Ballots and Blood (5 page)

The funeral had awaited Miller's autopsy, which concluded the cause of death was asphyxiation. Some who tracked in conspiracy theories claimed Miller was killed by terrorists. But leaks from the DC police suggested an open-and-shut case against Amber Abica, the law student/dominatrix. The only question was whether she would be charged with second-degree murder of voluntary manslaughter.

After a series of Scripture readings and the singing of hymns, Vice President Whitehead walked slowly to the pulpit. His posture slightly stooped, he walked in a determined gait, his white hair perfectly coiffed, his face stretched like putty with sadness.

“This week our nation lost a giant,” said Whitehead, his voice growing firmer as he spoke. “The Senate chamber can barely contain the egos of its members.” (Knowing chuckles.) “But such was not the case with Perry. He was a workhorse, not a show horse, never a self-promoter, a man who did not seek his own glory. He worked mostly behind the scenes. But when he spoke, everyone listened.”

Whitehead gripped the edges of the podium. He spoke in a flat voice that nonetheless resonated with emotion. “We all have stories about Perry. This is mine: prior to the recent vote on the confirmation of Marco Diaz to the Supreme Court, the Senate held a private session in the old Senate chamber in the Capitol. Only members of the Senate were in attendance, and the proceedings were confidential. After various senators spoke their minds, Perry took the floor.” Every eye in the sanctuary was on Whitehead. “Perry told us, ‘We must never forget that we are Americans first. We must remain true to our beliefs as Republicans and Democrats. But more important than advancing those beliefs is doing so in a way that strengthens our country and our democracy.'”

Whitehead gazed out over the sanctuary, his eyes glistening. “I believe that would be Perry's message to us today. The U.S. Senate he loved and the country he served with such distinction will no longer have him to show us the way. But if his appeal becomes our calling, we will honor his memory and finish the work to which he devoted his life.”

Andy Stanton sat beside the pastor of First Baptist in one of the thronelike chairs behind the pulpit, legs as large as tree trunks crossed, huge hands resting in his lap, listening intently. A former Golden Gloves boxer with a cherubic face and salt-and-pepper hair, Stanton was the godfather of religious conservatives, an unlikely eulogist at the funeral of a Democrat. But Andy was the son of a Democratic Congressman from Georgia and a former Democrat himself. It was one of the reasons he had few qualms about abandoning the Republican Party to back Long in the previous campaign. He and Miller bonded over their mutual support for Israel. When Miller's widow called him and asked him to speak, he never hesitated. As he approached the pulpit, everyone snapped to attention. Reporters leaned forward, anticipating news. How would the nation's leading pastor and religious broadcaster handle the death of the chairman of the Foreign Relations Committee in an S-and-M tryst?

Stanton's blue eyes surveyed the crowd. “It was my privilege to get to know Senator Perry Miller over many years,” he began slowly. “We traveled to Israel together. We worked on issues of mutual concern. We came from different parties, but I learned the things we shared in common were far greater than the things that separated us.” He paused for dramatic effect. “In all our countless hours of conversation, in meetings in his Senate office, on the phone, or as we flew in a helicopter together over the Golan Heights, I never once heard him say an unkind or hurtful word about anyone. He was an even better man than he was a politician.”

He looked down in front of the sanctuary, making eye contact with Miller's widow and adult children. “I want to speak directly to the family. I know how much you loved him. Where the world saw a politician, you saw a husband, a dad, a grandfather, a friend. And I know today there is one question that echoes in your mind and soul: why?” He lifted his eyes, pulling the rest of the congregation into his spell. “Why? How could one of the world's most distinguished statesmen die this way? A life this great just wasn't supposed to end like this.”

Not a single person moved. Silence enveloped the sanctuary.

“There are two answers to that question. The first is found in the book of Genesis, when man defied God in the garden of Eden. From that time until today, all of us on one level or another seeks to do what
we
want to do, not what
God
wants us to do.” In Stanton's delivery,
God
came out as, “Gaaawd.” “Some sins are known, others are not until after we are gone. But we are all sinners. We live in a broken world with broken people and broken lives. That brokenness is all around us, and today it takes the form of a flag-draped coffin.”

Stanton rose on his heels, raising his arms to heaven. “But there is a second answer. It is the glorious answer, the transcendent answer, the transformative answer, and it is the cross,” Andy said, his voice booming. “Life is broken without Jesus. Not just Perry Miller's life, but all our lives. Think back on your own life before you gave yourself to Jesus Christ. The pain, the hurt, the grief, the betrayal, the loneliness. We still experience heartache after we become Christians, but Jesus heals the brokenness, makes sense of our loss. He takes the broken shards of glass that are our lives and remakes them into stained-glass that reflects His glory.”

Heads nodded throughout the sanctuary. “Amen,” someone said in a low voice. The sound of sniffles filled the air.

“We can trust the Lord to do that when it comes to our friend Perry,” said Stanton, his voice firm. “God used him to do great things. I believe He holds Perry in the palm of His hand today and has welcomed him into the bosom of Abraham. And for those of us who loved him, and especially to his family today”—Stanton again fixed his gaze on the family pews—“know that Perry is in a better place, and the questions you have will all be answered according to the timing and will of Almighty God.” He paused, gazing down at the casket. “May God bless Perry Miller. We will miss you, friend.” He bowed his head and walked back to his chair.

A woman sang the final song, “It Is Well (With My Soul).” Her voice filled the sanctuary, bringing many mourners to tears. After she finished, the pallbearers, two of whom were fellow senators, returned to the front of the church. They lifted the casket off its catafalque and carried it slowly down the center aisle. The Miller family rose from their pews and walked behind the casket, exiting the church.

SHADING HIMSELF BENEATH A PINE tree from the north Florida sun, Patrick Mahoney stood outside the church watching the crowd stream to their cars. His eyes scanned each face, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Nearby Governor Mike Birch held forth before a clutch of television cameras, saying something sappy about Miller.
What a grandstander,
thought Mahoney. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Truman Greenglass, President Long's national security advisor, talking to someone. On a lark he walked over.

“Mr. Greenglass, forgive me for interrupting,” he said. “I'm Patrick Mahoney. Good to see you here representing the administration.”

“Wouldn't have missed it,” said Greenglass, shaking Mahoney's hand. “Do you know Senator Leo Lubar from Illinois?”

“I don't believe we've met, but of course I know who you are. Good to meet you, Senator,” said Mahoney, nodding in Lubar's direction.

“So are you a friend of the family, Mr. Mahoney?” asked Greenglass.

“No. I work for the FBI. I'm investigating Perry Miller's death.”

Greenglass's looked as if someone had punched him in the stomach. “I see.”

“I left a message with your office the other day.”

“I'm sorry, I don't recall seeing it,” said Greenglass. “Why would you want to talk to me?”

Senator Lubar stepped back. “Truman, I'll catch you back in Washington,” he said, beating a hasty retreat.

“Checking boxes, mostly. We're contacting everyone who knew Senator Miller to make sure we're not missing anything. Standard operating procedure.” Mahoney smiled weakly.

“That's a big job. Perry knew a lot of people. Is that why you're here at the funeral?”

Mahoney shrugged somewhat sheepishly. “Perpetrators sometimes attend the funeral of the deceased. They get a thrill seeing the suffering caused by their handiwork, if you will.”

Greenglass looked surprised. “You're still looking for the perpetrator?” he asked. “But I thought the woman who killed him was already in police custody.”

“She's a person of interest.”

“So there are other suspects?”

“The investigation is ongoing,” replied Mahoney obliquely. He shifted gears. “You worked closely with Senator Miller, didn't you?”

“Yes, I did,” replied Greenglass. “He was a good man and a patriot.”

“So I'm told,” said Mahoney. “I'm curious given the unusual circumstances surrounding his death if perhaps there might have been a connection to foreign policy.”

Greenglass pulled back. “Not that I know of. Like what?”

“Oh, I dunno. Iran, maybe Rassem el Zafarshan.” The latter organized the terrorist cell that assassinated the late Vice President Harrison Flaherty.

“So you think you've turned up evidence of a terrorist connection?”

“I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to discuss the investigation,” said Mahoney. “But I know Senator Miller sponsored the Iran sanctions bill. Supposedly it included a ‘trigger mechanism' authorizing military action if the sanctions did not have the desired effect within a specified time frame.” He moved in closer, lowering his voice. “I hear that language was drafted by your office. Is that true?”

Greenglass grabbed Mahoney by the arm and pulled him away from the crowd. “Listen,” he said through gritted teeth. “This isn't a good time. I don't see what I have to do with any of this. But if you want to discuss Perry's murder with me, you'll need to clear it with the White House counsel. That's
our
standard operating procedure.”

“I'll do that, sir.”

Greenglass spun on his heel, two Secret Service agents in tow and lowered himself into a black Town Car. “Good luck with your investigation, Agent Mahoney.”

“Let's do lunch,” said Mahoney half jokingly as the car pulled away.

ANDY STANTON BURROWED INTO THE backseat of a Cadillac Escalade as the driver crept slowly out of the parking lot. Occasionally a dignitary or well-wisher recognized him and walked over to the car. Andy would roll down the window and extend a hand or sign an autograph. Accompanying him in the backseat was Ross Lombardy, the political
wunderkind
who headed the Faith and Family Federation, his grassroots lobby group. Andy's VP for public relations sat in the front seat.

“That was rough,” said Andy to one in particular once they were on the road.

“I don't know how you did it,” the VP fairly gushed. He was in full suck-up mode, which was his default posture. “I knew you were good, Andy, but turning the murder of a U.S. senator at the hands of a sex worker into a vehicle for the gospel message was something I didn't think was possible. There was not a dry eye in the place. Your message was
amazing!
”

Andy drank in the praise from his subordinate. “God is sovereign, brother. His hand is in everything, even tragedy.” He thought a moment. “
Especially
in tragedy.”

“Boy, Miller was the last guy on earth I would have expected to go that way,” said Ross. “I guess it just shows you never really know, do you?”

“Ross, ‘Some men's sins are obvious, reaching the place of judgment before them, while others trail behind them,'” said Andy, reciting a Bible verse from memory. “First Timothy, chapter 5, verse 24. Just make sure it doesn't happen to you.”

“Oh, don't worry,” replied Ross. “If I ever did, it wouldn't be the dominatrix who killed me. It would be my wife. You know what I mean?” Andy laughed, slapping his knee. “Speaking of sin, I'm hearing Birch may appoint a Democrat.”

“What!?” exclaimed Andy. “A
Democrat
? If he does that, he's dead man walking. He can kiss the Republican presidential nomination
good-bye
.”

“If we have anything to say about it, he's dead man walking no matter who he appoints. He's a RINO. Totally worthless. I can't believe Long wanted to put him on the Supreme Court. We dodged a bullet there.”

“Indeed,” Andy agreed. “The good Lord spared us. Now we need to make sure Birch appoints an R.”

“From what I hear, he's not listening to anyone. He's flying solo on this one.”

Andy thought for a moment, watching the cars whiz by on the highway as they rushed to the airport. “Should I call him? I could offer to give him a little boost with our people if he does the right thing.”

Ross recoiled in horror. “I wouldn't call him. Number one, you can't trust him. Number two, if it leaks you lobbied him and he does appoint a conservative, then people will claim he caved to the religious right. So we're darned if we do and darned if we don't.”

Andy looked despondent. “So you're telling me with control of the U.S. Senate on the line, I just have to sit here and let it play out? This is in a state where we have how many members?”

“Four hundred thousand.”

“This is nuts,” Andy complained. “What good is it to have power if I can't use it?”

“Power is a little like sex, Andy,” said Ross, a smirk on his face.

“You don't say,” Andy giggled. “How so?”

“It's best done behind closed doors. Remember the love scenes in the old movies when they had to keep their feet on the floor? It's the same with power—subtle is always better.”

“Perry Miller should have remembered that,” said the ministry vice president, joining in the fun.