Protect and Defend (56 page)

To the President’s satisfaction, Chuck Hampton shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Sweeney,” Clayton countered, “was there for you in the general election. To support you on Masters—if
that’s
what you want to ask him for—he’ll need to go back to his people with something big. Like that he owns you on free trade.” Clayton stopped pacing. “And
these
,” he finished, “are your
friends
.”

Kerry smiled grimly. “Which brings us to Palmer, I suppose.”

“It surely does. You need fifty-one votes, Mr. President. Even if you and Chuck could hold every Democratic senator, that only makes forty-five. At least six Republicans will have to defy Macdonald Gage, and the price for
that
will be high— compromises on a lot of your agenda, and weapons built in their home states that the Pentagon doesn’t want, until we’ve got billion-dollar submarines cruising the Great Salt Lake.

“You’ll be paying on the installment plan, forever. And every favor done for your enemies—even Palmer—will alienate your supporters. All for the judge who created this mess.”

With this, Clayton fell quiet, as did the others. Kerry read their faces: Clayton’s concerns were deeply sobering, as was the task before them—determining the fate of a Supreme Court nomination and, by extension, the character of a new administration.

Facing Clayton, Kerry spoke as though they were alone. “So you say just let her withdraw. Quick and clean, with a statement of mild regret, and deep appreciation of her decision to spare the country such trauma.”

“That’s the best way,” Clayton answered imperturbably. “Two days and it’s over. The only other rational choice is to leave her hanging there, and lose.”

Kerry smiled, but only with his eyes. “Don’t withdraw her,” he said flatly. “Just pass the word that we’re not playing to win, and that our friends can vote their own self-interest. That way we don’t mortgage ourselves, but don’t look quite so craven in public. And we can say it’s
Gage
, not us, who’s taken down a qualified and courageous woman.”

Clayton shrugged. “At least there’s
something
to recommend it. Trying to salvage this has nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“About as much as Vietnam. A bloody fight, waged by
green troops, with no simple way out. Until you’ve completely lost perspective.” Clayton’s tone was soft and serious. “We’ve all seen it happen—people so caught up in winning the presidency that they forgot where power ends, and arrogance begins. I don’t want that to be our story.”

Kerry was silent: because others were present, Clayton had not mentioned the worst of it—not Caroline’s secret, but Kerry’s own. Yet Kerry could read his thoughts.

“Don’t do this,” Clayton told him. “There’s no good end to it.”

C
AROLINE
M
ASTERS
gazed out her penthouse window at the jagged San Francisco skyline.

The late morning sun seeped through haze and fog, and the towers of the city seemed distant, a mirage. Her apartment was quiet, and she was alone; the only sign that she was the center of a national furor came from the drone of a cable news reporter.

“
At this hour, demonstrators have already begun gathering outside the White House. Press Secretary Kit Pace has told us that Judge Masters retains the President’s confidence, but that he will have no further comment until he studies the opinion
.”

Which meant that she was hanging by a thread. Perhaps she should depart with dignity, by insisting on, rather than merely offering, her withdrawal. For
that
, Kerry Kilcannon no doubt would be grateful.

The telephone rang.

It was the media, Caroline thought at once. Then she realized it might be Clayton Slade, or even the President himself. Walking to the kitchen, she answered with a curt, “Hello.”

“Aunt Caroline? It’s me.”

Caroline took a moment to find her bearings. With relief she said, “I thought you were a reporter. I’m glad I decided to answer.”

“Me, too. I wanted to see how you are.”

Alone
, Caroline wished to say.
Clinging to a foolish hope, unable to let go
. And then it struck her that she teetered on the brink of self-revelation which, once begun, she was uncertain she could stop. “Fairly lifelike,” she answered dryly, “for a corpse. When Jackson called to say how brave I’d been, I felt like I was attending my own memorial service.” Pausing, Caroline tried to put a smile in her voice. “I suppose it’s hard to keep all this attention from going to my head.”

Brett did not laugh, and her tone was soft. “You’re trying to sound like it doesn’t bother you. But I know it must.”

There was compassion in her voice, and a hint of frustration, as though she wished to penetrate her aunt’s reserve. “It does,” Caroline said finally. “Quite a lot. But there’s nothing I can do.”

“Is there something
I
can do?”

Come see me
, Caroline thought. But Brett was not her daughter, and never had been. She had her own life.

“You already have,” Caroline told her. “But you might send me another short story. The last one was sublime.”

“Starting with her daughter,” Ellen Penn told Kerry, “she’s acted with complete integrity. Especially when she wrote the opinion. So let me ask you this: Do you think she was wrong?”

When Clayton began to interrupt, Kerry held up his hand, eyes fixed on the Vice President. “No,” he conceded. “I don’t.”

Ellen expelled a breath. “Okay, then. She stood up for what you both believe the Constitution says. For that, we propose to dump her. Because it’s ‘smart.’

“That’s not how you got here, and
I
don’t think it’s smart.” Glancing at Chuck Hampton, she said, “Chuck can tell me if I’m wrong. But Reagan didn’t suffer for standing by Robert Bork. And I’d guess the senators in our party are waiting to see what kind of president you are. They can live with a vote
of conscience now and then, as long as you take the lead. But first you have to ask.”

“A vote of conscience is one thing,” Clayton objected. “But this is like gays in the military. A complete nonstarter, politically. However we might accept the principle.”

“It’s nowhere close to that,” Ellen retorted. “If we frame
this
principle right—standing up for a woman of integrity— we can bring along the women and swing-voters.

“Dump Caroline now, and we disappoint our friends, draw the contempt of our enemies, and tell all of them we’re gutless.” Once more, she turned to Kerry. “Even if she loses, we’ve got an issue. Let’s see how much taste Gage has for turning this into a jihad, or for looking like the kind of paternalistic creep women are thrilled they didn’t marry. Or, even worse,
did
marry.”

“This isn’t just a game of chicken,” Kerry replied. “Winning matters. If the only ‘upside’ is losing, I’ll pass.”

“I think you
can
win.” Pausing, Ellen angled her head toward Clayton. “I understand Clayton’s point about the AFL-CIO But the last thing they want is Gage with a stranglehold on the Senate. If you can bust him on this one,
they
win.”

“True enough. But that gets us back to Palmer. The AFL-CIO cuts no ice with him.”

For the first time, Chuck Hampton intervened. “I’m not spoiling for a fight here, Mr. President. But Chad knows elections are won in the middle, and he wants to sit where you’re sitting. I doubt he thinks he gets there by blindly following Gage, and I’m damn sure he doesn’t want to. If you can manage to keep Palmer neutral, and build support, maybe we’ve still got a shot at getting Masters on the Court.

“Split Palmer from Gage, and it’s easier for us to pick off the remaining votes we need—Republicans from swing states. They may be scared of Gage, but it’s the voters who keep them here. They’re Chad’s people, and they may hope he’ll give them cover.”

Kerry concealed his surprise. He had expected Hampton to counsel surrender; now he wondered whether the Minority Leader was trying to prove his mettle—or, perhaps, was probing the complexities of Kerry’s relations with Chad Palmer.

“For Chad to risk that,” Kerry answered, “we’d have to accomplish more than he thinks we can—or should. Turn the country around on late-term abortion.”

“We can do what Sarah Dash did,” Ellen suggested promptly. “Give the issue a human face. We roll out real women to talk about how late-term abortion got them three kids down the road, or kept the kids they already had from becoming orphans. That means being shameless—bringing them to the White House, putting them on talk shows, and using their husbands, too. We can even give them their own Web site.

“It’s one thing to talk about disassembling babies. It’s another thing to have two loving middle-class parents look America in the eye and say, ‘We
know
how tough this is—it happened to us.’ With that kind of platform, we can start reaching out to the high-end media—editorial pages, and news magazines like
Nightline
and
20/20
.” Buoyed by improvisation and inspiration, the Vice President added, “That’s where Lara would be perfect.”

Kerry felt Clayton’s glance of warning. Quietly, the President said, “That’s for her to decide.”

Ellen seemed to wait for some elaboration. When there was none, she said, “Then talk to her, because we need her. We could also use some religious leaders to say that protecting a mother’s life, health, and fertility is moral, and helps keep families intact. That would hit Gage where he lives. And it may help keep Palmer from coming out against her.

“Remember, you have to make the case to an audience of two hundred seventy million before you reach an audience of one: Chad Palmer.” Glancing around, Ellen included the others in her peroration. “One of his charms is that he’s actually open to argument—especially if it serves his interests. As for our interests, consider what you gain by winning.”

Kerry smiled. “And what is that, precisely? You’ve raised so many dazzling prospects I forget.”

Ellen gazed at him, unsmiling. “You get Caroline,” she answered. “And you—not Gage—get to run the country.”

“Remember your advice about juries?” the President asked Clayton. “Back when I was a rookie lawyer?”

The meeting was over, and the two men were alone.
Accustomed to silence, Clayton had waited for his friend to think aloud.

“I told you a lot of things,” Clayton answered brusquely. “About half the time, you listened.”

“I always
listened
,” Kerry responded. “What you said was, ‘Don’t try to be someone you’re not.’ And you were right. My worst day in the campaign was when I ducked the vote on the Protection of Life Act. I looked like a kid caught in a lie.”

Clayton shrugged. “It was necessary.”

“I agree. But it was also a moment when Gage understood me perfectly. Because I was doing what
he’d
do in my place.” Kerry sat back. “And if I take Caroline Masters down, Gage will understand again. Because it’s the percentage move.

“But that’s
not
why people sent me here. They expect me to keep my commitments, and act from core beliefs. Which is exactly what I came here for, or I’ve missed the point of my own campaign.” Kerry’s tone grew harder. “
That’s
when I scare Macdonald Gage. Because he’s not sure then what drives me, or what impact that will have on him. He may not want an all-out war with someone quite that incomprehensible.”

“And if he does?”

“Maybe I beat him. If not, I’ll make him pay the price for beating me—letting the country get a good look at him.”

“They’ll take a good long look at everyone,” Clayton admonished. “A nomination in trouble is a magnet for all the scalp hunters in the media. They’ll be scavenging for leaks from the committee files and the FBI, putting garbage from private investigators on the Internet, grubbing for
anything
in Caroline’s background …”

“All of which,” Kerry finished for him, “puts her daughter at greater risk.
And
Palmer.”

“Of course. Palmer’s already sitting on the ‘rumor’ that Caroline has a daughter. Your ‘all-out war’ increases exponentially the chance that Harshman breaks Palmer’s stranglehold on the files, or that some right-wing group digs it up on their own.”

“Maybe. But that’s Caroline’s problem. And Chad’s.”

Clayton looked at him in some surprise. “You don’t care?”

“Not nearly as much as they do. I promised I’d protect her, and I have. But Caroline made ‘a decision for life,’ as Gage is
so fond of saying. If she’d have let me, I’d have made it public myself.”

“That was
before
the hearings,” Clayton retorted. “Remember Harshman’s question—‘How can you understand families if you don’t have kids?’ They’ll say she lied to him.”

Kerry shrugged. “Let them. Let them reopen the hearings.
You
saw her testify; if some old white guy like Harshman starts beating on her for
that
, he’ll come out the loser. And having her explain why she didn’t abort a talented girl with a working cerebral cortex would be a welcome change of subject.”

Clayton’s gaze became a stare. “And if they all blow up,” he answered coolly, “so does Gage.”

Kerry nodded. “It’s a little like playing with matches. A smart man keeps his distance.”

“Including
you
,” Clayton shot back. “Tell me you’re not going to do this.”

“I don’t know yet. But by tomorrow morning, I will. That’s all the time I’ve got.”

Slowly, Clayton shook his head. “Your instincts have always been good, Kerry—in ways that still surprise me. But this one worries me, for
you
. It really
is
a game of chicken, and that’s risky for a president. Especially a new one.”

Kerry considered him, grateful for his concern, uncertain of who was right. “
This
President,” he said quietly, “means to
be
President. Macdonald Gage or no, I chose Masters to be Chief Justice.”

“And you can
unchoose
her,” Clayton answered stubbornly, “like every president before you. What can I say to talk you out of this?”