“It looks like my signature.”
Dillon drew the pen across another bar code.
A cover of an issue of Sojourners magazine appeared on all the screens. “Now do you recognize the magazine?”
“Not really.”
Dillon drew his pen across another bar code and the table of contents page for that issue came up. “Can you read the table of contents, Mr. President?”
“Yes.”
“Can you see the titles of the articles?”
“Yes.”
“What’s the first one?”
“ ‘Is Fighting a War Ever Justified?’ ”
“Do you remember reading that article?”
“No.”
Dillon drew his pen across the next bar code and another issue of Sojourners came up with a split screen showing the cover and contents page simultaneously. “Do you recognize this issue of Sojourners?”
“No, I don’t.”
“This is an issue that came out during the time when you were a subscriber. Now do you remember it?”
“No.”
“See article number three on the contents page?”
“I see it.”
“Would you read the title of that to the Senate for those who can’t see it?”
“ ‘Are There Any American Politicians Who Are Against Warfare?’ ” Manchester said, his voice dropping.
“Could you read that again, I’m not sure everyone heard you.”
Potts stood up. “Mr. Chief Justice, this is harassment.”
“Overruled.”
“ ‘Are There Any American Politicians Who Are Against Warfare?’ ”
“Do you recall reading that article?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Do you see who the author of that article is?”
“I see the name.”
“Mr. Joseph … how do you say that last name?”
“Koch.”
“Pronounced like duck?” Dillon asked.
“Yes.”
“How do you know that?” Dillon asked.
Manchester hesitated. “I have known people with that name.”
“In fact, you know Mr. Koch, the author of this article. Correct?”
“This Mr. Koch?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t believe so.”
“Where does it say he’s from?”
“It says he is a professor at the Mennonite seminary in Harrisonburg, Virginia.”
“Do you still deny knowing him?”
“I don’t recall having met him.”
“Yet he is from the town where you grew up, and you knew how to pronounce his name.”
“There are many Kochs in Harrisonburg. He may have been one that I met. I don’t recall knowing him.”
“Have you ever spoken with him about whether there are any American politicians who are against war?”
“Not that I recall.”
“Have you ever been to the Mennonite seminary in Harrisonburg, Virginia?”
“I’m sure I’ve been there, but not to attend any classes.”
“And you still deny knowing Professor Koch?”
“I don’t recall knowing him.”
Potts stood up. “Would this be a good time to take a break, Mr. Chief Justice?”
Chief Justice Ross agreed. “Let’s take a fifteen-minute recess and reconvene at ten forty-five.”
Dillon took his notebook and returned to the counsel table where he left it open and continued to study it.
Sutter, Pendleton’s efficient partner, came down the aisle of the Senate chamber. “Need anything?”
“Just some water.”
“You got it. Anything else?”
“No. How’s it going?” Dillon asked anxiously.
“Fabulous, this is the best stuff I’ve ever seen. I just wish Pendleton were here to see it.”
“So do I,” Dillon said. “Believe me.”
“You’re doing great. Keep it up. Treat him like a witness, not a President.”
“That’s the plan,” Dillon said as he returned to the notebook.
Lieutenant Commander Lawson, the former SEAL, now intelligence officer, finished his brief on how the attack was to go. They looked for holes, difficulties, things that could go wrong. “After you clear the corridor, we go in to clear the compound,” Hughes said to Armstrong.
Armstrong indicated his agreement. “Compound’s yours.”
“What if that doesn’t finish it?” Hughes asked. “Back over to you as the OIC of the op?”
“Right,” said Armstrong. “You got it?” Armstrong asked Butch Winter.
“I got it, and if anything comes off the island it’s mine,” Winter answered.
Armstrong put his black government ballpoint pen back in his pocket. “Word is we need to be ready to go at a moment’s notice. I want every man to get his gear on. Tell everyone to wear it all the time, even to the shitter.”
“You got it,” Winter replied as they headed out.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Proceed, Mr. Dillon,” Ross said.
“You moved to Connecticut shortly after Dr. Wilkins got you out of the draft, correct?”
“I don’t think it’s fair to say he got me out of the draft, but I did move to Connecticut.”
“Why?”
“A job.”
“And was that job with a large public relations firm?”
“Yes.”
“Owned by a man named Larry Wood?”
“Yes.”
“And was Mr. Wood a member of the Mennonite church of New Haven, Connecticut?”
“I don’t know.”
“You deny knowing that Mr. Wood was a Mennonite?”
“I don’t think I did know that.”
Dillon drew his pen across a bar code and the membership roll of New Haven Mennonite Church came on the screen. Wood’s name was highlighted. “This is the membership roll of the New Haven church during the year that you moved there. Do you recognize it?”
“No.”
“Do you see that it has Mr. Wood’s name?”
“Yes.”
“Do you deny that he was a Mennonite?”
“I just didn’t know. I don’t deny it.”
“One of the reasons that you were able to get that job in Connecticut as a new graduate of Goshen College was your Mennonite connections, right?”
“Not that I recall.”
“Isn’t it true that you were involved in the antiwar movement?”
“I was sympathetic to their cause.”
Dillon moved the light-pen across a bar code and pulled up a video clip of an angry mob marching in the middle of New Haven. The film was amateurish and grainy. Dillon let it play. People in the front of the marching group were waving their fists in anger. Many carried signs that read, AMERICANS AGAINST THE WAR, STUDENTS FOR A DEMOCRATIC SOCIETY, and HELL NO, WE WON’T GO! Dillon hit a button on the computer and froze the picture. He then used the mouse arrow to point to a man in the front of the group. “Isn’t that you, sir?” he asked Manchester.
Everyone in the room leaned forward to the nearest monitor to see. Manchester did likewise. “I’m not sure.”
“You were at this demonstration, weren’t you?”
“I don’t really recall.”
“Mr. President, you participated in several antiwar demonstrations in New Haven, did you not?”
“Yes.”
“And you were considered an antiwar leader in New Haven, weren’t you?”
“Perhaps.”
“Didn’t you in fact organize this march, sir?”
“What is the date of this?”
“September first, 1968,” Dillon replied immediately.
“Probably so, yes.”
“And the reason you were against the Vietnam War, sir, was because you were against all war. Correct?”
“I don’t think that’s accurate.”
“One of the reasons you were against the Vietnam War is that you were aga
inst all war, isn’t that accurate?”
“Vietnam was a very complex event. It’s very hard to put one’s opposition into a particular box.”
Dillon had known this was going to be hard. He tried a different tack. “Have you ever held a position in which you were in the federal chain of command relating to foreign affairs or the military?”
“Only as President.”
“You held positions in the State Assembly and the State Senate, and finally you were the Governor of Connecticut, correct?”
“That’s right.”
“And you served two terms as Governor of Connecticut. Correct?”
“Yes.”
“And not one time during any speech that you gave in Connecticut, for the State Assembly, for the State Senate, or as the Governor, did you ever say that you would employ military troops, correct?”
“Of course not,” Manchester said. “That’s not the role of any of those jobs.”
Dillon clenched his jaw. “You never said that if given an opportunity you would be willing to employ the military, correct?”
“It never came up. I certainly indicated that I would employ the National Guard.”
“You said that you would employ them only for disaster relief and flood control. Correct?”
“I don’t recall that.”
Dillon drew his pen across a bar code and a video clip of a much younger Manchester running for Governor of Connecticut came up immediately. “If elected Governor, I would protect the people of this great state of Connecticut. I would ensure that the federal government played its proper role in alleviating problems from national disaster, but would also take whatever steps were necessary as Governor, including using the National Guard for flood control and disaster relief…” The video clip stopped.
“That’s what you said, isn’t it?”
“Sure looks like it,” Manchester said.
“And in fact, you never employed the National Guard once, did you?”
Manchester thought. “I don’t really recall.”
“You certainly never allowed them to participate in any combat assignment outside the state of Connecticut, even in contemporaneous drills with the United States Army, did you?”
“No.”
“You wrote a letter to the Secretary of Defense objecting to the National Guard drilling outside the state of Connecticut, correct?”
“Yes, I did.”
Dillon pulled his pen quickly across the next bar code and a letter from the Governor of the state of Connecticut to the Secretary of Defense came onto the screens of the world. “Do you recall this letter. Exhibit Fourteen?”
Manchester read it. “Yes.”
“In this letter you were protesting the assignment by the Secretary of Defense of the Connecticut National Guard to a United States Army group that was going to Panama. You did not want the Connecticut National Guard to perform its two-week active duty in Panama with the United States Army, isn’t that right?”
“That’s true.”
“You didn’t want them drilling with the Army, correct?”
“I don’t deny that, but the primary reason was I didn’t want them to be away from their families.”
Dillon stared at President Manchester. “Mr. President, do you recall your oath of office?”
“Yes.”
“Do you recall what you swore to do?”
“Many things. What did you have in mind?”
“As it regards the Constitution. Do you recall what you said?”
“The President swears to preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States,” Manchester answered.
“Part of that oath is that you will preserve and protect the Constitution, right?”
“That’s what I just said.”
“The Constitution says that the President is the Commander in Chief of the Armed Forces of the United States. Right?”
Dillon drew his light-pen across the next bar code and a copy of the original Constitution in handwritten script appeared on the monitors with the section of the President’s oath highlighted in yellow. Manchester studied the Constitution in front of him, which was being relayed around the world. “Yes,” he replied.
“Mr. President, you would agree with me, wouldn’t you, that part of the job of the President of the United States is to act as Commander in Chief of the Armed Forces?”
“It depends on what you mean by ‘act’.”
“Let me rephrase the question,” Dillon said apologetically. “You would agree with me that the President is the Commander in Chief of the Armed Forces?”
“Yes.”
“So then let me return to why you disagreed with my last question if I might, Mr. President. You did not immediately agree with it because I used the word ’act,’ correct?”
“Correct.”
“Is it your testimony, Mr. President, that the President is not required to act as Commander in Chief, but only to be the Commander in Chief?”
“I did not say, Mr. Dillon, that the President must not act as Commander in Chief, I only said that it depended on what you meant by the word ‘act.’ If by that you mean that the President is required to send the military at every conceivable opportunity, then I would certainly disagree with that.”
“But you would at least agree with me that the President may send the military to defend the United States against attack.”
“The President both may and may not.”
“While at Goshen College you took courses on pacifism, is that correct?”
“I took many courses. Contained in those courses was, I believe, the idea that peace was a desirable goal.”
Dillon stared at the President, waiting for him to finish. “Is that your entire answer?”
“Yes.”
“Do you deny, sir, that Goshen College teaches pacifism?”
“What I said, sir, is that the courses I took at Goshen College are in favor of peace.”
“By what means, sir?”
“By whatever means necessary to achieve peace.”
“Including defensive warfare?”
“It’s my understanding that defensive warfare leads to war, not peace.”
Chuckles broke out in the gallery and the Senate.
“You would agree with me, Mr. President, that it would be appropriate for someone running for the presidency of the United States who is in fact a pacifist to disclose that to the public.”
“That candidate might, and that candidate might not.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Well, I could foresee a situation, for example, where a President has in his own heart the idea that he would never employ nuclear weapons. But to admit that while running for office, or even while in office, would render that individual completely useless. It would remove the deterrent effect of the nuclear weapons then in place. Thus, the President would, by admitting that, do away with the very deterrent in existence, even though he has no intention of using it. I think it would be … inappropriate to even ask the President such a question.”
“Is that your opinion, Mr. President, that you would never use or employ nuclear weapons no matter what the circumstances? Even if the United States is attacked first?”
Manchester smiled ironically. “I just said that I didn’t think that was an appropriate question, Mr. Dillon. I’m kind of surprised that the first thing you do after I say that is ask me the very question I just identified as inappropriate.”
“Inappropriate or not, please answer the question,” Dillon said too harshly.
Potts stood quickly and noisily and raised his hand to get Chief Justice Ross’s attention.
“Mr. Dillon, I don’t want him to answer that question,” Chief Justice Ross said. “Whether or not it violates some rule of evidence, I’m going to rule that he doesn’t have to answer it, and I’m not even going to have the Senate vote on it. This case does not turn on the employment of nuclear weapons, but on the employment of any kind of weapon. Please
move on.”
“Yes, sir,” Dillon said, feeling the wrist slap. “Mr. President, if the United States is attacked, who is it that is supposed to defend us?”
“And what is it you mean by supposed to?”
“Whose job is it?”
“That would be the job of the armed forces.”
“And who is it that is in charge of the armed forces?”
“The structure is, of course, through the Department of Defense. The President is the Commander in Chief and the Commander in Chief is, of course, beholden to the people of the United States.”
“But if the military were to be employed in defense of this country,” Dillon said, leaning forward slightly, “the President would have to be the one making the decision to so employ them, isn’t that right?”
“Except in cases of immediate self-defense, I think that is probably right.”
“Are you willing to do that?” Dillon asked, lowering his voice.
All waited for the President’s response.
“It would depend on the circumstances.”
“But there are circumstances in which you would employ the military, correct?”
The President shifted uncomfortably in his seat, ready for the question nonetheless. “I’m afraid my answer is similar to that I gave concerning nuclear weapons.” He hesitated. “Are you familiar with the Supreme Court’s procedure?”
“Yes,” Dillon said, “but how is that relevant?”
Potts began to rise but stopped, not sure where the President was going.
The President and Dillon were tracking. It was as if they were having a private conversation with others listening in. “The question you asked me about nuclear weapons was a hypothetical question. If such and such happened, would I be prepared to employ nuclear weapons. The United States Supreme Court has a longstanding policy that it does not issue opinions based on hypothetical situations. Each case is decided on the facts. I’m afraid, sir, that whatever I do in the future will be decided based on the facts presented to me.”
Dillon stared at the President with his mouth slightly agape. “Are you unwilling to answer my question of whether you would employ the forces of the United States military against an unprovoked attack on this country?”
“That’s not what I said, Mr. Dillon. You have to listen very carefully. You’re a man who makes his living with words, please pay attention to the words that I’m saying. What I said was I am unwilling to answer questions based on hypothetical situations. Thus, you are free to ask me why I did what I did in response to certain situations in which I found myself as President of the country, but I will not answer, just as with nuclear weapons, what I might do in the future based on a hypothetical situation. I do not believe that those who harbor ill will against us should know what we will do in response.”
The Price Of Power Page 46