Balance of Power: A Novel (34 page)

“It’s not your place to challenge the President to respond, like some kind of a carnival dog.”

“Fine. Then why are you here?”

Van den Bosch waited for the atmosphere to clear. “Here’s what I am prepared to propose. If you withdraw the Letter of Reprisal, the President will withdraw his lawsuit for an injunction.” He looked for a reaction. “It’s as simple as that, one for the other. That way the Constitution will not be put on trial, and neither side can really claim victory.”

The Speaker stared at Van den Bosch, shocked. “You think this is all political, don’t you?”

Van den Bosch raised his eyebrows. “Everything is political.”

“But not everything is
completely
political.”

Van den Bosch shrugged. “Are you interested, or not?”

“Not,” the Speaker said immediately. “I am really surprised
the President sent you over here. That really burns my shorts. What this shows, Arlan, is that your President is on the ropes. You have realized that you are going to lose now and you’re trying to scramble to limit the damage. You’ve lost twice in the courts and the third test is ahead. You know what happens when you lose that. The Admiral has already shown he’s going to follow the Letter of Reprisal and the President is going to look stupid. That’s why you are here.”

Van den Bosch shook his head, as if saddened by the comments of the Speaker. “This is not good for the country, Mr. Speaker. We do not need to test the war powers in this way. If there is any damage, you will be the cause of it.”

The Speaker stood up quickly. “I’m sorry, I’ve got a lot to do. I can see this isn’t very productive.”

“Sit down, Mr. Speaker.”

“I’m really not interested in sitting down—”

“Trust me, sit down.”

The Speaker sat back down quickly, impatiently. “What?”

“We want you to withdraw the Letter of Reprisal.”

“That’s it? Just…withdraw it? And why might I do that?”

“For your own sake.”

“My own sake? What are you talking about?”

“You’ve taken great risks to get where you are, Mr. Speaker. I found it particularly curious that someone like you, someone who hails the free market system as the solution to all economic problems, would jointly sponsor the President’s proposed bill requiring fifty percent of all shipping into the United States to be done on American-flagged carrier ships. Such a position is, almost by definition, anticompetitive. It will certainly increase the price of goods to consumers in the United States.” Van den Bosch sat back. “So I asked myself why. Why would the Speaker of the House propose such a bill? The answer, of course, is obvious. The only ones who would benefit
from such a law would be the American shipping industry.”

“Do you have a point?”

“Oh, I definitely have a point.”

“The American shipping industry was almost completely gone,” Stanbridge said. “I did it to save the industry.”

“You did it to save
one
participant in the industry, which may have benefited others.”

Van den Bosch stood up and walked to the window overlooking the Washington Monument. He turned to Stanbridge. “Turns out that your good friend and constituent, Mr. Jack Stewart, president of Stewart Shipping Line, was within thirty days of filing for bankruptcy. I have located the attorney who prepared the bankruptcy filing papers.”

Stanbridge’s eyes showed his surprise, which he immediately tried to hide. “So what?”

“So, he didn’t file for bankruptcy. In fact, he seemed to take on political participation as his new hobby. From what I’ve learned, he had never donated more than fifty dollars to any political candidate until he decided to come to Washington and visit his congressman, John Stanbridge. What did he tell you?”

“What are you getting at?” Stanbridge said defensively.

“I can’t expect you to admit this. Well, obviously, Mr. Speaker, you and he entered into a very nice agreement. You had proposed the law that would save his company and the American shipping industry, and he would ensure that you got reelected.”

“I won with sixty-five percent of the vote. I didn’t need anybody to help me get elected.”

“I believe that’s the same defense Richard Nixon used as to why Watergate was unlikely to have happened. He was going to crush McGovern anyway.”

“Oh, please…”

“Let me continue. I won’t take up much more of your
time. The point is this—I have now been able to trace approximately two million dollars that made its way from the shipping lines and Stewart’s friends into your campaign. He donated money to your campaign through employees, family, friends, subsidiary corporations, and a myriad of other ways. Mr. Speaker, from what I can tell, you’ve violated somewhere between five and twenty campaign-financing laws. I also learned another piece of this puzzle recently,” Van den Bosch continued. “Your pretty young secretary is very nice.”

“What does she have to do with this?”

“Well, I didn’t think anything, until I learned that her last name before she was married was Stewart. Is she related to Stewart Shipping Line?”

Stanbridge did not respond.

“I think you need to tell the admiral that he should hold off until the courts have decided this issue. I can make sure he gets your message. That’s not too much to ask, is it?”

Stanbridge remained silent.

“Well, I really should be going.” Van den Bosch headed for the door. “Please consider what I’ve said. I’ve prepared the information that I’ve shared with you, plus substantially more, in a memo that lists names, dates, amounts, and other tidbits I have not shared with you. If this Letter of Reprisal goes forward, that memo will be faxed anonymously to every newspaper in the country.” He looked at Stanbridge, who had balled his hands into fists. “Consider your next move very carefully. Now, it’s my understanding you need to get back on the floor. I’m simply going to wait here, and after you have gone, and the press with you, I will walk quietly out of this office and no one will know that I was here.”

Stanbridge walked to the door and began to open it. He stopped and turned back toward Van den Bosch. “I used to have respect for you. I thought you were the only one over there who had any brains. I was wrong. You’re just another sycophant. That’s too bad because I want you to
take a message back to President Manchester from me. Tell him I said he can shove it up his ass. Be sure you get the words correct, shove-it-up-his-ass,” he said slowly, as if he were about to spell it. “And one other thing—I’m going to
get
him. He will not be President for long,” Stanbridge declared as he jerked the door open and slammed it behind him.

R
EBECCA LEANED ON
P
ENDLETON
’
S DOORJAMB
. “N
OTHING
yet?” she asked.

Pendleton shook his head. “I’m going to call. Come in.” He hit the speakerphone and the dial tone filled the room. He punched the buttons to the private number for the clerk of the Supreme Court.

A woman answered, “United States Supreme Court, clerk’s office.”

“Good evening. This is David Pendleton, representing the Speaker of the House and the Congress. Is the clerk of the court, Mr. Compton, available?”

“Hold, please,” the woman said warmly.

After about a minute Compton came on the phone. “Good evening, Mr. Pendleton,” he said in his distinctive voice.

“Good evening, Mr. Compton. I was about to go home. I wondered if you could give me a feel for whether I should continue to stand by here in my office or call it a night. It’s not my intention to put any pressure on…”

“No pressure felt, Mr. Pendleton. I understand. I can tell you that the Chief Justice has the emergency stay in front of him, and he is considering it. I frankly don’t know what his intentions are.”

Pendleton thought. “Why are
you
still there?”

“Because as long as he is deliberating, I have to be here to make the calls if a decision is reached. The rules
require us to notify counsel by reasonably expeditious means. That is the telephone for the parties. Later the public information office will notify the press and whoever else is interested.”

“Well, since we don’t know anything, I guess I’ll just hold fast.”

“If it were me?” Compton asked.

“What would you do?”

“If it were me, Mr. Pendleton, I would go home. I’ve got your home number and I can call you there just as easily. It is extremely unlikely that you will have to do anything; it will simply be me telling you what the result is.”

Pendleton considered. “Okay. I think I’ll take your advice. Is it possible, Mr. Compton, that the Chief Justice will stop deliberating and go home?”

“Very possible,” Compton replied immediately.

“Would you be so kind, Mr. Compton, if in fact the Court is going to call it a night, to give me a call and let me know that so I can get some sleep?”

Compton laughed. “Yes, sir, Mr. Pendleton. When I go home, I’ll give you a call.”

“I sincerely appreciate that. I look forward to your call.”

“You are quite welcome. I will extend the same courtesy to the attorney general’s office.”

Pendleton smiled. “I would expect no less.”

“Good evening, Mr. Pendleton.”

“Thank you. Good night.” Pendleton hung up.

He looked at Rebecca. “Well, Rebecca, the Chief Justice is backing himself into a very tight corner.”

Rebecca looked confused. “How?”

Pendleton’s eyes sparkled. “He is the justice for the circuit for the District of Columbia.”

“Right…” she said, uncomprehending.

“That means that he’s considering this emergency stay by
himself
. He can refer it to the Court, of course, if he
chooses to under Rule 38, but typically a justice will handle an emergency stay by himself.”

“Right.” Rebecca agreed.

Pendleton glanced down at the phone, then back at her. “As Manchester’s appointee, does he dare decide for him alone?”

“I see what you mean.”

“They claim to be nonpolitical, but they’re not.”

“So he’ll refer it to the rest of the Court?”

“That’s my bet.” He drank from a glass of water.

“How could he do anything else?” she asked with less confidence.

“But what will the Court do?” Pendleton asked. “And when?”

The air wing commander, Zeke Bradford, stood in front of them in his flight suit. His black-leather name tag had gold Navy wings and one word: CAG. The air wing commander. The head guy. The one who decided how, when, and where the air wing went. He looked at his squadron commanders. “Well,” he said, “I’m sure you’ve all heard by now, the operation is a go. Tomorrow morning, 0540 H hour and L hour.”

The commanders nodded.

“I’m sure you all feel just as strange and awkward about this as I do. This is the most bizarre circumstance I have ever found myself in as a Navy officer. And I suppose we each have our thoughts about whether we ought to be doing this or not.” He looked around but nobody responded. “Frankly, I am more than happy to go and beat the shit out of anybody who kills Americans by shooting them in the head. I think we ought to return the favor. I just wish they had some airplanes so we could have a fair fight. That doesn’t look like it’s going to happen. They do seem to have surface-to-air missiles, though, I hear. Anybody here got any more information on that?” he asked, looking at Caskey with a wry look. Caskey put
his hand over his eyes, as if in shame. “You all right, MC?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, just embarrassed.”

“I don’t know how you could have known they had South African SAMs and knew how to use them
and
would give you a head fake in the shot.”

“I’m still embarrassed,” MC replied.

“Don’t worry about it, it’s only a forty-million-dollar airplane. I’m sure the taxpayers understand,” CAG said. “What I was saying was, I’m sure you guys feel as awkward about this whole thing as I do. I’m just not sure what we can do about it. Seems to me that we do whatever the admiral tells us.” The squadron commanding officers on board the USS
Constitution
murmured in agreement.

“Anybody got any problem with that?” CAG asked.

They shook their heads in unison, almost enthusiastically. “Okay. As you know, we still have part of the flight schedule to complete, then at 1600 we’ll knock off flying so that we can do final maintenance and get the ordnance loaded on the airplanes. There will be some birds airborne for SSSC, EW, et cetera, but most will be standing down.”

“You got any better idea what our targets are going to be?” asked Drunk Driver. “We’ve heard about hardened concrete bunkers and jungle over the island. Do we have any more information?”

“Negative,” CAG replied. “We’re supposed to get some updated intel from the SEALs tonight, but I wouldn’t hold my breath. I don’t think they’re going to give us much good target info. I think basically we’re going to be flying close air support and overhead protection. Our current plan is to lob some SLAMs into the bunkers we’ve identified, and be ready with some HARMs if any of their radars show up. We’ve tweaked our ESM to be triggered by those South African SAMs, but other than that, this looks like a bullet fight to me. We don’t know enough to be after them with any big ordnance. This is going to be mostly fighting by the
grunts, and they’ll have to look out for the captain of the
Flyer
. More power to them. Anybody got any questions?”

MC raised his hand and lowered it as soon as CAG looked at him. “What’s Indonesia gonna do about this? Isn’t this an Indonesian island?”

“Yeah, it is, but it looks to me like they’ve abdicated it to these Islamic terrorists. Anytime you let a bunch of guys have a mother ship and bring their attack boats ashore, build some concrete bunkers and surface-to-air missiles unchallenged, I think you’re waiving any claim that nobody else can go smack them.”

Drunk responded, “Yeah, but wait a second, I thought the President said that we were just going to tell Indonesia where these guys were, and then let them take care of it. Have we told Indonesia that these guys are on this island?”

CAG looked at him curiously. “You know, I don’t know. Since they cut us off we’ve been telling Washington everything we know, but what we don’t know is whether they’re passing that information on.”

“So Washington may have told Indonesia that these bad guys are there, and that we are going in, but they’re not telling us?”

CAG shrugged. “Last we heard, before they cut us off, Indonesia was talking to Washington every hour. They were with us. But we don’t know the current status ’cause nobody’s telling us. All
I
know is that the admiral is telling us we are going in hot tomorrow morning at first light, that we’re flying cover and shooting anything that moves, and they have SAMs. That’s about the extent of everything I know. Let’s not get into political speculation and wondering the who, the what, and the when. You copy?”

“Sure, I copy. I just don’t want us to run into somebody or have somebody come after us because they think we are going to do something they don’t know about.”

“I hear you,” CAG replied. “There’s nothing we can do about that right now.”

Drunk looked dissatisfied. “I just don’t know, CAG. It
seems to me if the admiral’s driving us off a cliff, we’d be better off not going.”

The other squadron commanders watched him closely. He continued, “I mean, we are sworn to obey orders, but only
lawful
orders. We’re supposed to use our brains.”

CAG let his impatience show. “So what do you suggest we do, Drunk? Convene a committee and sit around and make some kind of ultimate decision on whether the admiral’s order’s lawful, whether his interpretation is right? And then what—we decide not to do as he has instructed and order people below us not to go? Then maybe all your department heads and pilots wonder whether
your
orders are lawful? How far down does this go? What if each level of the chain of command questioned whether the guy directly over him is ‘lawful’?”

“That’s what Nuremberg was all about, CAG.”

Caskey intervened. “So now we’re war criminals? Ordering Jews into the gas chamber? Come on!”

“No, I don’t mean it’s like that.” Drunk sat up a little straighter. “Every one of us has an obligation to obey only lawful orders.”

“And what if it’s not
clear-cut
?” Caskey asked, perturbed. “I hear what you’re saying, Drunk. I just don’t think we can get into it right now. This isn’t one of those clear-cut ‘shoot the prisoners’ kind of orders. This is a question of authority, and whether our admiral has it. I would say that it’s his problem, not ours.”

Driver looked relieved. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m not saying I’m not going to do it, I’m just saying that we ought to think about the implications. Sounds to me like we have.” He paused. “I’m in, CAG.”

CAG’s face brightened. “All right. Fair enough. Anybody got anything else they want to get off their chest?”

When there was no response, he concluded, “Okay. Get your birds in one hundred percent up status, get your men up and ready, line up the bullets, get your bombs and missiles ready, and get your crews some rest. We’re going to be up early.”

Beth Louwsma pushed the steel door open after the magneto released the lock. A tall, lanky lieutenant in a flight suit stepped through the door right behind her. She glanced over to make sure he was still with her and proceeded directly to Admiral Billings.

SUPPLOT was a frenzy of activity with the final preparations for the dawn attack. Billings and his staff were poring over the operational orders and flight plan.

Beth approached the admiral. “Excuse me, sir.”

Billings did not hear her. The lieutenant looked at her, then at the admiral, and then back at her, feeling awkward.

“Excuse me!” Beth said loudly.

Billings stopped his conversation and looked up at her. “What?”

“This lieutenant has some information that I think you’ll need to know immediately.”

Billings stood up straight. “Good evening, Lieutenant.”

“Good evening, Admiral.”

“What is it, Beth?” Billings asked, impatience in his tone.

“I happened to be in CVIC for the debrief of the last recovery, sir,” she said, “when I heard the debrief of the E-2 crew. This lieutenant was giving the debrief. He said he was listening on the HF radio and overheard a conversation. I’ll let him tell you.”

Billings looked at the lieutenant. “Well?”

The lieutenant began, uncertain why he was being questioned. “There really wasn’t much to it. I was spinning through the HF frequencies and listened in on a conversation between a man and I believe his wife. I’m pretty sure it was an E-2 guy, but he obviously wasn’t from our squadron since we were the only E-2 up. It was clearly an HF patch into the U.S. phone system.”