Free The Confirmation by Ralph Reed Page A

Corbin Franklin was found unconscious in his home about thirty minutes ago,” Battaglia reported. “He’s been rushed to GWU hospital. He’s in intensive care. There’s no official word, but it looks bad.”
    Long was thunderstruck. “Was it a stroke?”
    â€œWe don’t know yet,” said Battaglia. “But given his age, that’s not a bad guess.”
    â€œHe didn’t look good at the inaugural,” said Long.
    â€œNo, sir, he did not,” Battaglia agreed. “He’s really gone downhill since his wife died. He looked terrible. Just terrible.”
    â€œNow what?”
    â€œWe wait,” said Hector. “Health bulletins are provided by individual justices, not the Supreme Court. It’s basically up to Franklin’s doctors and family to release information on his condition. Unless and until we receive word, we should not comment.”
    â€œEven if he’s incapacitated?” asked Long, pressing the point.
    â€œYes,” said Battaglia. “Frankly, Mr. President, his clerks have done the heavy lifting for years. They write his opinions. Unless he resigns or dies, there’s no vacancy.”
    â€œWhat if he’s a vegetable?”
    â€œDoesn’t matter. Constitutionally speaking, it’s a lifetime appointment,” Battaglia explained, his hands cutting through the air like a prosecutor making a point. “If the prognosis is that he can recover, they could hear cases with only eight justices present and hold any cases in abeyance decided by a tie vote. But if he’s in a coma, I would think there will be a fair amount of pressure on his family to have him resign.”
    â€œI think we stay as far away from this as possible,” Hector said.
    Long stared back impassively. “What if he ends up like Ariel Sharon did? People who have had a stroke can live for years.”
    Hector appeared visibly uncomfortable. “We cross that bridge when we come to it. For our sake, let’s hope that doesn’t happen.”
    Long nodded, his mind racing. “What if he doesn’t make it? Are we ready?” He leveled his gaze to Battaglia.
    â€œI can’t say definitively that we are, Mr. President,” said Battaglia. “People are still moving into offices. Golden’s top deputies at Justice are not confirmed, and they can’t legally do their jobs until they are. We’re working on a preliminary list of judicial nominees, but it’s not ready for you just yet.”
    â€œWell, get it ready,” ordered Long. “Let’s accelerate the process. Get on the phone with Golden and get things moving. Because if we have a vacancy, I want to move quickly. You know what LBJ said: if you send a bill up to the Hill and it just lays there, it stinks up the place. The same is true with a judicial nominee. Speed is essential.”
    â€œYes, sir,” said Battaglia. They turned to go. Battaglia spun on his heel as if he had forgotten something. “Any guidance for me on the list?”
    â€œAll other things being equal, I’d like a woman or a Hispanic.”
    Battaglia nodded and turned to leave again.
    â€œAnd Phil—”
    â€œYes, sir?”
    â€œGet me a memo on what happens if a Justice is incapacitated,” Long said. “I’d like to know all my options.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice as if trying to avoid being overheard. “And Charlie, very delicately find out what you can about Franklin’s medical condition. I don’t want to be flying blind.”
    Battaglia and Hector left, closing the door behind them. As they walked back to their offices, they uttered not a word; the only sound made was their shoes on the carpet. Battaglia had been struck by how anxious Long seemed to replace Franklin—maybe too anxious. If Long wanted to know his options if Franklin did not die, it could only mean one thing: he had not ruled out trying to