Ballots and Blood (2 page)

“That can be turned into a liability,” said Thomas. “Washington insider, pay-to-play, corrupt deals.”

Cartwright and Spadea nodded, their facial expressions telegraphing skepticism.

“You know, it's funny,” said Cartwright. “I've always had a good relationship with Sal. Sure, he helped my opponent in the gubernatorial race, but he didn't like him, so he only did what he had to. He called me the morning after the election and said, ‘Whatever you need for New Jersey, I'm a phone call away.' I can't say this publicly, but we've had a good working relationship for the most part.”

“I'm glad somebody does,” deadpanned Jay. “We sure don't.”

“That's all about the presidential race,” said Spadea.

“He can't let it go,” added Thomas.

“We can beat him,” said Jay. “He's seen as partisan. He's badly wounded after failing to stop Marco Diaz's nomination to the Supreme Court. If Mike Kaplan is convicted, his senior advisor will be going to prison.” He popped a saltine cracker in his mouth, chewing it vigorously. “Besides, I've got the perfect candidate to run against him.”

“Really? Who?” asked Cartwright.

“You.”

Cartwright nearly spewed out chicken soup. Spadea visibly flinched. “Whoa, hold on a minute!” exclaimed Cartwright. “I'm running for reelection as governor.”

“Why? You've already done that. You've got nothing left to prove,” replied Jay with what was clearly a rehearsed line. “If you're reelected governor, you'll serve a second term and fade into the woodwork, your popularity declining by the day. But if you beat Sal Stanley and go to the U.S. Senate . . . well, you'll be a rock star.”

“The voters will understand,” said Thomas reassuringly. “They don't lose a governor, they gain a senator and a national figure. It's kind of like when your daughter gets married. You don't lose a daughter. You gain a son-in-law.”

“I don't know if I want to be a senator,” stammered Cartwright. “I've got the only job in politics I always wanted.”

Jay leaned forward, his eyes locking on his target. “Governor, with all due respect, this isn't about you. It's about the country. You can beat Stanley. And when you do, you'll be a giant killer. You'll headline fund-raisers from coast to coast. I'm not asking you to say yes today. I'm asking you to think about it.”

Cartwright stared back. He swallowed. “I'll think about it. But I don't want to give you any false encouragement.”

“I don't need any, false or otherwise,” volleyed Jay.

There were three quick raps on the door, and Jay's assistant appeared wearing an anxious expression on her face. “Jay, Charlie Hector needs to speak with you. You can take it here.”

Jay picked up the receiver on a house phone on the credenza. “Charlie?”

“Jay, I'm afraid I have some sad news. Perry Miller was just found dead in a Georgetown apartment.”

“What? How?”

“We don't know all the details yet, but it looks like a sexual encounter that went terribly awry. We just got the heads-up from the FBI.”

Jay bent over, leaning on the credenza, absorbing the news. “Thanks for letting me know. I'm in the mess with Governor Cartwright. I'll call you back when I get out of this meeting.” He hung up the phone.

“What was that?” asked Thomas.

“Oh, nothing,” Jay lied. “Charlie just needed to check in on something.” Before he could retake his seat, the phone rang again. Jay screwed up his face. “What is this, Grand Central Station?” he asked. He picked up the receiver. “Yes. Yes. Alright, we'll be right down.” He placed the phone down and turned to Cartwright. “Want to see the president?”

“Sure,” said Cartwright, oozing anticipation.

They left lunch half eaten and headed up the stairs and through the West Wing lobby on their way to the Oval. Jay walked shoulder to shoulder with Cartwright, who moved with a spring in his step. Jay's mind was already elsewhere, specifically Florida. A thought rattled around in his brain: with a little luck they might be able to pick up the Senate seat vacated by the death of Perry Miller.

2

N
ews of Perry Miller's death rocketed across DC within minutes. Details were sketchy and sordid, fueled by bloggers monitoring police scanners. Miller's body landed like a whale in the Internet slime machine. Merryprankster.com's headline was typical and lurid: “Senator Dead in Bondage Game Gone Awry!”

The dispatch's lead reported breathlessly: “In a capital where people thought they had seen it all, the death of Senator Perry Miller in the basement of a Georgetown apartment retrofitted as a torture chamber in what appeared to be a bondage game shocked official Washington.” Miller, the powerful chairman of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee, “was one of the most respected voices on foreign affairs in the world. Presidents and prime ministers counted him an advisor and friend. Now he is dead, apparently the victim of accidental asphyxiation at the hands of a dominatrix he secretly saw as often as once a week.” Married to his college sweetheart for thirty-seven years, with four children and nine grandchildren, Miller was a centrist Democrat who seemingly practiced family values in his own life.

Politicians of both parties flooded media outlets with statements honoring Miller's memory and mourning his death. “Perry Miller's loss will be keenly felt by a saddened nation,” said President Long in an official statement. “He was a courageous voice for human rights and democratic values around the world who opposed tyranny in all its ugly forms. I benefited often from his counsel, and our country will miss his leadership. Today America has lost a great leader and a selfless public servant.”

But these eulogies competed with tabloid condemnation. To many Miller's death was yet another example of a politician revealed as a fraud. “Perry Miller is the latest in a string of politicians who claimed the mantle of family and values but proved to be a phony and a hypocrite,” said the head of far-left advocacy group People for the Separation of Religion and Politics. Beyond the Monday-morning, maudlin moralizing lay a stark reality for Democrats: Miller's death put in play a Senate seat considered safe by both parties. Who might replace Miller and whether they could hold the seat in the next election would have huge implications for whether Democrats could maintain control of the U.S. Senate.

SALMON P. STANLEY SAT IN the majority leader's spacious, stately office in the Capitol, its view of the Mall stretching all the way to the Washington Monument. But Stanley was not soaking in the view. He was bonding with Yehuda Serwitz, Israeli ambassador to the U.S. and one of the savviest operators in DC.

“Yehuda, you gotta trust me on this one,” said Stanley forcefully, stabbing the air with his index finger. “Do us both a favor and tell your friends at AIPAC to back off. I don't need ‘dear colleague' letters demanding the Iran sanctions bill be reported out of committee.” He sighed in disgust. “When is AIPAC going to get it? This makes it all about the Jews. It's bad optics. We need it to be about U.S. national security interests.”

Serwitz chuckled, unfazed. “So they're
my
friends now, huh? Last time I checked, they were
your
friends.”

Stanley laughed. “Of course they're my friends, but they're still a major pain. I can get the sanctions bill out of the Foreign Relations Committee and on the floor next week. What I need are your friends in the Jewish community to tell the Republicans not to offer a bunch of amendments authorizing a military strike or war. If everyone acts like adults, I can pass it in a day by unanimous consent and get it out of conference committee in two weeks.”

“That's outstanding, Senator,” cooed Serwitz. “I'll tell the prime minister.”

“You do that. Give her my best. And make sure the heavy hitters in the Jewish community know I
personally
got this done. I've got a tough campaign coming up, and I need them on my team.”

“You really think you'll have a difficult reelect?” asked Serwitz, surprised. “I would think people in New Jersey like the fact their senator is majority leader.”

“Depends on what day it is,” said Stanley with no hint of irony. “I always run scared and like I'm behind. Jay Noble and Bob Long are coming after me with hammer and tongs. They despise me.” He paused. “And the feeling is mutual, I assure you.”

“Sounds like Israeli politics,” said Serwitz. “Everything is a grudge match, and the long knives are always out.”

“Welcome to my world, my friend. Thanks for calling.” Stanley hung up the phone. Two knocks came on the door. In walked his press secretary wearing a shocked facial expression. “What?” asked Stanley.

“Sir, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but . . . Perry Miller's dead.”

“My God! How?”

“They found his body in a townhouse in Georgetown. The news just hit the wires and the Web sites. The cable nets are going live with it right now.”

“What was he doing in Georgetown? We have votes today.”

“Unclear, sir. It looks like he was asphyxiated in some kind of sex game that got out of hand.” He paused. “We're going to need to get out a statement.”

Stanley slumped in his seat. “I . . . I can't believe it.” He paused. “Don't allude to the cause of death. Say something like, ‘Perry Miller was a close friend and colleague for over twenty years. He always put his country ahead of party and principle ahead of politics and served our nation with distinction and honor. My heart goes out to his wife Mabel and their four children as we mourn his loss with them.' Something like that.”

“Yes, sir. I'll get you a draft.”

The door closed behind the press aide. Stanley walked to the large floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Mall, lost in thought. The Iran sanctions bill was scheduled to go to the floor the following week, and it would now fall to Stanley to select a new chairman of Foreign Relations. His mind raced. The next ranking Democrat by seniority already chaired the Commerce Committee, so he was out. The second ranking was a lightweight and a self-righteous preener. With war clouds threatening with Iran, might he have to throw seniority out the window and muscle in his own choice as chairman? It was not something he wanted to contemplate.

KERRY CARTWRIGHT LOPED INTO THE Oval Office greeted by the smile and extended hand of President Robert W. Long and felt his knees buckle.

“Governor!” boomed Long affectionately. “Thanks for coming.”

“So good to see you, Mr. President,” replied Cartwright.

Long, beaming, directed him to sit in one of the wingback chairs at the head of the sitting area. Jay Noble sat down on the end of one of the two cream-colored couches to either side, his elbow on a throw pillow, his eyes studiously focused on notes written on the legal pad resting on his lap. As he settled into the chair, Cartwright felt his heart racing.

“Did you hear about Perry Miller?”

“No,” said Cartwright. “What is it?”

“He died. Looks like he had a heart attack.”

“In the act,” interjected Jay. Long shot him a look of disapproval.

“Oh, no,” replied Cartwright, a stunned expression on his face.

“He was a patriot,” said Long. “I just talked to him for the last time the other day. We were working on the Iran sanctions bill. Johnny says he was a first-rate, stand-up guy, one of the finest men over there in the Senate.”

“He was a rare breed. Those will be big shoes to fill.”

“Yes, they will. And that's what I wanted to talk to you about,” said Long, his eyes boring into Cartwright. “The Senate needs new blood. Sal Stanley has turned it into a partisan instrument of personal revenge and is trying to destroy my presidency. Look at the way he handled health care and the Diaz nomination. It's a disgrace.”

“Mr. President, he's never recovered from losing the presidency.”

“I understand that. Who can blame him?” said Long. “The convention credentials fight, the Dele-gate scandal, Kaplan's indictment, the House election. It was tough for everyone. But somebody has to lose. You have to move on.”

“We don't move on real well in New Jersey,” said Cartwright jokingly. “We tend not to forget our friends or our enemies.”

“Look, I bear Sal no ill will,” Long said, not entirely convincingly. “This isn't personal. It's about restoring the integrity of the U.S. Senate. Right now it's being corrupted by Sal. The man has got to go. That's why you should run. You've got name ID; you can raise the money. And you'd win.” He flashed a smile. “I'll back you 100 percent.”

Cartwright shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Mr. President, the fact this is coming from you means a lot. I have a tremendous amount of respect for you, I really do.”

“But?”

“But I have the temperament of an executive. I like making decisions, not hanging around for roll-call votes until midnight. I've got the only job in politics I ever wanted, other than U.S. attorney.”

Long nodded. “That's why you'd be perfect,” he said, swatting away the objection. “Look, I've been a governor. I get it. A lot of people thought I was nuts when I walked away from the governorship of California to run for president as an independent.” He smiled. “Come to think of it, Jay thought I was nuts.”

Jay grinned like a Cheshire cat but said nothing.

“But in the final analysis this isn't about you or me, Kerry. It's about the country. You'll be an impact player the minute you get to the Senate. You'll be a national figure overnight by defeating Stanley.”

“I'll give it full consideration, sir,” said Cartwright noncommitally.

Long leaned forward until their faces were no more than six inches apart. “Have you ever thought about being attorney general?”

“Not especially,” replied Cartwright, flustered. He glanced over at Jay nervously as if to say,
I thought I was here to get love-bombed for U.S. Senate.