Ballots and Blood (34 page)

Cartwright instinctively enveloped her in a hug. She sobbed on his shoulder as he patted her back with the palms of his hands. In the back of the room, Bill Spadea, Cartwright's campaign strategist, was beaming. Several of the reporters rolled their eyes.

The remarks concluded, the video of the event duly recorded for the campaign Web site, Cartwright pumped hands and hugged necks, heading for the door. As he walked, the press surrounded him like bumblebees around a daisy. Cartwright's press spokesman moved to his side to play defense.

“Governor, Sal Stanley has a new ad up accusing you of breaking your promise to lower property taxes for homeowners,” said the
Bergen Record.
“Do you have a response?”

“You
bet
I have a response!” blurted Cartwright, stopping dead in his tracks. “Sal Stanley attacking me on property taxes is like Paris Hilton lecturing someone on modesty,” he said, his face animated. “Sal was governor for two terms, and over those eight years property taxes in New Jersey
doubled
. When I took office, they were the highest in the nation. So it takes real
chutzpah
for Stanley to attack
me.
”

The reporters' faces lit up like children on Christmas morning. The Latino photo op was over. . . . Now they were getting the juicy stuff. This was fun!

“You promised to hold annual property tax increases to no more than a percent or the rate of inflation, whichever was lower,” pointed out the
New York Times.
“But property taxes are up 14 percent since you were elected. So what about Stanley's ad is inaccurate?”

Cartwright's nostrils flared. His lip quivered. “That's a flat-out lie,” he said, his voice brittle. “The annual increases have been lower than I promised in some years, and there was only one year in which the increase was higher than I pledged. When Stanley was governor, property taxes doubled. Actually,
more
than doubled.” He turned to his spokesman. “What was the actual number again?”

“One hundred and eight percent,” said the aide.

“
One hundred and eight percent!”
exclaimed Cartwright. He did a quick calculation in his head. “So the average increase in taxes on New Jersey home owners was more in just
one year
under Stanley than in the entire five years since I became governor.”

“But the fact is taxes have risen more than you promised,” said the
Gazette Herald.

“Are you a reporter or Sal Stanley's press secretary?” shot back Cartwright. “The ad is a lie. If Sal were Pinocchio, his nose would be growing.”

The press corps could barely repress their smiles. As Cartwright lumbered past them to a state Town Car warming on the curb, they surrounded his press spokesman. “Can we get an official quote from you on Stanley's ad?” asked the Associated Press.

“I think you just got one,” deadpanned the spokesman.

“No that was from the governor,” said the
Times.
“That's different.”

“Sure,” replied the spokesman. He paused, wheels turning. “How about this: Sal Stanley is a desperate, big-spending Washington politician trying to change the subject from his abysmal record on taxes and ethics. This ad is just his latest failed attempt to distract from the massive property tax hikes that took place during this governorship and the corruption staining him as senator, for which his top aide is now on trial.” He flashed a nasty grin.

The reporters nodded and laughed, closing their pads and shuffling away.

Cartwright lowered his bulky frame into the Town Car, pulling the door closed. Spadea sat to his left, looking crestfallen. He knew the footage of the emotional embrace with the Latino mother would now be subsumed by his candidate's unscripted swipe at Stanley.

“I know you didn't like what I said,” said Cartwright, staring straight ahead. “But I learned a long time ago, when someone hits you, you hit back twice as hard.”

Spadea shrugged. It was just another day at the office for him. “Guess what Jose, the center's ED, told me as we were leaving?” he asked.

“What?”

“He got a call from Stanley's chief of staff yesterday when they saw the event on the calendar. Asked him if it was true. When he said it was, the chief of staff told Jose not to count on any further help from them on federal grants. Basically tried to muscle him into canceling.”

“He threatened to try to torpedo his federal grants?” asked Cartwright, incredulous.

“Yep. Tried to intimidate him into bailing out of our event.”

“I wish we had that on tape.”

“Me, too,” said Spadea. “Jose was so insulted he said he's going to redouble his efforts for us in the Puerto Rican community.”

Cartwright stared out the window. “Stanley's feeling the heat. Look at his new ad.” He turned to Spadea. “We're really in a knifefight, aren't we?”

“Yes, we are, Governor,” said Spadea.

LONG LEANED BACK IN THE leather captain's chair in his private office on Air Force One wearing a blue jacket bearing the presidential seal with “Air Force One” stenciled in gold thread. Truman Greenglass sat directly across from him wearing a pensive expression on his face. They were somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean, heading for Rome.

“Anatoly, time's up for the Iranians,” said Long. “We're done playing hide the ball. We know they've got the nuke. Now I need to know . . . can I count on your vote?”

He sat impassively, rocking slowly in the chair, listening to the Russian leader's response. “Mmmm-mmmm,” he said quietly.

Another long pause. “Iran's nuclear program will be dismantled or disabled,” he said forcefully. “That decision is made. The only question is how. EU sanctions are our last chance to avoid war. If they work, we may be able to avoid military action.”

Long's face flushed red. “Anatoly, I'm not surrendering any options in dealing with Iran. Now having said that, I don't have war plans on my desk.” He brushed a piece of lint off his pants with a sweep of his hand. “If we don't pass EU sanctions, I may have no other choice. Do I make myself clear?” A final pause. “Alright, do all you can. I need your support.”

Long hung up the phone.

“Well?” asked Greenglass.

“The Russians have convinced themselves anything that hurts the Iranian civilian population is counterproductive,” Long replied. “That rules out serious sanctions. They're also arguing it's never been verified independently that the Iranians weaponized a nuclear device.”

“Did he say he won't vote with us?”

“No,” said Long. The side of his mouth turned up. “Anatoly knows without sanctions, we'll go full out on missile defense—and share technology with the Israelis and moderate Arab states. That is not good for him.”

“He's also conflicted by the fact a military strike would put some Russian-built nuclear facilities in danger of being hit,” said Greenglass.

“Outside of the Brits and the French, the Europeans have got no backbone for this fight,” said Long, letting out a sigh. “We need the Italians.”

“That's why you're meeting with Brodi as soon as we land.”

“Good. Let's get him on board.”

“I'll get a bottle of wine and invite over a couple of dancers,” joked Greenglass. “That'll get his vote.”

“It's like lobbying the Olympic site selection committee, isn't it?” replied Long. He got up from behind the desk, pacing the floor, his hands on his hips. “This is the greatest threat since the end of the Cold War, Truman, and we're hunting down go-go dancers and bottles of vintage vodka for people. Where are the Churchills and the De Gaulles?”

“Dead and gone, sir.”

“You got that right.” Long turned and headed for the small bedroom off the office. “I'm going to try to get some shut-eye,” he said. “Keep working it.”

“Yes, sir.” As Greenglass headed for the conference room, he glanced at his watch. They would touch down in Rome in four hours. If the EU rejected the U.S.-backed sanctions package, they faced more than just public humiliation. They faced a possible military strike against Tehran, and they still didn't have congressional authorization.

28

S
al Stanley sat bolt upright in the witness box in the Federal Court House, ending months of speculation over whether he would endanger his own reelection by testifying on behalf of Mike Kaplan. Wearing a blue suit with muted pinstripes, white shirt, and blue patterned tie, Stanley appeared confident. He was never one to shrink from a fight.

The defense counsel was wrapping up his softball questions. He stood facing the jury, one hand in his pocket, his face expansive and inviting. He turned to face Stanley. “Senator, how long have you known Mr. Kaplan?”

“Twenty-seven years,” replied Stanley.

“Twenty-seven years,” repeated the attorney, punching the syllables for emphasis. “And how would you describe your relationship?”

“Mike is a good friend and a trusted advisor.”

“And since you knew him so well over so many years, I would imagine there are few people other than his immediate family who know him better. How would you describe Mike Kaplan's character?”

Stanley looked directly at the jury. “Mike is an unselfish public servant and a trusted advisor who gave me sound counsel. He is a man of discretion and integrity.”

The defense counsel smiled. “That's quite an endorsement, Senator.”

“Mike is a rare individual. He is a fine man.”

“Thank you.” The defense counsel turned to the prosecution table as he sat down. “Your witness,” he said.

The lead prosecutor rose from his chair and walked directly to Stanley, stopping no more than two feet from the witness stand. Stanley shifted in his seat, anticipating blows.

“Senator Stanley, Mike Kaplan was your campaign manager when you ran for governor of New Jersey the first time, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“He directed your transition, and you then named him chief of staff.”

“That is correct.”

“How long did he serve as chief of staff?”

“I believe it was a little over three years. He ran the day-to-day operations of the office, scheduling, policy development, and the budget.”

The prosecutor ignored the embellishment. “After which you appointed him to chair your reelection campaign.”

“Yes.”

“After you were reelected, you appointed Mr. Kaplan to become the head of the New Jersey Port Authority.”

“Yes.”

“Previous testimony before this court has indicated that after four years as head of the port authority, he joined an international export-import law firm.”

“Yes,” said Stanley.

“To your knowledge, there were no state ethics rules or regulations preventing him from interacting with the New Jersey Port Authority in his new capacity?” asked the prosecutor.

“Not that I am aware of.” Stanley's face hardened.

“I see.” The prosecutor paused, turning to make eye contact with the jury. “Do you have any idea what Mike Kaplan's net worth was at the time of his indictment?”

“No,” replied Stanley icily.

The prosecutor approached Stanley, placing his hands on the rail of the witness stand. “Senator, it's not an exaggeration to say that Mike Kaplan owes his entire career to you, is it?”

The question landed like a howitzer. “I think that's an exaggeration.”

“Really?” asked the prosecutor, feigning surprise. “I just went through every position he held for more than a dozen years, and you appointed him to every one of them. Isn't that right?”

“Yes, but I appointed a lot of people. Very few excelled on the level Mike did.”

“Indeed,” said the prosecutor. “His net worth at the time of his indictment was eighteen million dollars. Not bad for someone with an unselfish commitment to public service who had little personal wealth at the time he came to work for you.”

“Objection!” shouted the defense counsel. “Counsel is leading the witness.”

“Sustained,” said the judge.

The prosecutor stared at Stanley more in pity than anger. “No further questions,” he said.

OUTSIDE THE COURTROOM, STANLEY STOOD before a mountain of microphones on a small podium, a phalanx of reporters gathered around. His attorney stood immediately behind him, a look of profound discomfort plastered on his face. The majority leader rejected the advice of his political advisors to avoid the media. He didn't want to look like he was hiding.

“Senator, how do you think it went?” shouted CNN.

“Well,” said Stanley, his face drained of color, his lips pressed together. “I was glad to be able to testify on Mike Kaplan's behalf. I believe he's an innocent man.”

“How do you think this will impact your reelection campaign?” asked
Politico.

“I don't know. Sometimes you have to do the right thing, regardless of whether it helps or hurts you politically. This was the right thing to do.”

“Without being critical of Mr. Kaplan, surely you would admit you would have preferred not to be here today?” asked AP.

“Unlike a lot of people in this town, I'm not a fair-weather friend,” said Stanley, his chin raised defiantly. “Mike Kaplan is my friend. I will not turn my back on him.”

Within minutes the headline rifled across news Web sites, “Stanley: I Won't Turn My Back on Mike Kaplan.” There was little surprise when a few days later a poll conducted by a consortium of newspapers in New Jersey showed Stanley trailing Kerry Cartwright by four points. The Dele-gate scandal and the Kaplan trial were an albatross around the majority leader's neck, and a growing chorus of chatterers in DC doubted he could survive.

IN THE PRIME MINISTER'S OFFICE in the Palazzo Chigi, just off the Piazza Colonna in the heart of Rome, Lorenzo Brodi and Bob Long sat in thronelike chairs, flanked by translators. In diplomatic-speak, their visit was the first “bilateral” of the European Union conference, an honor accorded to Brodi as the head of state of the host country.