Ballots and Blood (45 page)

“Forgive me,” said the anchor deferentially.

“No offense taken.” Myers turned to the camera, rattling off his points in staccato bursts. “If past is prologue, Kaplan's conviction could very well spell doom for the Democrats. Just as Watergate foreshadowed big Republican losses in 1974, Iran-Contra the loss of the Senate for the GOP in 1986, and personal scandals contributed to Republicans losing control of Congress in 2006, the Kaplan conviction could not come at a worse time. It contributes to a larger narrative about Sal Stanley and the Democrats as partisan and corrupt.”

“How will this impact Sal Stanley? Is his seat now in serious jeopardy?”

“It was in jeopardy before this. Unless he can make the election about Kerry Cartwright's spending cuts, he's in real trouble. If the election is about Mike Kaplan and corruption, he's going to have a very hard time.”

“Really?” queried the anchor, his eyebrows arched. He glanced at the camera. “You think it's that bad?”

“Oh, yes,” said Myers. “There are only nineteen days until election day. There's not a lot of time to bounce back. Mike Kaplan was Stanley's alter ego. This is a devastating blow. One Democratic official I spoke with today said this is like Stanley having his right arm amputated without the benefit of anesthesia.”

The anchor smirked. “But what about the Republicans? They have their own problems. Allegations Jay Noble interfered with an IRS audit of Andy Stanton. The ACS bribery scandal. Congressman Don Jefferson, the Republican nominee for U.S. Senate in Florida, is entangled in that investigation. Could this counter the effects of the Kaplan conviction?”

“It's possible,” said Myers in a professorial tone. “Certainly the Democrats will try to make hay with it. But it lacks the proximity to Speaker Jimmerson the Kaplan scandal has to Sal Stanley.” He leaned forward, appearing to confide in the anchor, seemingly oblivious to the television audience. “My sources tell me Jefferson has been urged by the Republican leadership to resign his seat, thereby removing the threat of ethics charges.”

“Really? Resign?”

“It would be a dramatic step,” said Myers, chuckling. “For the record, Jefferson is denying he plans to resign.”

“We'll keep an eye on that one, to be sure,” replied the anchor drolly. “Final question for you Marvin. Jay Noble has settled with the California woman who sued him for paternity. How might his troubles impact the elections for the White House?”

“It's a wild card,” said Myers. “But the Senate hearings on the IRS are over, and Noble acquitted himself well. The lawsuit is now behind him, so Jay is now free to focus on what he does best, namely winning elections. As one senior administration official put it to me, ‘No one is indispensable around here except Long, but Jay is a close second.'”

“So you think his job is secure . . . for now?”

“Yes.”

The segment wrapped and Myers unclipped the microphone, breezing through the makeup room to remove the powder from his face with a baby wipe. He headed down the elevator and was walking across the lobby to the hired car that would whisk him back to his office when his cell phone buzzed. He answered it.

“Marvin! It's the indispensable man,” came the booming voice at the other end of the line.

“Jay?”

Jay let out a burst of rat-tat-tat laughter. “I'm calling to say thanks for all those nice things you just said about me on TV.”

“I always look out for my best sources.”

“Speaking of sources, who was that senior administration official you quoted?”

“I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you.”

“Oh, come on, you can tell
me
.”

“You really want to know?”

“Yes.”

“I made it up.”

Jay was stunned. “But I thought everything you said was true.”

“It is true,” said Myers. “Let's just say it's a composite of a lot of different people.”

“Oh, I get it,” said Jay, laughing. “Hey, come by and we'll grab lunch in the mess.”

“Sure. I'll have my girl call to schedule.”

“Terrific. We need to catch up.”

“Oh, one last thing.”

“Yes?”

“If you want me to keep being your unpaid PR agent, you better have some nuggets for me at that lunch, and I don't mean chicken nuggets.”

“Anything in particular you're on the prowl for?”

“Yes. Can you find out if Jefferson is going to resign his House seat?”

“Let me do some checking around.”

“Feed the beast, Jay.”

“I get it.”

Myers hung up the phone and stepped into the back of the hired Town Car. Gazing at the pedestrians as he sat at a red light, he allowed himself a smile. His suck-up cable chatter had worked like a charm: Jay was going to feed him intel from the campaigns all the way until election day.

G. G. HOTERMAN GOT ON THE news flash on WTOP over his car radio as he pulled up to his townhouse on North Carolina Avenue a few blocks from the Capitol. The sun was beginning to slip behind the Library of Congress, casting shadows from the trees whose leaves were beginning to turn bright yellow and orange with the onset of fall. He parked on the curb and bounded up the steps, anxious to watch the verdict live on television.

Once inside he grabbed a cold Heineken from the fridge in the kitchen and padded his way down the hall to his study, flipping on the television and settling in to his favorite leather chair. He braced himself, hoping Kaplan would beat the rap but fearing the worst. Hardly a disinterested observer, G. G. played a major role in the trial with his testimony, and his lobbying practice would take a major hit if Stanley lost his seat. Sal was his primary pipeline in the Senate for the care and feeding of his clients.

CNN assembled a panel of legal eagles to comment on the verdict. “What can you tell us?” asked the anchor expectantly of the court reporter in DC. “Does Kaplan's legal team have any insight into the jury's decision?”

“Not at this time,” replied the court reporter. Someone off-camera handed her a sheaf of papers. Her expression shocked, she read from the paper on top. “We have just received the jury's verdict. It is a mixed verdict. Guilty on three counts of perjury and one count of lying to the FBI. But the good news for Kaplan, if one can call it that, is he has been acquitted on the most serious charges of obstruction of justice.”

“As we are just learning the news, it may be difficult to know, but what are the political implications of this verdict for Sal Stanley and the Democrats?” asked the anchor.

“Kaplan's lawyers are already vowing to appeal,” replied the reporter. “Democrats will argue this trial represented the criminalization of politics. Kaplan will claim partial vindication in the failure of the jury to find him guilty on the most serious charges. In nineteen days, we'll know whether the voters bought their argument or not.”

On the set the faces of the commentators were long. Their stumbling attempts to find good news for Stanley were painful to watch. G. G. knew better. He felt as though the wind had been knocked out of him. He turned down the sound and walked back through the kitchen, turning the knob on the door and entering the courtyard in the back.

It was a crisp fall evening, and he breathed deeply. G. G. paced back and forth, the memories rushing through his mind like a motion picture: Stanley's presidential campaign, the blowup with Long in Chicago that split the party, Kaplan's indictment, his own brush with being indicted, and now this. Suddenly he began to cry. Catching him by surprise, the tears welled in his eyes and spilled down his face, burning his cheeks. His nose ran. He choked back sobs. Always the tough guy on the outside, G. G. was relieved no one could see him in this pathetic state.

He sat down at a cast-iron breakfast table and pulled out his cell phone. He hit the speed dial.

“Hello?” came the voice of his estranged wife, Edwina. They had tried to maintain a measure of civility since their separation, if only for the sake of the children.

“Hi,” said G. G.

“Oh, hi.”

“Did you hear the news about Mike?”

“No. What happened?”

“He was convicted on four counts of perjury and lying to the FBI.”

“I sorry to hear that, but I can't say I'm surprised.”

“Me, either. As Walt Shapiro said to me, there were some bad facts.”

“Are you okay?” asked Edwina, concern in her voice.

“Not really,” he replied, downcast. “I feel partially responsible for this whole thing. I was involved in the campaign, helped raise the money, then I testified against him. This is not going to help my business either, I'm afraid.”

“You weren't responsible for what Mike did. He used you. So did Sal.”

“I know. But I never wanted Mike to go to prison.”

“Well, he shouldn't have lied. If he couldn't tell the truth to the grand jury, then he should have taken the Fifth. That's his fault, not yours.” She paused. “You told the truth. You paid a heavy price for it, but you're not going to prison.”

G. G. winced at the reference to his grand jury testimony—later leaked—in which he acknowledged a sexual relationship with Dierdre. His honesty cost him his marriage and family. He began to tear up again.

“G. G.? Are you sure you're alright?”

“No,” said G. G., his voice catching. “I want to come home.”

There was a long pause. “I don't know if that's possible.”

“Edwina, I wouldn't blame you if you said no,” said G. G. “If you want to go ahead with the divorce, I certainly have no right to object. I made a terrible mistake. But I'm willing to change. I want to come back to you.”

“I know you say that now,” said Edwina. “But if I take you back, you'll just go back to your old ways once the danger of losing everything is gone.”

“I won't,” protested G. G. “I would have at one time. But I've seen what it's like out there. It's not better.”

“I won't do anything unless you agree to go to see a marriage counselor.”

“Absolutely,” said G. G. “I'll do whatever you want.”

“Let me think about it,” said Edwina softly.

“Okay. I love you.”

“I love you. I just don't know if there's enough love left to sustain a marriage. I have to go. Good-bye.”

G. G. hung up and sat in silence, the only noise the chirping of birds in the trees covering the courtyard with a leafy canopy. With Kaplan's conviction Stanley was toast. G. G. feared the Democrats might lose control of the Senate. If they did, Hoterman and Schiff would take a major hit. But if his business and political contacts were crumbling, G. G. thought, maybe he could still save his marriage.

37

I
t was a pleasant fall evening in New York City, the air crisp, a breeze whistling among the skyscrapers. Jay took the shuttle from DC and now sat in the back of a Town Car wrapping up a call with David Thomas, watching as couples walked arm in arm down Fifth Avenue. He wondered what their normal, happy lives were like and sometimes yearned for one himself. It had been so long, he couldn't remember what it was like.

“What are the overnights?” he asked, using the shorthand for polls. “I'm going to see our candidates in a few minutes, and I want to give them some good news if I can.”

“In New Jersey, KC and the Sunshine Band was up 7. In the three-day roll, he's up 4,” said Thomas, using their nickname for Kerry Cartwright. Their shorthand for his political team was “The Sunshine Band.”

“That's a good trend line.”

“Stanley's fav-unfav is 42–49 with a hard-name ID 96 percent,” said Thomas, using pollster speak for Stanley's cratering popularity.

“Wow, he's upside down. The Kaplan conviction is killing him.”

“Yeah, but it's still Jersey.”

“Right. Who knows how much walking-around money Stanley will put on the street?” He paused. “What else?”

“Jefferson down 2, Hughes down 3.”

“Ouch. I can't believe Covitz's husband's death and scandal hasn't hurt her.”

“Incredible. There's a sympathy factor,” observed Thomas. “She's up 7 among women over fifty. She's a widow and a woman in distress. They identify with her.”

“What keeps you up at night?”

“Florida. Jefferson's going sideways, the ACS scandal is hurting with indies,” said Thomas. “Birch could help him, but of course he won't lift a finger.”

“Don's bleeding from every artery,” said Jay. “Pedal to the metal, pal. Keep the gas on.”

“Yes, sir.”

The car pulled up to the curb in front of the $28 million Fifth Avenue apartment, home for Fred Fincher, the hedge fund billionaire hosting the blow-out fund-raising for Cartwright, Holly Hughes, and Jefferson. Jay was the headliner. The driver hustled to the passenger side and opened the car door. Jay stepped out on the sidewalk. Heads turned as pedestrians recognized him. A campaign staffer stood on the sidewalk with a clipboard. She motioned him to an elevator in the lobby.

The elevator opened, and Jay stepped into the foyer of Fincher's apartment, beautifully appointed with marble floors, priceless antique furniture, Oriental rugs, and a massive shimmering crystal chandelier. Fincher was an avid collector of modern art; the paintings on the walls, gave the apartment the feel of a museum. Waiters floated through the room balancing silver trays of champagne, white wine, and sparkling water. Two open bars anchored the main living area, which was already jammed with more than two hundred donors.

Jay approached the registration table. “Jay!” exclaimed Angelica Manning, who handled all Fincher's political projects. Jay did a double take. She was distractingly beautiful. Stiletto heels and black patterned hose adorned her long legs, and her jet-black hair fell to her bare shoulders. Rumor had it that she and Fincher were an item, which Jay assumed was more than a minor complication, since he was married.