Capitol Betrayal (20 page)

“And how is that not speculation?” Ben said, rising.

“The man’s doing the best he can on short notice,” Cartwright said curtly. “It’s not as if they’ve had time to rehearse their testimony.”

Point taken. Ben sat down.

“One last question, Mr. Secretary. Excluding what you have witnessed today in the bunker—I assume everyone has already heard enough about that—have you observed any behavior by the president that you considered irrational?”

“I think sending troops to the Kuraqi border was irrational. More than just a mistake. It was wrong on so many levels that I believe it was not the action of a man in full control of his faculties. I think his ongoing aggression toward a petty Middle Eastern dictator shows a lack of clear reasoning. And I think his refusal to withdraw troops when Zuko has control of our ballistic missiles and possibly a nuclear suitcase is positively insane!”

“Objection,” Ben said again. “He’s not qualified to render that opinion.”

“I don’t think he’s using the term in the sense of a medical diagnosis,” Cartwright said. “He’s just saying that what has happened doesn’t make any sense to him.”

“That’s exactly right,” Ruiz said.

“So your objection is overruled. Honestly, Mr. Kincaid, we need to move faster so we can get this job done within our deadline.”

Ben sat down, frowning. And by “this job,” did the judge mean simply finishing this trial—or booting Kyler out of office?

“I have no more questions,” Swinburne said. “But before we proceed any further, judge, I have to ask if we can’t bring this matter to an immediate close.”

Ben stood beside him. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m just trying to be reasonable. This isn’t a real trial.”

“It isn’t?”

“We can be flexible. And we’ve already had evidence of the president’s irrational decision making, of erratic behavior, of a life-threatening medical condition that could potentially affect his reasoning and that for all we know may be the cause of his unstable behavior.”

“Is this a motion,” Ben asked, “or a closing argument?”

“I just think we’ve heard enough, judge. And we have too little time before Zuko strikes again. I say we ask the cabinet members for an immediate vote. Right now.”

“What?” Ben said incredulously. “I haven’t called a witness. I haven’t even cross-examined this one.”

Swinburne shrugged. “I just don’t see that it will make any difference.”

“I’m sure you don’t,” Ben replied. “And I’m sure every prosecutor would like to end the trial before the defense has a chance to put on their case.”

“I’m not—”

“Gentlemen, please.” Admiral Cartwright held up his hands. “I understand what you’re saying, Swinburne, but I think due process—”

“Due process may be fine for other trials,” Swinburne said, “but not when deadly missiles could be fired at any minute!”

Cartwright’s expression darkened. If Ben had had any doubts before about how quickly and thoroughly he had taken to the role of a judge, it disappeared instantly when he saw that—like every other judge on earth—Cartwright did not like to be interrupted.

“Mr. Vice President, I know you’re not trained as a lawyer, so let me give you the basics right now. You never interrupt the judge. Never!”

“But—” Swinburne started, though he had the good sense to stop before it went far.

“Believe me, no one is more aware of that ticking clock than I am. But we can’t honestly say that the Constitution has been honored if we haven’t given Kincaid a chance to put on a defense.”

“Exactly,” Ben said.

“Now, if you’d like to speed things up, Mr. Swinburne, you can rest your case with this witness.”

Swinburne looked down at the floor and made a grumbling noise. “Well, I have one more person I want to call.”

“Then why don’t we dispense with this preemptive strike and get on with it? Motion overruled.”

Well, at least it wasn’t going to be over that quickly, Ben thought as he returned to his position at the table. Although he had to wonder whether it would ultimately make any difference.

Before he launched into his cross, he took a card from Secretary Rybicki’s deck and passed the president a note:
Why does Ruiz think your actions in Kuraq are personal?

The president responded with lightning speed:
Because they are
.

Ben crumpled the note in his hand and put it safely into his pocket. This was just great. They would have to talk later. For now, he needed to cross-examine this witness.

“Mr. Secretary, your testimony seems to express your opinion that the president is not acting objectively.”

“To say the least,” Ruiz replied.

“Are you?”

Ruiz seemed taken aback at the question. He stumbled a few moments before answering. “I—I believe so.”

“To me, sir, you seem just as rigid in your belief that we should not be in Kuraq as the president is in his belief that we should.”

“I hardly think—”

“Would it be fair to say you have made up your mind on this subject?”

“Well, yes.”

“And you firmly believe that we should pull out of Kuraqi waters?”

“Yes.”

“So how do you differentiate your firmness—some might say your obsession—from the president’s? They sound like much the same thing to me.”

“But my decision is based on a rational analysis of the available facts.”

“And we know that how?”

“Well—because—because—”

“I’m sure if we ask him—and we will—the president will say exactly the same thing. I’m sorry, Mr. Secretary, but it sounds to me as if you’re labeling the president’s decision making as irrational and insane because he has the temerity to hold an opinion different from your own.”

“No, not at all.”

“This isn’t really about the president’s purported insanity. It’s about your intolerance!”

“Hear, hear,” the president said, clapping.

Cartwright thumped the table. “The defendant will refrain from comment and interruption!” he barked. Then he added, as an afterthought, “Even if he is, you know, the president of the United States.”

Ben couldn’t help smiling.

“Let me explain something,” Ruiz said, sounding a little strained. “I’ve been working in the foreign policy arena for almost twenty years. I know my stuff. So I probably don’t have as much patience as I might when I know someone is making a wrongheaded decision. I’m sure you feel the same way, Mr. Kincaid, when someone makes an incorrect statement about the law. But this goes far beyond just making a bad decision. This is a position that simply makes no rational sense—especially now, when we’re under attack from our own missiles!”

“Have you never before heard anyone say that they will not negotiate with terrorists?”

“Well, of course.”

“Is that irrational?”

“No, not—”

“Isn’t that basically what the president is saying now?”

“Perhaps that’s what he’s saying, but I think there’s a lot more to it. Even Ronald Reagan, the cold warrior, ended up working with terrorists in the Iran-contra mess. He didn’t like it, but he thought it was necessary given the circumstances. Similarly, President Kyler needs to realize that this is a time when he needs to step back, if only temporarily, and give Zuko what he wants. For the security of the nation.”

“But other leaders have stuck to the no-negotiation policy, have they not? Even when there were serious consequences? And they weren’t removed from office. Right?”

“I suppose. But—”

“Thank you, Mr. Secretary. You’ve answered the question.” Ben tried to comfort himself with the knowledge that he had gained something. It might not be much, but it was something. “And speaking of bias, sir, didn’t we hear earlier that you know—or at least knew—Colonel Zuko personally?”

“Yes. I knew him slightly in college. So?”

“Well, perhaps that’s why you don’t think he’s as much of a threat as the president does. You still remember the larky good ol’ days going to keggers and frat parties.”

Ruiz’s upper lip actually curled. “They don’t have fraternities at Oxford. But I suppose you wouldn’t know that.”

“No, I wouldn’t. I went to school in Oklahoma, where everyone has the sense to know that anyone crazy enough to seize control of our missile systems is a serious threat.”

“I know he’s a threat,” Ruiz said, cutting off Swinburne’s objection. “I just don’t believe the president is handling the threat in the right way. And to continue sending in troops when we can’t get him out of our computers is nuts!”

“Isn’t it possible that Zuko might back off when he sees our troops marching up his front lawn?”

“I think the U.S. East Coast will be gone before that happens.”

“That’s your prediction. I asked if it was possible.”

“Anything’s possible.”

“So it’s possible the president is right.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I didn’t ask what you think. I asked if it’s possible.”

“I suppose. Remotely possible. Very remotely. More remote than the Andromeda galaxy.”

“But possible.”

“Remotely.”

Well, at least he’d gotten that concession. If you could call it that. But there was still something nagging at the corners of Ben’s brain.

“Secretary Ruiz, didn’t we learn earlier that your relationship with Colonel Zuko is deeper than a mere college friendship? That he actually contributed to your first political campaign?”

Ruiz shrugged his shoulders. “It was a tiny contribution. Maybe five hundred dollars. I don’t really remember.”

“And he never contributed again to any subsequent campaign?”

“No.” He paused. “Colonel Zuko never contributed to any of my subsequent campaigns.”

Ben thought a moment. Something about the way Ruiz said it bothered him. Yes, he looked up and to the right as he said it. His good friend police detective Mike Morelli had told him once that that was the sure sign of someone who either had extreme attention deficit issues—or was lying. But Ben also noted the way he’d said it. He hadn’t used the pronoun
he
, as one normally would in response, since Ben had just used his name. Instead he’d said “Colonel Zuko never contributed”—as if he were making some sort of distinction in his own mind.

“Secretary Ruiz, did someone else make a contribution to your subsequent campaigns?”

Ruiz’s brow knitted. “I would guess something like several thousand people made contributions to my subsequent campaigns. What are you getting at?”

“I’m asking about contributions that may be relevant to this proceeding.”

“I’m afraid you’ve lost me.”

Ben thought for a moment. He felt certain he was close to something. He just wasn’t sure how to get there.

Beside him, he saw President Kyler tilting his head and making bug eyes. Was he having another episode? No, he was trying to tell Ben something.

And then he remembered Rybicki’s note.

“Secretary Ruiz, did you ever receive any contributions from… Apollo?”

As soon as he spoke the word, Ben saw Swinburne twitch a little. That was a good sign.

Ruiz leaned forward slightly, looking confused. Ben was pretty sure he wasn’t. “Apollo?”

“Yes. You know what it is, don’t you?”

Ruiz looked at Swinburne. Swinburne looked away. On your own, buddy.

“Are you… talking about the energy company?”

Ben took a shot. “Obviously.”

“Sure. I’ve heard of it. Hasn’t everyone?”

“And did they contribute to your campaigns?”

Ruiz acted nonchalant. “I… think they may have done so on occasion.”

“And what’s their connection to Colonel Zuko?”

“Is there one?”

Ben was getting tired of this cat-and-mouse game. “Yes, there is one, and I want you to stop wasting our time and tell the cabinet about it right now.”

Ben saw Swinburne twitch again. He was probably thinking about objecting but didn’t want to do so in a futile effort that might give the appearance he was trying to cover something up.

“I don’t know any of this firsthand.”

“Tell us what you do know, Secretary.”

“It’s my understanding that Apollo may have some drilling leases… in Kuraq.”

At long last. “And that would require the express consent and involvement of Colonel Zuko, right?”

“I suppose so. He pretty much runs the whole economy.”

“And if the colonel is removed from office, Apollo would lose those leases.”

“It’s possible.”

“So Apollo has a direct financial interest in the perpetuation of the colonel’s dirty little dictatorship.”

“I wouldn’t put it that way.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t. Because Apollo has you deep in its pockets.”

“Objection,” Swinburne said. “I don’t know what the technical ground would be, but that can’t be permissible.”

“I think the ground might be that it’s argumentative,” Cartwright suggested. “Or perhaps failure to ask a question.”

“Fine. I object because of those.”

“Objection granted. Mr. Kincaid, you’ve made your point. Save the rest for your closing.”

Sound advice, but Ben wasn’t ready to take it. “Secretary Ruiz, are you suggesting that your relationship with Apollo doesn’t have any impact on your reasoning?”

“Exactly.”

“Then why were you trying to cover it up?”

“I wasn’t!”

“Well, you certainly weren’t forthcoming.”

“I didn’t see what it had to do with the matter at hand. I still don’t!”

“Let me ask you a hypothetical question, Mr. Secretary. If you found out a member of your staff had been receiving money from a company with financial holdings in North Korea, would you send him out there to negotiate a nuclear arms treaty?”

“Of course not. But that’s totally—”

“So you admit that financial interests could potentially influence decision making?”

“No. I mean—sure, but I don’t—” He paused and took a deep breath to clear the befuddlement. “Look, just because Apollo contributed a little campaign money does not mean they own me.”

“So I guess you’ve never done a favor for someone who contributed to your campaign?”

“Well…”