Ballots and Blood Read online

  “He never said anything about Birch appointing himself?”

  “He said something about how it was too bad Birch couldn’t appoint himself because he was the most qualified guy for the job. It was a throwaway line.”

  “Birch took it differently. Suggesting a governor appoint himself to the U.S. Senate doesn’t sound like a throwaway line to me.”

  “Come on, Marvin, the guy’s running for president! He’s using you to make us look bad.” Jay shot forward in his seat, pounding the dashboard with the palm of his hand. “Do you think we’d be dumb enough to call Birch of all people and suggest he do something so idiotic? It’s insane! Give me more credit than that.”

  “Calm down. But they did talk? You can confirm that?”

  “Yes, but the characterization of the conversation you relate bears no resemblance to what the president said.”

  “Duly noted. If I do something, I’ll say a White House official said it was a courtesy call.”

  “That’s all it was. Birch is just trying to be more important than he is.”

  “So . . . who do you think he’ll appoint?”

  “Honestly, Marvin, I don’t know. We’re hearing all kinds of rumors. If he goes with a D, he’ll blow himself up. I think Miller was the only Democrat who could hold the seat. Any other D goes in with no mandate, no money, and they have to face the voters in thirteen months. Birch knows that, so my hunch is it’ll be an R.”

  “Who do you think is the strongest Republican?”

  “A member of Congress along the I-4 corridor. It won’t be Don Jefferson—Birch hates his guts. Birch loathes the legislature, so it won’t be a state legislator. His LG is weak, so he can’t go there. In the end, it’s all about Birch.”

  “Well, it’s working so far,” said Myers, chuckling. “One more thing. The FBI is broadening the Perry Miller investigation. Word is they have the client list of Adult Alternatives and more shoes are going to drop.”

  “Spike-heeled shoes. Lots of collateral damage.”

  “Any names?”

  “Nothing beyond rumors. How ’bout you?”

  “Nothing yet, but I’m digging. And I’m not alone. The National Enquirer, TMZ, and Merryprankster are all over it.”

  “That doesn’t end well.”

  “No. If you hear anything, I’d appreciate a heads-up.”

  “Heads-up!? Are you kidding?” bellowed Jay good-naturedly. “Marvin, I feed you so many stories I should share your byline!” Laughing, he hung up. He hoped the schmaltz and lies limited the damage from the president’s ill-advised call to Birch. He wondered how Long could have done something so dumb. For the moment he had bigger worries. He hoped no one in the administration turned up on the client list. Jay shuddered at the thought.

  PATRICK MAHONEY STEPPED INTO THE guardhouse on the Pennsylvania Avenue side of the White House, slipping off his FBI identification and sliding it under the Plexiglas window to the officer. He lifted his coat, revealing his FBI-issued .38 revolver. The officer looked over the ID and nodded.

  “He’s good,” he said to the other officer working the metal detector.

  Mahoney walked through the metal detector and strolled up the driveway toward the West Wing lobby. A guard opened the door. White House deputy counsel Maureen McConnell was waiting for him.

  “Agent Mahoney, welcome,” said McConnell. A former JAG officer, McConnell had short, wavy brown hair, intense eyes staring out from behind rimless glasses, a pug nose, and a sharp jaw. She exuded the efficiency and discipline of a reform-school headmaster. “Mr. Battaglia sends his regards. He’s sorry he couldn’t join us.”

  Sure he is, thought Mahoney.

  McConnell led Mahoney across the alley to the Eisenhower Executive Office Building. As she walked down the shiny green-and-white linoleum floor, her heels clicked on the tiles. They rounded a corner, and she opened the door to an unmarked conference room.

  Truman Greenglass stepped forward and shook Mahoney’s hand, their eyes locking. With a compact build and a shock of dark hair, Greenglass’s five-o’clock shadow and pale skin were the most visible signs of the stress and exhaustion of his job. Seated at the table in a dark gray pinstripe suit and Charvet custom shirt and silk tie was Walter Shapiro, one of the top criminal lawyers in the nation. No stranger to the FBI, he most recently represented G. G. Hoterman in the Dele-gate scandal, helping the uber-lobbyist avoid indictment.

  Smart, thought Mahoney to himself when he saw Shapiro.

  “Just to make sure we’re all clear on who’s who, Walt is representing Truman in his personal capacity,” said McConnell. “I represent the White House.”

  “That’s what I assumed, but thanks for the clarification.” He smiled weakly. “Sorry to be the cause of so much lawyering.”

  “No apology necessary,” said Shapiro with a chuckle. “The FBI helped me put three kids through college. So on behalf of my wife and children, thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” replied Mahoney, laughing. “Shall we get started?”

  “The floor is yours,” said McConnell, leveling her gaze.

  “I’m here to ask questions related to the FBI’s investigation of Perry Miller’s death. While there is some evidence pointing to his being killed by an employee of Adult Alternatives, we are pursuing every possible lead.” He paused. “That includes the senator’s professional responsibilities. Mr. Greenglass is not a subject or a target at this time. He is considered a witness. We hope he can help us understand Senator Miller’s work as chairman of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee.”

  “At the president’s direction, every member of the EOP will cooperate fully,” replied McConnell, using the acronym for Executive Office of the President.

  Mahoney pulled out a legal pad from his satchel and placed it on the table. It already held series of written notations. “First, Mr. Greenglass, on the Iran sanctions legislation. We understand you requested and Senator Miller agreed to a trigger mechanism that authorized military action in the event the sanctions failed to disarm Iran’s nuclear weapons program. Is that correct?”

  “Not entirely.”

  “Okay, can you educate me on the Iran sanctions bill?”

  “Well, the bill is still in the committee, so the process is underway,” said Greenglass officiously. “The chairman’s mark included language stating the NSC would report to the president and the DNI would report to Congress within twelve months on the efficacy of the sanctions,” said Greenglass. “So it was NSC and the DNI.”

  “DNI being Director of National Intelligence. What about the trigger mechanism?”

  “I would not use that phrase.”

  “What phrase would you use?”

  “If NSC and the DNI concluded the sanctions hadn’t ended Iran’s nuclear weapons program, the president was authorized to take additional measures to render it inoperable.”

  “Including military action?”

  “It did not specify. But all options are on the table.”

  “Who drafted the legislative language?”

  “We drafted it and provided it to the committee.”

  “Who actually wrote it?”

  “Excuse me,” growled Shapiro, his lips pressed into a thin line, fingers fidgeting, the jowly flesh under his neck vibrating with anger. “Is this a seminar on how a bill becomes a law, or are we trying to solve a murder here?”

  Mahoney shot Shapiro a withering look. “Miller was killed the week before he was to bring the Iran sanctions bill to the floor. We’re looking into whether there’s a connection.”

  “Fair enough. But what does that have to do with my client?”

  “I think that will become apparent in fairly short order if I can ask questions without being interrupted,” said Mahoney, his eyes smoldering.

  “I’m not here for the fun of it, Agent Mahoney,” fired back Shapiro. “I’m here to represent my client.”

  “It’s okay, Walter,” said Greenglass. “I’ve got no problem answering.”

&nb
sp; “Who else knew about the existence of this language besides you and Senator Miller?”

  “The president, Candace Sanders, Bill Jacobs at CIA, and the ranking Republican on Foreign Relations. That’s it.”

  “Were you hoping no one found out about it until you had the votes to pass it?”

  Greenglass leaned back in his chair and sighed. “No. But we didn’t want it out there until we had everyone in the administration on board.”

  “And did you?”

  “For the most part, some more than others,” said Greenglass with a wry smile.

  Mahoney reached into his satchel and pulled a sheet of Xerox paper containing a newspaper clipping. “Have you seen this article before?”

  Greenglass scanned the page. “Yes.”

  “It’s a report in a German newspaper claiming you told the German ambassador it was too late for sanctions to work and the U.S. was preparing to take military action,” said Mahoney. “It says Senator Miller agreed and that is why he planned to include language authorizing military action in the sanctions bill.”

  “Obviously we were not happy about this article.”

  “At the time it appeared, Lisa Robinson was asked about it during a White House press briefing. She denied it. But you’re telling me today it was accurate?”

  “Not every detail, but yes, it was essentially accurate.”

  “This report ran two weeks before Senator Miller was killed.”

  “Are you suggesting someone murdered Miller because he supported military action against Iran?” asked McConnell, incredulous.

  “I’m just asking questions,” said Mahoney, his eyes unblinking.

  “To what end?” volleyed back McConnell. “You’re weaving a theory that someone killed Miller to stop the Iran sanctions bill. But the bill is going to pass anyway, so that theory is not supported by the facts. Moreover, the president needs no legislative authority to take military action against Iran. It is inherent in his powers as commander in chief.”

  “Thanks for the primer,” deadpanned Mahoney.

  “Agent Mahoney, I don’t have a problem answering these questions,” said Greenglass, trying to diffuse the situation. “But we knew the authorization would be hotly debated in the Senate. We weren’t trying to hide anything. This is no state secret.”

  “Then why did the NSC mislead the president’s press secretary and cause her to lie to the press and the American people?” fired back Mahoney.

  Greenglass averted his eyes. “We never denied I had a conversation with the German ambassador expressing my concern about whether there was enough time left for sanctions. We denied we were readying plans for military strikes. The reason for that is obvious.”

  “Let me ask you something else,” said Mahoney, loaded for bear. “Last year’s State Department budget included funds for an initiative to promote democracy in the Middle East. Are you familiar with that budget?”

  “Yes.”

  “What is involved in that initiative?”

  “A variety of things. Conferences with democratic and women’s rights activists, training for human rights advocates, building a network of dissident leaders. Things of that nature.”

  “Does it include aid to the Green Movement in Iran?”

  Greenglass shifted in his chair. “The Green Movement was included in the overall outreach to pro-democracy activists.”

  “How much of this funding went to the Green Movement?”

  “The entire program was four hundred million dollars.”

  “And the share that went to the Green Movement?”

  “I’m not sure the exact number.”

  “Ballpark?”

  “I think it was between $125 and $150 million.”

  “That’s a lot of money, isn’t it?”

  “Not in the grand scheme of things, but it’s not peanuts.”

  “Do you know what it paid for?”

  “Training, logistical support, infrastructure.”

  “Senator Miller inserted these funds in the State Department budget?”

  “Yes.”

  “One person told us Senator Miller was infatuated with the U.S. providing support to the Green Movement. Did you find that to be the case?”

  Greenglass smiled. “I wouldn’t say he was infatuated. But he believed in it deeply, and he felt a moral obligation to support the Green Movement leaders, who courageously opposed the regime at the risk of their own lives.”

  “To the best of your knowledge, was any of that funding used for technology transfers or military materiel to the Green Movement, such as bomb-making equipment, night-vision goggles, satellites, cell phones, PDAs, and laptops?”

  Greenglass made eye contact with McConnell. Mahoney knew a government official as seasoned as Greenglass would be familiar with 18 USC. Section 1001, which made it a felony knowingly and willfully to make a materially false statement to a government agent. As he anticipated, Greenglass blinked.

  “I’m not sure I can answer that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because those activities are classified.”

  McConnell cleared her throat and jumped in. “Since this involves potentially highly classified information, I’m going to recommend Truman tell you everything he can today, and then let’s hold the rest in abeyance pending an opinion from the White House counsel.”

  “That’s fine. I’ve only got one more question,” said Mahoney. His eyes bore into Greenglass. “Were the funds Senator Miller inserted in the State Department budget used to pay for black ops inside Iran?”

  Greenglass looked like he had been hit across the face with a hammer. “My answer to that is identical to the previous one.”

  “So you can’t answer it?”

  “No.”

  Mahoney gathered up his papers and shoved them back into his satchel. “That’s all I have for today,” he said crisply.

  “I’m not going to make any promises on the issue of classified information,” said McConnell. “But I’ll take it up with Phil.”

  Mahoney grunted his acknowledgement. Together, he and McConnell left the conference room, the door closing with a bang.

  Greenglass looked at Shapiro, his eyes like saucers. “This guy’s crazy.”

  “No kidding. Why do you think I jumped down his throat?” said Shapiro. “If someone at the FBI doesn’t get him back in his cage, he could destroy a lot of careers.”

  “He could do worse than that,” said Greenglass. “He’s about to blow up a covert op. That’ll get major assets in Iran killed. He could set us back a decade.”

  “What’s so hard to figure out here?” asked Shapiro, throwing up his hands. “Arrest the chick who asphyxiated Miller, let her plead to involuntary manslaughter, she does two years in minimum-security prison, and this thing is over.”

  “Should someone reach out to Golden?” Greenglass asked, referring to Attorney General Keith Golden.

  “Absolutely not,” said Shapiro, horrified. “The media will claim the White House tried to obstruct an FBI investigation. That’s a felony.”

  “But someone has to shut this down,” said Greenglass. “Lives are at stake. The future of the Middle East is at stake, for goodness sake.”

  “I agree. But the person who steps up to the plate can’t be you, Truman. Protect yourself.”

  Greenglass knew Shapiro was right. But he knew of someone who could shut it down. It would be dicey, but it might work. One thing he wasn’t going to let happen was some rogue FBI agent unraveling the government’s top secret strategy to bring about regime change in Iran.

  6

  The president’s eyes were tired. It had been a long day, and he was jet-lagged. “Are we really going to do this?” he asked. Long sat slumped in a chair in the presidential suite of the St. Regis in Beverly Hills, the age lines in his face creviced, the bags under his eyes dark. The room was dimly lit, the curtains closed on orders of the Secret Service, who worried about snipers getting a shot at the president through the windows. />
  “Yes, sir,” said Jay. “We have to win this seat. It’s home cookin’. We’ve tested the top-tier candidates, and he polls the best.”

  “Polls, always the polls,” said Long, sighing. “Alright, bring him in.”

  Jay walked to the door of the suite and opened it. In breezed Governor Macauley “Mack” Caulfield, who served as Long’s lieutenant governor and rose to the governorship when Long won the presidency. Eager to please, with a lanky build, ready smile, and a male bouffant of boyish brown hair, Caulfield looked like he won the lottery.

  “Mr. President, that was a terrific speech,” he fairly gushed as he loped across the huge Oriental rug in the living room, blue eyes dancing. “Never heard you better, sir.”

  Long grinned. “I got in a few licks.”

  “The shot at Stanley was classic!” He glanced at Jay like a puppy in full wag. “What was it again? ‘I know the majority leader calls me the enemy. I only wish he got as worked up about opposing al Qaeda and Rassem el Zafarshan as he does me.’”

  “Do you realize only two of my fourteen appellate court nominees have even had a hearing?” asked Long.

  “Outrageous!”

  “Mr. President, I’m going to let you two visit in private,” said Jay, backing out of the room on cue.

  “Have a seat, Mack,” said Long. “Pull up a chair.” It was bonding time.

  A White House photographer snapped a rapid-fire series of shots. As he captured the scene for posterity, the president and Caulfield caught up on political gossip.

  “Any truth to the rumor that Peg Lipscomb is going to run for governor?” asked Long, eyebrows arched. Lipscomb was the former CEO of a Silicon Valley software firm with a personal fortune of over $700 million.

  “She’s looking hard at it. As you can imagine, the Republican Governor’s Association is salivating because she can self-fund.”

  “Ego with a checkbook,” said Long, waving his hand as if swatting a fly. “She’s Meg Whitman without the charisma.”

  Caulfield chuckled. “We’ve already got an oppo file on her six inches thick. She’s used undocumented aliens to mow the lawn of her mansion. She got fined by the SEC for backdating stock options.”