to the evangelical leaders in a sweeping motion. “I reiterated to them the quality and caliber of Judge Diaz. He is superbly qualified. He is a good man, a man of integrity, and he has the wisdom and temperament to be an outstanding justice.” He looked directly at the reporters, pounding the table with an open palm. “It is now the Senate’s responsibility to give Judge Diaz a fair hearing and a vote in the full Senate with all due and deliberate speed.”

  “Thank you all very much!” shouted Lisa.

  “Mr. President, why didn’t your vetting team know about the purchase of Wildfire stock by Mr. Diaz’s trust?” shouted USA Today. “Isn’t this an embarrassment after having two nominees withdraw?”

  Lisa glared at the reporter. The faces of the evangelical leaders were twisted with contempt.

  Long shook off the question. “Judge Diaz followed the appropriate guidelines required of federal judges,” he replied. “He had no involvement in and no knowledge of the stock transactions to which you refer.” He leaned forward, his face animated. “This is one of the things we need to change about Washington, playing ‘gotcha’ with people’s lives, and turning the personnel process into blood sport. The confirmation process has become a search-and-destroy mission, and it is discouraging good people from serving. I’m tired of it, and the American people are tired of it.”

  “Thank you!” shouted Lisa.

  The reporters filed out, looking sullen. Their disdain for the evangelicals (and Long for sucking up to them) was boundless.

  As the meeting broke up, Andy clasped the president by the arm and pulled him into a power clutch. “Mr. President, I want you to know we’ve been praying for Claire. She looked great the other day when she came home.”

  Long’s blue eyes misted. “Thank you, Andy,” he said. “I think the good Lord has answered those prayers. She is doing well, and our marriage has never been stronger.”

  “I heard she has come to the Lord,” said Andy. “Is that true?”

  “She did,” said the president, his face lighting up. “Hope Ranch has a faith-based counseling program, and God used it to touch her heart.” His voice caught. “She gave her life to Christ while she was there. It’s a major answer to prayer.”

  “Please give her my love,” said Andy. “Tell her that if she ever needs anyone to talk to, I’m just a phone call away. We love her.” With that, Long broke away to greet the others before heading to another meeting.

  Ross Lombardy, who accompanied Andy to Washington, sidled up to Jay. “You got a minute to talk?”

  “Sure,” said Jay. “Follow me.” He led Ross out the door and down the hall to his office, which was next to the president’s private dining room. Once used by George Stephanopolous under Clinton and David Axelrod under Obama, its proximity to the Oval declared its occupant’s power. Jay closed the door. “That was a good meeting, don’t you think?”

  “Home run,” said Ross. “Jay, I’ve been in meetings with politicians trying to engage in God talk for twenty years. I’ve never seen anybody better than Long. Ever.”

  “He’s unbelievable,” agreed Jay. “It’s like watching Ted Williams take batting practice every single day.” He shifted to the topic at hand. “So what’s up?”

  “We’re launching a two million-dollar television buy in six targeted states on the first day of the hearings.”

  “Fabulous,” said Jay. “Where?”

  “Louisiana,” Ross answered. “We’re going after Rhoades.” Rebecca Rhoades was a DLC, centrist Democrat and a Roman Catholic from the Bayou state who was still undecided.

  “She’s vulnerable,” said Jay. “She’s up next year. Good. Where else?”

  “Pennsylvania, Ohio, Colorado, North Carolina, Virginia. We’re bypassing Minnesota. We’re wasting money targeting Penneymounter.”

  Jay nodded. “Totally. Stick with red-state Democrats and squishy Republicans. Start with Judiciary Committee members. Coordinate with David Thomas. He’s the one driving the target list with coalition groups.”

  “Will do,” said Ross. “Listen, I have a business matter I need to take up with you.”

  “What is it?”

  “The IRS has been auditing New Life Ministries for seven years.”

  Jay nodded. He knew about it. He seemed to know about everything.

  “They have agents camped out on campus. Andy finally moved them to a trailer with no air conditioner. The general counsel of the IRS is totally hostile and keeps moving the goalposts,” said Ross, his voice lowered. “We don’t think he’s going to revoke the ministry’s tax-exempt status, but he may hit Andy with a big fine. Can anything be done to restore some sanity to the process?”

  “Let me look into it,” said Jay ambiguously. He walked to the door, putting his hand on the knob, then stopped. “We’ve been hearing about problems at the tax-exempt division from a lot of people. It’s a
mess we inherited, and it’s taking longer to fix than I would prefer.”

  “Andy’s at wit’s end,” said Ross. “He said he’s being harassed more under Long than he was under the Democrats.”

  “On the case, pal. Check back in with Thomas in a couple of weeks for a status report.” Jay opened the door and coincidentally nearly ran into Andy, who was standing in the hall holding court with the other preachers. Jay held up his wrist and tapped his watch, then pointed dramatically at Andy. “Dr. Stanton, I believe you’re due in the radio studio!”

  Andy grinned. “I wonder what I’ll be talking about?” Everyone laughed.

  THREE BLOCKS AWAY, IN a cavernous room at the National Press Club, reporters jockeyed for position at a news conference sponsored by the Pro-Choice PAC. The room’s temperature rose from the swelling crowd, the walls lined with those who arrived late; others spilled into the hall, unable to get in. Tempers were short and everyone was drenched in sweat. Fire marshals ordered the doors closed.

  The ostensible purpose of the press conference was for female victims of employment discrimination and sexual harassment to voice opposition to Marco Diaz. But the reason for the mob scene was the first public appearance of Nicole Dearborn, former girlfriend of Jay Noble and campaign spy for Senate Majority Leader Salmon Stanley, since Michael Kaplan’s indictment for perjury and obstruction of justice the previous January.

  Nicole kept a low profile for six months. Her flowing black hair feathered at her shoulders, she walked to the podium to flashing strobe lights of dozens of still photographers. In a smart Dior black dress with a gold belt accentuating her waist, legs sheathed in lace hose and Ferragamo stilettos, she did not disappoint. Christy Love stood to the side, fairly beaming. Hiring Nicole was a hat trick . . . among the credentialed press attending the press conference were People magazine and Us Weekly. It took an unusually savvy leader to step away from the limelight; Christy was no garden-variety DC hack.