Sorenson was a much younger man, a well-meaning midwestern liberal open in his hypocrisy. He was a strong advocate of major cuts in the defense budget, except as concerned the procurement of army trucks and small navy patrol craft, both of which were manufactured in his state. Like many of his constituents, he was a strong-minded environmentalist—except as concerned open-cut logging and pollution from paper mills.
His pitch to Moody that morning was a long lament about the effect the president’s Earth Treaty and accompanying Earth Bill would have on those of his constituents employed in timber and paper manufacturing. Their plight had given him doubts, he said. He wondered if the president’s environmental package wasn’t too much, too soon.
Moody didn’t like Sorenson at all. He was a man who compensated for his small stature and bland physiognomy with thick-soled shoes, dapper dress, and a very carefully styled TV anchorman’s hairdo. The young senator was also a jogger and a devotee of health foods. As a guest at one of Deena’s more socially ambitious dinner parties—catered with an elaborate French menu—Sorenson had consumed only the vegetables. As a boy in West Virginia, Moody had eaten vegetarian meals only because his family couldn’t always afford meat.
But Sorenson was important. Ratification of the Earth Treaty and passage of the tandem implementing legislation would require every possible vote. Approval by the Senate Foreign Relations Committee was the first big stone to be rolled over. Two or three of the Republicans on the committee had indicated their support of ratification, but it was paramount that the Democrats vote unanimously. Sorenson was the only waverer. Thus far. His defection could lead to more.
Glancing at his watch, Moody noted that the president would be returning in less than half an hour.
“Excuse me, Senator,” he said, interrupting Sorenson, “but we don’t have time for any more of this starving lumberjack bullshit.” He grinned, as though to imply his rough talk was intended as “real man” bonhomie, but the startled Sorenson was not disarmed.
“The provisions of the Earth Treaty are not negotiable,” Moody continued. “Consequently, those of the implementing legislation aren’t either. Sorry, but that’s the way it is. The president made a promise to the American people and he’s not going to back down on it—not for you, not for me, not for anyone.”
“But—”
“Read the polls, Senator. They’re still holding better than two to one for the treaty. Been that way from the beginning.”
Moody leaned back in his chair, resting his big hands in his lap. “This is not to say we have nothing to talk about. You need a little something to make the folks back home feel good about you if you throw in with us. So what do you want?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Look, Senator. I served in a state legislature. You served in a state legislature. You understand perfectly.”
“Well,” said Sorenson, looking as uncomfortable as a child on a department store Santa’s lap, “we’ve fought pretty hard to keep that Amtrak link open from Chicago, but you guys cut it from the budget.”
Moody made a notation. “The budget’s still on the table. That can be rethought.”
“And you froze highway trust funds we were counting on for interstate bridge repairs. Plus the airport runway extension.”
Moody scribbled further. “We can take a look at that.”
Reidy cleared his throat. “I trust you fellas are keeping in mind that Appropriations and the Commerce, Science, and Transportation Committee will have to sign off on these things.”
“And you’ll be happy to see that they do, won’t you, Senator?” Moody said.
Reidy glowered at him, but let the remark pass.
“Anything else, Senator Sorenson?” Moody said. “Let’s not get too greedy. This is a pen I’m holding, not a magic wand.”
“Is the president going to campaign for individual senators?” Sorenson said. “Speak at fund-raisers?”
It was what the president hated most about his job—about politics. “Maybe a little,” Moody said. “I’m not sure how much he’ll be out your way.”
“That’s the last thing you want,” said Reidy. “The Earth Bill is not exactly what your labor unions and business PACs have been praying for.”
“Anything else?” Moody said, letting some impatience show.
“Well,” Sorenson said, with a quick glance at Reidy. “My wife’s expressed an interest in serving on the Kennedy Center board. But, uh, the Senate leadership, well, I guess there’s a waiting list.”
“The very next vacancy,” Moody said, writing that item down with a flourish. He had already promised Deena the next Kennedy Center vacancy, but Sorenson would have to come first. Perhaps a way could be found to create two vacancies. The administration had ambassadorships and commission appointments to trade.
“And, as I think of it—” Sorenson began.
Moody cut him short, setting down his pen.
“You’ve been quite reasonable about this, Senator,” he said. “I appreciate that. I’m sure the president will, too, when I try to talk him into all this.”
“That’s it?”
“Isn’t it?”
They sat in silence a moment, then Sorenson stood. “Maybe I’ll hold a press conference to announce how I’m going to vote.”
Moody wondered if he had been hijacked. If Sorenson was as worried about the threat to logging and paper mill jobs in his state as he said, he sure as hell wouldn’t be holding a press conference.
He got up from his leather swivel chair and extended his hand. “If there’s anything more we can do, let us know.”
Reidy accompanied Sorenson to the door, but remained behind. When he and Moody were alone, he went to the windows to the rear of Moody’s desk. The view was of the Ellipse and the Washington Monument, the obelisk’s edges sharp in the brightness of the early morning light.
“I tell you, Bobby, you keep buying votes this way and there won’t be enough money left in the budget to pay for a single emissions control inspector.”
“Don’t get the wrong idea. My generosity has its limits. But his vote’s important. I want to get some momentum going—and that means every swinging Democratic dick on the committee. What’s your count on the Republicans?”
He continued to sit facing forward, even though Reidy was behind him. He was not about to turn around and speak his piece looking up at the Senate leader.
“Hell, Bobby, I think when push comes to shove you’ll get nearly all of them, except for a few right-wing looney tunes. The Earth Treaty’s motherhood. It’s not like the days when Reagan could say fuck you to the world and tear up the United Nations Law of the Sea Treaty. Anyway, that was all about sharing the wealth from undersea magnesium nodules, for God’s sake. This is air and water, trees and Bambi. Sorenson might find some way to drag his feet in committee, but he still wouldn’t dare cast a nay against ratification on the floor.”
Moody drummed his fingers on the desk. It had once belonged to Teddy Roosevelt, a man whom Moody much admired, despite his aristocratic background.
“So we should just call the whole package up for a vote and then all go to the seashore?”
“That’s not what I’m saying, Bobby.”
“Take your seat, Dan. Your coffee’s getting cold.”
Reidy hesitated, then reluctantly did as bidden, ambling back to his chair. He leaned back, propping his highly polished loafers up on the desk top. He gazed appreciatively at Moody’s framed photograph of Deena as he spoke.
“But I’m talking about the treaty, not the whole package,” Reidy said. “The treaty’s pretty easy. It’s just a promissory note. Ratifying it won’t cost anybody their jobs. It’s just an agreement to enact the Earth Bill—at some time in the future. But if you push them through together in one package, the way the president wants, I can see things grinding to a halt, a real long halt. That’s where those good polls of yours begin to crumble, when they start closing coal mines and landfills and power plants.�
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“That isn’t what you saw a month ago.”
“Things change. The economy’s getting sickly again.”
“The Earth Bill sailed out of the House.”
“I wouldn’t call a seventeen-vote margin sailing. More like crawling. It’s got to go through at least three Senate committees, and there’ve already been fifty-eight amendments proposed for it. The final decision’s going to be made in a House-Senate conference committee, and I could rewrite the whole goddamn Constitution with the right kind of conference committee.”
“What are you saying, Senator?”
“You’ve got to persuade the president to break these out separately. Move fast on the treaty now, but hold off on the Earth Bill. Get yourself a big flashy victory on ratification, then use it as a lever to get what you really want—and need.” He paused. “It would help if you could get Japan to sign the damn treaty, and Taiwan and Korea—not to speak of Russia, England, and Mexico.”
“We’re working on that.”
“You gotta get Japan aboard. No American’s going to want to give up his job for the nice little trees while the Japanese are breathing smoke to keep all the Toyotas coming. You’ve got the Germans with you. They’re taking as big a leadership role as we are. Why not the Japanese?”
“The president’s been talking to them.”
“I’m sure he has, but what’s he been saying?”
“We’ll take care of the diplomacy, Senator. Your job’s your esteemed colleagues. When you say ‘hold off,’ how long do you mean?”
Reidy shrugged. “Late October, November. Not all that long. But I’ve got an idea about the Japanese, something that could scare them shitless, if it’s handled right.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a single sheet of folded paper, and laid it out flat on the desk in front of Moody.
“What the hell is this?”
“Just read it.”
Moody did so, then made a very sour face. “This is fucking nonsense, Dan. There is no White House plan like this, not even in those end-of-the-world contingency files. The president would never threaten the Japanese with this shit. It’s a declaration of economic war. If they retaliated—if they pulled their money out of our banks—it would be the biggest fucking mess you’ve ever seen. The president would kick me all the way to the river if I ever suggested anything like this.”
Reidy smiled. “Of course he would. I’m not saying you should do any such thing, or that he should say anything to the Japanese, or that anyone should type up a White House memo.”
“But this says there is one.”
“Read it again. This is a confidential letter on Democratic National Committee stationery, signed by a junior staffer and addressed to the party’s state finance chairman in California, asking how he thought such an ultimatum would go down with all the Japanese-owned American companies out there. It only says that the staffer understands there is such a White House memo—a White House plan. He’s worried about the political repercussions.”
“The first thing that finance chairman would do is call the president.”
“No he wouldn’t. He’d call you. But this will never get to him. The idea is just to float it past the Japanese. Let them get a whiff of it, that’s all. Enough to scare them. Make them think there’s big trouble brewing, without challenging them out in the open.”
“This staffer whose name you’ve got on it, Peter Napier. He’s just some goofball errand boy. I had to shag him out of the White House last night. He was giving some fund-raiser a goddamn personal tour.”
“The Japanese don’t know any of that. His title’s legitimate. It will look like real good intelligence.”
“How much does this Napier guy know—about what you have in mind?”
“Practically nothing. I told him it’s a phony I just want to use on a couple of senators, to keep them in line, to show them the president’s hanging tough.”
Moody drummed his fingers on the desktop, biting down on his lower lip. “And how do you propose floating this past the Japanese?”
“I thought I’d go to the smartest man in Washington and let him figure that out.”
“Who?”
“You. You’ve got the whole administration at your disposal, Bobby. You must know some up-front guy in the Trade Office or at State who deals regularly with the Japanese, some guy you can trust to do the right thing. A guy at a low enough level so it wouldn’t look like this was coming directly from the White House.”
Moody drummed his fingers again. “I suppose anything’s possible.”
“Think about it. And think about what I said about moving on the treaty first.”
A faint ticking noise caught their attention. In a moment, it grew to a throbbing clatter, steadily increasing in volume. Both men looked to the windows. A cluster of dots appeared in the distance beyond the Washington Monument, their size expanding until they were visible as helicopters.
“Hail to the chief,” said Reidy.
“Thanks for your help, Senator,” Moody said. “You’ll be the first to know what the president decides on the treaty move. But I don’t think I’m going to bother him about this.”
He put the phony memo in his pocket. As Reidy started toward the door, Moody reached for his telephone. “Get me General St. Angelo,” he said to his secretary. “Now! And when I’m done with him, get me Secretary Sadinauskas.”
The president was already in the Oval Office by the time Moody finished getting his briefing from the general. Charging down the corridor, he walked right in. Moody was the only member of the staff who could enter the president’s office without announcement, and he did so then. Immediately, he wished he hadn’t. The president’s unhappiness was almost palpable.
The president did not even greet him. He sat in his big leather chair, staring at his empty desktop, his cold mood holding Moody to a simple “Good morning, sir.”
The president looked at him sadly, but did not speak. The helicopters took off again in a flurry of noise.
“Good morning, Robert.”
The man said nothing more. Moody wondered if his boss was angry or worried over the handling of the situation in Belize.
“I just got a report from St. Angelo, sir,” Moody said. “The crisis is as good as over.”
“What are you talking about, Robert?” The president’s mournful voice sounded like old hollow wood.
“In Belize.”
“Belize. Oh yes.”
“The Mexicans and Guatemalans have backed off. The Belizean government’s going to open an inquiry into the shooting of our missionary. The guerrillas have gone back into the bush. Our only casualty was the missionary.”
The president leaned slowly back, and closed his eyes. “‘The worst is death, and death shall have his day.’ Death is having his day.”
He sighed, and swiveled toward the windows overlooking the Rose Garden.
“He was a noble, honorable man, Bob. The finest friend I had in school. The finest friend a man could ask for.”
“The missionary?”
“The missionary? No. I’m talking about Secretary Hollis. Skip’s dead, Bob. Didn’t you know?”
Moody lowered himself into a nearby chair. He was stunned. And furious. Why hadn’t anyone told him?
“I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t know. What in the hell happened?”
“They informed me as I was getting off the plane at Andrews. There was an accident, a climbing accident. He was mountain climbing in Switzerland. I told him he needn’t go to that conference in Geneva. But he insisted. Skip was that way. Never a shirker. Always plunging ahead.”
“A hell of a guy.” Moody’s shock had worn off. His mind was racing.
“The best. I’ll never be able to replace him. Never.”
“I’m sorry. No one told me. I was in a meeting with Senator Reidy, on the treaty.”
“Skip believed in the treaty. Deeply. His death is a big setback for us.”
Moody swallowed hard. Hollis’s death
would have about as much effect on the treaty as the New York Yankees losing the pennant. He framed his next words carefully.
“Reidy thinks it looks real good for the treaty, sir. We had one possible defection. Senator Sorenson. But I got him back into line this morning. Just now.”
The president said nothing.
“In fact, it looks so good Reidy thinks we ought to move immediately on ratification, even if it means waiting awhile on the implementing legislation.”
The other turned slowly in his chair. “Wait?” He uttered the word like an obscenity. “Wait? This is the most important legislation ever to come before Congress. It means the salvation of our planet!”
“I understand that, sir. I’m not sure I completely trust Reidy on this score. I made it very clear to him that we won’t tolerate any unwarranted delay. But I think he’s right about moving at once on ratification. A quick victory like that would take some wind out of the opposition. And it would serve as a beacon for the countries that haven’t signed yet.”
“Far too many of those.”
“And,” Moody continued, “it would be a wonderful tribute to Secretary Hollis. A fitting memorial.”
The president began rocking gently in his chair—an old habit. “It would indeed, Bob. Yes, it would.”
“I’ll see to it then, sir.”
“Yes.”
“Move immediately on ratification.”
“Indeed. We’ll go on that.”
Moody rose, then hesitated.
“Sir, I came in last night to help General St. Angelo with the Belize trouble.”
“You’re no shirker either, Bob.”
“I, I mean we, we deployed a few military units here and there. Small ones. Just to show the flag. Help keep the peace.”
The Last Virginia Gentleman Page 11
