Conspiracy (12 page)

McDermott wasn't surprised. Twenty years ago, when he was a powerful and savvy Chicago lawyer, well connected in state Republican politics, he took a young legislator, a diamond in the rough, from a small town in downstate Illinois out for a drink. Right from the start, McDermott knew that William Webster was a straight shooter, as well as having the charisma and political instincts to be governor.

"Can you stick around for a while, Hugh?" the president asked. "I've got a short call to make. Then the two of us need to talk."

"I'll be happy to. Just let me walk out with Darren and Pug for a minute. I'll be right back."

From the reception area outside the Oval Office, McDermott led Thompson into a small working room across the hall that was empty. The A.G.'s face was flushed with anger as he kicked the door shut. "Don't you try any crap like that again. I told you, run the ideas past me first."

"Okay, okay," Pug replied. "I've got the picture."

"And I'll tell you one other thing: I don't want you or anybody who works for you pulling off any of these schemes or any other stuff like that without approval from me. Is that clear?"

"I wouldn't consider it, boss," Pug said.

McDermott moved in close. He stuck out two fingers and shoved them hard against the middle button of Thompson's white shirt. "I have this campaign under control. I've told you before and I'll tell you again, if you follow orders and do things my way, Webster will get reelected and you'll get a good job in the next administration."

"I'm trying to give us a little insurance."

"We don't need it, asshole. You go off on your own, like the Lone Ranger, and you're out of the campaign on your ass. Also, I'll see to it that you never work in this town again. You can trust me on that."

Pug pulled back. "Okay. I got it. By the way, nice suntan you have, boss. Must have gone south for the weekend, eh?"

McDermott's face grew beet red. He slammed Thompson hard against the wall. "You'd better not be spying on me."

Though Pug could have knocked McDermott down with a single backhand swipe, he refused to fight back. He had done his damage verbally.

After pulling himself together, McDermott went back into the Oval Office. The president was still on the phone. "Tell him that I'll meet with the Russian ambassador at ten in the morning," Webster said. "I can't do it this evening." He replaced the phone in its cradle. "Jesus, Hugh, that was Perry in London. The Brits are anxious for me to meet with the Russian ambassador in Washington, the one whose name I can never pronounce, to get some info about Lernov, the new Russian president. But I doubt if he'll know anything. If he did, he wouldn't tell me anyhow."

"The Lernov thing's got everybody jumpy."

"What do you think I should do about it?"

"Not a damn thing until after the election. Except..."

"Except what?"

"Get some TV time one evening next week after the debate to make a speech assuring the American people that you're in control."

"The Democrats will scream that it's political."

"It is, but so what? Fuck 'em. You're the president. You get the advantages of the incumbent."

"Good advice. I'll do it. How about sitting in on my meeting with the Russian ambassador tomorrow?"

"Your distinguished secretary of state doesn't like it when I poach."

"Don't worry about Tom. I'll tell him I want you there. I feel more comfortable with your advice."

McDermott glanced at his gold Franck Muller. He knew that the president had a state dinner tonight. "There was something you wanted to talk to me about after the others left?"

"Oh, yeah," Webster said, remembering where they were before his phone call. "You want a drink?"

"Why not? It's about that time of the day."

Just off the Oval Office was a small pantry. McDermott poured scotch over ice in two glasses, added a splash of water, and handed one to Webster.

"To your new job," Webster said, raising his glass and taking a long sip of the drink.

McDermott was puzzled. "What new job?"

"You're going to get your wish. What do you want most in life?"

"The Supreme Court."

Webster clinked his glass with a smile. "Not just a seat. You'll be chief justice."

"You're kidding."

"Nope. Gerhard Hall invited himself over this morning for breakfast. He didn't want anybody to know why he was here."

"He's resigning?"

"Not yet." His face grew darker. "He was diagnosed with advanced lymphoma. It's unclear how much longer he has."

"When's he going to resign?" McDermott asked anxiously.

"March first unless he just can't function before then."

"That bastard!" McDermott cried out.

"Yeah, I know. He wants Boyd to make the appointment if he wins. Hall was up-front about that. He knows I'd pick you, and he's not one of your biggest admirers."

McDermott sipped his drink, finding it tasted bitter. "It's not just me," he said. "He thinks Boyd would appoint some candy-ass liberal. Somebody who's soft on abortion and thinks it's a good idea to keep the criminals on the streets so they can commit more crimes."

"Well, there's only one way to solve that problem. Isn't there?"

"Damn right. You get a second term."

The president finished his drink.

"You want another?" McDermott asked.

"I'd better not. It's tuxedo time. If it's Thursday, then it's the king of Sweden, and I've got to preside over the usual gathering of penguins and fancy ladies."

"In Washington they're called women."

"I know that. But where I come from, they're still ladies, and there's no press around now. Don't worry; I won't let that one slip."

They both laughed loudly. McDermott rose and started to leave.

"Listen, Hugh, there is one other thing." The president hesitated. "God, I hate asking you this."

"Don't worry. Fire away."

"Let's assume I win, and you get the nomination for chief justice of the Supreme Court. Do you envision any trouble during the confirmation hearings?"

McDermott was blindsided by the question, but he kept his emotions under control.
Don't show a thing, he told himself. You're a good poker player. You know what it's like to keep raising when all you've got is a pair of deuces.

"What do you mean, trouble?" McDermott asked.

"Well, you know what's happened with some Supreme Court nominees during the congressional hearings. I just don't want to cause any problems for you."

"Oh, those kinds of problems," McDermott replied, forcing a natural-sounding laugh from his mouth. "You don't have to worry about me. Personally, I've got nothing to worry about. And politically—"

The president interrupted. "Politically I don't see a problem. You've been close enough to the middle of the road as attorney general to satisfy a sizable number of Democrats in the Senate."

"Happily, I'm clean as a whistle."

 

 

 

Chapter 8

 

It all fits together,
Cady decided, once again eating a turkey sandwich for lunch at his desk. The evidence against Senator Boyd was clear and convincing. He should convene a grand jury, issue Boyd a subpoena, and see what the senator did.

But he wasn't ready for that. What was bothering him was that the facts in the documents fit together too neatly. Who was it—he tried to remember, maybe Anatole France—who wrote that the best evidence was perjured evidence because it had no loose ends?

Taylor had said to him, "A man's running for president. You're about to wreck his life and hand Webster the White House for four more years."

Maybe she had a point. Doerr was conveniently staying out of the whole business. McDermott had added Pug Thompson to their campaign team, and that guy was capable of anything. McDermott was bad enough by himself.

No, Cady decided. He had to make sure the facts and documents were accurate before he did anything as drastic as convening a grand jury. There was only one way to do that: go to California and check on the facts.

He booked a flight to San Francisco for that evening and began mapping out his strategy for the next two days. By the time he returned to Washington Sunday night, he'd know whether he had a case against Senator Boyd.

* * *

 

Taylor picked up a glass of white wine from the bar and looked around. Two hundred Washington lawyers were milling around in the Mayflower Hotel ballroom, drinks in their hands. Men outnumbered women, but not by much. All had paid a thousand dollars to attend this Friday-afternoon cocktail reception, ostensibly to meet Senator Boyd, but in reality to toss their names into the huge pot from which a number of Washington lawyers would be selected for high-level government appointments should Boyd become president. These men and women, making several hundred thousand dollars a year or more, were salivating at the prospect of taking an 80 percent cut in pay to trade what they now saw as a boring but lucrative job for a great power trip. A few reporters were also working the crowd, accompanied by their camera crews, hoping to gain a useful quote from Boyd. Kendrick had kept the lid on the senator's change of plans for today.

While trying to decide how to break the news that the senator wasn't coming, Taylor felt a sudden tug on her arm. She turned to find Ben Owen, formerly a Washington lawyer, now the Democratic congressman from a suburban Maryland district, who was using this event to troll for dollars for his own reelection campaign.

Ben pulled Taylor into a deserted corner of the room. "Is there something big about to break that'll hurt Boyd?" he asked anxiously.

Dammit,
she thought.
Information's starting to leak out about Cady's investigation.
She didn't dare let Ben know how upset she was about that idea. He would take away as much from what he saw on her face as from what she said.

Trying to appear nonchalant, Taylor said, "Nothing I've heard about. Who told you that?"

"One of my aides heard that the U.S. attorney's office here in town is looking into something from one of Boyd's campaigns."

Taylor was furious. That bastard Cady had to be the source of the leak. She sipped her wine, trying to stay calm. "I'll check it out. Sounds to me like Republican wishful thinking."

Some of the nervous strain left his face. "That's what I was hoping, but you never know."

"Our lead keeps growing."

"It's making me nervous. You guys aren't getting complacent, are you?"

Taylor forced a laugh. "Me, complacent? You've got to be kidding."

"You 're doing well so far, but there's still a long way to go. I hope you don't blow it."

Taylor was searching for a way to escape. She didn't have to answer to the likes of Ben Owen. Through the corner of her eye she spotted plump Dan Logan, who had organized this affair. He gave her the sign to start.

Striding quickly up to the podium, Taylor tapped on the microphone. She waited until she had everyone's attention. "You may have noticed," she began, "that I'm not Senator Boyd."

"But you're a lot better-looking," a man called from the back of the room.

That prompted a retort from a woman: "Pig." The entire room erupted in laughter.

"Somebody also told me," Taylor continued, "when in doubt tell the truth. The truth is that he was afraid to enter a pool with so many sharks."

More laughter.

"Seriously, the schedule's been a killer. We've got the critical final debate coming up, and the senator needed some prep time up in St. Michaels, away from the crowds. But I'd like to describe for you some of the new and expanded federal programs Senator Boyd contemplates as part of his New Age for America."

"Will they result in more legal business for us?" someone shouted out.

"Doesn't everything?" Taylor responded.

She now had the audience in the palm of her hand, and she kept it that way for the next fifteen minutes with a light but informative talk. When she was finished, the crowd gave her a loud burst of applause. Dan Logan was smiling.

Still furious at Cady for what Ben had said, Taylor cut a beeline for the door and a waiting car outside.

* * *

"You son of a bitch," Taylor shouted at Cady on the phone, "you promised me confidentiality. One congressman already knows about your investigation." Her voice was shaking. "How could you do such a thing?"

Cady was taken aback. "You can't be serious."

"I wish I weren't. Ben Owen asked me if I knew about it."

Cady was wondering where the hell the leak came from. He hadn't involved any other lawyers in his office. Even his secretary didn't know about it. The only others he had told were Doerr, Hall, and Moore. Hall and Moore, never. Doerr, conceivably for that judicial appointment. Or whoever left the envelope on his desk Tuesday night. That person could have been the source of the leak.

"You're right to be angry," he said. "But you know me, Taylor. I don't operate that way. My honesty and integrity are critical to my job. I promise you that the leak didn't come from me. I've limited knowledge of the investigation so much that I think the chances of it coming from the government side are almost nil."