by David Pepper
“What do you mean?”
“There’s no point in getting rid of two members of Congress, and only two, in a single state. Especially when those members, and their districts, have so little in common. This only makes sense if it’s part of a far bigger strategy. A national one.”
“True. But who could pull something like that off?”
“Who knows? Either this is nothing or it’s something big. There’s no in between, and that’s what worries me. Thanks for hearing me out. I’ll keep you posted on what I find, and I will get you something soon.”
“Please do. Don’t waste a lot of time on this. Lots to cover back here.”
With that spirited vote of confidence, we hung up.
Scott called ten minutes later, not in a good mood.
“The election’s well over, Dad. What’s keeping you now?”
“Scott, I’m wrapping up some loose ends on something. Shouldn’t be long.”
I wanted to tell him I was onto something big but held back. It would sound like an exaggeration and only make the conversation worse. After a long pause, he spoke again. Resignation in his voice.
“Dad, Jana’s pregnant. We’ve known for two months, and wanted to tell you in person, but whatever those loose ends are got in the way.”
Nice job, Scoop. Way to blow this once-in-a-lifetime father-son conversation.
“Scott, that’s amazing news. Couldn’t be happier for you.”
“Thanks, Dad. We’ll talk about it more when you’re out here.”
And on that note, the call ended.
I pounded the steering wheel, certain that Scott’s mother, my ex, had probably known for weeks.
Those two phone calls summed up my life. My editor and my son—the harder I worked to please one, the less happy the other was. I was striking a perfect balance because at this point, neither was impressed.
* * *
YOUNGSTOWN
I got to work early the next morning, eager to look for the wider pattern I suspected.
The three Ohio districts where Abacus placed its machines had one thing in common: they were swing districts. Indeed, they were the only swing districts in the state. The Northwest Ohio district may not have experienced a close election in November, but it was a 52 to 48 percent district, with slightly more Republicans than Democrats. Tucker’s unique presence masked its toss-up status.
Starting with these three, I searched the nation for the forty closest “toss-up” districts in the country. Then I called them all.
The Fifth District of Illinois comprised eight counties. I dialed the elections administrator of Peoria County, the largest county in the district.
“My name is Jack Sharpe. I’m a reporter from Youngstown, Ohio.”
“The Vindicator, right? I grew up in Cleveland. How can I help you?”
“I’m looking to see what voting machines you use for your elections.”
“Oh, okay. Like most people around here, we use the latest Abacus system. Upgraded it last year. It’s a better system and much cheaper.”
“Thank you very much.”
I called the other seven counties of the district. Five of them used Abacus machines. The two smallest used Diebold machines.
In Colorado’s Tenth, Abacus was also in five out of seven counties. In Oklahoma’s Third, four out of five. Same pattern in Wisconsin and in Missouri’s two swing districts.
And on down the list. Abacus. Abacus. Abacus.
Forty districts. The nation’s true toss-ups. The ones that would determine the shape and direction of our nation’s government.
In thirty-five, Abacus sold its machines to almost every county.
Chapter 16
WASHINGTON, DC: 34 months before the election
Oliver Ariens III had been in meetings like this before.
The cigar-smoking, big-bellied uber-lobbyist tilted slightly back in his chair, facing the Russian billionaire directly across the rectangular marble table. Oleg Kazarov had flown in from London, partly to hear the plan, partly to size up Ariens. So projecting an easy confidence was the key to a successful meeting. Kazarov’s silent entrance had been anything but friendly, but Ariens didn’t let that change his tone.
“Welcome, Mr. Kazarov,” Ariens said loudly, breaking the ice with a New Orleans drawl. “We are honored that you have chosen us to work on a project of this importance to you and to our country.”
A translator sitting slightly behind Kazarov whispered in his ear. Kazarov nodded and managed the slightest trace of a grin.
“Let us present our plan to move forward,” Ariens said, beginning a lengthy PowerPoint.
The first slide displayed the words “Energy 2020” in bold letters, with a small translation underneath. Ariens gestured to the associate to his left, who walked through a few slides outlining the technical details and maps for the three pipelines. After a minute, Kazarov muttered something to his translator. He crushed the end of his cigarette directly on the desk and immediately lit another.
“Mr. Kazarov did not fly all the way here to hear things he already knows,” the translator interrupted gruffly. “Please move on to the political plan.”
Ariens jerked forward in his chair, cut off the presenter and fast-forwarded through eight more slides.
“The Plan: Energy 2020.”
“Here in America, there is a hunger for jobs, for energy independence, for a return to our own greatness, just as there has been that hunger in Russia,” Ariens explained. “We believe that the best opportunity to move forward on your project is to tap into that desire. To turn this project into an enormous political winner for all those who support it. And we are confident we can do this from the highest level of American politics.”
Kazarov placed his hand under his chin. For the first time, the Russian appeared interested in what Ariens was saying.
“This will not be about three pipelines that benefit one company. It will be a plan that assures a secure America because it secures America’s energy future.” Ariens paused, the confident smile reappearing.
Kazarov said nothing. Simply watched.
“We call it Energy 2020. Each pipeline will be named after the primary state it passes through. The Buckeye Line, the Terrapin Line, the Empire Line.”
He pronounced each name slowly, with the prideful grin of someone naming his own children. Then he explained the origin of each.
Kazarov nodded.
“Politicians who have never done any work on energy issues will now have a way to create jobs, to lower the cost of gas, to compete against Middle East countries Americans distrust and dislike.
“Top leaders of the Republican Party, both in the White House and on Capitol Hill, share a strong interest in this project. If you approve, the president will propose it in her next State of the Union, making it a centerpiece of her re-election campaign as well as of her second term. And the Senate will usher it through.”
“And the lower house?” the translator cut in, after Kazarov whispered in his ear.
“The House of Representatives is the biggest potential roadblock, but there are some Democrats that will have a political interest in breaking from their leadership. Then the president will sign the bill, and we will build the pipelines.”
The House would be more challenging than that, but why put a damper on the presentation with that inconvenient detail?
Kazarov nodded slowly as he took in the presentation. He never lit another cigarette. The terse interruptions ended.
Ten minutes later, Ariens concluded: “We are confident that this plan will allow us to get the pipelines started within a year.”
Before the translator even began speaking, Kazarov cut him off, with only a trace of an accent.
“Let’s hope it’s in six months. Thank you for your excellent strategy.”
A
wide grin replaced his somber face.
Ariens laughed uncomfortably. Oleg Kazarov spoke near-perfect English.
Kazarov stood up abruptly and walked toward Ariens.
“Let us move forward.”
The two shook hands, and Kazarov disappeared through the door.
* * *
The strategy behind Energy 2020 was classic Oliver Ariens. Consecutive careers as a lawyer, a congressman, and a lobbyist had merged in a unique approach that worked wonders for his clients.
From a prominent New Orleans family, Ariens, like II and Jr. before him, attended both Harvard and Harvard Law School. With his sterling grades and connections, Ariens snagged a prestigious judicial clerkship in New York, followed by one for Supreme Court Justice Rehnquist. His friends and colleagues were surprised when, after his Rehnquist year, he turned down offers from the best D.C. and New York firms to return to New Orleans.
But Ariens didn’t plan to stay long.
His years clerking had given him a unique perch from which he had watched the most accomplished lawyers in America jousting at the highest level. And it had altered his aspiration to join their ranks. Although intellectually interesting, arguing the nuances of law didn’t energize him. Nor did the thought of spending his life serving the interests of someone else. The real action in D.C. was the practice of politics. The lawyers were just the hired help. So he returned to his hometown with a simple goal—to get himself elected to Congress.
Ariens established himself as the brightest young lawyer at the best firm in the Crescent City. Eight years later, after the retirement of a long-time incumbent, Ariens outfoxed every other young political wannabe in the district to become a congressman.
But then his career took another turn. Just as clerking at the Supreme Court had dissuaded him from a career as a lawyer, a few terms in the House of Representatives squelched his political ambitions.
He could count on one hand the colleagues whose company he had enjoyed or found interesting. The work of getting elected and re-elected included dozens of daily calls begging for $1,000 checks, flights to and from the district at least once a week, dozens of steak fries pleading for votes. It all felt beneath him. The debates in committees and the floor of the House were downright mind-numbing. All predictable, shallow rhetoric. Far from the sophisticated jousting of the Harvard Debate Club or the Law School’s Moot Court.
But from his brief Capitol Hill tenure, what Ariens did see was a lucrative business opportunity.
He had worked with many lobbyists during his time on the Hill. An unimpressive lot, accustomed to pushing unpopular ideas, their instinct was to do everything behind closed doors. Add an earmark here. Slip in a rider there. Hope the media never finds out. Together, the lobbyists were a flock of non-politicians looking to sneak unpopular items into law when no one was watching.
From his time in office, Ariens believed that almost any issue could be spun to a political advantage. Each cause, however controversial, could be proactively framed to be highly popular. Label the inheritance tax the “death tax” and before you know it, the people want to get rid of it. Erode air quality with an industry-sponsored bill, but call it the Clear Skies Act and tout it as an improvement. Go on offense, frame issues early, boldly get big things done. Don’t hide in the shadows as if you’re up to no good.
So he resigned from Congress to put this strategy to work. First, he joined a major D.C. law firm and saw initial success. A few years later, he started his own boutique, the first of its kind to combine poll-tested public relations strategies with high-energy lobbying.
His approach worked wonders for his clients and himself. He turned unpopular causes into politically favored and lucrative ones. When Ariens quarterbacked a project, members of Congress raked in contributions by supporting issues that also garnered votes back home. All while his clients made millions. He called it his triple bottom line.
Ariens succeeded in opening up national parks to drilling and foresting. Technology companies successfully pushed legislation that allowed them to market and sell private data. Airlines and cruise ships, banks and mortgage companies joined his long list of clients.
A few decades of turning political lemons into lemonade made Ariens the most respected lobbyist in Washington.
So he wasn’t surprised when Marcellus Enterprises called. This assignment fell right into his wheelhouse. Still, the plan he laid out was not as rosy as he let on. One formidable woman would stand in his way.
* * *
WASHINGTON, DC
“We will no longer sit on our hands as Middle East tyrants bilk us for the resources that fuel our economy while bankrolling their bombs,” the president bellowed as her speech climaxed in its forty-first minute.
“I call our plan Energy 2020. It will assure jobs, energy independence, and lower gas prices for decades to come. We can’t wait for government bureaucracy. It’s time to get it done. Now!”
He knew it was coming. He had spent hours crafting every word she now spoke. But Ariens still vaulted out of his seat and applauded loudly. He had ghostwritten lines for three different presidents. But at the State of the Union? In the president’s final moment before the re-election campaign? That was a new thrill.
Thanks to his old friend Tom Stanton, Ariens watched from his usual spot in the balcony, behind and to the right of the president. As a congressman, Ariens had enjoyed the grandeur and buzz of looking up at the president from the House floor. But as a lobbyist, this seat provided the perfect vantage point. Up high, facing the 535 members of Congress—his entire playing field was in view. He already knew what the president was going to say. It was the members’ reaction that mattered most.
The announcement of the energy initiative inspired the loudest ovation of the night. But the room was split. More than half leaped to their feet and applauded wildly. The rest, Democrats, sat quietly, taking their cue from House Speaker Sandra Williams, who sat right behind the president. Even moderate Democrats whose votes he would need kept their hands on their laps. The mixed reaction said it all. The president had launched a polarizing political fight in an election year.
Forty minutes after the speech, Ariens and his top staff assembled in their K Street office. Staff stationed throughout Capitol Hill dialed into the conference line.
“The launch was perfect,” Ariens said. “The proposal was the news of the night, delivered perfectly, from the highest platform in politics. But you guys saw the reaction. This is gonna be a fight. Here we go!”
The next morning, Senate and House leaders launched coordinated cable and weekend news appearances that would continue for weeks. Ariens rolled out a succession of high-profile endorsements, along with talking points attacking Democrats as job-killers. Poll numbers on the project started at over 50 percent, and the onslaught of free media vaulted them to 71 percent approval.
Then they unleashed a good cop-bad cop strategy targeting individual members of Congress. Law firms, lobbyists, and PACs with interests in Energy 2020 showered cash across the Congress. A new Super PAC announced that it would take out any members who stood in the plan’s way. “Independent” television ads began airing in districts around the country two weeks later, attacking those against the plan and urging viewers to call their offices.
When Johnson walked out of the Capitol the night of her State of the Union, fifty-six senators already stood with her. Within one month, that number had climbed to sixty-four. Only East Coast and West Coast Democrats stood on the other side.
On the House side, Ariens locked in every Republican from the outset. Three Democrats from Midwestern districts directly affected by the legislation also supported the plan. His team’s efforts brought a few more Democrats over in the ensuing six weeks.
But then they ran into a brick wall. A more robust wall than even he expected.
Of course Democrats from the fracking region would vote
their way. They and House leadership would not knowingly sacrifice their seats in the upcoming election. But Ariens had been confident that other moderate Democrats, solid energy supporters in the past, would get on board. But Speaker Sandra Williams got to them first.
Ariens had known that the Speaker would mount a fierce defense. Her history guaranteed it. The Speaker had started her unconventional career as a stay-at-home mom who had stopped a waste dump from opening in her Portland, Oregon neighborhood. The ferocity of her effort propelled her to Congress, where she had risen steadily through the caucus ranks to emerge as the Speaker of the House. And she had remained firmly in that position for a decade. And if there was one fight from which she would not relent, it was to protect the environment.
Now her defense took hold. One by one, those reliably pro-energy Democrats—the ones Ariens was counting on—indicated that they couldn’t support the 2020 plan. Representatives who had voted for offshore drilling, Arctic drilling, park drilling, and other pro-energy legislation said no this time.
Each of these members had taken thousands of dollars from energy industry PACs, from Ariens, and from the lobbyists and lawyers he associated with. They had been happy to gobble up dollars from all those involved in pushing for Energy 2020.
But when it came to voting for Energy 2020, they didn’t budge.
Chapter 17
YOUNGSTOWN: 120 days after the election
Thirty-five swing districts. All under Abacus control.
Not a coincidence. And clearly a national story.
But also a dangerous one.
Two people who had gained some knowledge of the plan had died under similar circumstances. As in most tales of corruption, the sole possessor of such highly valued information has a target on his back.
For that reason alone, it was time to get the story out as quickly as possible. I spent all day typing the first draft.
Monroe County—Since Congressman Lee Kelly lost his re-election bid last November, Democrats in Monroe County have cried foul about the result.
