The Confirmation (13 page)

“Unpatriotic,” snapped Long.

“All the above. I'll make sure Lisa is loaded for bear for the press briefing,” said Hector.

“Gentlemen, we're sleeping with the enemy.” Long's eyes blazed as he tapped the desk firmly with his index finger. “Langley's a snake pit. The joint chiefs aren't much better. They're cutting the legs out from under us.”

“The bureaucracy is fighting back,” said Hector.

“This isn't normal bureaucratic infighting, Charlie,” Long seethed. “I have no problem with internal dissent. But selling out the country by compromising its intelligence-gathering capability is unacceptable.”

“I think we should say that.”

“You bet we should. And you tell Golden to look into what we can do within the chalk marks to plug these leaks. That includes a grand jury issuing subpoenas to reporters.”

“I hope we don't end up with the
Times
reporter on a hunger strike in the DC lockup,” said Greenglass.

“Judith Miller, call your office,” interjected Hector.

“If that's what it takes, so be it.” The president glanced away, staring out the window at the Rose Garden. “T. G., call Jacobs right now. Tell him I want the person who did this escorted out of Langley by security.”

Hector exited the Oval Office and headed back down the hall to his own office, head down, wheels turning, his thoughts a jumble. People passed him in the hallway, but he never made eye contact. The thought entered his mind: he wished he could go back to being just a member of Congress. What an easy job that had been compared to White House chief of staff. Now in addition to managing the president, he had to deal with the fallout of a national security leak without committing Nixonian excesses, and find a conservative Supreme Court nominee confirmable by a Democratic Senate.

“Buzz Lisa and ask her to come to my office, stat,” he said gruffly to his assistant and closed the door behind him.

LISA ROBINSON WALKED INTO the White House briefing room at 12:30 p.m. and stepped to the podium. Every seat was filled, and an unusually large crowd of reporters lined the walls. The networks turned on their cameras as print reporters pulled out their tape recorders and flipped open steno pads. Rumors had flown all morning that the White House was going to take on the
Times
in a frontal assault. Everyone waited for the fireworks to begin. “I have a statement and then I'll take your questions,” Lisa began. She cleared her throat. “There is a report in the
New York Times
today based on unnamed, anonymous sources claiming to relay information contained in the Presidents Daily Brief, a summary of intelligence provided to the president by the CIA. This administration has a strict policy against commenting on leaks of classified material. We will neither confirm nor deny this story. But if someone did provide the
Times
with information contained in the president's brief, it is a felony and a serious breach of the law and our national security. The
Times's
decision to print this story was reckless and irresponsible. Journalists do not surrender their citizenship or its obligations when they obtain a press badge.” Someone in the back of the room let out an audible gasp. Lisa paused, leveling her gaze. “Any questions?”

“So you're not disputing the story. The CIA has informed the president that Iran has a weaponized nuclear device?” asked CNN.

“I cannot comment on the president's classified daily intelligence briefings.”

“The Israeli ambassador told Reuters today that unless the United States acts militarily, Israel may be forced to take action on its own,” said CBS News.

Lisa arched her eyebrows. “Is there a question there?”

“The question is, how do you react to Israel threatening to act unilaterally?”

“I have not seen the ambassador's statement. Israel is a sovereign nation. We do not tell them what to do. Besides, I don't do hypotheticals.”

“The IAEA is shortly going to issue a report on Iran's uranium enrichment program, and the preliminary indications are that they will say their investigation is basically stalled due to Iran's lack of cooperation. What are your hopes for additional sanctions by the UN? Or is military action the only remaining option?” asked the
Washington Times.

“Well, the IAEA report only serves to underscore that Iran is refusing to cooperate with the international community. I don't really have an update in terms of additional sanctions. As you know, the secretary of state is in the Middle East as we speak and is seeking to resolve this situation by the diplomatic process underway, not by military action, which is the choice of last resort,” Lisa replied. “But as the president has said, all options are on the table.”

“Lisa, how would you characterize the U.S. relationship with Iran after this revelation?” asked the
Washington Post.
“Is it belligerent? Would it be fair to characterize Iran as a belligerent nation vis-à-vis the U.S.?”

“As the President has said in the past, it is a very difficult and tense relationship.”

“That's it?” shot back the
Post
. “Isn't this a virtual declaration of war by Iran?”

“I'm not going to label it based on an unconfirmed press account that relied on anonymous sources,” said Lisa, taking another dig at the
Times
. “Iran's nuclear ambitions and its unwillingness to live up to its obligations under the Nuclear Non-proliferation Agreement is destabilizing to the region and the world. That's where we are right now.”

The
New York Times
correspondent had heard enough. “You seem to be saying that any media outlet that reports on what our government has learned about Iran's nuclear program is committing treason. Is that your claim?” asked the
Times
.

“You're trying to put words in my mouth,” Lisa fired back. “I said it was reckless and irresponsible. If the story was based on the president's daily brief, providing that information to anyone—including a reporter—is a felony.”

“Is the administration planning to prosecute the source or the reporter?” asked UPI.

“That question should be directed to the Department of Justice.”

“But you don't rule out prosecuting reporters who publish such material?”

“I have already noted that to provide such information is a serious violation of the law, but we do not comment on criminal investigations, hypothetical or otherwise, from this podium.” Frustrated, the press corps peppered Lisa with hostile questions for another twenty minutes. She never budged. The parlor game in Washington shifted from who might replace Peter Corbin Franklin to who was willing to risk a prison sentence to force Long's hand on Iran.

IT WAS 9:52 ON Sunday morning, and the Speaker of the House strolled into the Fox News green room on Capitol Hill, a large cup of Starbucks in his hand, his features hardened like a marble statute. He had already been slathered in makeup, his helmet hair blasted with hair spray. He ignored the spread of bagels, danish, and fresh fruit on the table. Like a boxer in training, Gerry Jimmerson disciplined his appetites in pursuit of a bigger prize, this one on the set of Marvin Myers's highly rated public affairs show, Washington's version of must-see TV. Jimmerson was wired: he took a swig of the Starbucks, the double shot of espresso hitting his bloodstream. His press aide sat on the couch monitoring the television set, his posture reflecting the low morale of a man who knew his boss wouldn't listen to his advice, so why even bother?

The floor director entered the room. “Mr. Speaker, we're ready for you on the set.”

Jimmerson followed him to the cavernous set, its thermostat set to the temperature of a meat freezer. Marvin Myers shook his hand but otherwise ignored him, his eyes glued to blue index cards that contained his questions. After the theme music and a program opening rolled on video, the floor director counted down with his fingers and then pointed at Myers.

“Joining us now is the Speaker of the House, Gerald Jimmerson. Mr. Jimmerson, welcome back,” Myers said with hollow hospitality.

“Thank you, Marvin, it's good to be here,” Jimmerson said.

“The chairman of the House Judiciary Committee, Sam Manion, announced this week that he will hold hearings on the condition of Supreme Court Justice Peter Corbin Franklin,” Myers began. He went straight for the jugular. “Do you support this move?”

“Well, first of all, Marvin, Justice Franklin is in all of our thoughts and prayers,” replied Jimmerson in his disarming Tar Heel drawl. “His condition is serious. We pray for his full recovery.” He paused, his face etched with concern. “But if he does not recover and were to remain in a comatose state, it has the possibility to render an entire branch of our government incapable of functioning. I think that is an appropriate issue for the committee to look at.”

“What do you say to the critics who charge this is simply a predicate to removing Justice Franklin from the court?”

“No one wants that, least of all me. But as long as Justice Franklin remains in a coma, the Supreme Court cannot fully conduct its business. Cases on appeal will be in a permanent state of limbo.” He made animated hand gestures to drive home the point. “Justice delayed is justice denied, Marvin. People seeking redress before the federal courts need to know that their cases will be heard and adjudicated without unnecessary delay.”

“So if Justice Franklin does not recover, you don't rule out removing him by impeachment.” Myers phrased the explosive words as a statement, not a question.

Jimmerson visibly flinched. “I'm not going to prejudge anything until the Judiciary Committee does its job first,” he said, scrambling for cover. “That's why Chairman Manion is holding hearings. But without addressing the Franklin situation directly, as a general matter, the removal of a judge who cannot perform his or her duties is well within Congress's purview.”

Myers nearly came across the table. “But a Supreme Court justice has never been impeached. Aren't you concerned about a backlash?”

“No, I'm not,” shot back Jimmerson. “First, while it is true that no Supreme Court justice has ever been impeached, that is only because they resigned prior to the Senate's voting to do so, as was the case with Abe Fortas in 1969. I will defer to Chairman Sam Manion—”

“But you appointed Sam Manion. He is one of your closest allies in the House,” interrupted Myers. “Do you expect anyone to believe that he is acting contrary to your wishes?”

“Sam Manion is his own man,” said Jimmerson with a smile. “He's no wallflower.” He took a sip of water from a blue coffee cup, staring down Myers. “I have great respect for Chairman Mansion and the members of the House Judiciary Committee, and I think the committee process should proceed without interference from either side.”

“But just to be clear, Mr. Speaker,” replied Myers, “you have no objection to removing Justice Franklin if it is determined that he is incapacitated?”

“Marvin, I'm not going to speculate about that. We all honor Justice Franklin's service. Right now the best thing we can all do is pray for his recovery,” Jimmerson said firmly. “But at some point the wheels of justice cannot grind to a halt because of one justice's medical condition. I think everyone agrees on that.”

“Thank you, Mr. Speaker.” It took every ounce of self-discipline Myers possessed to keep from letting out a victory yell on the air. Jimmerson had walked right into his punch. The next morning every newspaper in America would lead with the screaming headline: “Jimmerson Refuses to Rule Out Removal of Ailing Franklin.” Every one of those hundreds of stories would credit the news to his program. Myers still had the mojo, which was why he was the unquestioned king of the Sunday shows.

TEN

Jay thought he might bake to a crisp in the red Fiat convertible with the top down and the sun blazing overhead as they pulled off the main highway and crunched over the gravel of a long driveway, a trail of white dust rising behind. Deftly guiding the steering wheel with the palm of his hand, the driver steered the car through acre after acre of sun-baked vineyards, pointing at various wineries. The car lurched from side to side, the tires occasionally spinning on the gravel.

“This is the shortcut!” the guide shouted.

Jay Noble wondered if Guido, his guide for the day, knew where he was going. They had been careening across the hills of Tuscany for almost two hours, gazing at the breathtaking scenery, and there was still no sign of the famous Fellissi winery. Guido, a thin, hyperkinetic man in his mid-thirties with an expansive face, sunken cheeks, penetrating eyes, and a crew cut that made him look a little like a character actor in a prison film, entertained Jay with a running monologue on the Tuscan wine country and his philosophy of life, which could be summed up crisply: eat, drink, and be merry.

After a final sharp right turn down a driveway, they pulled up to the Fellissi winery. It was both charming and imposing, a large house with several out buildings, a courtyard, and a garden, all surrounded by vineyards for as far as the eye could see. Jay stepped out of the Fiat and stretched his legs, inhaling a deep breath. The smell of jasmine relaxed him. The view from the yard was enchanting, miles of vineyards and wheat fields as far as the eye could see, the faint outline of the spires of San Gimignano in the distance.