The driver gave her a noncommittal nod and handed her the final edition of The Washington Post. “It’s on the front page,” he said. She opened the newspaper to glaring headlines and a lead story that told of massive amounts of money being fed into political action committees, get-out-the-vote organizations, and Pontowski’s own election committee. The reporter related how a sophisticated money-laundering scheme had covered up the donors and bypassed political contribution disclosure laws. Most of the money had been directed into political action committees that had then engaged in a TV blitz of vicious mudslinging. It was claimed that the get-out-the-vote groups effectively bought votes. The reporter ended the exposé by quoting the Senate minority leader, William Douglas Courtland. “This was a highly unethical campaign with too much money going to the right people at the right time. One person or group had to be controlling the shots and they violated just about every election campaign law on the books.”
“How much of it do you think is true?” the driver asked.
Melissa only shook her head, trying to think of what to say. Of course, she wanted to believe it was a pack of lies or misinformation, facts twisted to make a story. She had seen it before and accepted it as part of the game of politics. But this was different, it had the ring of truth and the Post had too good a track record with their investigative journalism. Sure, the newspaper made mistakes, but not ones that involved the President of the United States. The reporter was onto something. There was no doubt in Melissa’s mind that Zack Pontowski would never allow, much less condone, the use of illegal campaign funds. He would have been the first whistle-blower. But perhaps someone inside the election campaign committee had exceeded his or her bounds. Who? An image of Fraser talking on a telephone immediately came to mind.
A secretary told her to go directly into the Oval Office when she reached the White House and she was embarrassed at interrupting the meeting. Fraser was sitting next to the chairman of the election committee. The Vice President was standing, holding a cup of coffee, listening to what the speaker of the House had to say. “Coffee?” Pontowski asked when he saw Melissa come through the door. She smiled a thanks and poured a cup from the silver carafe on the table. “Well, like I was saying, Mr. President,” the speaker continued, “it’s way too early to see what this has done to your political base in the House.”
“What about the Senate?” Pontowski asked the Vice President.
The Vice President stared into his cup. “It’s the same. Too early to tell.” He gave a wicked grin. “But I can tell in beaucoup markers.”
“Not on this one,” Pontowski told the Vice President. Fraser’s head snapped up, but he said nothing.
Pontowski leaned back in his chair. “Okay, Frank”—this was for the campaign chairman—“can you recall any questionable money coming in from political action committees or our people getting in bed with the wrong characters?”
“We returned anything that looked like it came from a questionable source,” the man said. “And we stayed well clear of the PACs and get-out-the-vote groups. Too much wheeling-dealing going on at the state level.”
“Did you keep a record of all that?” Fraser asked.
“Of course,” the campaign chairman said. Fraser frowned.
“Melissa”—Pontowski was looking at her—“did you see or hear anything questionable when you were working at the national campaign headquarters?”
“Every day,” she answered. “But if it had anything to do with contributions, I forwarded it to Mr. Fraser’s office.”
“Did you keep a record or some kind of memo?” Fraser asked. Melissa shook her head no.
“Tom, what did you see?” Fraser had been responsible for the day-to-day running of the campaign, leaving the chairman free to concentrate on fund-raising and overall guidance.
Fraser smiled condescendingly. “Only what Melissa sent up to me. I handled it.” There was condemnation in his tone.
“Did you keep a record?” Melissa asked sweetly.
Fraser glared at her. “It wasn’t necessary.” Now he took charge. “It’s an exposé, the kind of thing that sells newspapers. We’ve all seen it before and the Post has been slobbering after another Watergate ever since I can remember. There’s nothing there, so we should stonewall it and throw the ball back into their court.”
“I don’t think it will be that easy,” the speaker of the House allowed.
“Without proof, what have they got?” Fraser was on the offensive.
“Okay, enough,” Pontowski said, holding up a hand and stopping all discussion. “This has the potential to blow up in our faces. It’s like seeing a rat — if you see one, you can be sure there’s more hiding in the woodwork.” He spoke quickly, without emotion. “Here’s what we’re going to do. Tom, you’re in charge. First, draft up a press release and get it back to me before it’s sent out. As of now, we are concerned and conducting a full-scale investigation. If there was any wrongdoing, we’ll find it and prosecute those responsible, no matter who they are. Second, talk to the attorney general and get a list of recommendations for a special prosecutor. Third, get the FBI involved and have them contact and interview everyone connected with the campaign.”
“Sir,” Fraser protested. “Do you have any idea of how many people that is?”
“Some,” Pontowski replied, “some. Fourth, contact the IRS and have them start checking on reported tax deductions to my campaign. It had all better track with our records.”
“They won’t like that one,” Fraser mumbled.
“No doubt,” Pontowski conceded. “Fifth, I want action today and an update before you go home tonight. Sixth, I want every reporter coming to us for information and anything they dig up on their own will be old news. Any questions?” There were none and the group started to file out. “Tom, what’s first on the agenda for today?”
Fraser stopped and looked at his schedule. “Breakfast with a delegation from the hill at seven-thirty, Mr. President. Subject: the Middle East.” He handed Pontowski a list of the three congressmen and two senators who would be there.
“Humm, the Israeli lobby,” Pontowski said. “Well, we can get some work done before then.”
Later, the breakfast started pleasantly enough but tension slipped into the conversation as talk turned toward the main concern of the delegation. “Mr. President,” the senior senator said, “we are worried about current developments and see an ominous threat being directed at the security of Israel. We understand that the Israelis have asked for increased military aid.” Pontowski nodded and encouraged the senator to continue. “We believe the administration should honor that request.”
“We only received the request a few days ago,” Pontowski explained. “We’re still examining it.”
“Mr. President”—it was the junior congressman’s turn—“my constituents are very worried about the bellicose statements coming from the Arabs that they are uniting to continue the work of Saddam and think we should give the Israelis the squadron of F-Fifteen Es they have asked for.”
“Your information is very detailed,” Pontowski said. “Like I said, we are looking at it.”
“Since your grandson is demonstrating an F-Fifteen E to the IDF can I tell my constituents that you are favorably considering the request?”
Pontowski looked at the man and frowned. “I didn’t know Matt was in Israel. Please believe me, sending my grandson was a decision made by the Air Force and does not reflect my policies in the area.”
“Mr. President,” the junior senator said. “We understand that your policies are changing.”