The iCongressman (32 page)

SPEAKER ALBRIGHT

“Mister Speaker,” my secretary says
as I enter the room, “the majority leader is waiting for you in your office.”
Oh, that’s just great. He isn’t wasting any time, is he?

I walk in to find the smug bastard I call a friend sitting
in the chair behind my desk. The only better signal of his ambitions other than
comfortably ensconcing himself in my office is catching him measuring for new
drapes.

“You may covet that chair, Harvey, but I strongly suggest
you remove yourself from it until it’s yours,” I say in as harsh a tone as I
can muster.

“That day may be closer than you think,” he responds, rising
from it and circling back towards the front of my oversized desk. “That vote
sealed your fate, Johnston. The committee wanted no part of your continued
leadership next Congress before this disaster, and they certainly won’t after
it.”

The Republican Study Committee is the most conservative and
largest element of my membership. It is also very influential when we ballot
for leadership positions every two years, and Harvey owns it.

“And you think you are going to curry favor with them? What
will they say when they find out you were the architect of all this?”

Blame avoidance is a way of life on Capitol Hill. Nobody
takes responsibility for any negative action that can ever show up in an
opponent’s television
ad.
The same axiom applies when
jockeying for positions of power in Washington.

“All I did was
pass
on the concerns
of the members.”

“You’re the one who put me up to all this! If you had
listened to me in the first place, Bennit would be gone and there would have
been no icandidates.”

“Inaction was not a feasible alternative. Nobody was willing
to bury their heads in the sand and hope he didn’t become a problem later. I
think the party thought you were capable of handling Michael Bennit. Do you
think Gingrich or Boehner would have failed so miserably? Hell, even Pelosi
could have navigated these waters better than you.”

Comparing any political leader to predecessors in that
manner is an incredible insult. Stepanik is trying to get me emotional so I say
something stupid, but I’m not going to take the bait. I have played this game
for far too long.

I pull the Macallan out along with the pair of tulip-shaped
glass tumblers. How many drinks have I shared with Harvey Stepanik in this very
office? I pour us both a couple of fingers and hand him his glass. He accepts
it apprehensively, no doubt wondering why I am offering to drink with him as he
plots my political downfall. Frankly, I’m wondering the same thing. Politics
makes strange bedfellows, but rarely does your most trusted political ally
become your most ardent political adversary.

“Do you know how South Carolina got the nickname ‘The
Palmetto State’?”

“What?”

“You aren’t deaf, Harvey. You heard me. Do you know?”

“No.”

“It refers to our state tree, the
Sabal
Palmetto, which has a historical significance dating back to the American
Revolution. In 1776, we repulsed the British fleet’s attack on Sullivan’s
Island. Colonel Moultrie had a palmetto-log fort built that withstood a
withering barrage of British cannon fire until the fleet retreated.”

“You’re starting to sound like Bennit.” He’s right, I do.
“You think you’re going to survive the bombardment heading your way?”

“That’s the idea.”

Stepanik presses his lips together and nods before taking a
long sip of his scotch. What is he up to now?

“What will happen when it’s made public that you knowingly
colluded with a major lobby group to frame Michael Bennit for accepting a bribe
in an attempt to expel him?”

“I did no such thing.”

“Yes, you did. We know James Reed sent you the pictures and
you knew it was a setup. We wanted you to get rid of Bennit, not compromise the
integrity of the party. Add to that this debacle we just witnessed―”

“Harvey, I swear, I had no idea those photos were―”

Harvey holds up his hand to stop me. He swirls the last of
the scotch in the glass before drinking it in one swallow. He places the glass
down on my desk and we just stand and stare at each other for a long moment.

“You’re a liability now, Johnston. You’re out as Speaker, regardless
how things play out next month. That’s only half your problem. The party wants
someone to pin the blame on, and you’re the sacrificial lamb. So you’re going
to resign your seat for health reasons before the next Congress starts.”

“I won’t.”

“You will. Otherwise, you’ll be in and out of hearings about
your behavior more than A-Rod was. You’ll face a barrage of embarrassing
questions you really don’t want to answer. As a friend, I don’t want to see
that happen to you.”

“A friend?
Is that what you’re still
calling yourself?
A friend?”
I ask incredulously. He
has some nerve. “Get out of my office.” He obliges, walking across the spacious
office overlooking the National Mall that I have called mine for a long time
now.

“You wouldn’t dare cross Reed. Not just to get me out of
this office.”

“Do you really want to test us on that?” he responds,
stopping at the door. He’s right. The Republican Party has shot itself in the
foot over far less over the years. “For perhaps the last time, have a good day,
Mister Speaker
.”

MICHAEL

There are strictly defined rules
about where the media can go and what they can film on the Capitol grounds.
Aside from the press briefing rooms in the Capitol and the various office
buildings, there are countless areas that allow portable coverage for
interviews. Since I don’t like the idea of being the typical politician that
slithers over to the closest camera after a vote, we decide on a semi-impromptu
gathering at the base of the House steps at the southeast corner of the
building. 

It is cold out, but not bitterly so, yet I hold out the hope
that the temperature will help keep this brief. Even with my wool overcoat and
countless days freezing during Ranger School and Mountain Warfare School while
I was in the Army, I prefer being warmer than I am right now.

I stop a few steps from the bottom, just beyond the roped
off area of the steps where only members are allowed to proceed. A gaggle of
media are gathered at the bottom, microphones and cameras at the ready. The
group is nowhere near the size of the hordes of media that followed our first
campaign, highlighting just how little the average American understands what
just happened here.

I have no opening statement, and sensing that, the press
launches into the questioning. I am flanked by Blake and Chelsea to my left,
Cisco to my right, and Viano a step behind me. The rest of my staff is a few
steps higher and way off to the side, content to watch from outside the
limelight.

“Congressman Bennit, you ran a social media campaign to try
to sway opinions on this vote. Do you think that’s the future of politics?”
Interesting first question, but one I’m happy to comment on.

“I hope not, because it failed miserably.”

“What do you mean?” the reporter asks after looking at his
colleagues with a slightly confused look on his face.

“It didn’t work. Americans weren’t paying attention to this
vote, especially once news of the fake anthrax attack spread. Nobody got caught
up in the excitement of this vote outside of the Beltway. They simply were not
invested in the outcome. If this lame duck session accomplished anything, it’s
showcasing the limitations to the effectiveness of social media when it comes
to how government legislates.”

“Why do you think that is?” a young female in the middle of
the scrum follows up.

“Because it’s almost Christmas, and the people want to spend
time with family, shop for gifts, and get on with their lives. Americans went
to the polls to choose their representatives in November. They did their job,
and now they want us to do ours. The public doesn’t understand what we voted on
today, and honestly, I don’t think they really care. It is why we have a
representative government: so they can remain indifferent about what happens
here and focus on what matters in their lives.”

“So what does this victory mean?” one of the intrepid
journalists up front asks. She looks like she’s been out here for a while and
is in drastic need of a warm fire and a hot chocolate.

“Every piece of legislation that is passed justifies the
Founding Fathers’ optimism that elected representatives can govern a free and
diverse nation. Sometimes the same is true for legislation that gets defeated.
Today, we defeated an assault on that optimistic vision. For too long Americans
have questioned whether the people they elect are truly dedicated to serving
their best interests. I hope we can once again restore our citizens’ trust and
confidence in our system of government.”

More questions get shouted from the group. I wonder the same
thing every other American does. If they just spoke one at a time, these
conferences would go much faster, smoother, and a lot more questions would get
answered. Instead, I wait until a clear question emerges.

“What makes you think the independents who got elected will
be any better?” Good question.

“I don’t think that for sure. What I do know is they did not
take large campaign donations. Big oil, big tobacco, big labor … none of them
can lay a claim. The independents that ran along with me are beholden to nobody
other than the constituents who elected them. They are not people with career
political aspirations—just some of our best and brightest citizens who don’t
want to just be a representative in Congress, but a distinguished one who works
toward solutions to our problems. Over the past several decades, we have seen
an exodus of legislative statesmen and women. I think the American people
elected some new ones.”

“What would you say to your critics like the Tea Party and
the ACLU who think your desire to compromise may damage the country?”

“God bless America for them being able to articulate their
opinions, but I would challenge any claim they make that the extremism we have
seen over the past couple of decades has made this country a better place.”

“And you think compromising will help achieve that goal?” a
man with a tape recorder remarks sarcastically from my right.

“Except for on the rare occasion when there is enough
dominant consensus on an issue where it isn’t needed.”

“When does that happen?” asks a pretty woman from the middle
of the group, causing a few laughs amongst her peers.

“The resolution supporting Veteran’s Day is all I can think
of,” I answer, eliciting some more laughs. “For the rest of the issues we face
in this country, legislating will inevitably mean compromising. That’s what
making policy in a democratic system is all about. No single person, faction,
or interest can get everything it wants.”

“Congressman, are you categorically stating you will not be
forming a third party?” a voice shouts from the back of the group.

“Yes.” I want to say something more clever, but I don’t want
to it come across the wrong way.

“Is there any truth to the rumor this new caucus you will
form with the other independents will challenge the president when it comes to
setting the agenda for the country?” Not sure where he got that tidbit of
information from.

“The administration is responsible for day-to-day management
of a huge bureaucracy which has, by default, made it a dominant force in
politics. The president has been empowered to become more involved in the
activities of Congress, resulting in less laws and policies being initiated by
this body.”

“You didn’t answer the question, sir,” the reporter presses.

“I know,” I say with a smile. “The founders lived in simpler
times and never could have imagined the increasing complexity of American life.
In some respects, it makes sense that the chief executive sets the direction in
the country. But coequal branches of government no longer are. Over the past
century, a succession of presidents has asserted the supremacy of executive
power. I think we need to reinstate the balance the Framers envisioned.”

“So you’re saying that you and this new caucus are planning
a more aggressive role for the House of Representatives?” I really don’t want
to go down this path. It isn’t going to earn me any late Christmas cards from
the power brokers in this town.

CHELSEA

“The Framers intended Congress to be
the engine of American democracy,” the congressman says, responding to a
question from CBS that he looks like he doesn’t want to answer. “This building
should be a venue for working out the country’s most difficult problems, not
Sixteen Hundred Pennsylvania Avenue.”

“Are you saying the president has no place setting the
course for the country?”

“No, I’m not saying that at all. But the era of the
president issuing executive orders to cover for Congress’s dysfunction must come
to an end. All regulations should be tied to legislation approved by the House
and Senate. For that to
work,
partisan brinkmanship
must cease and the process of lawmaking in this country must be more
efficient.”

“What do you think the Speaker of the House will say about
that?”

“You’ll have to ask him when he gets elected.”

Under any other circumstances, Mister Bennit’s badinage with
the press on this serious of an occasion would not be received warmly. Somehow,
he pulls it off. The only other politician I have seen be this direct with the
media without rankling them was Chris Christie in New Jersey.

It dawns on me that this will probably be the last press
conference I ever attend. Well, at least for a very long time. It’s amazing how
used to reporters and cameras I have gotten in the last couple of years.

I’m not sure if my decision is the right one. All the
insecurity over the past year and a half has brought me to this point, and up
until now it was the right thing to do. I wanted out, and now I got my wish. I
can see what college is all about and why Xavier, Amanda, Emilee, and Brian
enjoy it so much.

I don’t want to leave Vince and Vanessa, but I know they
will be just fine. Vince may speak poetically about the trappings of college
life, but I know there is no place he’d rather be. As for Vanessa, I get the
feeling the only place she ever wants to be is by Vince’s side.
Funny how I never noticed that until now.
Maybe they are a
couple and I don’t even know it.

Listening to the congressman answer questions, I realize
just how far we’ve come. Had we called a press conference last spring, we would
have been lucky if only Kylie showed up. Now I look out at a mass of humanity
armed with cameras and microphones, recording every word for both posterity and
immediate communication to the American people.

We started a movement that has begun to give the power back
to the Americans on whose backs this nation runs. It’s a proud day, and
probably my last and most substantive achievement in the time I spent here. I wonder
how many more I would have had if I decided to stay.

But I need to start a new chapter in my life. For as sad as
I am to leave the congressman, Vince, and Vanessa behind, I need to do this for
me. Heck, maybe I will even start school with a new boyfriend if the guy
standing next to me sticks around. Either way, it is going to be an
exhilarating experience, and I can’t wait to get started.

A lone individual makes his way through the mass of
journalists, probably trying to get a close-up of Mister Bennit as he addresses
the country. There is a lot of pushing going on, and it reminds me of videos
I’ve seen of 1990s
mosh
pits. He manages to break out
in front, only a matter of six or eight feet from us before I notice he has no
camera or microphone. I freeze when I realize what he does have.

I hear the first “pop” and see the congressman fall backward
before it even registers what is happening. Journalists in the crowd react
immediately and push to get away while some dedicated cameramen try to keep
their lenses trained on the unfolding events around them. Everyone gathered
around us on the stairs looks for any kind of cover they can find. There is
none. A split second later, the man targets someone to my left and I hear
another “pop, pop.”

Finally, I see the gun point in my direction, but am frozen
in fear in disbelief. Is this really happening? This can’t be real. How could …

I am abruptly grabbed and forced down strongly by someone
pushing my small frame violently toward the steps. Whoever grabbed me is now
blocking my view, because I can’t see the gunman. I hear more “pops,” but have
no idea who they’re aimed for. Things are happening too fast … who is grabbing
me … I’m falling … I feel
a warm
ooze dripping down my
face and neck.

I hit the stairs hard and feel a sharp pain register in my
head, causing my vision to burst into bright stars before … nothing.