21 – Washington, D.C.
The five white men met in the family quarters of the White House: the majority and minority leaders of the House and Senate, and President Quaid. No staff. No official record was kept of meetings held in the family quarters, unlike in the Oval Office, where every visit was tape recorded for history. Their conversation was unofficial, off the record, not for repetition outside the room.
“The problem,” Sen. Farrell began, “as we all well know, is that the real minority in this country is those of us who are not identified with some minority group. Add up all the blacks, Latinos, and Asians and collectively they outnumber ordinary white folks in this country. Throw in the whites who identify themselves with some ethnic or religious minority and you’ve got a fairly small group of what would be called traditional Americans.
“Now, Mr. President, I’m not saying there’s anything particularly wrong about this, but, well, it sure is an eye opener when you think about it.”
“And it has potentially unpleasant implications for the current situation,” House Majority Leader Frent Gastly added. “I don’t see that we’ve got much of a choice on this Jewish refugee business. We can’t make exceptions for these Jews. We do that and every city in the country will be up in flames.”
“And don’t forget the oil problem. It could be a damn cold winter in New Hampshire,” said Senator Wayne Giddings, the conservative New Hampshire Republican majority leader. Giddings’ state had shivered through a long cold winter that saw oil prices nearly double. He wasn’t about to go through another such winter, with even higher oil prices caused by an Arab oil boycott. One more winter like the last one and his free market preachings in chilly New Hampshire would ring on cold ears.
”Its more than just these two ships, Mr. President. We let these people in and the doors are flung open. There are how many million Jews left in Israel? They damn well all need some place to go, those that are still alive, those that are allowed to leave. We aren’t going to send in troops to get their country back – need I say that “Iraq” word, Sir – and we just can’t take them all in here.
“We’ve got to find every damn person who came on those ships and boot them out, turn them over to somebody, anybody but us.”
The President looked at the man, a Republican who he knew as an honest, caring person nonetheless.
“But that’s only half of it,” Giddings continued, locking his eyes with the president’s. “A crime has been committed, hell, five thousand crimes. What made thousands of Americans do what they did, kill ten Coast Guardsmen, sink two ships, hide all those refugees? Who knows? Whatever made them do it, they’re criminals, too. Criminals who have to be arrested. Tried. Punished. There’s no getting around that, Sir.”
“I hear what you are all saying. I see the inevitability of what we have to do,” President Quaid said reluctantly. He shook his head from side to side. “Damn, but it feels wrong. Look, my wife and my oldest friend are barely speaking to me over this. They know what I’m going to decide and they don’t like it. Don’t like it is putting it mildly.
“I’m having some pretty chilly nights myself, gentlemen.”
They all chuckled. The First Lady had announced she was going to visit their daughter at Harvard, and while she was in Massachusetts she might attend a fundraiser for Israeli refugees. Commentators went so far as to recall that she and Robert Brown had been an item at Cornell University before she fell for Lawrence Quaid. Few people believed there could be any serious rift in the famously close relationship between Quaid and his wife but tempers were short on this refugee issue. Commentators searched to explain why the federal government was doing nothing in the face of the murder of the Coast Guardsmen and the defiance of the Boston Jewish community.
The talk on talk radio was that what happened in Boston Harbor was as close to an act of insurrection as the country had seen since the Civil War.
President Quaid walked to a window. The illuminated spike of the Washington Monument drew his eyes toward the sky, where the first stars were becoming visible. There’ll surely never be a Quaid Monument on the mall, he thought. I’ll be lucky to escape as a historical footnote. Damn those Jews and Arabs, all of them.
“Look,” Quaid said, turning to face the two Republican leaders. “If I do this, if I round those people up and prosecute them, I want your complete support. I’m not going to hang myself on the line for every liberal to take shots at if I’ve got to worry about being kicked in the butt by the Republicans, too. I’ll do this, but only if you sign on all the way. Otherwise, hell, otherwise I don’t know what I’ll do, but I’m not going to have to duck for cover from both the left and the right on this one.
“Do I have your words on that? No half hearted support, either. I want you right there in front of the cameras with me when this gets announced.”
“We’ve discussed this with our folks already, Mr. President,” Sen. Giddings said. “You arrest those people, try them, send the illegals back where they came from and throw the book at everybody involved in killing those ten Coasties, and we’ll stand side by side with you. If ever there was an issue that actually did rise above politics - and I’ll admit I haven’t seen one yet - this could be it.”
“Same goes for me, Mr. President,” Gastly said. “My people are behind you on this one. You won’t have to watch your back. We’ll protect you there. Just do it firmly and quickly. Don’t get cold feet half way through the process.”
“Well, I hope God and history will forgive me, but I’ll do what has to be done,” President Quaid said softly. “May Catherine forgive me, too.
“I’ll speak with the Attorney General first thing tomorrow morning. She won’t like doing this, but I’m not giving her any choice.”
Attorney General Maryellen McQueeney, “the Queen” to friends and enemies, had an uncomfortable feeling when she was summoned to the White House for an 8 a.m. meeting with the President the next day. He’d been right. She didn’t like what she heard from him. She asked for more time, a week or so, to study options.
“You have no options, Queen,” Quaid told her. “This decision has been made. You are going to implement it. There may be a high price to pay for what we’re about to do. I’m willing to pay that price. You won’t have to. This is my decision, not yours and people are going to know that. Your job is to do your job. I suggest you fly to Boston this afternoon and tell your people what they are going to do. I want this kept quiet until you have all those people in custody, then I’ll make the announcement myself.”
The Attorney General nodded, a grim look on her face.
“One other thing, Queen. Remember the problem we had at CIA with restricting Jewish employees from access to sensitive information about the Middle East? After Bush the First took such heat about the Jonathan Pollard scandal, you and I decided that we wouldn’t worry about employment discrimination laws when national security was at stake. We decided to quietly keep that sort of information from Jewish analysts at CIA.
“Well, Queen, you’re going to have the same problem with your own folks on this one. I don’t want some Jewish assistant U.S. attorney in Boston deciding his loyalty is to other Jews and not to the United States. This will work if we do it quickly, with surprise, with no advance warnings. I don’t want this to turn into a months-long nationwide manhunt. I want it over with quickly and cleanly. Be careful who is on the case and who is off the case. Keep it subtle, but lets not be stupid on this one.”
McQueeney slowly shook her head from side to side, more to herself than to the President. She was quiet for a moment and then spoke slowly, one word at a time as if she were pausing after each word to select the next one.
“Mr. President,” she said. “I most respectfully disagree with what you are asking me to do. Please, lets give this a bit more thought before we start down a road without knowing where it will end up. Please, sir, don’t ask me to do this thing.”
“I’m not ASKING you to do anything,” Quaid’s voice was firm, his anger showing. “I am telling you to do this. I am ordering you to do this. And you will do this. You will not resign, at least not until this is over with. You will do this. I will have your support and your loyalty or I will have your head. Do you understand me?”
The Attorney General stepped back from the President as if he’d struck her. McQueeney had been a judge on the federal Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals in California. She’d been drawn to Lawrence Quaid because of his unflinching ethical record.
Much as she loved her job as the nation’s chief law enforcement officer, her life was lived in the law, not politics. She would not embarrass the man she swore allegiance to, but she would not sell out her own standards.
“Yes, sir.” McQueeney turned to leave, then turned back to face the President. “I’ll follow orders, even though I believe these orders are wrong. I won’t publicly disagree with you. I won’t embarrass you.
“And when the job is done, you can look for a new attorney general.”
She walked to the door, reached for the door knob, then turned to face President Quaid.
“Mr. President, I’m not the first good soldier to agree to follow orders to round up Jews. I hope history is more kind to you and me than it was the last time this happened. Good day, sir.”
President Quaid heard the door close. He sat alone in the Oval Office, head in his hands. Queen, he said to himself, don’t you think the same thoughts have been running through my brain. It’s so different this time, though, he told himself. It’s completely different. These people broke the law. They killed people. What else could I do?
He wished Catherine were with him. If ever he needed her to point him in the right direction, it was now, he thought. And where was she, he smiled to himself. Eating filet mignon - kosher filet of course - at a fundraiser for refugees in Brookline, Massachusetts. Quaid silently stared out the window, looking at the moonlight on the rose garden.
Maybe she is pointing out the right direction, he thought. Maybe she is and I’m just heading the wrong way. God damn it, Catherine. Come home. I need you now.