Mounting Fears wl-7 Read online

  “And the president is keeping him as his running mate? Wow.”

  “They intend for Stanton to announce this during his opening statement to the Senate Judiciary Committee. They figure it will blow over quickly.”

  “That seems like a good plan,” Smith said.

  “It’s a good plan, if the governor has told them everything. It’s my experience that no one ever tells anyone, let alone a Senate committee, everything about the circumstances of a pending divorce.”

  “I agree.”

  “What I want you to find out is everything, or at least everything the governor is willing to tell anybody.”

  “What methods do you wish me to employ to secure this information, Director?”

  “I want you to ask him.”

  Smith blinked. “Oh.”

  “And then I want you to check out everything he says and, in addition, everything he doesn’t say. I want you to do it fast, and I want you to do it good, because when I report to the president that his candidate is squeaky clean or, at least, highly unlikely to get caught doing anything that isn’t squeaky clean, I want to be telling my president the truth. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, Director.” Smith held up a folder. “I have his questionnaire, and there are some points in there that I will raise with him. Ah, you said there were two things you wanted me to raise with the governor. What was the other one?”

  “I want you to ask him where he was born. That is, exactly where he was born.”

  “Exactly?”

  “Get a street address, if you can.”

  “May I ask the relevance of this information, Director?”

  “Not yet.”

  Smith flipped through the pages of his file on Stanton and came up with a sheet of paper. “His birth certificate says he was born at San Diego Women’s Hospital, in California. Isn’t that good enough?”

  “Look just under the hospital name, Kerry. What does it say?”

  Smith looked at the information. “It says ‘in transit.’ ”

  “I want you to find out exactly what that means.”

  “I expect it means in an ambulance, on the way to the hospital.”

  “I can tell you the governor wasn’t born in an ambulance, and what the birth certificate doesn’t tell us is where his mother was in transit from.”

  Smith shook his head. “I’m sorry, Director, but you’re going to have to tell me what you’re talking about, because I’m not getting it.”

  Kinney sat back in his chair and tossed a file across his desk. “Read this,” he said. “I’ll wait.”

  Smith read quickly through the two sheets of paper.

  “Are you getting the drift, Kerry?”

  “Having read his questionnaire, I can see how there may be problems. Is the governor aware of these circumstances?”

  “From my reading of his questionnaire and the preliminary report, he is either not aware of them or is concealing them. I want to know if either of those things is true.”

  “Director, forgive me for asking, but if this information is not known to the governor, how did you come by it?”

  “I had a phone call from someone who, if not in a position to know, was at least in a position to ask some questions.”

  “Was this person a member of the Republican Party?”

  “That’s enough questions, Kerry. Now get out of my office.”

  Smith gulped. He now realized that the file in his hand and what he would add to it in his investigation and interview of the governor might determine who the next vice president and, therefore, a potential future president would be.

  Kerry Smith stood. “Sir, I will find out what you want to know.”

  “Thank you, Kerry,” Kinney said. “And don’t keep me waiting for information about this.”

  Kerry Smith got out of there fast.

  12

  Martin Stanford closed the door of the little office he had been assigned in the family quarters of the White House and sat down. He figured a president’s secretary had once worked in this room; it was too small for a visiting dignitary. He unlocked his briefcase and removed a cell phone that had been purchased for him at a grocery store in Los Angeles, one containing a prepaid phone card and no GPS chip, then he dialed the number, which he had committed to memory and not stored in the phone, of a duplicate cell phone.

  “Hi there,” she said.

  “Hi there, yourself.”

  “How did it go this morning?”

  “Well, I think. At least he didn’t immediately dump me. My guess is, the way he thinks, he’ll want me to make it public soon, to get it out of the way.”

  “How is the gargoyle going to feel about that?”

  “She’ll be good with it. She thinks she wants it even more than I do.”

  “How about your kids?”

  “They’re grown-ups. They’ll take it well, and they probably won’t be very surprised.”

  “Is there any suspicion of us?”

  “Not that I’ve detected. How about on your end?”

  “Nope. We’ve been very careful, and it’s paying off.”

  “Are you still willing to move here?”

  “You bet I am. Your successor and I don’t really get along all that well, and I don’t want to work for him when you’re gone. And there’s some news: I’ve heard through the legal grapevine that the AAG for criminal stuff is not going to be around for the next term, and he wants to leave as soon as his boss can find a replacement.”

  “That would be a great job for you, after your years as an ADA and state justice, before you came to work for me.”

  “You bet your ass it would, and I’ve already made some calls. They’re sending me an application to start the process.”

  “Listen, baby, I can’t have anything to do with your application; I can’t even write a letter, unless the AG asks me to.”

  “How about if I give the big guy as a reference. I’ve known him since he was a Capitol Hill aide, worked with him a couple of times on justice issues.”

  “Good idea. He’ll ask me, and I’ll give him my highest recommendation.”

  “Then I’ll get started on the application as soon as it comes. When do you want me to resign?”

  “We talk almost every day on state business. During the next call, tell me about your plan, then send me a letter saying that you want to start looking for something, but you’ll stay on until you’ve nailed down a new job. That’ll get it on the record, and be sure to log the content of our conversation. I’ll do the same.”

  “Can we get together when I’m in town?” she asked.

  “Baby, you know we can’t do that. I’ve got the whole process to go through, and I’ve got a security detail on my back now. But announcing this means we can start the proceedings immediately, and I’ve already talked with my people about how to divvy up, so that shouldn’t take long. I’m sure she has a list of what she wants. I’ll give her the house at home, of course, and she’ll pretty much get half. Don’t worry, there’ll be enough for us, especially if I get the job. And after that, who knows?”

  “How are we going to handle it when I get there?”

  “After everything’s over, we’ll arrange to bump into each other at some public event, then we’ll do a few dinners, or something, just to let people get used to seeing us together, and after that, we’ll be home free. I think you might like that very nice house over at the Naval Observatory.”

  “I might at that,” she said.

  “I wish you were here, now, babe,” he said.

  “I want to fuck you,” she said.

  “How would you like it?”

  “Every which way.”

  “That’s a promise, but we have to be patient. If you get a chance, be seen with other men around town. That would be good for us.”

  “What if I fall in love?”

  “You’re already in love,” he said, “and so am I. We’re going to make this work. Bye-bye, now. We won’t be talking for a wh
ile, and always let me make the call.”

  “Will do, and I’m holding you to that promise.”

  Stanton hung up and tried not to think about her body.

  ***

  A block and a half away, a man in an extremely well-equipped car was fiddling with a very illegal scanner that operated on cell-phone frequencies. He had caught only snatches of that conversation, since in this neighborhood he couldn’t park where the reception was best and listen without attracting Secret Service attention. He didn’t know who the parties were, but he knew there was a story in this, probably a big one. He would just have to keep listening. He shut off his recorder and made a note of the time and place where the reception had been best, then he took the memory chip from the recorder and slipped it into his pocket. He’d go over it later with Marlene; she was very good at figuring out this stuff.

  13

  FBI Assistant Director Kerry Smith, along with a recording technician and the agent who was nominally in charge of the background investigation, Shelly Bach, presented himself at the reception desk at the White House.

  Smith gave his name and title. “I have an appointment with Governor Martin Stanton,” he told the uniformed Secret Service officer behind the desk.

  “Yes, Director Smith,” the officer replied, “we’ve reserved the Map Room for you, and you’ll have half an hour to set up your equipment before the governor arrives.”

  Smith and his little group followed another officer down hallways until they were admitted to a handsome room.

  “This is called the Map Room,” the officer said, “because during World War Two all the theater operations maps were displayed here and kept current so that President Roosevelt could consult them at any time.”

  “That’s very interesting,” Kerry replied, because it was. “Thanks for your help.” The man left, and the technician began setting up the equipment around the conference table.

  ***

  Will Lee stood as Governor Stanton was shown into his private study, off the Oval Office. They shook hands and sat down.

  “Good morning, Marty,” Will said.

  “Good morning, Will.”

  “I’ve talked with all the relevant people about your situation, and there’s a general agreement that you should remain on the ticket. Whatever light flak we might receive about your domestic situation would be less than the difficulties involved in choosing a new running mate, and we all agree that you’re the best man for the job.”

  Stanton heaved an audible sigh. “Thank you, Will, I’m very pleased to hear that.”

  “We’re able to proceed as before, largely because of your candor in bringing up the situation now, instead of later, and I want you to know we’re all grateful to you.”

  “I’m looking forward to the campaign,” Stanton said. “Just let me know what you want me to do.”

  “Right now my staff are putting together a schedule for you, Marty, and, of course, they’ll want your approval before it’s all set. Roughly, the FBI expects to conclude its background check this week, perhaps as early as tomorrow, and the day after the National Cathedral service for George Kiel, I’ll announce that I’m appointing you to his unexpired term. Barring any hiccups, we should have Senate approval inside of a week.”

  “That’s moving fast,” Stanton said.

  “We’re going to need every day between now and the election,” Will said. “The Republican Convention starts Monday, and we’ll all be interested, of course, to see who they pick. They’re going to get a big television audience, because of the closeness of their race. No one candidate has the delegates to sew it up yet.”

  “I think you can beat any one of them handily, Will.”

  “Together, I think we can.” Will’s phone buzzed, and he picked it up. “Thank you,” he said, and hung up. “The FBI people are ready for you in the Map Room.”

  Cora Parker, the formidable African-American woman who was Will’s personal secretary, came into the room. “Governor, if you’ll follow me, please,” she said.

  “We’ll talk more later,” Will said, waving him off.

  ***

  Kerry Smith stood as Governor Martin Stanton walked into the room. “Good morning, Governor,” he said, with a smile. “I’m Assistant Director of the FBI Kerry Smith. This is my associate, Special Agent Shelly Bach, and our technician, Danny Miller.”

  The governor shook hands all around.

  “Please have a seat there,” Kerry said, indicating a chair on the other side of the table. “As you can see, you and I and Shelly each have a microphone before us.” He pointed to the other items on the table. “These small objects are high-definition television cameras. It’s customary to record all background-check interviews, so that we can review transcripts for accuracy, if necessary. When the interview has been completed, the tapes will be secured in an FBI vault. At a later date to be determined, they will either be destroyed or given to you for your collection of personal papers, whichever you desire.”

  “That’s fine with me, Director Smith,” Stanton said.

  He was an impressive man, Kerry thought, handsome, with a fine baritone speaking voice, and he exhibited no signs of nervousness, as many men in his shoes would have.

  “If I may, I’ll begin by going over the answers on the questionnaire you completed, to be sure we have your answers correct and to your satisfaction.”

  “Fine.”

  “Let’s begin with your birth,” Kerry said, getting right to the point. “Where were you born?”

  The governor smiled. “I was born in the backseat of a 1957 Cadillac Sedan de Ville, on the way to the San Diego Women’s Hospital, where both my father and maternal grandfather were born.”

  “Can you tell us the circumstances surrounding that event?”

  “My family have had business connections with Mexico for three generations,” Stanton said. “My grandfather was a Coca-Cola bottler in San Diego, and my father, after his graduation from Oxford University, in England, and with his father’s help, bought the franchise to bottle Coca-Cola in Tijuana, Mexico, along with a Mexican business partner with whom he had roomed at Eton and Oxford. My father fell in love with and married his partner’s sister, and they built a home in Tijuana, so that he could closely supervise the business activities and advertising while his partner managed the bottling plant.

  “My parents had planned for the birth to occur in San Diego, since there was no equivalent to Women’s Hospital in Tijuana. The day before my mother was to move to my grandparents’ home in San Diego to prepare for the birth, which her doctors had predicted would take place two weeks later, my father was about to leave for work when my mother went into labor. She later told him she had had mild contractions during the night but had thought nothing of them.

  “He panicked, of course, and hustled her into the rear seat of the car, while his regular driver got the car started and headed for San Diego.

  “My father was, like most American men of that day, unacquainted with the details of the birth process, and as my mother tells it, when my birth drew very near, his panic gave way to hysteria. He had a slightly different version of the story, of course, but the result was that my father and his driver, Pedro Martнnez, a family employee, changed positions, and my father drove while Pedro, coming from a society where births were not always accomplished in hospitals, delivered me. He did a good job, apparently, and when we all arrived at the hospital, the doctors and nurses praised him for his skills.”

  “That’s a delightful story,” Kerry replied, laughing, “but can you tell me exactly what time and where, geographically, you were born?”

  “Well, I was pretty young at the time, so I’ve had to rely on my parents’ accounts and that of Pedro, of course, who has told me the story more than once, and they were all pretty busy for half an hour or forty-five minutes. As I understand it, I drew my first breath only a minute or so after crossing the border.”

  “Are your parents still living?” Kerry asked.

>   “My father passed away more than twenty years ago. My mother is still alive, but she is ninety-two and suffers from Alzheimer ’s disease. She’s in a residential facility in San Diego.”

  “What about Mr. Martнnez?”

  “Pedro is still alive and living outside Tijuana on a bottling company pension. I last saw him early this past summer, when he and I were both in San Diego, and, although his health is not good, he is alive.”

  “Can you give us his address?”

  “The bottling company in Tijuana will have it,” Stanton replied.

  “Why? Are you looking for confirmation?”

  “Frankly, Governor, yes. It’s not that we doubt your account, but as you say, you were pretty young at the time, and the question of whether you were born on American soil has become pertinent.”

  Stanton frowned. “You mean my citizenship? My father was an American citizen, so I am, as well. I have an American birth certificate and an American passport.”

  “I understand, Governor, but a vice president must be a native-born American, and a potential problem exists in the legal definition of what is native-born.” Kerry produced a sheet of paper. “This is what Section 1401 of the U.S. Code says about aliens and nationality:

  “ ‘The following shall be nationals and citizens of the United States at birth: (a) A person born in the United States, and subject to the jurisdiction thereof.’ (b) This one is not relevant, it’s to do with Indian tribes and Eskimos. ‘(c) A person born outside of the United States… of parents both of whom are citizens of the United States.’

  “I believe your mother was a citizen of Mexico at the time of her birth?”

  “That’s correct,” the governor replied.

  “There is another situation that might apply: one born to a foreign national and a U.S. citizen who, prior to the birth, was present in the United States for periods totaling not less than five years, at least two of which were after the age of fourteen.

  “Now, according to the form you completed, your father’s early years were spent almost entirely in Mexico, and from the age of eight, he was educated at Eton, then Oxford, in England, and he was twenty-two years old at your birth. We’ve combed through this very carefully, and the most we can put him in the United States, conforming to the statute, is three years and two months, so that part of the statute does not seem to apply to you. Finally, there is a circumstance where the citizen parent has been physically present in the United States for a continuous period of one year, and you do not qualify under that circumstance, either.”