The Third Option

chapter 19
Senator Clark's limousine pulled into the Congressional Country Club and started up the drive. The golf course, originally designed by Devereaux Emmett and later redesigned by Donald Ross, Robert Trent Jones, and, more recently; Rees Jones, was one of the finest courses in the country. The limo veered to the right and passed the starters' shack. Four golfers dressed in sweaters and wind shirts stood on the first tee. Clark frowned. He'd have to see if he could clear his schedule this afternoon and sneak in eighteen. It looked as if it was going to be a beautiful day: The car continued around the circle drive and stopped in front of the classic Mediterranean-style clubhouse. The senator thanked his driver and told him he'd be no more than an hour.

Once inside, Clark headed downstairs to a private meeting room he'd reserved. He was flanked, as he wove his way through the maze of hallways, by black-and-white photographs laying out the history of the club  -  President Calvin Coolidge on opening day in 1923, U.S. Open and Kemper Open photos, and Clark's favorite, a shot of the course during World War II when it had been turned into a training camp for OSS spies.

Clark entered the windowless meeting room to find Congressman Rudin and Secretary of State Midleton in heated debate. Clark said hello and stopped at the side buffet to grab a bagel and a bowl of cereal. Before sitting down, he filled up a glass with cranberry juice and signed the ticket. Both Rudin and Midleton were members of the club, but in the twenty-some years that Clark had known them, he had yet to see either of them pick up the tab for anything. The two men were cheap in different ways. Rudin was a simple spendthrift, whereas Midleton was from Mayflower stock. He'd been raised in the way of the Daughters of the American Revolution. His family was royalty, and royalty didn't carry cash, nor did they pick up the tab. So once again, it fell on the shoulders of the boy who'd been raised by two alcoholics in a trailer.

Despite the huge social chasm that lay between them, Clark was by far the wealthiest of the three men. With a net worth in excess of one hundred million dollars, he was one of the top five wealthiest politicians in Washington. Midleton had his precious estate that had been passed down to him. It was worth eight million dollars, pitiable by today's new standards of wealth. Midleton was very proud of the fact that he'd never touched the principal in his inheritance. The money was handled by the same bank that had managed Midleton's great-great-grandfather's money; Clark had done some checking. The portfolio had shown a laughable return of eight percent over the last decade. It seemed the secretary of state invested his money the old-fashioned way; He paid huge fees to stodgy old bankers who put his money into tax-free municipal bonds and a few old stalwart utilities.

Congressman Rudin was somewhat better off. Having been in the House for thirty-four years, he could retire tomorrow at full pension and benefits, more than enough money to support his frugal lifestyle. He'd been squirreling his money away over the years. Two years ago, his IRA was worth almost eight hundred thousand dollars. That was when Clark had finally persuaded him to let his money managers take a whack at growing the account. It was like pulling teeth to get Rudin to turn over control. In just two years, Clark's people had turned the eight hundred thousand dollars into $1.7 million, and Rudin had yet to offer a thank you, let alone pick up a tab.

There had been a time when this would have bothered the senior senator from Arizona, but Clark had risen above his feelings. He pitied the way the two men nervously fretted every time a waiter delivered a check. It was truly pathetic. Today, as he sat at the table and spread cream cheese on his bagel, he tried to gauge just how far he could play these two before they figured out what he was up to.

Clark had no intention of asking the secretary of state why he had called this meeting. The senator knew why. His spies in the White House and over at Foggy Bottom had told him there had been an incident between the president and his top Cabinet member. An incident involving the German ambassador and one that had been extremely embarrassing to Secretary Midleton.

Rudin was perched over a bowl of Grape-nuts, shoveling the tiny rocks into his mouth. In between spoonfuls, he would lean even closer to Midleton and spew forth his own take on what was going on at the Central Intelligence Agency. When Clark appeared to be settled in, Rudin turned his attention away from the secretary of state.

"Hank, did you hear what happened at the White House yesterday?"

Clark played dumb and shook his head. For the next forty seconds, Rudin retold his inflamed version of what had taken place in the Oval Office. For Midleton's part, he sat there looking wounded in his gray suit and paisley bow tie. Clark was on tricky ground. As amateurish as Rudin and Midleton could seem at times, one could not forget the fact that they were two of the most influential and powerful politicians in town. They were Democrats, and he was the enemy. If they got even the slightest whiff that he was playing them, it would be over.

When Rudin was done rambling, Clark set his juice down and looked at the secretary of state. "I'm sorry you had to be embarrassed like that, Charles. It's inappropriate to take you to task in front of other Cabinet members. But it sounds like the president did have a point."

Before Midleton could respond, Rudin was lurching forward. His weather-beaten face twisted in a grimace of disbelief. "What point could you be talking about? Did you listen to a thing I said?"

"AI, this Hagenmiller guy was consorting with the wrong people."

"Wrong people. That's the CIA's side of the story, and we all know how much that's worth."

"We've discussed this before, AI. We differ on the value of Langley." Clark took a bite of his bagel and waited for the inevitable tirade.

"The wretched Central Intelligence Agency is the biggest waste of money this country has ever seen. The way they operate is unconstitutional, and they are a danger to the future of democracy not only in this country but around the world."

Clark pushed himself back and folded his arms across his chest. "I didn't come here to be preached to about something that we will never agree on. Now, if there is something constructive you two would like to discuss, let's get to it. Otherwise, I have other things to attend to."

Rudin shook his head in frustration. It drove him crazy that his friend from Arizona couldn't see the CIA for what it was.

Midleton, always the diplomat, stepped in. "Hank, what are you hearing about Thomas Stansfield's health?"

Clark stifled a grin. They had gone right where he wanted them to. "My sources tell me he could be gone in two weeks or two months but no longer than that."

Midleton nodded thoughtfully, as if he were actually mourning Stansfield's approaching demise. "Are you concerned over who will succeed him as director?"

"Of course I am."

"Have you heard any names?"

"No." Clark shook his head. "You're in the administration, not me."

"Well, as the chairman of the Senate Intelligence Committee, you're going to have a lot of say in the matter."

"In confirmation only. Your man is the one who gives us the name. All we do is ask a few questions and vote up or down."

"You are being far too modest," countered Midleton.

Rudin was busy shaking his head and trying to pick something from his teeth. "Surely you must have heard a few names thrown about?"

"No, not really."

Rudin pulled a toothpick from his mouth and barked, "What about Irene Kennedy?"

"No, I haven't heard her name mentioned, but I think she would be a good nominee."

"Oh my God! You can't be serious!" Rudin was back out over the table.

Calmly, Clark replied, "And what may I ask is wrong with Dr. Kennedy?"

"Where do you want me to start?" asked an incredulous Rudin.

"Wherever you'd like."

"First off, she's an insider, and we sure as hell don't need another insider running that damn place. We need someone who will go in there and clean house. Someone who will pay the strictest attention to congressional oversight. Above and beyond that, she's not even qualified."

"She's done a very good job with the Counterterrorism Center," argued Clark.

"Bullshit, I don't believe a single briefing she gives my committee. That woman is a liar and a conniver, and I'll be damned if I'll allow her to take over as DCI."

"From what you just said, it sounds like she's the perfect person to run an intelligence agency." Clark couldn't help smiling just a little. This was going all too well.

"I'm glad you think this is funny, Hank. It's one thing to lie and connive when dealing with our enemies, but when they come before my committee, I want the truth, and the bottom line is that there is no way in hell that woman is going to give it to me."

Clark pointed at Rudin. "Did you ever stop and think that she doesn't tell you things because she knows you would like to cut funding for her agency in half?"

"That isn't her prerogative. She is bound by law to report the facts to my committee, and she doesn't, and it pisses me off."

"Then you should investigate her." Clark had just put Rudin in check. He knew Rudin was the ultimate party man. To investigate Kennedy would mean bringing down the heat on President Hayes, a fellow Democrat. Rudin retreated and crossed his arms, conflicted between his loyalty to his party and his hatred of the CIA.

"Let's all just calm down a bit," interjected Midleton. As unhappy as he was with the president at the moment, the last thing he wanted was Rudin going off on a witch-hunt. The Republicans would gain serious mileage out of a Democratic congressman going after a Democratic president, and as a member of that president's Cabinet, the last thing Midleton wanted to see were congressional hearings. They had a habit of expanding, and once the shooting started, no one knew who might get caught in the crossfire.

"I am calm." Clark took his napkin and set it on the table"

"Good." Midleton glanced over at Rudin as if to tell him to stay quiet for a few minutes. Looking back to Clark, he said, "Who would you like to see take over at Langley?"

This was far too easy. Clark cautioned himself not to overreach. He had his person and two more as backups, but now was far too early to throw a name out." As I've already said, it's not my job to nominate. I only confirm."

"But if you could pick someone?"

Clark shrugged his shoulders. "I have no idea. I haven't put any thought into it." He added with a laugh, "Not that it would matter."

"It might," offered Midleton.

"What he's trying to say," interjected Rudin, "is that we don't like the idea of Kennedy taking over. And from what you're telling us, she's the president's choice. I am prepared to go to the president and tell him that I oppose Kennedy's nomination, but considering how vocal I've been on the issue, it will be no big surprise to him. He and I have been around and around on this issue, and we cannot see eye to eye."

"Why don't you threaten to cut funding?" It was a very subtle jibe. Clark knew Rudin didn't have the votes on his own committee to push such a policy.

"I'm a party man, and you know it, Hank." Rudin said this as if it was the most honorable thing that could be said of a person. "I can't go against my president on this."

"Well, I don't know what to tell you, gentlemen. If you don't like Kennedy as a nominee, then you'd better find a way to change Hayes's mind." It was a high lob back to their side of the net.

Midleton fidgeted in his chair before speaking. "If you were to come up with a nominee who was more palatable than Kennedy, we would be willing to take that name to the president and plead your case."

Clark tried to act surprised. "So you'd like me to play the bad guy."

Midleton didn't like the term but nodded.

"Please tell me why I'd want to do this?"

"Because," started Rudin, "there are a thousand people in this town alone who could do a better job of running that damn place."

Clark nodded slowly. "I'll think about it." Then, while checking his watch, he said, "I should get going. Is there anything else?"

Both men said no, and then Midleton added, "just please be open-minded about this. We can help each other."

Clark said he would try and then left. As soon as he was gone, Rudin turned to Midleton and said, "He'll play ball I know how to handle Hank."

"I hope you're right. I don't think our foreign policy could take much more of this cowboy mentality."

"Don't worry, I am."

Midleton wished he could feel more optimistic, but he was still smarting from his meeting the morning before. The president had turned into an absolute hawk. He needed someone to reel him in. Kennedy needed to be cut out of the inner circle. Midleton looked over at his fellow Democrat. "Maybe it would be a good idea to call Dr. Kennedy before your committee."

Rudin scowled. "Why would I want to give the Republicans a chance to make political hay out of this?"

"Think of it as taking the wind out of their sails before they can make an issue out of it on their own."

Rudin liked the idea. He'd love to take her to task and remind her whom she answered to. "I'll do it, but I don't want to hurt the president."

"Don't worry, it won't. I don't think she would ever expose him to that type of scandal."

While waiting for his limousine to pull around, Senator Clark could barely contain his glee over how the meeting I had gone. Things had not turned out in Germany the way he had planned, but now, with these two buffoons offering their assistance, the end result would be the same. His backers for the Oval Office would be very happy. Very happy indeed.