The Confirmation (52 page)

The casket was slowly lowered into the grave. Women seated in the front dabbed wet eyes, sniffling noses with tissues.

The memorial service sparked a raging debate on talk radio, cable, and the blogosphere. Some viewed a graveside service for a child not carried to term as morbid, others creepy, while still others called it political exploitation. But to Diaz partisans, Anna was the victim of a confirmation process poisoned by partisanship and the take-no-prisoners modus operandi of the far left. She deserved a proper burial. Even in death Diaz divided the country.

As the mourners began to drift away from the grave, greeting one another with hugs and handshakes, Jay Noble and Phil Battaglia walked up to Marco to pay their respects. When he saw them, his eyes lit up.

“Thank you for coming,” Marco said with muted enthusiasm.

“The president asked us to convey his condolences,” said Battaglia in official-speak. “He's pulling for you.”

“He called me, you know.”

“Did he?” asked Jay. He pretended to be surprised—it made the call look more spontaneous and a greater encouragement to Diaz, who the White House desperately needed to stay in the fight.

“Yes,” said Diaz. “I told him he didn't have to. I know how busy he is. With all on his plate right now, it meant a lot.”

Jay and Phil walked across the cemetery's grassy lawn back to the government sedan they rode from the White House. The driver pulled away from the curb and proceeded slowly out of the cemetery onto a busy road that led back to I-395.

“I'm glad we went,” said Phil.

“Me, too,” said Jay. “Golden, too. It was a statement.”

“Frida looked like she has been through it.”

Jay's BlackBerry went off. “It's Dan Dorman,” he said, somewhat surprised.

“I wonder what he wants.”

“Let's find out.” Jay answered the phone. “Dan, to what do I owe the honor?”

“Your office said you were at the funeral for the Diaz baby. I hope I'm not catching you at a bad time.”

“No, we just left. It was a very moving service. I'm headed back to the White House. What's up?”

“What do you know about Penneymounter having a fling with a Judiciary Committee staffer?”

Dorman's question landed like an artillery shell. “Not a thing,” he lied. “Why?”

“Just asking. We're hearing fairly specific rumors. I don't know yet who's pushing it. Supposedly it involves a press aide on the committee.”

“Mmmmm,” said Jay. Sullivan's black-bag operation was underway.

“Everyone knows Joe likes the ladies,” said Dorman. “But this is pretty specific information, and its coming right before the Judiciary Committee votes on Diaz's nomination. Pretty interesting timing, don't you think?”

“Dan, I can't comment on that. I'm staying as far away from this as possible.”

“Okay, just checking,” said Dorman, skeptical lilt in his voice. He hung up.

“What was that about?” asked Battaglia.

“Oh, just the rumor de jour. It's the day before the judiciary vote, and everyone is chasing rabbits.” Jay paused. “What's the hard count on the committee?”

“Ten votes against, nine votes for,” said Battaglia matter-of-factly. “It's all down to Becky Rhoades. No one knows what she's going to do. She's gone dark.”

Jay shook his head in disbelief. He whipped out his BlackBerry again and dialed a number. “Ross, Jay here.”

“What's shaking?” asked Ross.

“Listen, I'm sitting here with Phil Battaglia. We just left the funeral for the Diaz baby. Our count is nine yeas and ten nays, with R-squared undecided. Where are you on Louisiana?”

“I'm carpet-bombing it,” said Ross with undisguised pride. “A thousand gross rating points on statewide TV, eight frequency on radio, and phone banks lit up like a Christmas tree. We're hearing Rhoades is getting two thousand calls a day, and they are running 80 percent in favor of Diaz.”

“Fantastic,” said Jay. “Keep it under the radar. Don't have Andy go after her on the air.”

“Don't worry. Andy's on a short leash.”

Jay hung up, satisfied with Ross's report. The sedan pulled up to the entrance to the West Wing. Jay turned to Phil. “If we don't get Rhoades, it sure won't be for lack of trying.”

“If we don't get Rhoades, I'll be back to California making a living by handling DUI cases,” dead-panned Battaglia.

Jay laughed. He stepped out of the car, greeted by one of his assistants, who stood on the curb clutching a leather-bound legal pad. “Senator Bottoms is here to see you,” she said. “He's in the lobby.”

“Again? What's he want this time?” asked Jay.

“The same thing he always wants. I'll tell you while you walk,” she said. “We're late.”

Jay power walked through the side door to the West Wing lobby, head down, his eyes straight ahead.

REBECCA RHOADES SAT IN a wing-back chair in her office in the Hart Senate Office Building, her chief of staff and her Judiciary Committee aide seated on the couch. Even at this late hour, no one knew how she would vote. Her office was ground zero in the battle over the Diaz nomination.

Rhoades, thin and intense, possessed the fading beauty of a former homecoming queen at LSU. Primly clad in a patterned blue dress with D & G heels, her dirty-blonde hair was streaked with highlights and cut at her shoulders, accentuating a high forehead, lush eyebrows, and piercing blue eyes. With smoldering looks mellowing with age, her skin had softened to reveal high cheekbones and an angular jaw.

“What's the latest call count?” she asked.

“Through noon today, twelve thousand calls,” said the chief of staff. “Ten thousand five hundred in favor of Diaz, fifteen hundred against.”

“How much of that is Astroturf, and how much is real?” asked Rhoades.

“No way to know,” replied the chief of staff. “I'd say half and half. The Andy Stanton brigades are in full battle gear, as you can imagine.”

Rhoades nodded. As a Catholic herself, she understood religious voters even though she thought they were too easily manipulated by con men and demagogues.

“There's something else, Senator,” said the Judiciary Committee aide. “The NRA just announced they're scoring the Diaz vote.”

“What? On what basis?”

“Diaz voted on the DC Circuit to overturn the DC gun ban,” explained the aide. “So they're claiming that a vote against Diaz is a vote against the Second Amendment.”

“That's crazy. Who got to them?”

“The White House. Jay Noble told the NRA if they wanted Long to slow-walk the assault weapon ban, they not only had to come out for Diaz; they had to score the vote.”

“I'd hate to lose my A-plus rating from the NRA going into the re-elect.”

“We need it,” agreed the chief of staff. “There are 200,000 NRA members in Louisiana. And they vote.”

A secretary stuck her head in. “Senator, Sal Stanley is on the phone.”

“Again?” sighed Rhoades. “Tell him I'm out.”

The secretary nodded and closed the door.

“Well, what's the verdict, boss?” asked the chief of staff, pressing the issue. “We need to make an announcement, and I don't recommend you wait until the day of the vote.”

“Your advice is duly noted,” said Rhoades. “But I'm going to watch a movie.”

“Come again?” asked the chief of staff.

“I have to get out of here. A movie theater is dark and safe with no cell phones, and no one can find me.”

The staffers chuckled. Rhoades picked up her purse and headed for the door. Before she exited, she turned back. “No calls until 9:00 a.m. tomorrow. That includes Stanley. Tell any press I'll announce my decision tomorrow.”

“Yes, ma'am,” replied the chief of staff.

With that she was gone.

SAL STANLEY HUNG UP the phone and turned to his chief of staff, the crow's feet at his eyes crinkling. “Joan of Arc is missing in action.”

“If she doesn't get with the program soon,” replied the chief of staff, “Her MIA status is going to be downgraded to KIA.”

“It's unbelievable,” said Stanley. “R-squared is pro-choice, and she may vote for a guy who is against choice and voted to sustain employment discrimination against women.”

“I can sum it up in two words,” said the chief of staff. “God and guns.”

“You're right,” said Stanley with a sigh. “The NRA announcement has to give her pause. They'll pay for that stunt, by the way. A Supreme Court nomination is now a gun vote?” He screwed up his face. “Come on!”

The chief of staff's face became somber, his eyes heavy. “What are we going to do about Penneymounter?”

“We wait it out. I made him chairman of the committee. I can't stab him in the back.”

“Word is the
Times
has the story, and the
Post
is playing catch up,” said the chief of staff. “Best case scenario, we've got two or three days before the story breaks.”

“Check in with Joe's press secretary,” said Stanley. “I can't imagine the
Times
would want to go before the story is fully baked.”

The chief of staff nodded and got up to leave the room.

Stanley walked behind his desk and turned to look out the window, gazing down the Mall toward the Washington Monument and the Lincoln Memorial. The Diaz nomination had already claimed too many victims. Would Joe Penneymounter be next? The thought made him shudder.

IT DIDN'T TAKE LONG for Stanley to get his answer. Ninety minutes later news of Penneymounter's affair with Taylor rocketed across the Internet. Merryprankster posted its story at 4:32 p.m. under the lurid headline: “THE CHAIRMAN AND HIS MISTRESS: PENNEYMOUNTER STAFFER TARGETED DIAZ . . . SOUGHT SUGAR DADDIES ON SEX-FOR-CASH WEB SITE.” The story featured links to Taylor's page on MySugarDaddy.com, which had been taken down ten months before. As if anyone needed another reminder that the news media now set the national agenda, Merryprankster's post attracted eight million people to the site in the first half hour. The
New York Times
had no choice but to post its own still-evolving version a little after 5:00 p.m. Every evening news broadcast led with the riveting story.

On Capitol Hill the Penneymounter scandal landed like a bomb. A crowd of reporters and camera crews gathered outside his office, hoping to catch a glance of him. About ninety minutes after the story broke, a harried press aide appeared in the hallway and was quickly surrounded by boom mikes and cameras.

“Senator Penneymounter will have nothing to say tonight about press accounts that first circulated on the Internet regarding an alleged relationship with a member of the Judiciary Committee staff,” he said, reading from a piece of paper. “The senator has always endeavored to serve the people of Minnesota by advancing the values of the state. He is confident he has violated no law and no rule of the U.S. Senate. We will have no further comment this evening.”

The statement was filled with legalese and nondenying denials. It only whipped the press into a bigger frenzy.

“So you are not denying that Senator Penneymounter had a sexual relationship with Ms. Taylor?” asked
Roll Call
.

“I am not confirming the unsubstantiated accounts that first circulated an Internet rumor site regarding a woman who works on the Judiciary Committee staff,” replied the press aide, his pale face contorted with stress and anguish.

“To your knowledge, is Ms. Taylor still a member of the staff?” asked Dan Dorman of the
Post
.

“I don't know,” replied the press aide.

“Will the committee still hold its vote on the Diaz nomination tomorrow morning as planned?” asked the
Washington Times.

“Yes. If there is any change, you'll be the first to know. Thank you all for coming.” With that the press aide disappeared into the office.

The reporters stood at the door, stunned. Dan Dorman broke the silence. “Penneymounter has no comment on his girlfriend?” asked Dorman aloud, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I'll bet his wife does.”

“I hear he's huddling with his advisors trying to figure out if he can survive as Judiciary chairman,” said
Politico
.

“He's been huddling with people alright but not his advisors,” joked Reuters. “Supposedly there's more than one girlfriend.”

“What is it with these guys?” asked
Politico
. “Why can't they keep their pants on?”

“I don't know,” answered Dorman. “But it's hard to beat for sheer entertainment value. It's like watching a car crash in slow motion.”

The reporters closed their steno pads and turned off their tape recorders and iPhones, ambling down the hall like a mob in search of more victims. Dorman loitered around the elevators leading to the underground subway to the Capitol, hoping to grab a senator or two on their way to the floor for a vote and ambush them. An offhand comment or two from senators on the Penneymounter sex scandal would add a little spice to the next day's front-page story.

FORTY-ONE