Capitol Conspiracy (28 page)

47

U.S. S
ENATE
C
HAMBER

B
en spent ten minutes just getting past all the protestors outside the entrance to the main Senate building. The Capitol Police were doing an admirable job of managing the huge and boisterous, and in some cases downright angry, crowd. Several years back, the Capitol Police were almost a joke, once referred to as the least qualified security team in the country, mostly staffed based upon political patronage rather than qualifications. That changed with 9/11. In this era of suicide bombers and maniacs crashing into the building, the Senate took its security very seriously. The Capitol Police were well trained, highly organized, and double the numbers of a decade before. Metal detectors, a host of surveillance cameras, and many other security measures had been implemented. Most times, Ben thought of them as a hassle, hoops to be leaped through to get to his office. Today, he was glad they were here.

Despite all that had happened in the interim, the polarized forces making themselves heard outside the Capitol Building had not changed much since the time of the subcommittee hearings. Civil libertarian groups still opposed the amendment, although Ben noticed now their placards and chants put more emphasis on the need for calm deliberation and sober second thoughts, with less emphasis on the potential threat to freedom. There were as many if not more people forcefully advocating the adoption of the amendment; Ben knew many of them had been privately bused in by PACs beholden to the president’s party. They went about as far as they could possibly go to suggest that this amendment was needed to stop the “slaughter” of American citizens. Many held placards bearing an enlargement of what by now had become a famous, almost iconic photograph—the mother in Oklahoma City holding her dead little girl in her arms.

As they passed by, Christina whispered into Ben’s ear. “Makes you proud to be on their team, doesn’t it, Ben?”

“It’s not the people who matter. It’s the cause.”

“I’m just saying that any cause that has to resort to such…dynamic means of persuasion…”

“The placards aren’t for me. They’re for the television audience. They may not work for us, but they’ll go a long way with the rank-and-file, pork rind–eating American.”

“Somehow, I never envisioned you siding with the pork rind–eating American. Do you even know what pork rinds are?”

“I said, stop already.”

“I’ve never seen them in our apartment. And I’m pretty sure they don’t sell them in Nichols Hills.”

“Christina—
stop
!”

Ben was glad when they finally passed the pillared Capitol crypt, the vice-presidential marble busts in the spectator gallery, the historic Ohio clock in the hall outside the chamber, and through the large gilded doors. As he expected, the chamber was flooded with people and awash with activity. It was a marbleized fishbowl, a microcosm of government in action. Pages were running everywhere in the ubiquitous white shirt and black slacks uniforms they had worn for ages, even before young women were allowed to be pages. They scurried across the chamber floor like ants in an ant farm, delivering notes and messages back and forth between senators as alliances were considered and offers proposed. Normally, they would distribute copies of the legislation on the day’s agenda and the calendar, but today there was only one matter that would be discussed and everyone already had a copy. They also maintained the relics of the Senate’s earlier era: they kept the spittoons out of the walkways and made sure the snuff boxes were full, even though Ben had never once seen any senator actually take snuff the entire time he had been in Washington.

The parliamentarian and her assistant stood at the ready in the rear of the chamber, both clutching their copies of Robert’s Rules of Order. If this debate went like most that were considered of great import, or were likely to be televised, they would be busy. The clerk of the Senate and the sergeant at arms were chatting; although the sergeant’s functions were largely ceremonial, with this many people in a single room, who knew what might happen? The galleries were already filled to capacity, and Ben knew twice as many people had been denied seating. Usually, the gallery at best was half filled with tourists—it was harder to get a ticket in the post-9/11 era—but today it was filled with lobbyists, senate staffers, spouses, and others with a serious interest in the day’s debate.

The press well was equally full, and was perhaps the only incongruous element, the only section of the chamber that was significantly different from what Ben might have seen in 1820. By agreement, a single camera—the C-SPAN camera—would provide its feed to all other networks that wanted it. Ben suspected the major networks would be monitoring ratings very carefully. So long as people were watching, they would preempt regular daytime programming, but as soon as the audience waned, it was back to
All My Children.
Newspaper reporters were armed with notepads and tape recorders. Ben also spotted the current CBS anchorwoman; presumably she was going to provide live updates from outside the chamber.

The floor of the chamber was dotted with various groups of senators exchanging the amiable chatter that Ben had learned could often contain significant hidden depths. The favor swaps that were necessary to get anything passed were often described in the vaguest friendliest terms; clerks and staff members would later hammer out the details. In this case, the proposed amendment would actually require a two-thirds majority, much stiffer than the usual fifty-one votes needed to make a law. No one was sure whether it could command that much support.

“Shouldn’t you be out there…talking to someone?”

As if she had appeared by magic, Ben found Tracy Sobel just beside him.

“Did you have someone in mind?”

“I could make some suggestions. You are supposed to be the president’s man on the spot. You should be trying to convert votes.”

“I thought that was the purpose of the debate.”

“Oh, please.” Sobel rolled her eyes. “As if anyone listens to that, other than the obsessive-compulsives who watch C-SPAN all day long. You need to make some deals. Offer up some pork barrel.”

“I don’t have any pork barrel to offer.”

“You’re in tight with the president. You should be able to get anything you want passed. At least,” she added ruefully, “anything that only requires a simple majority.”

“I’m handling the debate. My chief of staff handles the wheeling and dealing.”

“And she’s done an admirable job. Women are always better at getting to what really matters. Men excel more at the stuff that’s just for show.” Sobel drilled a finger into the soft part of his shoulder. “Don’t let us down. Get this thing passed.”

“I intend to.”

“Good. I’ll be watching.”

Ben supposed, as he watched her walk briskly to some other senator she could harass, that she didn’t really mean that as a threat. But being a person who had recently received a poisoned envelope, he found her exit remark more than a little creepy.

Ben took his desk at the rear of his party’s side. Thanks to the recent deaths and subsequent gubernatorial appointments—hastily made so every state would be fully represented in this important debate—Ben was no longer the junior Democratic senator. The senator replacing Robert Hammond now had that honor. Ben had barely met the new Oklahoma senator—Jerome Collins, a black doctor who had served in the state senate—but he was a Republican sitting in the low-ranked desk on the opposite side, and had made it public even before he was appointed that he supported the amendment.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ben saw the sergeant at arms clear a path. He did not announce the arrival of the vice-president, as he did the president on his rare visits, but he did ensure that the man and his security detail could enter unmolested. The vice-president was also the president of the Senate. He didn’t attend all that much, but he was sure to be there today to manage the debate. Since a two-thirds majority was required to pass the amendment, his tie-breaking power probably would not be of any use. Erwin Matthews, the vice-president, had already announced that he would retire rather than run for reelection with the president, so he was in effect a lame duck. This could well be his last important duty, and the one best remembered. Ben could only wonder what effect that would have on his performance.

Ben watched as Vice-President Matthews banged his gavel and called the Senate into session. “Reverend Maplewaite, would you please deliver the invocation?”

The chaplain-of-the-day was appointed by the senators on a rotating basis. Normally, the chaplain delivered the prayer to a near-empty room, since only those senators who had to be present would be present on a typical day; the rest would wait in their offices until they heard the twice-ringing bell that told them of a quorum call or vote. Today’s chaplain, however, would not only get to deliver his invocation to the full Senate but to a large television audience as well.

“Blessed Father, as we embark upon this new era in the history of this country, let us remember the words of guidance you have given us to measure our actions and temper our impulses. Let us be inspired by…”

Like most chaplains, Reverend Maplewaite kept his prayer largely nondenominational, but it was still a prayer. Schoolchildren couldn’t pray, but the Senate could, every day. Despite the obvious implications regarding the First Amendment requirement of separation of church and state, every session of the Senate had opened with a prayer, and Ben suspected that every session would continue to open with a prayer for a long while into the future. It might be unconstitutional, but the only parties with standing to challenge it would be the senators themselves, and what senator wanted to go on record as opposing a daily invocation?

After the prayer ended, Senator Keyes rose to his feet. “Mr. President,” he said grandly, obviously aware that he was on television, “may I suggest the presence of a quorum?”

“You may, Senator.”

“Mr. President, I request that by unanimous consent the quorum call and all related proceedings be dispensed with.”

Another senator seconded. The vice-president called a voice vote and it passed, no surprise. As far as Ben could see, there was not an empty desk in the chamber.

Senator Bening, another Republican, rose. Ben knew that these plum on-camera appearances had been assigned by agreement beforehand. The vice-president was a Republican and he could choose to recognize whomever he wanted.

“Mr. President, I would request that by unanimous consent the reading of the journal of yesterday’s proceedings be dispensed with.”

This measure passed with equal ease. Ben had never seen a day when the journal was actually read. There would be no reason to oppose this antiquated parliamentary technicality, except perhaps to delay, and no one was going to do that with so many eyes watching.

Finally, Senator Scolieri addressed the chair. “Mr. President, I move that the Senate proceed without delay to the consideration of the pending business, Calendar Number 1873, Senate bill 1451, a bill to amend the Constitution of these United States.”

The recommendation was accepted.

The debate began.

Ben could not help but sense the crackling electricity in the air. He was feeling nervous himself, and he had no intention of speaking until much later in the debate. Perhaps because of the anticipated television audience, perhaps because both proponents and opponents recognized that this was an important piece of legislation, all words were being chosen carefully. Moreover, the barbed remarks and innuendos normally flung at opposition forces were at an all-time low. There was no shuffling of papers or clinking of water glasses; everyone was paying rapt attention to what was being said. Pages were delivering messages like rapid-fire machine guns, but they did it quietly. A few senators were scowling, but most maintained their best expressions, well aware that the camera could skirt to them unannounced at any moment.

“The senator from Colorado,” the vice-president recognized, and Senator Bening once again rose.

“Thank you, Mr. President.” Bening tugged at his vest, straightening it, then tugged at the gold watch chain that dangled from his vest pocket. “I think everyone present is aware that I support this amendment with the greatest possible enthusiasm. But it is possible that you do not understand exactly why I lend it my support. I would like to take this time to explain my reasoning.”

Ben wondered just how long his time would be. Due to the importance of the matter at hand, all time limits had been removed. Moreover, it was anticipated that virtually ever senator would want to speak, if only to make sure there was some footage to be shown in their home states on the evening newscasts. Those two factors alone ensured that the debate would be a lengthy one, taking several days to complete, regardless of how much civility prevailed.

“Of course I’ve considered the practical aspects, the need to change with the times, to protect our borders, to keep this nation safe from our enemies. I’ve talked to the people in my home state, in the big city of Denver and small towns like Durango and Silverton, and I hear the same thing over and over again: Tell us our government will do whatever it can to keep us safe, to make sure that a horror like 9/11 or April nineteenth never happens again. I know what the people want. And it’s my duty as a senator to give it to them. I want all Americans to go to sleep at night feeling safe. I want them to be able to tuck their children in at nights and tell them that there are no monsters lurking under their beds, that they will be secure until the morning’s light.”

Ben could see Christina glaring at him from her seat in the rear of the floor. He didn’t need a message to know what she was thinking. This was more of what politicians had been working on the American people for too long. The politics of fear. Persuasion through terror.

“Even here in our nation’s capital, all the experts I’ve talked to, from the Pentagon on down, favor this amendment. Certainly everyone in law enforcement does. And so does the leader of this nation, President Blake. I think I take nothing away from this august body when I remind you all that the president himself started this ball rolling, that this is his initiative and given his recent tragic loss—understandably so. Make no mistake—he is a wartime president. It may be an undeclared war, but it is a very real war just the same: the war against terror, the war against violent means to political ends. We are at war, and he is the commander in chief. He is the decider, the man who has to make the choices essential to keeping this nation safe. It is our patriotic duty—the duty of all Americans—to support this bill, in order to form a more perfect union.”