The Echo of the Whip Page 8

  The priest reached across the table and grasped both of Sweetie’s hands, his own warm from clasping his cup of tea.

  “Margaret, the White House chief of staff and the president herself, women far more versed in politics than you, were unable to foresee the tragic outcome. You really must … pray for a moment of grace to see that you are only human. You need to forgive yourself. Otherwise you will be unable to be the mother and wife that your daughter and husband both deserve. Now, that would be a sin.”

  Father Dez had learned from the start how devoted Sweetie was to her family.

  Tears came to her eyes, and she bobbed her head. “You’re right. The president and Galia Mindel have people to help them. Jim McGill for a starter.”

  Sweetie’s mind searched for other important allies.

  The priest said, “If I’ve read the newspapers correctly, the chief justice, who will preside at the president’s trial in the Senate, was nominated by the president. Perhaps he is sympathetic.”

  Sweetie marveled at Father Dez’s political discernment. He was an immigrant who had been in the country less than five years. But that was a Jesuit for you. Those guys studied the lay of the land wherever they went.

  “Many of the chief justice’s rulings in his earlier postings were quite close to the president’s own positions on the issues, weren’t they?” the priest elaborated.

  Sweetie didn’t have a clue; she tended to avoid the workings of the courts.

  Unless they affected the way cops got to do their jobs.

  That brought Sweetie back to the sorest point of what she felt was the worst mistake of her life. “Father, the reason I find it so hard to forgive myself is that I was an experienced police officer for a long time. I still think of myself that way. I was the one who should have foreseen better than anyone else the possibility of violence occurring within a prison.”

  “Quite possibly,” Father Dez agreed. “Maybe this terrible misjudgment should tell you something. It may even have done so, scaring you badly, and that’s why you are so troubled.”

  Sweetie knitted her brow.

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “Well, would you have made this tragic mistake ten years ago or even a year before it happened?”

  Without any hesitation, Sweetie shook her head. “No way, Father. No way.”

  “Well then,” the priest said, “perhaps the lesson to be learned here is that you should no longer think of yourself as a cop or even as a private investigator. Perhaps all your discomfort is a sign you should move on to something else.”

  Sweetie’s mouth fell open. See herself as something other than some kind of cop? The idea had never occurred to her. Even so, she couldn’t think of a word of rebuttal.

  And then a totally new self-concept entered her mind.

  The Hay-Adams Hotel — Washington, DC

  President Patricia Grant rented the Abraham Lincoln, George Washington and John Adams Rooms, connecting meeting spaces on the top floor of the luxury hotel near the White House. All three rooms had views of the Executive Mansion. The gathered media throng was openly chattering about the reason the president had chosen to speak to them and, by extension, the American people from a private setting.

  Was she about to —

  The president entered the room, not with Vice President Jean Morrissey, Chief of Staff Galia Mindel, any member of her cabinet or hand-picked senators or members of the House. The woman accompanying her was Jacqueline Dodd, the new director of The Andrew Hudson Grant Foundation, the charitable organization established by the president’s late first husband.

  The president stepped to the lectern and looked out at the two hundred or so members of the domestic and global media. Ms. Dodd stood just behind the president and to her right. Both Ellie Booker and Didi DiMarco had snagged front row seats.

  Everyone stood until the president asked them to be seated.

  Patricia Grant made sure her notes were in order and then looked out at the crowd and the cameras and smiled. She said, “Before I get to my reason for asking all of you to be here this morning, I’ll answer the question I’m sure is uppermost in all your minds. No, I am not going to announce my resignation from the presidency. I have no plans to resign. I intend to serve out my full second term as president.”

  She could see that to a person the newsies could barely restrain themselves. Questions of how she planned to fight for her political life during her trial in the Senate were all but erupting from them. But the one person from the White House staff who was present, Press Secretary Aggie Wu, was staring death rays at the newsies.

  Silently telling them anyone who misbehaved, showed the president the least bit of disrespect, would soon be covering the White House from Guam.

  Patricia Grant said, “I’m here today to announce what I’ll be doing after I complete my second term of office. For the first time since becoming president, I recently asked to see the books of the Andrew Hudson Grant Foundation. In addition to helping many deserving people in our country and around the world, the foundation must accrue capital to sustain itself. I’m happy to say that the investment holdings supporting the foundation have been brilliantly managed despite often difficult economic conditions.

  “The result is that the foundation’s assets are currently valued at just over $20 billion.” The president smiled and said, “Anywhere outside of the U.S. budget, that’s considered big money.”

  Aggie Wu grinned, giving the crowd permission to chuckle.

  The president continued, “Deciding how to make the best use of such a sum is a tremendous responsibility. To accomplish that goal in the future, I’ve decided that half of the foundation’s investment holdings — $10 billion — will be allocated to a new fund called Committed Capital.

  “The purpose of Committed Capital is twofold. It will invest in high-tech start-up companies that will keep the United States at the forefront of both science and commercial applications. As a condition for the funding the new companies receive, they will be obligated to train and hire American workers. None of their technical or design jobs will be outsourced to any other countries. Manufacturing jobs for products to be consumed in the United States must also be based in our country.

  “More often than not technological disruptions have thrown people out of work in our country. Add in competition from low-wage countries and these forces have devastated the middle class in the United States. It’s long past time we turned this situation around.

  “We can harness the power of American ingenuity to benefit more than the lucky few who get in on initial public stock offerings. If you are a person who has a great idea for a new product or service and need seed money to get it off the ground, Committed Capital will be there to help. Just so long as you are willing to extend a helping hand to your fellow countrymen and women.

  “I’m happy to announce that after contacting other venture capital firms from coast to coast, we have attracted another $10 billion dollars to be made available to our effort. Once my term of office is completed and a new president is inaugurated, I will become the chief executive officer of Committed Capital.

  “Ms. Jacqueline Dodd, head of The Andrew Hudson Grant Foundation, will be happy to answer any questions you may have about how things will unfold as we move forward. Jackie?”

  The president waved Dodd to the lectern, but Ellie Booker, ignoring any possible retribution from Aggie Wu, jumped to her feet.

  “Madam President, how much will you be paid to do your new job?”

  Not batting an eye, Patricia Grant answered, “One dollar per year.” She smiled and added, “I have a bit of money in my own accounts.”

  Not to be outdone, Didi DiMarco stood and piped up. “Madam President, was Committed Capital your idea or someone else’s? Say, Joan Renshaw’s?”

  “Or Jim McGill’s?” Ellie offered.

  Aggie Wu looked like she was going to pummel both of them.

  But the president held up a restraining hand.


  “I wish I could claim credit for it,” she said, “but I can’t. Neither can Joan Renshaw. Nor my husband. But it did originate within our family. At a lunch with Abbie and Kenny McGill, we started tossing ideas around about what Mr. McGill and I might do next. I’m not sure whether it was Abbie or Kenny who first offered the notion for investing in both the country’s technological and human capital; I’d have to give credit to both of them.”

  Emboldened by his competitors, a reporter from the Wall Street Journal asked, “Do you think your late husband, Mr. Andrew Hudson Grant, would approve of this idea?”

  “I do,” the president said. Recalling her first husband, in front of the crowd and its cameras, tears misted the president’s eyes. “Andy had such a good heart. I know this would make him happy.”

  Pacific Palisades, California

  “The crazy part is, Ed really believes this is a good thing for the country,” Mira told McGill and Tall Wolf as the three of them sat on the outdoor deck at Gladstones, a seafood restaurant on the beach opposite the western terminus of Sunset Boulevard.

  Deke Ky made sure nobody was seated within fifteen feet of them. The waitress had brought their lunch orders and departed. The surf rolled in loud enough to obscure their conversation from any directional microphone that might be pointed their way. Not that Mira thought that anyone was actively snooping on her, but why take chances?

  “I’ve sometimes wondered if maybe his brain blew a circuit,” she added.

  “He’s advocating a one-party state?” McGill asked. “That’s the definition of tyranny.”

  Tall Wolf nodded. “Yes, but whether that’s a good or bad thing depends on if your party is the one in power.”

  McGill had long thought the country would have been far better off if Patti had gotten more of her ideas passed into law. He could see the temptation of what Tall Wolf had said, but Patti wasn’t going to be president forever — thank God. Who knew where things might go under the next chief executive?

  Mira nodded. She knew just what McGill was thinking. “Right. What if a saint is followed by a solid-gold SOB? I tried to make Ed see that for half the time we were married.”

  “He refused to be enlightened?” Tall Wolf asked.

  “Persistently, but I was the one who didn’t believe he could make his cockamamie scheme work. The magic in our relationship had pretty well waned, and it fit with my exit plan to see him as a loser in as many ways as I could. But the truth is he was entirely practical in his means and methods. if not always exactly on the mark.”

  McGill said, “Take us through it again, how Edmond Whelan intends to make the United States a country with a permanently conservative governing majority.”

  Before she could, their waitress came and asked if they’d like something for dessert.

  They settled for another round of ice tea.

  Once the waitress brought their drinks and departed, Mira resumed.

  “Ed told me if you want to build something, you need a foundation. He said the way to consolidate power at the federal level is by controlling state governments. You worked your tail off to get your people elected to state legislatures and governors’ offices. When census time rolled around and new legislative maps were to be drawn, your side gerrymandered the other guys out of as many seats in the federal House of Representatives as possible.”

  “You control half of Congress,” Tall Wolf said, “nobody can ever pass a law you don’t like.”

  “Right,” Mira said, “but there are other advantages, too. As I said, Congressional maps are redrawn every ten years. So you get five House elections in a decade. The advantage a one-term House incumbent has over a challenger with no federal government experience is enormous. With each reelection, that advantage continues to grow. Your power becomes entrenched. In the 2014 House elections, forty-one members retired; only nineteen lost their re-election attempts. So the odds are better than two-to-one you’ll get sick of the job rather than get booted out. Also, voters prefer governors to legislators as presidential candidates.”

  “So what’s to keep the Democrats from wising up and competing harder at the state level?” McGill asked.

  “Nothing, but again, they’d be fighting uphill. There are 31 state legislatures in GOP control,” Mira said. “If turning that around were a betting proposition, where would you put your money?”

  Tall Wolf held up a hand. “Wait a minute. What about the demographic shift that’s going on? Isn’t that supposed to work against the right wing?”

  Mira said, “On the national level, yeah. But not necessarily in state elections. Especially, in the ones that are trying to tilt things the other way with voter registration laws that discourage Democratic voters: minorities, younger voters, people who are only marginally interested. The big things liberals have going for them are rising resistance to income inequality and a growing sentiment that everybody should get a fair shake, including gays and immigrants.”

  McGill sat back and took a sip of his drink, thinking about what he’d heard.

  “Tell me how the president’s impeachment fits into Whelan’s plan,” he said.

  “Well, electing a president is unlike anything else. It’s the only election, coupled with the election of a vice president, where the whole country gets to vote on the same office. Also, there’s more public interest. People who aren’t totally disengaged think they should vote for who they want to be president.”

  “Even if they don’t know anything more about the candidates than what they see in campaign commercials,” Tall Wolf said.

  Mira Kersten grinned. “Not everybody reads the New York Times, Mr. Co-director. Not even in the old days when you could get it for free online.”

  “Meanwhile, back at the impeachment,” McGill said.

  “Yes, back to that. Well, let’s look at what happened to Bill Clinton, after Ross Perot helped him beat Poppy Bush. Clinton got slimed from Day One. Accused of everything up to and including the murder of Vince Foster. More than one official investigation ruled Foster’s death a suicide. That didn’t stop the smear campaign. There’s no end of people today who will tell you to this day that the Clintons had the man killed. And then there were all the old Arkansas scandals and the bimbo eruptions. All that set the stage. So when the special prosecutor said Billy Boy had perjured himself and obstructed justice by denying under oath that he got a blowjob from a White House intern, the Republicans in the House impeached him.”

  “As you say, it’s all part of a process,” Tall Wolf said. “If the other party’s candidate wins the White House, you de-legitimize him.”

  “Or her,” McGill said.

  Mira nodded. “Yes, exactly. If you prosecuted every politician in Washington, including more than a few women, who lied about having sex with someone other than a spouse, you’d have time for nothing else. But in Patricia Grant’s case you have a president who puts the woman who murdered her husband into a prison cell with the woman who kills her.

  McGill said, “There’s never been another case like that.”

  “No there hasn’t,” Mira agreed.

  “It’s about more than de-legitimizing the president this time, isn’t it?” McGill asked.

  “Yes,” Mira said. “Patricia Grant left her old party, spurned it and then won reelection by one electoral vote that many people still think was stolen. This time they want revenge.”

  “Does that figure into Whelan’s master plan, too?” McGill asked.

  Mira sighed. “That’s the hell of it; I don’t know. I read Ed’s original treatise in its traditionally published form: ink on paper bound in leather. Damn handsome presentation for some truly ugly ideas. But the thing is, he kept revising and amending his work to keep up with the times. What I’ve heard is the latest edition is a digital file, an e-book. That’s what he thinks I stole.”

  “But you said you haven’t,” McGill said.

  “So why does Whelan think otherwise?” Tall Wolf asked.

  Mira looked sheepi
sh and took a sip of her ice tea. “I was part of a televised panel discussion, me and three other talking heads, and the topic of the 2016 presidential election came up. We all agreed Jean Morrissey as the sitting vice president would get the Democratic nomination. The others debated whether the GOP would unite with True South behind a single candidate this time or split the vote again like they did in 2012. When it came my turn to opine, I said, ‘I sure would like to know what Edmond Whelan has up his sleeve.’”

  McGill recognized the significance of that. “I’d never heard of Whelan until a day or two ago. My guess is most of the American public never has either. You were outing him. Revealing him as a power behind the scenes. He wouldn’t have liked that.”

  “He didn’t,” Mira said. “I heard from him directly for the first time in years. He started cursing me and I replied in kind.” She sighed. “I told him it was time I threw a monkey wrench in all his finely calibrated plans. You see why I’m sure Ed is behind the theft of my embryos?”

  McGill and Tall Wolf looked at each other.

  Not saying a word, they agreed with Mira’s assessment.

  McGill turned to his client and said, “Guys like Whelan don’t do their own dirty work. Do you have any idea of who might have pulled off the theft for him?”

  Before she could reply, Tall Wolf added, “One more thing to think about: If you’d wanted to steal his e-book, how might you have done it?”

  She answered Tall Wolf’s question first, albeit with some reluctance.

  “I hate to admit it, but I’ve kept loose tabs on Ed over the years. I told myself it was for my own protection, in case I ever wanted to use one of the embryos we created together. Truth was, there was more to it. I wanted to see if he’d crash and burn without me. So I can give you a list of the people he associates with most closely. And I know some of the places he likes to spend his personal time. If I’d wanted to steal his book, I would’ve tried to subvert someone near if not dear to him.”

  “Your list will be a good start,” Tall Wolf said.