Free The First Counsel by Brad Meltzer Page A

persists, trying not to lose face.
    “That doesn’t mean he’s a friend,” Lamb says. “Trust me on this one, Edgar.”
    Simon nods. It’s over.
    “I’ll ask him about the rumors and the child,” Pam finally adds, breaking the silence of the room. “Sorry I missed it.”
    “Thank you,” Simon replies. Determined to move on, he turns to me and signals that it’s my turn to present.
    Lowering my legal pad, I step forward and tell myself that nothing’s changed. Whatever I saw last night, this is still my moment. “Been working on Justice’s wiretap issue. When it comes right down to it, they want something called roving wiretap authority. Currently, if Justice or the FBI wants towiretap someone, they can’t just say, ‘Jimmy “The Fist” Machismo is a lowlife, so give us the wiretaps and we’ll set him up.’ Instead, they have to list the exact places where suspicious activity is taking place. If they change the rule and get roving authority, they can be far less specific in their requests and they can put the taps wherever they want.”
    Simon runs his fingers along his beard, carefully weighing the issue. “It’s got great tough-on-crime potential.”
    “I’m sure it does,” I reply. “But it throws civil liberties out the window.”
    “Oh, c’mon,” Julian interrupts. “Put away the tear towel. This should be a no-brainer—endorsed by Justice, endorsed by the FBI, hated by criminals—this issue’s bulletproof.”
    “Nothing’s bulletproof,” I shoot back. “And when the New York Times throws this on the front page and says Hartson’s now got the right to eavesdrop in your home, without reasonable suspicion, everyone from the liberal media to the conspiracy conservatives is going to be tearing hair. Just what Bartlett needs. It’s not an issue for an election year, and more important, it’s not right.”
    “It’s not right?” Julian laughs.
    Pompous political ass. “That’s my opinion. You have a problem with that?”
    “Back to your corners,” Simon intercedes, waving us apart. “Michael, we’ll talk about it later. Anything else?”
    “Just one. On Tuesday, I got the OMB memo on the new Medicaid overhaul. Apparently, in one of their long-term-care programs, HHS wants to deny benefits to people with criminal records.”
    “Another reelection tough-on-crime scheme. It’s amazing how creative we can be when our jobs are on the line.”
    I search his eyes, wondering what he means by that. Cautiously, I add, “The problem is, I think it conflicts with the President’s Welfare to Work Program and his rehabilitationstance in the Crime Bill. HHS may think it’s a great way to save cash, but you can’t have it both ways.”
    Simon takes a second to think about it. The longer he’s silent, the more he agrees. “Write it up,” he finally says. “I think you may have someth—”
    “Here you go,” I interrupt as I pull a two-page memo from my briefcase. “They’re about to go out with it, so I made it a priority.”
    “Thanks,” he says as I pass the memo forward. I nod, and Simon casually turns back to the group. He’s accustomed to overachievers.
    When we finish going around the room, Simon moves to new business. Watching him, I’m truly amazed—through it all, he looks and sounds even calmer than when he started. “Not much to report,” he begins in his always steady tone. “They want us to take another look at this thing with the census—”
    My hand shoots up first.
    “All yours, Michael. They want to revisit the outcome differences between counting noses one by one and doing a statistical analysis.”
    “Actually, there was an editorial in the—”
    “I saw it,” he interrupts. “That’s why they’re begging for facts. Nothing elaborate, but I want to give them an answer by tomorrow.” Simon takes one last survey of the room. “Any questions?” Not a hand goes up. “Good. I’m available if you need me.” Standing from his seat, Simon adjourns