The Confirmation (57 page)

“Really? How so?”

“Truman Greenglass short-sheeted the bed on Kadima with leaks about how their candidate was out of favor with Long. Then he forced the government to freeze settlements on the West Bank in exchange for the U.S. supporting the refined petroleum embargo against Iran. Kadima's support among settlers cratered.”

“Wow. Greenglass did that? That's diabolical.”

“It gets better. Jay Noble ran Shoval's campaign right out of the West Wing. Edgewater did the polling. The Shoval campaign was a White House operation from start to finish.”

Andy let out a long whistle. “Well, it may have been unorthodox if not illegal, but I'm glad they did it. Israel has got to take out Iran's nukes.”

“Shoval committed to Long she would do it. And Long is approving fly-over rights over Iraq in exchange for Shoval going back to the table and doing a deal with the Palestinians.”

“Good luck with that, brother. Ross, I should probably fly to DC next week and meet with some of the senators before the Diaz vote.”

Ross nearly dropped the phone. He knew Andy showing up on the Hill would turn into a circus. The Democrats would have a field day, claiming Diaz was a lackey for the far right. “Sure,” he said slowly. “But just to manage your expectations, getting meetings set up with senators on short notice will take some doing.”

Andy read the hesitation in Ross's voice. He knew he was a lightning rod. “I don't want to do any press. But we need to show the flag. Get me face time with the honorables.”

“I'll get on it right away,” said Ross. “But we need to be discreet. If you stick your head up, you're going to get shot. I don't want you to become a target.”

“I know how to avoid that.”

“How's that?”

“Bring our top grassroots leaders and pastors in from around the country,” said Andy. “Go to the White House for a briefing, then head to the Capitol. That way it's not about me.”

Ross felt his knees buckle. Andy was giving him forty-eight hours to organize a fly-in and a White House briefing. “Great idea,” he said. His weekend was up in smoke.

“Terrific! Get our DC office on it. Debate on Diaz begins on Tuesday, so that would be the ideal day to fly up.”

Ross hung up the phone. Andy's idea was both inspired and erratic. His wife came out of the bathroom, fresh from a shower, wearing a plush cotton bathrobe. She read the disconsolate look on Ross's face.

“What's going on?” she asked.

“That was Andy. He wants to go to DC next week and meet with senators. So I need to set up his meetings and organize a fly-in for all our state leaders and pastors.”

“You can't blame Andy for wanting to do something. This is for the future of the Supreme Court. He's devoted his entire career to getting to this moment.”

“I know. But it's so last minute.”

“It'll work out. Don't let it ruin your weekend.”

“I'll call the field folks and the lobbyists and get them moving. I also need to call Jay to set up a White House briefing.” He picked up his BlackBerry and began to dial the White House operator, who could find Jay any time of the day or night.

“Jay can wait.” She took the BlackBerry out his hand, tossing it across the room. Untying the sash, she dropped her bathrobe. “Happy anniversary, honey,” she said as she fell on top of him, giggling.

FORTY-FOUR

The debate on the Diaz nomination dragged on, now in the sixth hour of the second of three scheduled days on the Senate floor. One desultory speech followed another for the benefit of C-SPAN and posterity. After the hearings and the deaths of Maria Solis and the Diaz baby, the debate had an anticlimactic feel. But nerves were still jagged—the Democrats remained one vote shy of a filibuster and the White House was stuck at forty-nine aye votes. Only two senators remained undecided. One of them was Richard Doerflinger.

On the floor Sal Stanley approached Doerflinger, who sat impassively at his desk. “Can I speak with you for a moment?” he whispered. Doerflinger nodded and followed him to the cloakroom. They huddled in the corner.

“What's this about you agreeing to vote for Diaz in exchange for more money for Los Alamos?” asked Stanley through gritted teeth.

“Sal, I didn't cut a deal. I had a conversation with Charlie Hector, and we discussed a number of issues. I'm looking out for my state. You don't look out for New Jersey?”

“Dick, this isn't about military bases in New Mexico; it's about the Supreme Court. If you wanted funds for Los Alamos, all you had to do is come to me. We're in the majority, remember?”

“That does me no good if the White House and the House Republicans oppose me. This is critical to my reelection, Sal. I've got to have it.”

“Well, think on this,” said Stanley, his voice lowering to half whisper. “If you vote for Diaz, hell will freeze over before you get more funding for Los Alamos. You will be a nonperson when it comes to appropriations. And I'll put the word out you sold your vote on Diaz in exchange for an earmark.”

Doerflinger's eyes widened. “Are you threatening me, Sal?”

“I'm not threatening; I'm promising.”

“Well, I don't scare easily, and I don't shrink from a fight.”

“Me either. You're forewarned.”

Joe Penneymounter loped in exuding sunshine, oblivious to the tense encounter. He saddled over to Stanley.

“Looks like it's time for Foreign Relations to subpoena Jay Noble and Truman Greenglass.”

“How's that?” asked Stanley. Doerflinger stood there looking nervous and chastened.

“The
New York Times
is reporting Noble advised Shoval's campaign in Israel. Her campaign was run out of the White House and Langley. Labor and Kadima are up in arms. It's a total cluster. It's on the front page of tomorrow's paper.”

“I've wanted to get that little weasel for a long time,” said Stanley. “Now he's stepped in it. How could Long be so stupid as to fix an election in a foreign country using the CIA . . . and Noble! It's like a bad spy novel. This will spark a firestorm!”

“It's amateur night at the opera over there,” said Penneymounter. “Noble traveled to Tel Aviv wearing a fake mustache and beard. There's probably a felony in this somewhere. We can tie him up for years with subpoenas. Long will have to defend him or cut him loose. Either way he's a one-armed paper hanger.”

Stanley spun on his heel to return to the floor, now with a noticeable spring in his step after hearing Penneymounter's good news. He turned back, leaning toward Doerflinger. “Think long and hard about what we talked about,” he said. “Dick, I'm your friend, and I'm telling you that you will be naked in this caucus if you vote for Diaz. Buck naked. So don't blow it.”

Doerflinger stood there silently, absorbing Stanley's blast.

LISA STOOD IN FRONT of Jay's desk, her flowing jet-black hair resting on her shoulders, her cobalt eyes intense. “Jay, I've got a stack of messages on my desk six inches high about your consulting gig with Shoval. It's a feeding frenzy. What's going on?”

Jay averted his eyes. “I think some of it may be classified.”

“Bull. Come clean. Besides, I can't say
that
.”

“No, of course not,” sighed Jay. “I wrapped up Brodi's campaign in Italy. The next day I flew to Paris for a little r and r—”

“What . . . with the Italian bimbo?”

“Whatever,” said Jay dismissively. “Anyway, I get a call from Truman Greenglass. He says meet some guy in a sedan parked in front of the Gare du Nord. Turns out the guy's CIA. He puts me on a government jet to Tel Aviv. He tells me the Agency is working to make sure the next government of Israel is headed by Likud. I had dinner with Shoval and her political team. I suggested she hire Edgewater. That's it.”

“All you did was have dinner with her?”

“That's it,” Jay lied. In fact, he was on conference calls and e-mailed Edgewater multiple times a day.

“Did they pay you anything?”

“Nope. Not a dime.”

“So we can say you met with her once in Tel Aviv—”

“Jerusalem. We drove there from Tel Aviv.”

“Okay, Jerusalem, you met with her. You did so in your capacity as a private citizen before joining the White House staff,” said Lisa, going into spin mode, her brain ticking off the talking points. “You were never compensated. You played no role in Shoval's campaign.”

“I'd say no
formal
role.”

Lisa glared at him. “Jaaaayyy . . . don't lie to me. If you do, I'll kill you.”

“I'm the president's senior political advisor, and I talk to a lot of people. Did I talk to Edgewater? Sure. Why wouldn't I? He's
our
pollster. Did I tell them what to do? No, I did not. So you should say no formal role.”

Lisa rolled her eyes. “How often did you talk to Fred?”

A sheepish look crossed Jay's face. “I don't know . . . um . . . occasionally.” Lisa shot him a dirty look. “Okay, fairly often. But I was never paid, and I was just staying in touch.”

“This better be protected by executive privilege. I'll work up a statement and run it by Truman.”

“Lisa, I did this at the personal request of the president,” said Jay, lowering his voice. “We need the Israeli government to be ready to take military action against Iran. I did what I was told.”

Lisa nodded, taking notes. She sat down in a chair, crossing her long legs. “I've got something else I need to ask you about.”

“What's that?”

“I got a call from Dan Dorman at the
Post
,” said Lisa.

“What's he want now?”

“He claims you called someone at the IRS and pressured them to go easy on their investigation of Andy Stanton and New Life Ministries.”

Jay stared back, his face expressionless.

“Well?” asked Lisa probingly.

Jay looked at the ceiling and let out a long sigh. “Andy and Ross Lombardy raised it with me,” he said haltingly. “They said Andy was being harassed. I called the White House liaison at Treasury and passed on their concerns. It was a constituent request, pure and simple. We pass those on to agencies all the time.”

Lisa's eyes grew wide and her mouth fell open. “Jay, you can't meddle in an IRS investigation of one of the most prominent evangelical leaders in the country, especially when said evangelist is one of the president's strongest supporters! Are you out of your
mind
?”

“Please, spare me the Common Cause nonsense. Dorman's a sleaze. I know he'll try to put it in the worst possible light. But my job is to pass on complaints from supporters of the president to the right person in a department.” He leaned forward, palms down on his desk. “Did I call the head of the IRS on the carpet? Heck, no. Did I call the Secretary of Treasury? No. I called the White House liaison, for crying out loud. Big freaking deal!”

“What was the response? What action was taken?”

“How do I know? If they were smart, they did nothing.”

“Wrong answer. Dorman says three agents on the Stanton audit team were reassigned. They claim the White House instructed the IRS to call off the dogs.”

“That's garbage. Let 'em try to prove it.”

“How categorical should I be in my denial?”

Jay shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Lisa stared at him, unblinking. He averted his eyes. “You can say I passed on concerns relayed to me by religious leaders about selective enforcement by the IRS. I made the IRS aware of concerns that audits appeared to be targeted at conservative ministries. I never asked anyone to treat Stanton differently or for the audit of his ministry to reach a conclusion based on anything other than the merits alone.”

Lisa nodded, scribbling notes on a legal pad. “They're not going to buy it, but I'll give it my best shot.”

“This is going to be ugly. This is why I didn't want to come to the White House in the first place. Between the media and the Democrats, it's a lynch mob.”

“Look at the bright side. The flap over fixing the Israeli election may blow the flap over interfering with an IRS audit of Andy off the front page.”

“Ha-ha-ha,” shot back Jay sarcastically. “What's the latest on Diaz?”

“We're getting calls asking if we offered Doerflinger $400 million more for Los Alamos if he voted for Diaz.”

“Not true,” Jay lied. “That's Stanley trying to frame it as a bribe. The president has always supported more funding for Los Alamos. It's in his budget request. I was in the Oval when Charlie passed on Doerflinger's request. The president said no quid pro quo.”

“I can swat that one away.” Lisa's relationship with Jay was complicated. She was attracted to him and repelled all at once. She found his genius seductive, his sense of adventure intoxicating, but his immaturity and penchant for sophomoric trickery boorish. “So . . . are we going to win the vote on Diaz?”