Capitol Betrayal (29 page)

“And I assume you came to know her there.”

“It took awhile. I was a bit shy around women back then—not a ladies’ man like you, Ben.”

Ben blinked.

“But she was beautiful, absolutely beautiful. The smoothest, creamiest complexion and elegant light brown skin. Lovely. I’d never seen anyone before who struck me as so gorgeous. So I spent about half the semester stuttering around her. But eventually I managed to ask her out.”

“And?”

“We hit it off almost immediately. We had a lot in common—our idealism, our desire to serve our people, our devotion to education and political theory. But what was most intriguing was how we were different. I loved words; she loved numbers. I loved poetry; she preferred nonfiction. I liked rock and roll; she preferred classical. We didn’t duplicate each other. We complemented each other.” He shrugged. “Is it any wonder I fell in love?”

“And were these feelings of yours reciprocated?”

“Absolutely. We loved each other with an intensity that few people before or since have ever experienced. And out of that love was born a child.”

“Abe Malik.”

“Yes. Malik isn’t his surname, but it is a family name. It’s Arabic for ‘strong.’”

“Why didn’t you marry?”

“I wanted to. She refused. Remember, she was from Kuraq. And although she was determined to bear the child, a marriage to a Westerner would be impossible, at least if she ever intended to go back. And she did. She had great plans. She wanted to make the royal family relevant again, to bring her country out of that stagnant theocracy. And she couldn’t do any of that with me.”

“Did you ever see the child?”

“No. She gave birth in Kuraq, in secret. I was not allowed to visit. I didn’t see him for almost twenty years.”

“What happened then?”

“She returned to America. Her plans for her country never materialized. It was not the royal family that wrested power away from the ayatollah. It was Colonel Zuko.”

“I see.”

“And as you might imagine, he was not as comfortable with the royal family’s presence as his predecessor had been. He didn’t want any potential threats to his supremacy around. Like the rest of her family, she fled. She returned to America—this time with her son.”

“Did she contact you?”

“She did, although it wasn’t easy. I was governor by then, and not the easiest person in the world to contact privately. But she was always a very smart woman. I met her in secret. She had never married, never had any other children. She was devoted to Abe and her cause, nothing else. She had, I think, hoped that we might be able to… to pick up where we had left off. But it was impossible. I was married to Sophie by then—very happily, I might add. And I was in the public eye. No journalist had managed to tumble to Abe’s existence yet. We decided it was best to keep it that way. And so we parted.” He slowly exhaled. “I didn’t see Abe again for several years. Not until she sent word that our son was planning to join the Red Cross.”

“And that concerned you?”

“It concerned both of us. You can see why he wanted a posting near Kuraq. That’s his heritage. But I knew Colonel Zuko was on the warpath. He had already begun the invasion of the Benzai Strip. I knew trouble was coming. I knew U.S. intervention was likely. And I didn’t want my son in the middle of it. It was dangerous for anyone—but imagine if Zuko discovered Abe was his archenemy’s son. Abe’s life would be in constant jeopardy.”

“I gather you were not able to talk him out of it?”

“No. He’s very stubborn.” The president’s lips turned up slightly at the corners. “He probably gets that from me.”

“Did you hear anything else from him thereafter?”

“Precious little. I had a few people watching out for him, but I didn’t want to make a big deal about it. The fewer people who knew the truth, the better. I didn’t know how the American people would respond to the revelation that I have a secret son, but the connection to Kuraq could make that very tricky. Very dangerous politically. I hadn’t heard much about him for some time—until I saw the passenger manifest on that downed helicopter. And found his name there. As the pilot.”

“So of course you prepared to bring in troops. To mount a rescue operation and secure the country.”

Kyler nodded. “I like to think that I would have done that in any case. But yes, once I knew my son was in that helicopter, there really was no choice. Not for me. No choice at all.”

“Just a few more questions, Mr. President. Do you regret your decisions regarding Kuraq?”

“Absolutely not. That man—Colonel Zuko—is dangerous. A serious threat to the nation, as today’s events have proved. If we let him go unchecked, it will establish a precedent that quite literally could rip this country apart at the seams.”

“The secretary of state has suggested that your failure to withdraw the troops, now that Zuko has control of some of our missiles, is insane. Do you agree?”

“Ruiz is a good man, but I’ve never been able to get him to see the big picture. Zuko may be able to do some damage with those missiles, and I regret that. But if he does, he will earn the enmity of the world community and the UN. He will find himself cut off, unable to function, and he knows this. I think he’s trying to scare us—after all, that’s what terrorists do. But it’s brinksmanship, and I don’t think he’s stupid enough to take it too far. In the meantime, if we withdraw, we lose a good deal more than a marble monument and the people in that helicopter. Hundreds of thousands of people will be slaughtered in Benzai. I won’t have that on my conscience.”

The vice president rose to his feet. President Kyler raised his palm and continued before he could speak.

“Now, I am keenly aware that Vice President Swinburne has a different opinion. He’s entitled. But differing with the vice president does not mean you’re insane. Personally, I think caving in to terrorists is insane, but you’ll notice I’m not trying to have him committed.” His tone dropped a notch. “But I’m not going to let him have my job, either.”

“Thank you, Mr. President,” Ben said. “Your honor, I have no more questions for this witness.”

Ben wiped his forehead. He hadn’t realized it before, but he was sweating profusely. It wasn’t the heat; this bunker was perfectly temperature-controlled. He had been under enormous pressure, trying to figure out how to salvage this administration. But the testimony had gone well—better than he’d dreamed, actually. If the president could only survive cross-examination…

Unfortunately, that was a huge if.

Vice President Swinburne cleared his throat, then began his cross. “Are you seriously suggesting that there’s something normal about dissociative episodes in which you revert to infantilism?”

“Objection,” Ben said instantly. “Argumentative.”

Cartwright didn’t wait for any explanations. “It’s cross-ex, son. It isn’t supposed to be friendly.”

“But—”

“The truth is,” he said, pointing at the clock, “we don’t have time for minor-league objections. So unless Mr. Swinburne does something so bad it threatens to induce heart failure, don’t interrupt.”

Ben sat down, frowning. Cartwright had just given Swinburne virtual carte blanche to do whatever he wanted on cross. That could be all too dangerous.

“What I said, I think,” the president replied calmly, was that if I wanted to sing a song, that was my right, and so long as I get my job done, as I always have, it’s no sign of insanity and none of anyone else’s business.”

“Just as you apparently feel the members of your family are none of anyone’s business. That you can ask people for their vote but don’t need to tell them about your Middle Eastern son.”

“Well, you’re sort of right. I think my private life is my own. Everything about me does not have to be up on display just because I’m running for office.”

“You don’t think the public has a right to know?”

“Of course, that’s the excuse journalists always use for prying into people’s personal lives. Or they say it’s a character issue, when it’s really just gossipmongering.”

“It is a character issue.”

“No, it’s an excuse for reporting tittle-tattle instead of reporting news.”

“Are you seriously suggesting that the existence of an illegitimate son is not reflection on a candidate’s character?”

“I think we all made mistakes when we were young.”

“This is more than a mere mistake. You brought a human being into existence.”

“And he’s a fine boy. What’s your point?”

Swinburne put his fists on his hips. “My point is that you know as well as I do that this son, if revealed, would cost you votes. That’s why you kept him secret.”

“I kept him secret? I barely knew anything about him until a few years ago. He has no desire to be a part of my life. I can sympathize with his desire not to live in a goldfish bowl. So I respected his desire for privacy.”

“Which coincidentally dovetails nicely with your own political needs.”

The president’s words were becoming terse, overenunciated. He was getting angry—the worst possible attitude for a witness on cross. “I don’t believe that most people are so shallow and judgmental they would change their vote based upon a mistake I made almost thirty years ago.”

“But you weren’t willing to take the risk, were you? That’s why you kept him hidden.”

“I’ve already explained that decision.”

“Your honor,” Ben said, “I know you’re not looking for interruptions, but this line of questioning is not relevant. Although the vice president seems to be enjoying it, it does not pertain to the question of whether the president is capable of performing his duties.”

“I have to agree with that, Mr. Swinburne,” Cartwright said. “Please move on.”

“Let me address this in a way that is directly relevant,” Swinburne replied. “Mr. President, is it fair to say that the fact that your son has gone down behind enemy lines figured prominently in your decision to send in the troops?”

“Of course.”

“And you have indicated that you have no intention of altering that decision. No matter what Colonel Zuko threatens.”

“That’s exactly right.”

“Would it be fair to say you would be incapable of making a decision that might endanger your son?”

Ben bit down on his lower lip. He knew Swinburne had not chosen the word
incapable
by accident.

“I would not say that I’m incapable of doing it. I’m saying I don’t want to, at least not at this time. Of course, I always have to consider the greater good for the greater number of people. There might be a time when I have to change this position. But we haven’t reached it.”

“So at least for the present, you are incapable of rendering a decision to withdraw the troops.”

“Not incapable. Unwilling.”

“Even if Colonel Zuko sends missiles to kill thousands of American citizens.”

“You know my position. We can’t give in to terrorist threats.”

“Yes, especially not when your son is out there.”

“Is that so wrong?”

“No. That’s the act of a considerate, caring father. And we’ve all heard your concerns that you’ve been an inadequate parent. Perhaps that’s why you are so adamant about sending in the troops. But by your own admission, at this time, you are incapable of rendering a decision to withdraw, even if it is in the best interests of the American people. That makes you incapable of performing your duties.”

“Objection,” Ben said. “He’s speechifying again.”

“You’ll have to forgive me, judge,” Swinburne said. “I’m not a trial lawyer by training. But you don’t have to go to law school to know the difference between right and wrong. And having a commander in chief who is compromised—rendered incapable—by personal entanglements is wrong.”

“Since he’s still doing his closing, your honor,” Ben said, “can I assume he’s done with this witness?”

Swinburne didn’t wait for Cartwright’s response. “No, sir, I am most definitely not done with the witness.” He redirected his attention to Kyler. “Mr. President, do you honestly expect anyone to believe that your erratic behavior is caused by your… personal eccentricities? Because you’re a rebel in a blue suit?”

“I certainly don’t expect you to believe it,” President Kyler replied. “You’ve clearly got your own agenda.”

That irritated him. “Let’s review some of the actions you have deemed harmless and goofy.” Swinburne glanced down at his notes. “You intentionally ditched your security detail.”

“I never left the premises.”

“You held conversations with portraits.”

“I was thinking aloud.”

“You queried JFK’s portrait about his sexual escapades.”

“I queried him about his faith in God. I mean—” The president stuttered, stopped. His face reddened. “I pondered aloud whether he was a deeply religious person. I have always been interested in matters of faith. I am a man of faith.”

Swinburne kept barreling ahead like a snowplow. “You were skinny-dipping in front of your female chief of staff.”

“I didn’t ask her to come in there!” His voice was becoming strained. He was getting defensive. “I didn’t know she was coming!”

“Balderdash. You ditch your security people, it’s a sure bet your chief of staff will come looking for you. That’s her job. And if you didn’t know it beforehand, you would certainly know it after the first ten or twenty times it happened.”

“I did not know—”

“It was perfectly simple to anticipate that she would walk in on you. That’s probably why you did it. So you could see the shocked expression on this poor young woman’s face when she found the president stark naked!’

“That’s a lie!” Kyler said, but the more he insisted it was not, the more it sounded as if it were. Swinburne was doing a good job of shaking him out of his comfort zone and putting him on the defensive. Ben knew that anytime a defendant appears to be stretching, making excuses, juries start to lose faith in him. He needed to find an excuse to intervene.

“Are you sure, Mr. President? Are you sure exposing yourself didn’t appeal to your sense of goofiness?”

“Objection to the use of the term ‘exposing himself,’” Ben said, finding his opening. “It’s unnecessarily inflammatory.”