The Confirmation
Authors: Ralph Reed
PRAISE FOR
THE CONFIRMATION
The Confirmation
sizzles with drama and is hard to put down. Ralph Reed is on his way to becoming the master of political thrillers.
â
Sean Hannity,
New York Times
best-selling author and host of
The Sean Hannity Show
Ralph Reed has done it again! In
The Confirmation
, his follow-up novel to his 2008 debut novel
Dark Horse
, Reed has penned a rousing tale about all the intrigue behind the nomination and confirmation of a Supreme Court justice. Matters get even more complicated when some Iranian terrorists with nuclear materials threaten to blow up a major U.S. city.
As someone who has been at the epicenter of many of the most compelling moments in the nation's life over the past quarter century, Ralph Reed takes us behind headlines to the inner workings of the nation's Capitol.
The Confirmation
is a compelling and informative ride. Buy it, read it, and pass it on.
â
Richard Land,
president, Ethics and Religious Liberty Commission, Southern Baptist Convention
With unforgettable characters and unpredictable plot twists,
The Confirmation
is a roller-coaster ride of a political thriller. Ralph Reed pulls back the curtain and reveals the secrets of how politics is really played. You won't be able to put it down.
â
Mark Levin,
host, I and president of Landmark Legal Foundation
Ralph Reed has nailed it in this fast-paced political thriller, showing all the nooks and dark corners where the best and worst takes place in America's Capitol. A great read.
â
Karl Rove,
former senior advisor and deputy chief of staff to President George W. Bush
As a participant in Supreme Court confirmations as a member of the United States Senate, I know
The Confirmation
weaves a tale that, while fictional, is true. Ralph Reed shines a bright light on the backroom deals, special-interest-group pleading and the politics of personal destruction that plague judicial confirmations, but he does so in a way that is ultimately hopeful and inspiring.
âFormer U.S. Senator
Rick Santorum
(R-PA)
Ralph Reed has done it again. I have been on the inside of Supreme Court Confirmation process. Ralph has written a novel that is more realistic than nonfiction. The spiritual dimension addressed in the book is compelling. This is a must read.
â
Jay Sekulow,
General Counsel American Center for Law and Justice
PRAISE FOR
DARK HORSE
A spellbinding mix of suspense and intrigue . . . a timely account of the best and worst of American politics.
â
Sean Hannity,
New York Times
best-selling author and host of
The Sean Hannity Show
Could be the best political novel of the (Reagan/Bush) era.”
â
Tulsa World
Copyright © 2010 by Ralph Reed
All rights reserved.
Printed in the United States of America
978-1-4336-6924-8
Published by B&H Publishing Group,
Nashville, Tennessee
Dewey Decimal Classification: F
Subject Heading: ADVENTURE FICTION \ TERRORISMâFICTION \ UNITED STATES. SUPREME COURTâFICTION
Publisher's Note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.
Author is represented by the literary agency of Alive Communications, Inc., 7680 Goddard Street, Suite 200, Colorado Springs, CO 80920, www.alivecommunications.com.
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 ⢠14 13 12 11 10
To Ralph, III
CONTENTS
ONE
The president-elect stared into the mirror and struggled to tie the knot in his two-thousand-dollar silver Brioni tie as his fingers shook. He was surprised at how jumpy he was now that the moment he yearned for, dreamed of, and fought for his entire career had finally arrived. Satisfied at last with the knot, he gazed back at his reflection in the mirror. He noted with pleasure that his morning coat fit him snugly, the silvery tie and vest highlighting the streaks of grey in his wavy brown hair. The heels on his spit-polished alligator cowboy boots took his height to just over six feet. His steely blue eyes were open and inviting, reflecting his expansive mood.
Upstairs, an army of beauticians and hairstylists flown in from New York and Beverly Hills worked on the future First Lady's image. Rapid footsteps on the wooden floor above conveyed harried preparations. A dress assistant flown in by Oscar de la Renta, the design house providing two dresses for the inauguration, joined them. The entire productionâhair, makeup, manicure, and wardrobeâwas taking more time than landing the 82nd Airborne at Normandy.
The president-elect looked at his watch. His blood pressure spiked. They were supposed to be at St. John's Episcopal Church for the traditional prayer service in four minutes.
“Claire!”
No response. More frantic footsteps.
“Claire!”
“Coming!” came the cry from behind the bedroom door.
“Claire, we have to leave right now!” he shouted. “The president and First Lady will be standing outside waiting, and the whole world will see that I can't arrive at my own inauguration on time.”
Bob Long, former governor of California, claimed the peak of American politics after winning the most bizarre presidential campaign in U.S. history. Defeated for the Democratic nomination at a convention tainted by corruption, he entered the race as an independent initially seen as merely a spoiler, and his candidacy caught fire with voters turned off by the partisan bickering in Washington. When no candidate won a majority in the electoral college, the election went to the House of Representatives. Long won an astonishing victory and became the first independent candidate elevated to the presidency in U.S. history.
Out of the fog of nerves and confusion, an advance man approached. “Governor, POTUS and FLOTUS are moving from the residence. ETA, three minutes,” he said, using acronyms for the president and First Lady. “Should we tell them to . . . wait?”
Long looked at the advance man with a mixture of dread and panic. Then, as if on cue, Claire Long appeared at the top of the stairs, her hair pulled up, pearls the size of miniature golf balls on her neck, wearing a stunning royal blue dress with matching pillbox hat. “Well?” she asked triumphantly, spreading her arms. “Am I worth the wait?”
Long let out a long whistle. “You look just . . . incredible! You look like a modern Jackie Kennedy.”
“Thank you, Mr. President,” she said.
She glided down the stairs, chin held high, followed by a retinue for hair and makeup and brushed his cheek with her lips. That was when he caught the scent of vodka masked with expensive perfume. He shook it off.
Claire probably had a Bloody Mary with brunch to take the edge off,
he thought.
Long introduced himself to the makeup team enthusiastically. “You guys did a fantastic job. I love the hair. Which one of you is the hairstylist?”
“I'm a hair artist,” replied a short woman wearing tight black jeans, a black T-shirt and reddish-purple hair.
“Forgive me,” Long replied with a touch of sarcasm. “I didn't mean to give you a demotion. Of course you're an artist. And that goes for all of you.”
They headed down the hall to the front door. “Hair artist, eh?” whispered Long. “I guess that means she's expensive.”
“Not as expensive as me, honey,” replied Claire.
The door opened and the Secret Service detail led the way to the waiting limousine. Long felt his heart rate quicken. It was all really happening.
ACROSS LAFAYETTE PARK, JAY Noble took a final sip of coffee as he finished a brunch fit for a king at the Hay-Adams Hotel. He downed an egg-white omelet, a plate of bacon (he was trying the low-carb thing), a bowl of fruit, and a syrup-drenched plate of French toast (okay, maybe not the whole Atkin's thing). His thatch of brown hair, combed more neatly than usual, had a telltale hint of gray at the sides, white hairs he gained as the architect of one of the most brutal presidential victories ever recorded. His high forehead, cherubic cheeks, and laconic posture telegraphed an attitude of smug satisfaction. Completely out of character for an aging political hack, he wore a tailored Hugo Boss suit. He held the china cup with three fingers. A fleet of waiters flitted around the table, the maître d' and manager did table visits, and other patrons craned their necks to see if it was really him. And why not? Jay was the political maestro who masterminded Bob Long's rise to the presidency.
“Not to pry, but why aren't you taking Lisa to the ball?” asked David Thomas, Long's campaign manager and recently named White House political director. He was referring to Lisa Robinson, the black-haired, angular beauty who ran the press shop in the Long campaign, and who recently jetted off to an exotic eco-resort in Mexico with Jay.
Jay let the dead air hang. Should he tell the truth or feed Thomas the same spin he gave everyone else? He chose the latter.
“It's complicated,” he sighed. “Lisa's going to be White House communications director, and I'm the president's chief strategist.” He shot Thomas a sly look. “Besides, I live by the rule that you keep your private parts out of the payroll.”
Thomas, a born sucker for locker-room talk, smiled knowingly. “You're right. But it's still tragic,” he said, shaking his head. “Lisa's hotâand smart.”