Purge on the Potomac

by Roberts, David Thomas;

Chapter 9

  “Democracy consists of choosing your dictators, after they’ve told you what you think it is you want to hear.”

  - Alan Coren

  English Humorist

  (1938-2007)

  President Bartlett entered the Cabinet Room at the White House almost thirty minutes late for her first Cabinet meeting, in keeping with the bad habits of her predecessor Johnson. Bartlett didn’t seem fazed whatsoever by her tardiness with the cameras and press there to get their opportunity to see Americas first female president presiding over her first Cabinet meeting.

  “Thank you, ladies and gentlemen,” she remarked, pausing for a full half-minute so the photographers could get the most out of this photo op before she took her seat.

  Dressed in her trademark utilitarian-style pantsuit, cut to minimize her sizable pear-shaped derriere, Bartlett finally took a seat as the press took a few minutes to clear the room.

  “Madam President, sitting on the table in front of you is the approved agenda for today’s meeting. Would you like to take these items in the order suggested?” asked Milton Weingold, her chief of staff.

  Bartlett read for a few seconds before replying, “Let’s first get an update on the Texas Crisis please.” That was not in the top three agenda items she had previously approved.

  Weingold stood up, taking out a different set of papers from his leather briefcase. Only Weingold and the president knew this was to be the central topic of the cabinet meeting.

  “The Texas Legislature failed to take up the referendum passed shortly before the impeachment hearings. Our strategy will be to lean on the monied interests, call out favors and, of course, use the power of certain persuasion to get the Texas Legislature to kill its referendum if it comes up again, and all signs point to that happening. The referendum almost died in committee, but was not successful on the floor. However, our guess is that, since the legislative session is adjourned, the governor will likely call back a special session to try again. We fully expect this and have prepared accordingly,” Weingold told the group.

  “For now, this whole hare-brained idea down there is not dead yet, but it is on hold,” he said, looking up over his eyeglasses to survey the entire cabinet with a wry smile, like a professor looked at his class to make a point he didn’t want them to forget.

  “Madam President has talked personally to Governor Brahman and they have assured each other that both state and federal law enforcement officials will stand down as this process, wherever it takes us, continues.” He paused.

  There was grumbling at the table, most of it inaudible but registering just the same.

  “Would someone like to say something?” asked the president, irritated that anyone would dare question her strategy.

  Since this was the first Cabinet meeting with the president, there was some reluctance to be the first to speak. Attorney General Laura Scripps-Mosey stood.

  Scripps-Mosey was one of Bartlett’s first nominees and was proud of the fact that she was the first openly gay U.S. attorney general and a double minority. Scripps-Mosey was a controversial figure, a black woman criticized on many fronts, even in her own party, for her decisions and judgment as an urban district attorney from Baltimore.

  “Madam President, doesn’t the public still want to see justice for the loss of life, especially for the federal agents and U.S. military personnel who died in Texas? Let’s face it, the arrest of FBI agents by state police, especially by that cowboy, hasn’t left the public’s consciousness.”

  “Laura, I appreciate your concern, and I’m sure many of you here today feel the same. We are formulating a plan to keep this situation from escalating. My predecessor, and your predecessor in the Justice Department, I might add, elected to take a head-on approach to this.” President Bartlett paused to let her words sink in. “I have a different plan. You saw how we got this silliness defeated by calling in favors and applying the exact amount of political pressure where it had the most effect. There will be a time and place for that, and I promise you we will not forget. I know the players down there fairly well from prior dealings. I will ask you all to trust me on this as we will be including each of you in specific roles for dealing with the de-escalation of what was essentially a manufactured crisis,” Bartlett stated confidently.

  “Madam President, I want to offer to you and everyone here my suggestion that we no longer refer to this situation as The Texas Crisis or refer to it as a crisis in any way, since hostilities have been settled,” Weingold added. “I just think it’s time to change the narrative.”

  “Great suggestion, Milt. Let’s all adhere to that directive,” agreed President Bartlett.

  In unison, most of the Cabinet said, “Yes, Madam President.”

  “Each of your staff will be getting talking points on how the administration is dealing with Texas. Please make sure your entire staff is fully cognizant of these directives,” said Weingold authoritatively.

  Most pundits were taken by surprise that Bartlett tapped Weingold for her chief of staff. He hadn’t been directly involved in any of her campaigns, but he was a staunch Democrat and an ultra-progressive supporter from New York. Weingold had graduated from Harvard Law School and was the dean of NYU Law for twenty years before going into private practice. He had been instrumental in two other campaigns that resulted in wins for Democrats in a New York gubernatorial and U.S. Senate race. He was Jewish, wore thick, black-framed round glasses and was known as a no-nonsense political operative. In his mid-sixties, he never married and was known for wearing three-piece Brooks Brothers suits, always accented with some version of a red bow tie.

  The next item on the agenda was the replacement of several of the military Joint Chiefs who had been arrested for dereliction of duty and failing to carry out orders from the president during the Johnson administration’s failed Operation Santa Anna. The operation, which attempted to exercise a federal arrest warrant to snatch the governor of Texas, failed miserably and resulted in an international incident with Mexico, and the deaths of the Texas governor and his wife.

  It was a huge national embarrassment to the Johnson administration and ultimately resulted in the impeachment of Attorney General Tibbs and the unsuccessful impeachment of President Johnson.

  Bartlett was torn by the prosecution and case against the former Joint Chiefs, as she was diametrically opposed to Tibbs’ plan. She felt that, if she had been allowed to continue to mediate the stand-off, bloodshed could have been avoided. There was absolutely no love lost between her and Tibbs.

  Like many of this old political warhorse’s enemies, he totally underestimated her and he paid the price for it.

  Chapter 10

  “Our job is to give people not what they want, but what we decide they ought to have.”

  - Richard Salant

  (1914-1993) former President of CBS News

  The election of Bartlett was a watershed moment for the Supreme Court.

  Three justices who sat on the Supreme Court were more than seventy-six years old. The Court, which had leaned slightly right over the previous twenty years, was at a precipice. Any one of these justices could retire or die at any moment.

  Two of the three justices who leaned conservative had indicated they were weary of the demands of the Court and were ready to retire, hoping for a Hilton victory so they could retire knowing that any new nominations to the Court would likely be in their mold. Now, with a Bartlett victory, they had decided as a group to stick it out four more years. There were major cases that were making their way through the federal district courts that could change the entire course of America. The United States, which was being fashioned more and more as a European-style socialist state, was only a few Supreme Court decisions away from completing the transition.

  The Court’s interpretation of the 2nd Amendment, which had stood since 1789, had been successfully weakened incrementally every time some lunatic killed random victims in a mass shooting incident. The left was salivating at the chance to per
manently alter it, leaving it so weakened that it wouldn’t have the same intent as the Founders had crafted.

  The Texas Crisis, with the resulting deaths of federal agents and U.S. Army Rangers, had swayed public opinion to begin to “federalize” all police forces and threatened to dismantle state-run militias and state guard organizations that operated at the behest of their respective governors. The largest and most organized of this type was in Texas, and the rest of the country was stunned to learn a full military unit in a state operated independently of Washington.

  Supreme Court Chief Justice Clarence Noyner was considered to have a brilliant legal mind and was the bell cow of the Court for conservatives. Noyner, appointed by a Republican president, had served the Court through six presidents. Originally thought to be a moderate, Noyner became increasingly conservative and was the object of ridicule by the left on a regular basis. Noyner had cast the deciding vote in most major cases.

  Noyner, at seventy-seven, was a large, round man who wore bifocals when on the bench. He was balding, with a few strands of hair literally combed over and seemingly pasted to his head. Mostly jovial in social situations, Noyner didn’t suffer fools when it came to legal briefs, unprepared attorneys who appeared before the Court, or even his fellow justices. Whether he was in dissent or writing for the Court, his fellow justices usually chose him to write the opinion. Most legal scholars believed him to be a brilliant justice, even those who didn’t agree with his opinions. There was no doubt that Noyner was one of the brightest legal minds to ever sit on the Court.

  Originally from the panhandle of Texas, Noyner graduated from the University of Texas at the top of his class and then attended Harvard Law. He met his wife of forty-six years in Austin. Noyner clerked for another conservative icon, Chief Justice Matthew Kelby. Many considered Noyner the most influential Supreme Court justice in one hundred fifty years.

  “The car will be here to pick you up at 2:00, Your Honor,” said the attractive, dark-haired, green-eyed female clerk who brought him his briefcase stuffed with legal documents.

  Noyner was headed for a well-deserved vacation after the election during a recess in the Court’s schedule. Even on vacation, Noyner still worked, as evidenced by his well-worn brown leather briefcase―that went with him everywhere―that he got as a gift from his parents when he graduated Harvard Law School.

  “Okay, Jenny, thanks for putting these case files together for me.”

  “Your Honor, are you really going to work while you are on an offshore fishing boat? I would get seasick trying to read papers. Heck, I’d probably get seasick even if I wasn’t reading on a boat that never stops rocking!” she teased.

  “Well, there’s the boat ride for a couple of hours out to the fishing reef and a couple of hours back. It’s therapy, young lady. It’s what I love to do,” Noyner replied.

  “That’s what makes you so good at what you do, sir!” said the clerk innocently.

  “Ha, I wish it were that easy, my young friend. But you will learn that in time. You will be an outstanding lawyer in your own right!” he told her.

  “Well, thank you so much, sir. Again, the car will be here in a couple of hours.”

    

  Supreme Court Justice Noyner arrived at the private executive aviation terminal in a black Escalade driven by a single driver. Noyner’s SUV was waved through a private electric gate, then pulled onto the tarmac and parked right next to a brand new, white-and-polished-aluminum Falcon 900 private jet.

  The jet had one engine running to keep the air conditioning circulating, as Noyner was the last passenger to arrive. The driver got out and opened the rear cargo door of the SUV as two employees of the executive airport picked up the chief justice’s bags and loaded them on the plane.

  Noyner struggled somewhat to get his heavy body to climb the six steps onto the plane. He paused momentarily to look at the tail of the plane, which had the CIS logo painted on it. He paused again on the last step; a small part of him wanted to step back down. He was more than a little curious why they were taking a CIS jet. His host, a Republican senator, told him the plane was provided by a major donor who was also going.

  Noyner didn’t know CIS was the donor.

  “Well, there he is!” said Senator Robert “Bob” McCray, who was already sitting on the plush leather couch in the plane’s cabin with a scotch on the rocks in his hand.

  McCray was the Senate majority leader and former chairman of the Senate Judiciary Committee. All new Supreme Court nominations from Bartlett would have to go through McCray to get a vote on the floor.

  McCray, at seventy-two, had been in Congress for thirty-six years, first elected as a representative from the 11th District of North Carolina in the Blue Ridge Mountains area of the western part of the state.

  Many in Congress considered McCray the closest thing they had ever seen to LBJ. He was tall, had a deep southern accent and was absolutely brutal in political affairs. McCray simply took no prisoners, politically speaking.

  As powerful as McCray was―and there weren’t many in Congress as powerful―he was surprisingly ignorant of the constant jokes about his appearance from various aides and staff members of other senators on the Hill. McCray had very bushy gray eyebrows that protruded at least an inch from his forehead. No better were his nose hairs, which stuck out obtrusively from both nostrils, along with the array of hair that grew from his ear lobes.

  Political cartoonists had much delight in portraying his caricature with all the body hair but, strangely enough, McCray never attempted to alter or clean up his appearance, nor did anyone close to him dare try to convince him to do it.

  Although there was mutual respect, Noyner and McCray were not originally the best of friends. Their relationship had been built as McCray frequently sought input from Noyner on Supreme Court issues, nominations and judicial appointments. Part of the reason Noyner agreed to go on this trip was to talk informally with McCray about Bartlett’s expected nominations to the SCOTUS.

  “Apologies for keeping everyone waiting. The traffic was brutal,” replied Noyner, breathing heavily from climbing the steps to get in the plane.

  “Would you like a drink?” asked the middle-aged, attractive stewardess.

  “I’d love a Kentucky bourbon and water if you have it,” he replied.

  “We sure do. I’ll have it up for you in a jiffy.”

  “Well, Judge, are you ready for some serious fishing?” asked McCray.

  “I’ll just be happy to be on the water. If I catch anything worth keeping, it will be a bonus.” Noyner chuckled.

  In addition to McCray, McCray’s chief of staff, a legislative affairs aide, and a man Noyner didn’t know were on the plane.

  “Judge, please meet Nils Ottosson,” McCray said. “He’s with CIS, and this is one of their corporate aircraft,” said McCray.

  Ottosson reached to shake hands. “It’s an honor to meet you, sir.”

  Noyner immediately didn’t care for Ottosson; it was an instinctive dislike.

  “Wow, the election business must be good,” remarked Noyner, referring to the accouterments in the jet and the large government contract CIS had for electronic voting machines in the United States.

  “Well, it’s simply technology, sir,” Ottosson told him. “And we are very good at it.” He smirked.

  “Apparently you are,” answered Noyner in a slightly sarcastic tone.

  Noyner’s thoughts raced. He was now extremely uncomfortable being on the CIS aircraft. They had just shut the main cabin door. His mind drifted for a few seconds, recalling how he had made comments about the federal government awarding a contract for voting machines and software to a foreign firm. For a moment, Noyner thought about getting off the plane. He wondered to himself how it would look to the public for him to be a guest of CIS on their private plane after criticizing the federal contract that essentially paid for the plane.

  “I know you guys have the federal election contract, but how are you doing in th
e States?” asked Senator McCray.

  “Thanks for asking, Senator,” Ottosson responded. “Currently, we are in forty-two of the fifty states in some way, shape or manner. In some states, it’s only county or state elections, but in most we are joined at the hip with their state election commissions and secretaries of state.”

  “Your Honor, just so you know, CIS contributes equally to both parties,” remarked the senator.

  “Of course. You wouldn’t want anyone to think the holder of the federal voting systems contract favored one party over the other, would you?” asked Noyner.

  As the stewardess came back down the aisle with drinks, Ottosson’s attention changed directions. Noyner leaned forward to speak to McCray in a quieter tone.

  “Senator, I wish you had told me specifically whose plane this was ahead of time,” said Noyner, looking slightly agitated.

  “You didn’t ask, Your Honor. I did mention it was a GOP donor, correct?” McCray said defensively.

  “Yes, yes, you did,” admitted Noyner.

  Ottosson, overhearing Noyner, remarked, “Your Honor, I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable. Just so you know, we don’t have any pending contracts or tenders in front of the federal government. Our contracts are very long term and are already in place. There’s nothing anyone on this plane could influence in pending legislation.”

  “Well, thank you for that. I feel better already,” commented Noyner, smiling wryly.

  Everyone laughed somewhat uneasily.

  The conversations migrated to small talk and inconsequential subjects as the plane started the second engine and began to lurch forward down the runway.

  It would be the last time Chief Justice Noyner would ever set foot in Washington, D.C.

  Chapter 11

  “The right of a nation to kill a tyrant in case of necessity can no more be doubted than to hang a robber, or kill a flea.”

  - John Adams

  (1735-1826) Delegate to the Continental Congress