Balance of Power: A Novel (18 page)

Lawson breathed deeply. “If only we knew what ‘this’ was.”

Admiral Billings sat at the desk in his at-sea cabin near the bridge. He took time every day to read Shakespeare. No one on his staff knew. They simply knew he took thirty minutes every afternoon to be by himself in his at-sea cabin. Rumor had it that he was a religious fanatic and liked to read the Bible but didn’t want anybody to know. But he cussed, and that threw his staff off. Maybe he was one of those unstable Bible readers, like Patton, who read his Bible every day and cussed like a sailor.

He didn’t mind people believing that. He thought it was probably better if they believed that than if they realized he read Shakespeare. They wouldn’t understand at all. What would they accuse him of, being a Shakespeare fundamentalist?
He particularly loved the sonnets. He read them over and over again, reading three sonnets and part of a play every day. Occasionally he would read aloud, doing the different parts with different voices, which caused quite an underground conversation among his staff. He was reputed to talk to himself, but no one knew what about.

At home he had a bookshelf filled with a series of black leather–bound copies of Shakespeare’s works. While at sea, though, he brought with him his single volume of the complete works of Shakespeare. It was well worn and the pages had absorbed some of the sea moisture, making them almost damp to the touch. It had been with him ever since he was a lieutenant commander in a squadron and had begun reading Shakespeare to avoid his commanding officer, who was a screaming, frothing-at-the-mouth lunatic. Everyone in the squadron had avoided that commanding officer in different ways. Some had watched every movie on the ship ten times. Others had actually done more work, getting to know the enlisted men they were supervising. Billings had done more Navy work but had also developed his affinity for Shakespeare. Now he couldn’t do without it.

He sat hunched over the desk, using the reading glasses that he tried to deny he needed but was willing to endure to drink in the luxurious language and insight of Shakespeare. He turned to
Henry IV,
one of his favorite plays, and rolled the words over his tongue without pronouncing them aloud. The 1MC, the loudspeaker system for the ship, came alive quietly in the corner of his cabin. He could tell by the change in pitch of the electronic tone that a microphone had been keyed on the ship’s bridge. He waited for the usual two seconds until the boatswain’s mate of the watch hit the bell eight times with his small hammer to mark the passing of the afternoon watch. Eight bells. Four sets of two. Followed immediately by a knock on the door.

Billings sighed and took off his reading glasses. He put
his bookmark in the middle of
Henry IV,
closed the book, and put it in his desk drawer. “Come in,” he said with something of an edge to his voice. In walked Beth Louwsma with an odd look on her face.

“Sorry to bother you, Admiral, but have you had the tube on?” she said, looking around the room to see what he had been doing. The admiral was simply sitting quietly at his desk with nothing in front of him.

“No.”

“They’re going to do it.”

Billings stood up and put on his leather flight jacket. In spite of the stifling heat on the outside of the ship, the inside spaces were cooled by the air-conditioning. “Who’s going to do what?”

“The House and the Senate are about to vote on the Letter of Reprisal. They think it’s going to pass.”

D
URING THE LONG NIGHT OF DEBATE
,
THOSE OPPOSED
to the Letter of Reprisal had become shrill, accusing the Speaker of various crimes: treason, usurpation of presidential authority, dishonesty, general unconstitutionality, and illegality. Those in favor of the Letter used the opportunity to accuse the President of cowardice, pacifism, encouraging terrorism, and generally being frozen in indecision.

Stanbridge made no accusations. He argued that something needed to be done and the Letter of Reprisal was the proper tool. Very simple. It was a historic power that Congress had exercised in the past and should exercise again. There was nothing that said it couldn’t and plenty that said it could. The only ticklish part from Stanbridge’s perspective was the idea of issuing the Letter to a Navy ship instead of a private ship of war. There was some historical authority to support that, although even he had to admit it was something of a reach. But it was time to reach. The Constitution had been mauled by his opposition his entire political life. It was barely recognizable. The document and the words in the document had become almost meaningless, being reshaped and molded to accomplish whatever policy the justices wanted. It had become legislation by a body of nine unelected justices. Well, it was time for the interpretation to go his way for once.

The night had gone better than he could have hoped. The President’s earlier speech had galvanized those who supported Stanbridge and caused those who were against a strike to sound hollow. They had no explanation other than the President’s stated reason of avoiding the “cycle of violence.” After the first few repetitions of that concept, it had become threadbare. It had begun to sound like an excuse. Few, if any, accepted it in their hearts.

As the session of Congress continued deep into the night, the feeding frenzy of the press slackened and the debate tapered off. Stanbridge had his feelers out to begin taking straw votes. By 3:00
A.M.
, with members sleeping at their places and a few lying in the aisles, he realized he had enough votes to pass the Letter of Reprisal. Pete Peterson had given him the same indication from the Senate. The time had come.

John Stanbridge stood up in the Speaker’s chair and cut off the last Republican congressman scheduled to speak. Stanbridge glared at him and he sat down quietly. Stanbridge looked out over the assembled members of the House of Representatives. He saw rage, excitement, fatigue, uncertainty, and fear. He swung the gavel down onto the wooden block that had received it so many times before. The loud bang shot through the Chamber like a rifle shot. “The time has come to call this motion for a vote. It’s time for each of us to stand and be counted and tell our constituents where we are. I therefore am requiring a roll call vote so that each one of us is on the record as voting for or against this motion. Will the clerk please call the roll.”

The Clerk of the House went through the roll as each member voted electronically. No one moved or spoke. The votes came in and by the first one hundred it was clear that he had a 3 to 2 margin at least. By two hundred it was clearly a 7 to 3 margin, and by the end of the roll call, of the 435 Members of the House of Representatives present, 302 voted in favor of the issuance of the Letter of Reprisal to the USS
Constitution
Battle Group. The
Senate’s numbers were nearly identical. Stanbridge watched as journalists dashed out of the balcony seating to use their portable telephones in the hallway. The phone rang on the Speaker’s desk and Pete Peterson confirmed the Senate’s vote. The vote was on the identical document. No conference was necessary.

“Ladies and Gentlemen of the House, it is my honor to announce to you that the United States House of Representatives and the United States Senate have both overwhelmingly passed the motion to issue a Letter of Reprisal, under Article one, Section eight, of the United States Constitution.” He watched as he let that fact sink in. “I promise that this Letter will be issued and signed as soon as practicable, and hand-delivered to the battle group in the Java Sea. I want the world to take note that the United States Congress will not stand by and have American lives taken and American property destroyed without holding accountable those who are responsible.” Stanbridge moved his shoulders back in an involuntary swell of pride. He was overwhelmed by the new role he felt himself assuming, that of Statesman and Leader and International Figure.

“I will notify the President of our actions personally and will expect him to immediately sign the Letter of Reprisal for the issuance of the commission.”

“May I be heard, Mr. Speaker?” said the Minority Leader of the House.

Stanbridge nodded at him. He stood up and looked around solemnly. “Mr. Speaker, you will not need to call on the President.” He stared at Stanbridge, who stared back, not understanding the point.

“Perhaps you are right, sir,” Stanbridge replied. “Since this is a power exclusively of Congress, I can see a valid argument that a presidential signature is not required, and in fact may be prohibited. Because to give him a signature implies that he could prevent us from…”

“Mr. Speaker,” he replied. “You have misunderstood
me. You do not need to call on the President, because he has just arrived.”

The President of the United States entered and walked down the aisle of the House of Representatives toward the Speaker. Stanbridge stood frozen at the Speaker’s podium, staring at Manchester.

Manchester stopped where the tables ended and looked at Stanbridge. “Mr. Speaker, may I be heard?”

Stanbridge tried desperately to recover his composure, which was leaking away. “Good morning, Mr. President. What brings you to the House this early in the morning?”

“You know very well what has brought me to the House, Mr. Speaker.” Manchester spoke slowly and deliberately. Every eye in the House was on him. “You directed an intentional violation of the United States Constitution and I’m here to stop you.”

An hour later the Speaker sat back in the huge leather chair behind his desk, put his hands behind his head, and stared at the few staffers in his office, including Dillon, Chuck, and Rhonda. “We did it.” The Speaker was smiling. “We did it!” He shook his head. His bloodshot eyes were still filled with the triumph of the night.

“I’ve got to admit,” he continued, “the President had a lot of nerve coming over here and vetoing that bill on the spot. If he had waited until we submitted it to him, some of the air might have gone right out of our sails. But he thought that by doing the big, dramatic, early morning veto, it would scare off enough people that we couldn’t override it. And he was
wrong
!” The Speaker laughed. “He was dead wrong!”

The Speaker stood up and walked around his desk. “Mr. Dillon, I have you personally to thank for this. It was your baby; you pushed it and it worked.”

“Thank you, sir.” Dillon was feeling his own sense of accomplishment and triumph. He glanced at the other
staffers, who were regarding him with a mixture of wonder and envy. He liked that.

“Chuck,” the Speaker said, looking at the former Air Force pilot who still had his cropped haircut, “how do we get this thing delivered down to the battle group? Who’s going to take it?”

Chuck looked at him in surprise. “I hadn’t really thought about that, Mr. Speaker. I assumed that we would go through the Pentagon and they would have it messengered down.”

“The Pentagon? How the hell can we trust them? Who do you think they work for?”

Chuck hesitated. “Well, I assume they work for the same person for whom the USS
Constitution
Battle Group works. I suppose, directly, the President.”

The Speaker looked at him intently, “You think the Defense Department is going to just carry this Letter of Reprisal down to the
Constitution
Battle Group and say, ‘Sure, happy to help’?”

“I don’t know.” Chuck looked around for help.

The Speaker pondered the new roadblock.

Dillon raised his hand. “Mr. Speaker, I’ll take it down there myself.”

The Speaker looked startled. “What are you talking about?”

“Like you said, I started this thing; I want to see it through to the end. I’ll personally carry it down there and hand it to the admiral. If he has any questions, I’ll answer them. It seems like the only way to do it.” Dillon’s heart was in his mouth.

“How would you get there?”

“Commercial air, I guess. There must be some way to get out to the ship from Singapore, or Jakarta.”

The Speaker looked at the rest of the staff. He saw no objections and couldn’t think of any himself. “That might be just the thing. The admiral may have some questions and you can respond to them. You know more about this than just about anybody right now.”

“I’ll go home and pack a small bag and leave as soon as possible.”

The Speaker walked to the desk and opened the large maroon folder. He stood the Letter up on this desk so everyone in the room could see the fancy lettering with the seal and the appropriate signatures. He looked at Dillon. “You started it; now make it happen.”

President Manchester threw his suit coat over the back of the couch and stared at Molly Vaughan, who was standing on the other side of the office. Arlan Van den Bosch sat on the other couch with his head back, eyes closed.

“Well, Ms. Vaughan,” Manchester began, “frankly, I’m not in the mood for a meeting right now. I’ve been up all night, I’ve been to Congress, and I’ve watched and been the victim of a very unpleasant political process. Now, what is it that was so urgent?”

Arlan Van den Bosch sat forward and rested his forearms on his knees. “Mr. President, I tried to prevent this meeting from happening. I tried to get the White House Counsel on the phone, but he was not available. Ms. Vaughan would simply not take no for an answer. Said it was a matter of urgency and importance. She had to speak with you personally….”

“Well then, get on with it,” Manchester said irritably.

Molly had forgotten to put her suit coat on before coming to the Oval Office, something about which she was very self-conscious. She had worn her suit all night and had sweated through her silk blouse. She tried to remember to keep her arms down. “Mr. President, I don’t think any of us really expected Congress to pass this bill, and certainly not with enough votes to override a veto. They’ve now done both.”

Manchester grew cooler. “I know all this, Ms. Vaughan. Tell me something that might interest me. Please.”

Molly nodded slightly. “At our office we’ve been trying to come up with some way to stop this process, some way to throw a wrench in the works if Congress did in fact pass this. I’ve also been on the phone with the attorneys at State and the Attorney General’s office. I think I have a possible solution.”

Manchester responded with instant interest. Van den Bosch turned and looked at her, his eyes widening.

“Let’s hear it,” Manchester said anxiously.

Molly spoke. “Every time a President has done something with which Congress was unhappy, either some member of Congress or a group of members has almost always brought a lawsuit against the President. Congress sued President Bush when he went into Desert Storm, for violating the War Powers Act—for conducting a war without a declaration of war by Congress….” She evaluated the President’s knowing nod. “President Reagan was sued by Congress when he sent troops into Granada. President Ford was sued when he sent a rescue effort after the
Mayagüez
in the South Pacific, not unlike this situation. President…”

“I get the idea,” Manchester said. “But I haven’t done anything.”

“I know,” she said. “That’s the point. Congress has always sued when it’s too late to do anything about it, almost as a matter of principle. But we have a chance to jump in before Congress acts on the Letter. Mr. President, I think that you should file a lawsuit on your own behalf as an individual, and as the President of the United States, against Congress for taking an action that is unconstitutional and usurping your powers as Commander in Chief.”

“Are you serious?” Manchester asked.

“Yes, sir, I’m very serious.”