The Confirmation (4 page)

THREE

Over at the Madison Hotel at Fifteenth and M Streets, in a room near the grand ballroom, a seemingly endless click line of tuxedo and gowned donors stinking of loud perfume and cologne snaked into the hallway, down the stairs and into the lobby. The money crowd had paid $5,000 a couple to have their photo taken with two of the biggest celebrities of Red State America: Reverend Andy Stanton and former U.S. Senator Keith Golden, the new attorney general of the United States.

Golden, a tall, earnest man with inviting eyes and a ready smile, sported a surplus of wavy brown hair, a fount of charisma and the political chops to help Long on the right. A graduate of the University of Virginia law school and a former U.S. Attorney, Golden had run for Congress sixteen years earlier against an entrenched Democrat and won, surprising everyone but himself. When the Democratic legislature carved him out of his district, he ran for the U.S. Senate, defeating another Democrat. After two terms, he lost a bitter campaign to a popular former centrist Democratic governor. But like a cat pitched off a roof, Golden had landed on his feet. Some attributed it to luck, others to Machiavellian maneuvering, still others to the favor of the Almighty. Whatever the truth, Golden was back, and he was hot.

Billed as the “Christian Inaugural Celebration,” the black-tie gala included a five-course dinner that climaxed with flaming baked Alaska, an appearance by Vice President Johnny Whitehead (Jay Noble had deemed it too politically risky to send the president), entertainment provided by the nation's most famous contemporary Christian singers, and an open bar that sold soft drinks but no alcohol. After forty-five minutes, the last couple filed through the click line. Andy and Golden, facial muscles exhausted from constant smiling, stood like two department-store mannequins on their tape marks.

“Now what?” asked Andy to no one in particular. His staff stood around holding clipboards, wearing the pensive expressions of wedding planners.

“You hold here. We'll bring you out in a few minutes,” said a staffer.

Stanton nodded. He clasped the attorney general by the arm and led him to a small table covered with a white tablecloth, a plate of mints, and a pitcher of ice water with glasses. Andy shot a look at his staff to leave the room, and they hustled out. The door closed behind them.

“Thanks for doing this,” Andy said as he poured them both a glass of ice water.

“Wouldn't have missed it for the world,” replied Golden, his puffy face a portrait of false humility and obsequiousness. The deep lines in his face and gray flecks in his hair gave him a look that was a cross between a distinguished public servant and a battle-hardened ideological warrior. “God works in mysterious ways, Andy. When I lost my Senate seat, I thought my political career was over.” Andy nodded. “But God used my defeat to pave the way for me to be attorney general.” He paused, his face like a flint. “Long would never have won without the voters you mobilized. Andy, I wouldn't be where I am without your ministry.”

Andy's face broke into a proud grin. “It's just amazing, isn't it?” he marveled. “With five Supreme Court justices over the age of seventy-five and the war on terror still ongoing, you are in one of the most strategic positions on the planet.”

Golden nodded vigorously. Andy pulled his chair closer, leaning into him.

“Keith, you're a modern-day Esther. God has elevated you to the position of attorney general for such a time as this. The future of the Supreme Court and the federal judiciary are in your hands.” Golden stared back, his face blank. “But there's a flip side. As Mordecai said to Esther, if you are not willing to be used to deliver God's people, then He will raise up someone else who will.”

Golden gulped. He took a sip of water.

“Long needs your help on court appointments.” He shook his head. “I love him, but he's a former Democrat. I'm afraid our philosophy may not be in his DNA.”

“I hear you loud and clear, my friend, and I share your concern,” said Golden, confiding in Andy as a means to further bonding. “It's why I accepted Long's offer to be AG. But I told him I would only go to Justice if I had the lead on court appointments. He agreed.” He bobbed his head in wonderment. “But I will say this: Long's judicial appointments in California were not that bad. He generally appointed centrists.”

“That was then, this is now,” Andy said, swatting aside Golden's assurances with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Washington ain't Sacramento.” He spun a finger across the top of his glass, staring into the water as if in search of a hidden clue. “Keith, we're one vote away from overturning
Roe v. Wade
. When it comes to court appointments, it's going to be war. Anyone who thinks otherwise is deluding themselves.”

Golden looked like he had been punched in the gut. The conversation had taken a quick turn into tricky rapids. “The president understands that,” he replied noncommittally.

“He better,” replied Andy. He stared blankly at Golden, letting the silence hang in the air. Although he was a preacher, Andy could negotiate like a Teamster, and he knew that whoever spoke next lost.

“My staff is assembling a list of judicial nominees that includes Republicans and some law-and-order Democrats,” said Golden in a hushed voice. “It will include a lot of minorities and women. If we come out of the chute with a bipartisan group of judges that is heavily sprinkled with minorities, it will box in the Democrats.” He grinned. “If they support our nominees, their base will be angry. If they oppose us, they tick off women and Hispanics.”

“Sal Stanley won't care if Long's nominees have sex change operations,” Andy deadpanned. Golden chuckled. “The big enchilada is the Supreme Court,” Andy continued. “The pro-choicers will demand the defeat of any conservative. Stanley will lead the fight because he wants the liberal blogosphere's support if he runs for president again.” He paused for effect. “Long's going to get a pick soon—very soon. He can't appoint a Souter type. Our people simply will not stand for it.”

Golden crossed his arms, his body language defensive. “I hope you're right, but I'm not sure about that, Andy. We're hearing Peter Corbin Franklin and the other liberals are going to hang on for dear life to stop us from choosing their replacements, just like they have the past four years.” He sighed. “So we may not have a pick for a while.”

“You will,” said Andy, his eyelids hooded. “Trust me.”

“How can you be so certain?” asked Golden, his hand clawing for a mint.

“Because the Lord told me,” said Andy without hesitation.

“That's a pretty good source you've got there,” said Golden with a touch of humor.

Two knocks came on the door. A staffer with an earpiece and walkie-talkie stuck his head in the door. Stanton shooed him away with his hand. The door closed again.

Andy rose to his feet. Golden joined him. Their bodies were no more than six inches apart. “Keith, there's going to be a vacancy,” said Andy. “Get ready to go to the barricades. Because if Long blows it, his presidency will be over.” He tapped Golden on the chest. “And you'll go down with him, my dear brother.”

“Thanks for the advice,” said Golden. “I think.”

The door opened again. “Dr. Stanton, the natives are getting restless,” said the staffer, his face panicked.

“Coming!” exclaimed Andy with a touch of humor. “The attorney general and I were just discussing the weather.” He laughed at his own joke. He put his bearlike arm around Golden and led him toward the door. Golden, his face pale, looked like he had just been hit by a truck.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” an off-stage announcer intoned, “please welcome Dr. Andy Stanton and the attorney general of the United States, the Honorable Keith Golden!” Stanton and Golden plastered show-biz smiles on their faces and dove through the blue stage curtain, waving to the crowd as the ballroom exploded in a standing ovation.

OVER ON NORTH CAROLINA Avenue, three blocks from the Capitol, a very different party was underway. Billed as “The Inaugural Wake,” it was the inside-the-beltway liberal counterparty to the Long celebration. While the Fortune 500 crowd polished off magnums of champagne over at the Chamber of Commerce building and the Faith and Family Federation put lipstick all over Keith Golden's collar, the Washington establishment of the Democratic party gathered for an alcohol-laced funereal affair in a redbrick, three-story prewar townhouse that was the home away from home of DC power broker G. G. Hoterman. (G. G. was currently separated from his wife as he tried desperately to save his marriage after an affair revealed by the investigation into the scandal that had sunk Salmon Stanley's presidential candidacy.) They deadened their pain with large quantities of vodka, beer, and wine and fortified themselves with a solemn oath to make Bob Long a one-term president.

In the basement at a makeshift bar, the chairman of the Senate Judiciary Committee ordered a second glass of red wine. He was among friends, and he was imbibing freely.

“Senator!” someone shouted from behind him.

Joe Penneymounter turned around to see a high-tech lobbyist who had once worked as legislative director for a colleague. He knew the face vaguely but couldn't quite place the name. “Is the Internet bill going to move in this Congress?” the lobbyist asked.

“Too early to tell,” replied Penneymounter evasively. “We technically share jurisdiction. If the bill moves, it will come out of Commerce.” (Translation: I'm your friend, but don't ask me to do anything to help.) He flashed a smile. “But I'm with you!”

“We know, and we appreciate it, senator,” the lobbyist said.

“Consider it done,” replied Penneymounter. He knew that this brief conversation, fully embellished and gilded with shameless exaggeration, would be billed to the lobbyist's client at the highest rate possible.

“Joe! Just the man I want to see!”

Penneymounter turned to see Christy Love moving across the room with singular purpose. Love, wearing a clinging black satin blouse and white flowing bell-bottoms, her black hair falling in tresses across her shoulders and back, moved like a puma. He braced himself for his encounter with the lobbyist-cum-grassroots agitator who headed Pro-Choice PAC.

“Christy!” Penneymounter called out affectionately, wrapping her in a warm embrace. “I sure hope you've got a plan to stop Long because no one else in town seems to.”

“Oh, I have a plan alright,” Love said with a purr. “But it means you're going to have to bust your rear end for the cause. I hope you're ready.”

“I was born ready,” he replied with bravado.

“What's your thinking on Long's court appointments?” she asked pointedly. “He's going to have some sooner rather than later, I fear.”

“I'll work with Long when I can and oppose him when I must,” said Penneymounter drolly. “The country wants bipartisanship right now, so I don't want to start off by launching a war on his nominees. I think I can influence him.” He leaned into her, whispering in her ear. “Christy, he's really a Democrat. He only pretended to be an independent so he could beat Sal.” Stanley was upstairs on the townhouse's main floor, so Penneymounter kept his voice down. “He's played the right-wing nuts for the fools they are.”

“Come with me,” Love replied, curling her arm through his. “We need to talk.” She escorted him down a long hallway behind the bar. Their bodies brushed up against each other as they walked down the narrow, unlit hall. Penneymounter felt her hip bone against him, his elbow nudging her rib cage. Love led him into a back bedroom, flipped on the light, and closed the door.

“I hope no one starts a rumor about us,” joked Penneymounter.

Love ignored the comment. “Joe, Long is not someone we can work with. He's sold his soul to the religious right.” Her eyes bore through him. “Keith Golden's going to be picking the judicial nominees, not Long, because he's compiling all the lists of nominees. Andy Stanton has veto power.”

“Not according to the president,” replied Penneymounter confidently. “We have a deal. I agreed not to block Golden's nomination for AG as long as the White House clears appellate and Supreme Court nominees with me and the ranking Republican on Judiciary. If we both sign off, they are reported out of committee. If either of us objects, they never see the light of day.” He smiled proudly.

“The White House agreed to that?” asked Love incredulously.

“Not the White House,” Penneymounter answered. “The president. To my face.”

“Well, I don't trust the man,” said Love, placing her hands on her hips.

“Trust, but verify,” smiled Penneymounter. “That's my motto.”

“Long is a total charlatan and a fraud,” Love shot back, her eyes aflame. “He'll be whatever he has to be, say whatever he has to say. No one else will tell you this because they haven't got the ovaries. But I'm your friend. Joe, you've lost major support on the left for giving Golden a pass. If you don't man up and fight Long, you can kiss our support good-bye in Iowa and New Hampshire.” She paused. “Some people are even discussing asking Stanley to remove you as chairman.”