Ballots and Blood (33 page)

“The key is he has to be sworn. He must be under oath,” said Broome. “The only way to force him to tell the truth is if a perjury rap hangs over him like the sword of Damocles.”

“Agreed,” said Hayward. “I'll tell Battaglia that's nonnegotiable.”

“Okay, that's the game plan,” said Stanley. “One final question: what about Stanton? Do you call him?”

“We've discussed that. I lean no,” said Hayward. “It'll only make him a martyr. He's on television and radio four hours a day, and he has a big audience.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Besides—and I never said this—in spite of his bluster, he's cooperated. He veered into gray areas, but I doubt he broke the law.”

“Don't let that leave this room,” joked Stanley, to knowing smiles.

“He'll raise $10 million on the radio and over the Internet if we call him,” said Clay. “You know the drill: we need a legal defense fund to fight the IRS.”

“Right,” said Stanley. “But we should highlight his opulent lifestyle. He flies around in a G-5, lives in a mansion, all paid for by little old ladies sending in their Social Security checks.”

“Don't worry,” said Hayward. “That'll all get into the record. And we're planning to depose Ross Lombardy.”

“Good,” said Clay. “Make that deposition last three days. Run up his legal bills and keep him off the campaign trail. He's putting the hurt on our candidates.”

“Alright, Aaron will drive a hard bargain on Noble's testimony and drop the dime on Stanton with timely leaks to the
Post,
the
Times,
and other media outlets without ever calling him to appear as a witness,” said Stanley. “Everybody agree?”

They all nodded.

Stanley rose from his chair, the meeting adjourned. He glanced at his body man, who pointed to his watch. They were pressed for time to get to the first of three fund-raisers scheduled that evening. He calculated he would need $45 million for the reelect, not counting union efforts and independent expenditures. He could thank Noble and Long for that.

JAY'S ASSISTANT STUCK HER HEAD in the door of his office. “It's Walt Shapiro,” she said in a low voice, cupping her hand over her mouth to make sure no one overheard her mention the name of the most prominent criminal lawyer in town. “Line two.”

Jay motioned for her to close his door. He placed a call to Shapiro's direct line at his law firm about an hour earlier. With the Kaplan trial in full swing, he did not expected to hear from him so quickly. His stomach filled with butterflies as he picked up the phone. “Walt, it's Jay Noble. Thanks for returning my call so promptly.”

“Certainly,” he said. “It was good to hear from you.”

“I assumed you had your hands full with the trial and all.”

“I would have called earlier but couldn't for that very reason. I've got a couple of clients who are witnesses,” said Shapiro smoothly. “How can I help you?”

The guy's involved in the biggest corruption trial in DC in a decade and he's got ice in his veins,
thought Jay. “Well, I don't know if you have a conflict or not,” said Jay slowly. “And I would certainly understand if you felt you needed to refer me to another attorney.” He swallowed hard. “But if you've been following the news regarding Hans von Fuggers, who recently retired from the IRS, he's leveling some serious charges against me.”

“I'm familiar with it,” said Shapiro. “I don't have a conflict. Now, obviously, I'll have to check with my partners and make certain there isn't anyone else in the firm representing someone else in this matter.” He paused. “I'm trying to remember, who's representing von Fuggers . . . isn't it Ted Stricker?”

“I think that's right,” said Jay.

“Ted's a good lawyer, but I thought he was an odd choice,” said Shapiro obliquely. “It signals more of a media play than litigation.”

“That's my impression,” said Jay. “Shopping a book and doing
60 Minutes
isn't about winning a legal settlement. That's someone looking for an advance.”

Shapiro sighed. “I'm afraid that's the way the game is played by too many.”

“Still, I need to err on the side of caution and defend myself, so I need a criminal attorney who knows how to handle a high-profile case that generates a lot of media interest.” Jay did not mention that he decided to testify before the Senate Finance Committee, fearing it might scare Shapiro away.
Better to drop that on Shapiro after he's on board,
he thought.

“That's smart,” said Shapiro, his voice calm, his tone soothing. “If more people contacted me before they ever talked to the FBI or prosecutors, there would be a lot fewer people in trouble. Someone's natural instinct at a time like this is to prove they've done nothing wrong; and by trying to disprove a negative, they make mistakes, some of which are fatal.”

“Exactly,” said Jay. “I know the feeling. All I did was give someone at Treasury a heads-up about complaints I'd received about selective enforcement by the IRS. I didn't ask for special treatment for anyone. But of course that's not how it's going to be portrayed.”

“Not when it's you,” said Shapiro. He paused. “So have you decided whether you're going to have to testify before the committee?”

Ouch!
Jay hoped to dodge that touchy subject. “Not yet,” said Jay slowly. “But frankly, I may have to testify, or at least agree to be interviewed by committee staff. We're war-gaming that now.”

“Well, I'm not your attorney, at least not yet,” said Shapiro. “But as a general rule I'd try to avoid appearing before the committee.”

“I agree,” said Jay. “But why?”

“I'm not worried about your telling the truth,” said Shapiro. “But I don't want to give them the money shot.”

“You mean the photo of me raising my right hand, being sworn in?”

“Exactly.”

“I'm beginning to think it might be better to go ahead and testify rather than be crucified in absentia,” said Jay.

“What's going on now is still less problematic than testifying,” said Shapiro. “To a certain extent, von Fuggers gets discounted as a disgruntled former employee.”

Jay grunted in acknowledgment. “How soon do you think you can determine whether or not your firm has a conflict? Obviously this thing is moving pretty fast.”

“We can do our due diligence by tomorrow. I'll call you then. Assuming there are no unanticipated issues, maybe we can sit down tomorrow afternoon.”

The two men exchanged contact information and hung up. Jay was now more confused than ever. His head told him to listen to Shapiro's advice and ignore the committee's subpoena, while his heart told him he could no longer serve Long effectively unless he cleared his name. He didn't know which to follow, his head or his heart.

27

L
isa Robinson approached the podium in the White House briefing room trailed by a coterie of grim-faced aides, wearing a black skirt, white blouse, and aqua jacket. Her flowing black hair, turned-up nose, blue eyes, lush lashes, milky-white complexion, and immaculate makeup gave her the appearance of a china doll, but she was all business. “I have a message from the president. I'll read it and then take your questions,” she said crisply.

Late-arriving reporters scrambled to their seats. In the front row, Dan Dorman of the
Washington Post
glanced at a colleague expectantly as if to say:
Here it comes.

“I am returning herewith without my approval S.R. 6, ‘The Comprehensive Iran Sanctions and Human Rights Act,'” said Lisa, reading. “The bill fails to address the danger posed by Iran's nuclear weapons program, its designation by the State Department as the leading state sponsor of terrorism in the world and its involvement in the proliferation of nuclear technology to terrorist organizations, including the network of Rassem el Zafarshan.” Lisa's recitation was punctuated by the
click-whir
of still photographers recording the scene. “The House bill instructed the Director of National Intelligence (DNI) to report to the Executive Office of the President (EOP) and the Congress on the efficacy of the sanctions within 120 days. It also authorized ‘any and all measures deemed necessary' to disarm Iran of nuclear weapons.”

Lisa pressed her lips into a thin line of lipstick. “However, this provision is not included in the final conference report. Its absence endangers the security and vital interests of the United States, which I cannot countenance as commander in chief. The bill fails to deal adequately with one of the most serious national security issues facing our nation, and for that reason I return it without my approval. Signed, Robert W. Long.”

Finished, Lisa grabbed the podium as though bracing for battle. “Any questions?”

“Lisa, how disappointed is the president that he has been effectively humiliated by the Congress on the eve of the European Union meeting?” asked CBS. “Doesn't this weaken him just before one of the most critical meetings with U.S. allies in years?”

“No,” said Lisa firmly. “This isn't about who's up or who's down. The issue is: the overwhelming preponderance of evidence indicates Iran has weaponized a nuclear device. The intelligence community has concluded it possesses long-range missile technology capable of striking many capitals in Europe. This bill did not adequately confront that threat.”

“But the president is asking the EU to enact crippling sanctions when he has failed to do so himself,” said FOX News.

Lisa bristled. “This has nothing to do with the sanctions. The president supports the sanctions in the bill. The problem is the failure to include a certification process on their efficacy and an explicit authorization for ‘all necessary measures.' The president previously pledged to veto the bill if these two provisions were not included. He has now done so.”

“Why not sign the sanctions bill and then seek military authorization in three to six months?” asked Reuters. “Why throw the baby out with the bath?”

“This is not a time for half-measures. Iran has a uniquely dangerous combination of nuclear weapons and ties to terrorists,” replied Lisa. She glanced down at Dan Dorman, whom she had deliberately passed over for the first few questions. “Dan?” Everyone braced for fireworks; Lisa and Dorman famously despised each other, a legacy of their frosty relationship during the campaign.

“Lisa, if the president doesn't persuade the European Union to enforce strict sanctions against Iran, then it seems clear that, along with this defeat in Congress, he's completely failed to stop Iran's nuclear weapons program, hasn't he?”

Lisa's face hardened as Dorman asked his question. “I can't address a hypothetical, Dan. Your question presumes a lack of action by the EU. I reject the premise of your question.”

“But the U.S. isn't doing what the president wants the EU to do, so why should they?”

“My answer is identical to my answer to your original question,” said Lisa, her voice jagged. Ever the pro, Lisa stayed on message. But it didn't change the fact that Long was headed to Rome empty-handed, hoping his European allies bailed him out. Lisa was just glad the press didn't know the worst part: Air Force One was wheels up in three hours, and the president still didn't have the votes in the EU to pass sanctions.

KERRY CARTWRIGHT LUMBERED INTO THE Hispanic Family Center of Southern New Jersey in Camden, serving one of the largest Puerto Rican communities outside of the island, as well as Mexican-Americans. The Garden State boasted the seventh-largest Hispanic population in the nation, and Cartwright was on the hunt for their votes. He loped to the front of the room and stood behind a small podium wearing a crooked grin, a five o'clock shadow, and the searching eyes of a statewide candidate. A banner behind him read: “Viva Familiar Hispano!”

A group of Latino children enrolled in the center's preschool program sat in a circle around Cartwright, bright-eyed, youthful props for the cameras. Their mothers stood beneath the banner, wearing expressions ranging from bemused pleasure to stage fight. In the back of the room stood a row of reporters, their faces reflecting their boredom with Cartwright's disciplined, cash-rich, consultant-driven campaign.

“Thank you so much for having me, Jose,” said Cartwright, nodding in the direction of the center's executive director. “As governor, I've made partnering with the Hispanic community a major priority of my administration. I believe strongly in the idea that parents, families, grassroots groups, and faith-based organizations can do a better job of caring for our children and seniors than government. I believe the main duty of government is to assist what Edmund Burke called these ‘little platoons,' and then largely get out of the way.” He spoke easily and freely, without a note, his right hand chopping the air, the other hand stuffed in his pocket. “I believe we've established a model of how to do that here in New Jersey. It's a model I want to take to the entire country, should I be fortunate enough to be elected as the next U.S. senator from our state.”

Cartwright spun on his heel and turned to face the mothers behind him. “Are some of you ready to tell us how the Hispanic Family Center has helped you?” he asked, arching his eyebrows theatrically. They shifted nervously. “Don't worry about the press . . . they don't bite.” His eyes twinkled. “At least not you, only me!” Everyone laughed.

Finally, one woman raised her hand. “I say something,” she said.

“Come on up,” said Cartwright, waving her to the podium.

“I work as a dispatcher for a local trucking company—”

Cartwright leaned forward. “Tell everyone your name.”

“Oh—sorry,” she said, rolling her eyes. “My name Mercedes Bonilla. I am from Puerto Rico. I am a single mother raising two children, a six-year-old daughter and a four-year-old son. The preschool program at Hispanic Family Center has been an answer to prayer for me and my family.” Her eyes welled up. The other moms nodded knowingly. “I couldn't be as good a mother without it.” She turned to Cartwright. “I thank God for you, Governor, for understanding the needs of families like mine.” She began to cry.