Separation of Power

chapter Twelve
Capitol Hill, Wednesday morning.

Senator Clark sat behind his massive desk in the Hart Senate Office Building. It was cold and windy in the nation's capital. He stared out the window, studying the weather, putting off for at least another moment a more pressing problem. The last vestiges of fall hung stubbornly from the burly oak trees on the grounds across the way. Only a few dark sodden leaves were left. Winter was on the nations doorstep, and the thought of it brought a sense of dread. Clark did not do well in cold climates. A native of the southwest, he thought that DC. winters were anything but mild. To Clark, if it snowed for even a day the city was too cold. Looking out the window at the gray sky, he decided he would get out of town for the upcoming weekend: either Phoenix for golf or down to the island for a little fishing. Wife number three had something planned in New York, so he didn't have to worry about trying to convince her. He would be on his own, which at present was what he preferred. Number three was becoming increasingly confrontational and demanding.

This was something he couldn't understand. He had come into the marriage knowing exactly what he wanted, and he had made his intentions very clear. For Christ's sake, he was sleeping with number three while he was still married to number two. What did the woman expect, that after all these years he was going to change just for her? Well, he wasn't going to change. Things would have to be managed. Another divorce at this juncture was out of the question. It would torpedo his chances at running for President. He would have to strike a deal with her at some point. He had, of course, made her sign an ironclad prenuptial. Under that agreement she would get a million-dollar lump sum payment and another $250,000 a year until she remarried. If things got ugly he could put some more money on the table and get her to play nice for a few more years. That would be a last resort, though. The real jewel to entice her with would be the White House. Being First Lady, after all, wasn't a bad deal.

A voice from the recesses of Clark's constantly plotting mind came up with another option. Have her killed. No, he told himself, she's not that bad, at least not yet. The morbid idea gained a little more weight with him as he thought of the potential advantages. The grieving spouse role might really help him connect with the soccer moms. The more he thought about the idea the more potential he saw. Wife number three was an extremely attractive and polished woman. They looked very good together. At least they did when she was happy, but she had a bitchy streak in her that was impossible to hide. When she was mad at him, she liked to make it a point to tell others. That could become a real liability during a long campaign. The press sooner or later would pick up on it and pile on. Clark doubted number three had the mental toughness to withstand such a barrage. No, he would have to decide on a course of action long before it came to that.

Clark returned his focus to a file on his desk and decided the problems of wife number three would have to wait for now. At present, he had a more pressing issue that needed his attention. Mark Ellis and the other money men from California could not be put off indefinitely. They expected a return on their investment, and they had their sights set on the CIA and its treasure chest of valuable industrial secrets. The problem for Clark was not a new one. He needed to effect the outcome of an event without anyone knowing that he'd had a hand in it. He'd built his entire political career on this simple concept. He had gained the President's confidence by professing his support for Kennedy, and now it was time to get someone to do the dirty work. Someone was going to have to take Kennedy down, and Congressman Albert Rudin was just the man. Clark had planted the seed in Rudin's head during their last meeting. His own party was wronging him. His years of loyalty had been casually tossed aside by the party's leaders, and for what? For the nominee to a post that any one of a thousand people could fill. Clark sensed that Rudin was ready to take the gamble of his political life. He was ready to go against the party in order to save the party. At least that was the self-righteous reasoning that Rudin would use. All the congressman from Connecticut needed was one good push. No, Clark thought. He didn't need a push; he needed a trail of crumbs. Clark looked down at the file on his desk and grinned. The information in the file would become that trail.

Clark closed the file and pressed the intercom button on his phone. "Mary, would you please send in my next appointment." The senator stood and buttoned his suit coat. When the door opened, Clark walked around his desk to meet his visitor. Extending his hand he said, "Good to see you, Jonathan."

The deputy director of the CIA shook the hand of his patron. "Good to see you also, Hank. You look nice and tanned."

"I was down at the island last weekend." Clark was distracted for a split second as he thought of his meeting with Ellis. "I'll have to have you down sometime. You love it. Do you like to fish or sail?"

"Both"

"Good, then. If all goes well in the next few weeks we'll have to fly down and celebrate our victory." Clark gestured to a wing chair. "Have a seat. May I get you anything to drink?"

"No, thank you." Brown sat in the chair and watched as Clark walked around the coffee table and sat down on the large brown leather sofa.

Clark unbuttoned his jacket and laid his arms out casually across the back of the couch. "This is the part where it gets tricky, Jonathan."

With a laugh that was more nervous than humorous Brown said, "I thought we were already in the tricky part."

Clark chose to ignore what he took as a sign of weakness and pushed on. "Rudin is ready to jump, or almost ready. All he needs is a little push from us, and he'll bring Kennedy's confirmation to a screeching halt."

Brown knew Clark didn't call him to his office to simply fill him in. "Where do I come in?"

"I'm meeting with someone tomorrow. Former FBI. His name is Norb Steveken." Clark winked. "Very trustworthy."

The former federal judge wasn't impressed that the man had worked for the FBI. There were times on the bench when he thought the FBI was every bit as ruthless and corrupt as the people they were after. "What does he do now?"

"He's an investigator."

"For whom?"

"For whoever happens to be paying him."

Brown accepted the senator's answer. He'd learned long ago that Clark had acquaintances from virtually every walk of life. "Who's paying right now?"

Clark batted away Brown's concerns with a wave of his hand. "You don't need to concern yourself with that. The important thing is that when you talk to him you need to seem very reluctant to give him what he needs, at least at first."

"And what does he need?"

"He needs information that Congressman Rudin can use to launch hearings."

Brown knew it would come to this eventually but it didn't lessen his discomfort. Used to keeping his cool on the bench, he pressed forward. "What information?"

Clark casually crossed his legs and said, "Give him the goods on the Orion Team."

Not quite sure he'd heard right. Brown asked, "You want me to tell a former FBI agent about the Orion Team?"

"Don't worry," Clark cautioned. "I've convinced Congressman Rudin to meet with Mr. Steveken. I've told Albert that I don't want to get involved in this, and I don't intend to get you dragged into it, either."

"Then why are you asking me to meet with this Steveken fellow?"

"Steveken will do what I tell him, and I'm going to tell him if you give him anything it will be off the record, and it's to stay that way."

"What about sending the info to Rudin anonymously?" Brown was desperate to come up with an alternative.

Clark shook his head. "It won't work. Albert is already in deep shit with his party. If we're going to get him to put his nuts on the line, he needs to hear this from a real person who can tell him they heard it straight from the mouth of someone at Langley." Brown licked his apprehension through pursed lips. "I don't know. It's one thing to pass information on to you, Hank, but talking to a former Fed about the Orion Team doesn't sound like such a good idea." The potbellied Brown squirmed in his seat. "People who get caught locking horns with this group tend to disappear."

"Peter Cameron was too cocky. You don't have that problem."

"I don't know," said Brown with obvious reservation.

Clark kept his voice reasonable. "Jonathan, you know the plan. I promise you this is the last big step. Once Albert starts his investigation there will be no turning back. The press will be all over this thing, and you and I both know Kennedy doesn't stand a chance at surviving that type of scrutiny." Clark pointed to his friend. "And then I will make sure you become the next director of the CIA, and a very wealthy one, I might add."

Brown was looking to cash in after years of public service. Besides, America was a nation of laws, and Kennedy needed to be held accountable. "All right. How do you want me to do it?" With a smile Clark asked, "Do you still walk that dog of yours every night?"

"Yes."

"Good. You can expect Steveken to approach you in the park by your house. Probably tomorrow night."

"And what do you want me to tell him?"

Clark thought about it for a moment. "I want you to act real nervous at first. Tell him you don't want to talk to him. Try to walk away. Don't worry, he'll follow. He's a very persistent fellow."

Brown repeated his question, "And what do you want me to tell him?"

"Nothing," smiled Clark. "At least not tomorrow night. Tell him you need to think about it. Tell him to come back the next night, and you'll have a decision for him."