Free Ballots and Blood by Ralph Reed

“Mack has agreed to run for the United States Senate.”
    â€œThat’s terrific, governor!” exclaimed Jay.
    â€œWell, not exactly,” said Caulfield, stunned. “I think I said I’d think about it.”
    â€œOkay, you’ve thought about it,” said Long. “Now it’s time to say yes.”
    â€œI need more than five minutes to decide, Mr. President.”
    â€œNo you don’t. It’s all about the gut.” Long patted Caulfield’s midsection with the palm of his hand. “When you know, you just know. ”
    Caulfield began shuffling for the door, trying to break away from Long’s embrace. “I promise, I’ll get back to you soon, Mr. President.” He scampered down the hallway toward the elevator, a California state trooper in tow.
    The Secret Service agent pulled the door closed, leaving Jay and the president alone.
    â€œHow did it go?” asked Jay.
    â€œI worked him hard. I think he’s 50–50. He’s a governor, for crying out loud. It’s a pretty good gig, and we’re asking him to give that up for a wing and a prayer.”
    â€œWe need to get him to a better place.”
    â€œHe asked me about a consolation prize. I may need to offer him a Cabinet post.”
    â€œThat’s doable, don’t you think?”
    â€œYes. It’s a small price to pay to get the Senate.”
    â€œThe truth is, he may not make it,” said Jay. “But we can’t tell him that.”
    â€œNo way.”
    â€œGetting the Senate is about spreading the field. We need Stanley and the Democrats to have more seats in play than ours. We need them on defense.”
    â€œAnd tie him down in New Jersey with a tough challenger. If we don’t take it to Sal, he’ll spend all his time campaigning and raising money for other Democrats.”
    â€œThat’s why we need Cartwright,” said Jay, nodding. “So if Mack doesn’t go, what’s our Plan B?”
    â€œI don’t even want to think about it,” said Long. “My next choice would be Hector.”
    â€œThat solves one problem but creates another. We need Mack to go.”
    â€œI did my part,” replied Long. “You need to do yours. Get him on board.”
    â€œYes, sir,” said Jay. With that he turned and exited the suite. They had an early wake-up call, but Jay had work to do if where he was going next could be called work.
    MAUREEN MCCONNELL KNOCKED ON THE door with three firm raps.
    â€œCome in,” came a voice behind the door. She walked in to find Phil Battaglia, her boss and White House counsel, coatless in a striped shirt and matching tie and suspenders, jet-black hair combed over his bald spot, studying some papers on his desk. McConnell was his star associate and protégé, a real comer.
    â€œHow did it go?” asked Battaglia, leaning back in his chair.
    McConnell took the chair directly opposite his desk. “We have a problem.”
    â€œI know that,” said Phil. “The FBI is in the White House asking about the murder of a U.S. senator.”
    â€œI’m afraid it’s far worse than that.”
    â€œHow can it be worse than that?”
    â€œThe lead FBI agent, Patrick Mahoney, is asking a lot of questions leading to classified information. I don’t have all the facts, but it seems to involve a covert operation in Iran involving funding the Green Movement.”
    Battaglia wore a poker face. “What’s that got to do with Miller’s murder?”
    â€œThe FBI thinks the Iranians had him killed. They think the language authorizing military action against Iran in Miller’s sanctions bill was the precipitating event.”
    â€œThis guy sounds like Inspector Clouseau meets Patrick Fitzgerald.”
    McConnell shrugged. “I checked him out. Hard-nosed, no-nonsense, take-no-prisoners agent. He’s got a background in counterterrorism. I’m just