Ballots and Blood Read online

  “I’m just trying to get rid of the live wires,” the makeup artist said.

  In the hotel’s cavernous ballroom, seven thousand screaming, stomping, shouting, and singing members of the Faith and Family Federation awaited the arrival of the president. He was the keynote speaker of the “America-Israel Solidarity Conference,” an educational and lobbying conference sponsored by Andy’s grassroots group, the leading Christian Zionist organization in the country. A country music star whose best days were behind him sang a stirring rendition of “God Bless America,” bringing the crowd to their feet. They sang the final stanza more as a prayer than a lyric.

  “God bless America! Land that I love/Stand beside her/And guide her/Through the night with the light from above!”

  When the song ended, the hall went dark, and the crowd stood to their feet, clapping and chanting. People waved neon wands and American and Israeli flags. It resembled a rock concert more than a political rally.

  “We want Long! We want Long!”

  Andy and Ross could hear the roar from the green room. Suddenly, the door flew open and in walked Long, beaming, trailed by Jay Noble and Truman Greenglass.

  “Mr. President!” said Andy effusively.

  “Andy,” said Long, clearly energized, his face and movements animated. He wrapped Andy in a bear hug. “Great to see you, friend.”

  “Thank you for coming.”

  “Wouldn’t miss it. I’m honored to be here, really.”

  Jay stepped forward. “Mr. President, just wanted to make sure you knew Yehuda Serwitz is in the audience.”

  Long nodded.

  “There are also a dozen members of the Senate and House,” said Andy, his voice rising an octave. “They’re here to show their support for the Iran sanctions bill.”

  “Make sure anyone in leadership or chairing a committee is added to my remarks,” directed Long. “You guys ready?” He wanted to get the show on the road. An aide handed him a leather binder with the presidential seal on it containing his remarks. “Let’s go.”

  They headed down the hall toward the stage, Andy and Long in a power clutch, the noise from the crowd wafting over them.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” said an offstage announcer. “The President of the United States, accompanied by Reverend Andy Stanton, the chairman of the Faith and Family Federation.”

  Andy and Long bounded onto the stage to a loud roar. Long stood to his right on a tape mark on the carpet, acknowledging the applause with a bob of his chin. Andy beamed.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, every now and again a leader comes along who is the perfect marriage of a man and a moment in history,” Andy began as the crowd fell to a hush. “Washington after America won its independence, Lincoln during the Civil War, Franklin Roosevelt during World War II, or Ronald Reagan during the Cold War. We now face a similarly perilous time of both great opportunity and great danger. I believe the man of the hour is President Robert W. Long.”

  Loud cheers and applause.

  “Bob Long is a man of courage, with moral clarity and conviction. As the United States and the civilized world face threats from terrorist networks like those of Rassem el Zafarshan, Hamas, and Hezbollah, state sponsors of terrorism like Iran, and the timidity and vacillation of the United Nations, we can say of President Long, as was once said of Esther, he has come into the kingdom for such a time as this.” (Applause.) “My friends, please welcome our friend, a friend of democracies around the world, and a friend of Israel, President Bob Long.”

  Long pumped Andy’s hand and leaned in, whispering something in his ear, then bounded up the steps to the elevated podium. Teleprompters rose as if by magic from either side.

  “Thank you for that warm introduction, Andy,” said Long as the applause died and people took their seats. Long went through the list of introductions of senators, members of Congress, and the Israeli ambassador, paying the obligatory obeisance to the Faith and Family Federation.

  “Israel was founded, providing a place of refuge for a people who suffered for centuries from the persecution of pogroms, the bigotry of anti-Semitism, and the horrors of the Holocaust,” said Long. “It was the fulfillment of a dream, one might say a miraculous fulfillment, that turned the promises of God and the predictions of prophets of old into a modern-day reality.”

  Long rose on his toes, ramping to his topic. “Since that time, Israel has been a beacon of hope and democracy in a region that knew only bloodshed and violence. Until recently it was the only functioning democracy in the Middle East, where tyranny, authoritarianism, and terror was the norm.” He paused, raising his chin, signaling a rhetorical high point. “For all these reasons the United States has had a special relationship with Israel, one based on shared democratic values and strategic interests, and that relationship is nonnegotiable and inviolable.”

  The crowd leaped to their feet in a standing ovation that lasted a full minute. Flashbulbs exploded, recording the moment as Andy smiled with approval.

  “Today one of the greatest threats to that relationship and to peace-loving people throughout the Middle East and around the world, is the pursuit of nuclear weapons by Iran, the leading state sponsor of terrorism in the world.” Everyone knew Iran obtained a nuclear weapon, but neither Iran nor the U.S. would publicly acknowledge that fact. It was useful fiction. “Iran sponsors terrorist organizations like Hamas and Hezbollah, pays cash bounties to homicide bombers, funded Islamist militias that killed U.S. soldiers in Basra and Baghdad, trained terrorists who killed innocent civilians in Buenos Aires, and harbored and funded Rassem el Zafarshan, the murderer of an American vice president.” The catalog of Iran’s sins complete, Long moved in for the money line. “In the 1930s, some said Hitler’s rhetoric was only for domestic consumption. It led to the West’s surrender at Munich. If we allow the regime in Iran to threaten the world with nuclear weapons, fifty years from now those who survive the inevitable cataclysm that follows will turn to those of us who could have stopped it and ask, ‘How could you have let this happen?’” Long stabbed the air with an index finger for emphasis. “We must vow together that they will never have to ask us that question.”

  The crowd rose to their feet in a throaty roar that rolled across Long in waves of adoration. They elected him! He would not let them down.

  “The Senate has before it legislation containing crippling sanctions against Iran unless it abandons its nuclear weapons program,” Long continued. “It includes an embargo on exports of refined gasoline to Iran, insurance of vessels traveling to and from Iran, loans by the Export-Import Bank to companies doing business with Iran, and banking and financial services to Iranian entities.” Long leaned into the podium, his mouth closer to the microphone, raising his voice a decibel. “I ask the Senate to send me this bill forthwith for my signature. And if these sanctions have not had the desired effect, I ask the Senate to authorize my administration in consultation with other nations to take the necessary steps to end Iran’s threat to the civilized world.”

  The crowd leaped to their feet yet again. A guttural, ear-splitting roar filled the ballroom. Long stepped back, nodding, basking in the applause.

  Truman Greenglass and Jay Noble stood backstage in the dark, watching Long from the side. Greenglass looked on the front row and saw tears of joy streaming down the face of Yehuda Serwitz.

  “Check out Yehuda,” said Greenglass.

  Jay glanced over. “I guess he’s glad he’s finally got a U.S. president with the kahunas to take on Iran.”

  “Yeah,” whispered Greenglass. “Wait until he finds out if the sanctions don’t work—and they probably won’t—it’s going to be the Israelis, not us, who have to take out Iran’s nuclear program.”

  Jay looked at Greenglass and gulped.

  A MOB OF REPORTERS WAITED in the rotunda of the state Capitol in Tallahassee for the news conference to begin. A podium was rolled into the center, a clutch of microphones attached to it. Beams of sunlight streamed in from the windows above, giving the c
avernous room an ambient glow.

  “Here they come!” someone said in a stage whisper.

  Heads turned to see Governor Mike Birch strolling down the marble stairs, chatting amiably with another man wearing a blue suit, white dress shirt, and red tie.

  “Who is it?’ someone asked. It didn’t appear to be one of the Congressmen on the short list.

  “Is that . . . Dolph Lightfoot?” asked the Orlando Sentinel.

  “Nah, it couldn’t be,” said the Florida Times-Union.

  “It is!” replied the Sentinel.

  Birch approached the podium with his arm around Lightfoot, a former governor who left office because he was limited to two terms. Lightfoot, sixty-nine, was a chamber of commerce centrist like Birch, no friend of either the Tea Party or the religious right. His appointment was guaranteed to send tingles down the legs of the press corps.

  “Thank you all for coming,” said Birch, wearing a satisfied smile. “When the Senate seat held for over two decades by my friend Perry Miller became vacant because of his untimely death, I thought long and hard about who would make the best U.S. senator for the people of Florida. Perry Miller was irreplaceable. These are big shoes to fill. But I believe I’ve found the man who can fill them. Dolph Lightfoot was one of the most successful governors in the modern history of Florida. He has great experience, a remarkable breadth of policy knowledge, and he is a man of principle who is a consensus builder, not an ideologue.” Birch looked up from his notes, raising his chin. “I believe he is the most qualified person I could have chosen at this time to represent Florida in the U.S. Senate. Ladies and gentlemen, please join me in welcoming U.S. Senator Dolph Lightfoot.”

  Lightfoot shook Birch’s hand and bowed slightly at the waist in thanks. Birch gave an abbreviated bow of his own. “Thank you, Governor,” said Lightfoot, staring out at the faces wearing expressions ranging from shock to disbelief. Most assumed Lightfoot was enjoying retired life and had no interest in running again. “Let me first of all thank Governor Birch for the opportunity to serve the people of Florida again. As the governor said, no one can replace Perry Miller, and I will not even attempt to do so. But Perry and I were close friends, and we worked together over many years. I will work hard to live up to the example Perry set in his time in the Senate.”

  Cameras snapped, flashes exploded, and print reporters scribbled on steno pads. “While it is too early to lay out my legislative priorities, let me just say my main concerns will be economic growth and job creation, especially in the area of trade and tourism, which are so vital to our state. Second, given the looming specter of Iran’s nuclear weapons program, I will give high priority to national security. Assuming my appointment is certified by the secretary of state and I am seated in time, I will vote for the sanctions legislation currently pending before the Senate.” His words echoed off the stone walls of the Capitol, giving them an apparently increased gravity. “I also plan to request a seat on the Foreign Relations Committee, where I can contribute to the ongoing issues to which Senator Miller devoted his life. Let me say to the people of Florida how deeply honored I am by this opportunity. I look forward to serving them and earning their trust and support.”

  Lightfoot took two steps back, yielding to Birch. “Any questions?”

  “Just a few,” joked the Miami Herald to laughter. “Governor, by appointing a Republican, you have ensured the Senate now has only fifty-one Democrats. The GOP will likely gain control by picking up only one seat in November, assuming Vice President Whitehead breaks the tie. Given the speculation surrounding your seeking the presidency in the next election, did this factor at all into your calculus?”

  “I haven’t done calculus since college,” said Birch smoothly, cracking a relaxed smile. The reporters chuckled. “The short answer is no. This appointment was not influenced at all by partisan or political considerations. I appointed the best person to represent Florida in the Senate and that person is Dolph Lightfoot.”

  “Senator Lightfoot, what do you say to critics who say you’re too moderate?” asked AP.

  Lightfoot glowered defensively. “I was elected in my own right three times statewide, including governor twice,” he said, jutting out his jaw. “I think that says something about whether or not my views are in synch with the people of Florida. They were before and I think they are today.”

  “But you previously criticized what you called ‘the extremist wing’ of the GOP,” said the St. Petersburg Times.

  “I think we need to focus on the issues voters care about. Right now that’s jobs and economic growth. I recommend we declare a temporary truce in the so-called culture wars and focus on putting people back to work.” Reporters scribbled the words furiously on their steno pads.

  “Are you planning to run for a full term in the Senate?” asked a television reporter.

  “I have not made a decision on that at this point,” replied Lightfoot. “I will make a decision in due course. I believe Florida will be best served by the person with the greatest seniority in the Senate. So I would generally lean in that direction, but I don’t want to make a final decision until I consult with my family and others in the state.”

  Birch stood to the side, beaming like a proud father. The brief news conference over, Birch put his hand on Lightfoot’s back, and they walked slowly up the marble staircase to the governor’s office, the press watching them depart like royalty.

  “So Birch appointed himself after all,” joked the Miami Herald.

  “Now the only question is, can he keep the seat?” said the Orlando Sentinel.

  “And if he doesn’t, how will that affect his presidential run?” asked AP to no one in particular.

  “If Lightfoot doesn’t win the nomination and the general,” shot back the Herald, “Birch’s presidential bid is over before it started.”

  ROSS LOMBARDY CALLED ANY STANTON’S office, where his assistant patched him through to the dressing room. A makeup artist was methodically removing makeup from Andy’s face with a wet washcloth when the phone rang. The makeup artist handed the phone to Andy.

  “What’s up?”

  “Guess who Mike Birch just appointed to the Miller seat in Florida?” asked Ross.

  “Who?”

  “Dolph Lightfoot.”

  “What?” exclaimed Andy. “The guy’s a dinosaur.”

  “Totally. And a RINO.”

  “It’s unbelievable. Birch just doesn’t get it,” said Andy, agitated.

  “And get this: Lightfoot said at the news conference at the Capitol that we should declare a truce in the culture wars.”

  “The guy’s waving a white flag of surrender on life and marriage, and he hasn’t even gotten to the Senate yet! Where’s the calcium in the guy’s spine?”

  “Let’s face it. Lightfoot is yesterday’s news. He’s washed up. Birch wanted a moderate so he reached back in time.”

  “Birch sure gave us the back of his hand,” said Andy, his voice laced with disgust.

  “More like his middle finger,” said Ross with a chuckle.

  “That’s it!” exclaimed Andy, rising out of his chair. “This is not the head of the parks and recreation department! It’s a U.S. Senate seat, and he appoints some RINO tyrannosaurus rex.”

  “It’s an insult. I’m telling you, this torpedoes Birch’s presidential ambitions.”

  “He’s dead tan walking,” said Andy, a reference to Birch’s permatan. “Can you get on the phone with our friend?”

  “Don Jefferson?” asked Ross.

  “Yes. Tell Jefferson he should run. Tell him we’ll mobilize the troops.”

  “He’d be fantastic.”

  “Get him in,” directed Andy.

  “Will do.” Ross hung up. It was going to cost the Faith and Family Federation a boatload of cash, but there was nothing Ross loved more than a fight for the soul of the Grand Old Party.

  IN THE SOLARIUM ON THE top floor of the residence, Jonah Popilopos asked if there were any prayer requests. Shafts of
sunlight broke in through the glass ceiling, creating a spiritual aura altogether fitting given the occasion. It was the weekly meeting of Claire Long’s women’s discipleship group, and she invited her new friend and spiritual mentor, the itinerant evangelist Popilopos to lead the discussion. His message that day was about Esther and the biblical models of a righteous woman. Popilopos preached in revivals all over the globe, filling soccer and football stadiums from Mumbai and London to Glasgow and New York City. Raised Greek orthodox but an evangelical convert, he preached an unconventional mix of charismatic Christian perfectionism—that regenerate believers could achieve holiness through the power of the Holy Spirit. Known for his white Nehru jackets, silk pants, and shaved head, his deep and authoritative voice commanded a television and radio audience estimated at thirty million worldwide.

  “I have one,” said Marilyn McLean, wife of the junior senator from Virginia. “We’re dealing with some serious parenting issues with my sixteen-year-old daughter. Her hormones are raging, and she’s in a rebellious phase where everything we say is wrong.”

  The women nodded around the coffee table, encouraging her with knowing moans.

  “She’s in a relationship with a young man who I just don’t think is right for her,” continued McLean, her face etched with anxiety. “He’s not a Christian and he’s a bad influence. But I know if I try to force her to end it, it will only cause her to get even closer to him.”

  “Sounds like we just need to pray against that romantic attachment,” said Popilopos, his fleshy face breaking into an angelic grin.

  “Is it okay to do that?”

  “Absolutely!” fired back Popilopos. “As a parent, it’s your moral duty to pray a hedge of protection around your children.” The women nodded in assent.