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.”
“Have you discussed this with your boss?”
“Yes, sir, I have. We’ve discussed it with State, and the Attorney General. They’re all in agreement.”
“Where is Benison? This should be his deal.”
“Yes, Mr. President, but you may recall that his wife is in labor.”
“Yes, of course. Is he aware of this?”
“Yes, sir, he is. We’ve been up all night analyzing this from every conceivable angle.”
“Well, why would it stop anything from happening?”
“Well, because we would ask for a temporary restraining order to keep Congress from enforcing the Letter of Reprisal.”
Manchester looked at Van den Bosch, who looked pleased. “It’s worth a try,” Van den Bosch said.
Manchester looked into Molly’s eyes. “How long would it take to prepare the lawsuit?”
“It’s ready. I have it here. I think we should file it this morning.”
Fifteen minutes after Molly returned to her office, the phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Molly?”
Silence. She immediately recognized Dillon’s voice. “What do you want?”
“I tried your number at home. Then I figured you had worked through the night like I did. I want to see you if you’re available.” The direct approach. Couldn’t fault him for ambiguity.
“For what?”
“Breakfast.”
“I’m really busy.”
“Look, it’s only six-thirty in the morning. We’ve both been up all night. You need breakfast, like I do.”
“What I need is for the Speaker of the House to get rational. That would make my life much easier.”
“How about we don’t talk about that right now?”
Frustration flavored her tone. “How can we not talk about it? It’s the most important thing that’s happened to this government in ten years.” She sighed. “You act like this is some kind of routine event, Jim. It isn’t. It’s tearing the country apart. The cracks are starting to form. I’m going to do what I can to stop it. I don’t have time for nonsense right now.”
“Okay. Just thought I’d ask. Sorry I bothered you.” He rubbed his eyes, trying to get the sand out of them. “I’m gonna run out to the Westside Café before I go to the airport.”
“You’re leaving—going where?” she asked, suddenly interested.
“I’m carrying the Letter of Reprisal to the USS Constitution.”
Her voice changed. “You’re kidding. When are you leaving?”
“Ten A.M. from National.”
“To where?”
“Singapore.”
She hesitated, then asked, “When will you be back?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Couldn’t you get out of it?”
“Probably. I volunteered. It’s my thing,” he said with pride. “I want to see it through.”
“Maybe I should see you before you leave. I’ll try to get there in twenty minutes.”
“Great,” he said, surprised. “See you then.”
17
DILLON DRANK FROM THE HEAVY WHITE COFFEE CUP and soaked up the spilled coffee in his saucer with a paper napkin from the holder. His head jerked up as the café door opened for the fourth time in five minutes, but it still wasn’t Molly. He felt that his brain was starting to trick him. He was so tired he knew that he was skipping steps in his thought processes. He closed his eyes for a moment. His contacts felt as if they had been super-glued to his eyeballs.
He rubbed his face and felt the day-old growth. He grimaced. He had intended to use the electric razor he kept in his desk. He didn’t have time for this breakfast. He had to pack for whatever the weather was like in Singapore, which he thought was always hot, but he wasn’t sure. He made a mental note to check the weather channel.
The glass door opened and Molly entered. She looked around the small restaurant with its private booths and walked back toward him.
He waited until she had hung up her coat and sat down. “You know me,” he said. “I like to be blunt. How is it that when I call you this morning you’re so cool, to put it mildly, then you come here and you’re all smiles?”
She shook her head slightly. “I don’t know, really. I was thinking about how this is all going to play out, and I’ve basically come to the conclusion that, ultimately, this is going to make Congress look foolish, not the President.”
&nbs
p; “So how is Congress going to look foolish? I can’t wait to hear this,” he said, sipping his coffee.
“No admiral of a battle group is going to obey some vague Letter of Reprisal that has no historic precedent. He’s going to obey an order from his Commander in Chief.” She shrugged, as if she had just stated the obvious. “And that will be the end of it. Your Speaker will then be left holding the bag and looking stupid.”
“And that makes you feel better about having breakfast with me?” Dillon asked. “This some kind of competition?”
Molly opened her mouth to reply as a waitress walked up and stood quietly waiting for their attention. Her black uniform was perfectly pressed with a starched apron over it. “Good morning.” she said cheerfully. “Special is eggs Benedict and freshly squeezed orange juice.”
Molly shook her head. “I’ll have half a grapefruit and an English muffin, no butter.”
“Waffle with powdered sugar and a large orange juice,” Dillon said.
The waitress nodded and turned away, then stopped and came back to Molly. “Would you like coffee?”
Molly nodded, and the woman poured it immediately.
Molly looked down at the table as she pulled her hair behind an ear. She looked back up at Dillon. “Ever since we met in law school, since the first year, we’ve had this competition thing going on, haven’t we?”
Dillon smiled, as if remembering ancient history. “Yeah, we kinda have. Why is that?”
“Because you worked so hard to beat everybody with the best grades in the first semester that you challenged the rest of us. So we tried to outdo you. Some of us came pretty close,” she said pridefully.
He nodded.
“I was kind of hoping that the competition thing was over.”
Balance of Power Page 17
