War of Choice (DRAFT): Chapter 20, Scene 3

It was nearly 11 p.m. and Clarissa had been sitting at her desk in the Oval Office for the last 20 minutes, contemplating the Situation Room briefing she had just received after a day of campaigning in Kentucky and West Virginia. She couldn’t decide whether the news was too good to be true or too sad to even contemplate. But that didn’t matter right now. For the first time in months she had a foreign policy option—an ugly one, but an option to consider nonetheless.

About 18 hours ago a woman named Jajang Lestari walked into the U.S. Embassy in the East Samatan capital and handed over a brief case full of maps that allegedly detailed West Samatan’s weapons of mass destruction sites and key military installations. American diplomats in Samatan City were used to pro-unification agitators making wild claims, but this one was taken seriously right from the start for a simple reason. Jajang’s husband of 36 years was a senior general in the West Samatan army.

Gen. Chung Lestari earned a political science degree from the University of Washington 44 years ago—at the age of 20. After graduation, he left Seattle for a visit to his family’s home in Dengali with every intention of returning to the United States to start law school that fall. Then, on the morning of Aug. 8, the low-grade conflict that had been part of life on Samatan for decades turned into a full-scale civil war after rebels from the west took credit for the assassination of Samatan’s foreign minister and his wife.

The Lestari family had the resources to get their youngest son out of the country, but when his two brothers joined up with a local rebel leader named Lee Haz, there was no stopping Chung. He was going to war. And he was the only Lestari who would live to see West Samatan win its independence.

“Come in,” Clarissa said in response to a knock at the door leading from Sarah’s office. “Come in if you must.”

The chief of staff entered with Gen. Pierce Keller following.

“We’re really spending too much time together,” Clarissa said, smiling a little as she motioned for the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff and Sarah to sit in the chairs across from her desk. “The press might start thinking we’re doing more than tilting at windmills.”

“I’m sorry, Madam President, but the general has something—”

“It’s fine, Sarah,” Clarissa said. “What do you want, Pierce?”

In the 30-minute Situation Room briefing, the president was told that Lee Haz’s three Diplomat II launching sites were in abandoned (and now gutted) apartment towers crammed into residential districts near downtown Galang. The two entry points to the underground weapons development and missile maintenance facilities were in government warehouses—one of which was next to a hospital and the other a half-a-block from a school. It was far more sophisticated and covert than anyone imagined.

“Madam President, if I may speak more forcefully than I did downstairs, this is for real,” the general said. “What we’ve been presented today fills in huge gaps in British intelligence—”

“So we’re supposed to put Special Forces on the ground in Galang and then start bombing areas where real people live? Then we’re supposed to trust the East to do its part and take that whole island?”

“Madam President,” Sarah said. “This—”

“And one more thing,” Clarissa said, glaring at Sarah. “It occurred to me while we were downstairs. I didn’t want to say anything at the time, but why did I just learn about this tonight? You both knew this morning. Why am I only beginning to process this right now? Why was I out campaigning when you all were back here—”

“That’s on me, actually,” Keller said. “That was my call. The CIA didn’t want a disruption to your public schedule. If you’re not in Ashland, Kentucky, when your campaign says you’ll be there, CNN isn’t the only one who notices.”

“Fine,” Clarissa said. “That’s fine, we’re putting on a show for Lee Haz’s intelligence people, but this whole thing is still pretty thin.”

“Ma’am,” the general said. “This is as real as it gets.”

“By your own account, General Lestari is stationed at one of the metro Galang bases we’re supposed to bomb—if I ever agree to this.”

“That’s correct, Madam President,” the general said. “Lestari is based at Liberty Defense Base II. He would come under fire, absolutely. We’d level the entire base in the first wave of bombing.”

Sarah spoke up before Clarissa could respond.

“Madam President, Lestari is a patriot.”

The chief of staff continued after the president nodded without speaking.

“‘Patriot’ is my word, but it’s basically the point Glenn made just a few minutes ago,” Sarah said, referring to CIA Director Glenn Westin. “The general sent his wife across the border because he’s afraid a war is coming—and if it’s coming, he wants it to be over as quickly and easily as possible.”

“He risked his wife in sending her to the East,” Keller said. “He risked himself, too. If her crossing failed, he would’ve been shot—no questions asked. Since it succeeded, he could die in an attack. He’s a soldier and he’s sacrificing himself for his country.”

Clarissa stood and turned toward the window behind her desk. Keller and Sarah came to their feet, too.

“What do you think, general?” the president finally said. “If we hit the bases and the weapons, what happens next? Does the East pull its weight? And can we mobilize our assets in the region quickly enough to get this underway without anyone noticing?”

“Lots of variables at play, but—”

“But nothing,” Clarissa said softly, looking out the window. “I understand this might be the real thing. I certainly don’t dismiss your counsel, but I need something solid before we move.”

“Madam President—”

“Sorry, Pierce,” the president said as she started toward the door. “But I need more than we’ve got.”

Copyright - Christopher Truscott - 2013

War of Choice (DRAFT): Chapter 20, Scene 2

Holly Schaffer set aside the latest draft of the speech Clarissa was set to deliver Thursday night in Dallas, when she formally accepted the Democratic Party’s nomination for a second term as president. The campaign manager had a few minor tweaks she wanted to offer, but was otherwise pleased with the speech—and everything else—as Team Clarissa neared the homestretch of its final election campaign. The convention was perfectly planned and would serve as a four-day infomercial ending with Clarissa addressing a live audience of 100,000 supporters packed into an NFL football stadium, plus tens of millions more watching on television across the country.

In terms of planning and execution, this was their best campaign yet. They had more money than they could possibly spend, the lessons learned from the last election and the power of the presidency at their disposal. While Holly knew victory was nearly certain, she wanted to ensure Clarissa entered her lame duck term with an historic mandate. Only three other presidents had won 46 states or more. Holly wanted her boss to be the fourth. That would buy her the political cover necessary to govern from a position of strength right up until the end.

As she leaned back in the chair behind her desk at the Minneapolis headquarters, Holly stared at the flat-screen televisions mounted on the wall by the door. Then she grabbed the remote and unmuted the Fox News coverage of David Harmon’s appearance in Overland Park, Kansas. The governor had returned home, campaigning in a suburban city on the Kansas-Missouri border.

“What began as a campaign for the presidency has grown into a movement to restore the republic to the values that make America the greatest nation the world has ever known,” Harmon told jubilant supporters at the noontime rally in the local high school football stadium. “And the beauty of democracy is that we the people are the authors of a story unrivaled in human history. A story of ordinary Americans who built an extraordinary—”

Holly took a sip of coffee and then smiled to herself. She had dreaded the possibility of running against the grassroots machine Harmon commanded four years ago. She still couldn’t believe the party’s powerbrokers had lined up behind Jefferson Wise. Now Harmon was just another guy whose moment had passed.

“Hey,” said Evan Davis as he entered Holly’s office without knocking. “Harmon?”

“And the majesty of America,” Holly said, laughing as she muted the television. “What’s up? And don’t you have a flight to catch?”

“I’m leaving in an hour?” Evan said, nodding toward the papers on Holly’s desk. “Convention speech?”

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“And what?” Holly smiled.

“Don’t give me that shit,” Evan said. “Is she ready?”

“Clarissa Jennings on the big stage in the last campaign of her life—”

“I get it. She’s ready. But that’s not why I’m here.”

“Then, please, do tell,” Holly said as she glanced at an email on her laptop.

“Job offers. I’m getting job offers.”

“You have a job, Evan.”

“You know what I mean,” he said, taking a seat and then kicking his feet up on Holly’s desk.

“I know, but so what? You’re 41 years old and a rock star. You can have any job you want after the president wins. Shit, I can probably get her to make you chairman of the DNC.”

Evan smiled, but not at the thought of leading the Democratic National Committee. It was Holly’s compliment that knocked him for a loop. Even after nearly 12 years working together, a kind word from her meant a lot—since she rarely expressed such sentiments.

“It’s just weird, that’s all,” he said.

“No, Evan, it’s really not. After doing something like this, there’s really nothing you can’t do. Anything you want—in politics, at least—is yours. But if we blow this election, you’ll be flipping burgers, so let’s worry about what’s next later. Seriously, OK?”

Evan smiled again before responding.

“I know. I just didn’t want to go too long without saying that I’d like to continue working with you. The world’s our oyster—or whatever—so I wanted to put that out there this one time. Once this is over—”

“Right,” Holly said, grabbing the speech again and scribbling a meaningless note in the margin.

“That’s all you’ve got? ‘Right?’”

“We have work to do—”

“I know,” Evan said. “I’m just taking a rare five minutes to think about something else, but that’s not the point. The point is: you’re ducking me.”

They both laughed a little and then Holly spoke.

“I’m really not,” she said. “After we win this election, it’ll be your turn to find someone who can win—and deserves to win.”

“And what about you? You’re not ancient yet. Almost 50, but you could pass for 48. Maybe even 47.”

“That’s so sweet of you!”

“You know what I mean,” he said. “You’re 48, Holly—”

“I’m 47!”

“Whatever. There’s still a lot left for you, so quit act like you’re retiring.”

Only recently had Holly decided what she wanted to do after this campaign, which she always knew would be her last. There was no way she’d go work for anyone else after a career with Clarissa, despite many attractive—and lucrative—offers.

“There is, Evan. I’m taking a vacation. I don’t know where, but once we’re through the election, I’m going somewhere.” She paused for a moment and then continued. “I’ve always wanted to ski and never had the time, so maybe Switzerland.”

“You’ll be bored in three days—”

“I’ll be bored, sure, but give me a month. Then I’m coming back here and taking a job. I’ve had a long-standing offer to do something and I’m taking it.”

Evan smiled, but didn’t say anything.

“So, I guess that covers that,” Holly said. “And you most certainly have something better to do right now.”

Evan stood and laughed before speaking.

“Holly, what is it that you’ll be doing?”

“Teaching. While you’re out looking for the next president, I’ll be teaching political science to University of Minnesota undergrads.”

“I call bullshit,” Evan said. “There’s no way you can walk away from this.”

Holly smiled.

“I can and I am,” she said. “But if I see the next Clarissa Jennings, I’ll send her your way.”

As Evan turned to leave, Holly’s iPhone rang. She answered quickly after seeing Sarah’s name on the caller ID.

“Yeah,” she said as Evan slowed before reaching the door. “Come on, Sarah, seriously? … Fine, it’s done. I won’t ask.”

“That was quick,” Evan said, turning around after Holly hung up. “Trouble?”

“I promise I can walk away from this when the time comes.”

“OK, I believe you. What’s happening?”

“Nothing,” Holly said grimly. “Sarah just wants to screw with the president’s schedule as if it’s not—whatever, we’ll make it work.”

“We always make it work,” Evan said as he walked out the door. “I’ll call from Dallas.”

Copyright - Christopher Truscott - 2013

War of Choice (DRAFT): Chapter 20, Scene 1

Chapter 20

 

Sunday, Aug. 17

 

Sarah Paulsen had been chief of staff for six full days, but with the exception of a few pictures on her desk, her office looked and felt like it still belonged to Brandon van Tassel. At some point, she knew she’d have to unpack the boxes stacked in the back corner, fill the shelves and come up with a system for managing the flow of papers and briefing binders stacked on her desk, but there was no time for that now. Maybe after the election, she promised herself, but only if we win.

It was 7 a.m. on Sunday morning and she had already been in the office for two hours trying to get a handle on everything that was supposed to happen—and could possibly happen—over the course of the day. She’d been a senior adviser to Clarissa Jennings for most of her adult life, but nothing had prepared her for this. That she didn’t already feel like she was drowning this morning was her first major victory as chief of staff.

As Sarah skimmed through a memo on education policy legislation that might still have a chance at becoming law before the end of the year, she listened to the CNN broadcast on one of the small televisions on the shelf by her desk. Fox News, MSNBC and the BBC were also playing, though the volume on those three televisions was muted while the CNN reporter droned on about a terror plot that was foiled last Sunday, just hours before the closing ceremony of the Summer Olympics.

The network was characterizing the truck bombing planned for downtown Minneapolis as a “near miss,” but Sarah knew better. She had learned three days ago, minutes before the bust was first reported in the media, that the FBI infiltrated the domestic group accused of hatching the plot more than a year ago. Patriots for a White American Majority never stood a chance, though the FBI and the Jennings administration refused to claim any credit for this because undercover agents were still working on bringing down two similar groups.

For now, Sarah was willing to lose herself in the education proposal authored by Gordon Ryan, a Republican from Utah, and Rachel Clements, a California Democrat. Unlike West Samatan, counter-terrorism and arcane federal budget provisions, Sarah had a good grasp on education policy and she had met both Ryan and Clements. That made her feel like an expert for one of the few times since Clarissa had called her last Sunday night and told her to get ready to accept a big promotion.

“Hey,” Sawyer Rydell said as she tapped on Sarah’s door and walked into the office.

“Have you hired a new you?”

“One of me is plenty,” the new communications director joked.

“I wish, but it’s not,” Sarah said. “We’ve gone a week too long without a chief speechwriter. You can’t do both jobs.”

“Is that really the biggest problem you can think of?” Sawyer laughed.

“Hardly, but it’s one I can solve. Promote a deputy and let’s move on.”

“I want to look at a few people. Fred and Bridget are great, but—”

“Sawyer, seriously, you’ve been promoted,” Sarah snapped. “Put someone in charge of speeches and let’s stop treading water. We’re wasting time.”

Sawyer took a seat in a chair in front of Sarah’s desk and sighed.

“We’ll have someone in place by Labor Day. We’re really fine and you know we are.”

“Yeah,” Sarah said after a few moments. “We’re fine, I guess.”

“Try not to sound so enthusiastic about it.”

Sarah smiled a little before speaking.

“You know I never wanted this job, right?”

“I don’t blame you—and better you than me!”

“Thanks for the support, but seriously, I never wanted this job. Just an hour in this chair is—”

“Brandon’s really gone,” Sawyer said. “It’s your job. Whatever happens over the next few days or few years, you’re the one the president’s going to turn to.”

“Is that your way of saying that hiring a chief speechwriter really isn’t a big deal?”

“I didn’t intend it that way, but I’ll take it.”

Sarah laughed and then tossed aside the education memo and muted CNN, which now had two “national security analysts” discussing the thwarted terrorist attack.

“Did we really get lucky on that?” Sawyer said as she nodded toward the television. She knew there must be more to the story than the “tip” the FBI said led to the arrest of 15 suspects in Minnesota and four other states.

“All I can say is that we’re actually quite good,” Sarah said. “If you knew more you’d be rushing out to join the private sector.”

“Actually, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about a raise.”

“Get in line,” Sarah said. “I want one first.”

Before Sawyer could say anything, the phone on Sarah’s desk rang. The chief of staff grabbed it immediately.

“Yes,” Sarah said.

Sawyer stood and turned toward the door before Sarah snapped her fingers and then held up her hand, signaling for the communications director to stay put.

“This is credible?” Sarah said into the phone. “You’re sure it is?”

Sawyer returned to her chair as Sarah continued.

“I need a briefing on this.”

Sawyer glanced at the television. MSNBC was airing a story on the latest Hollywood blockbuster. Fox News was showing clips of David Harmon’s Saturday night campaign stop in South Dakota. The BBC had footage of police beating protestors in West Samatan. And CNN had just started a story about the Democratic National Convention, which was scheduled to begin tomorrow in Dallas.

“I’ll be down in 10 minutes,” Sarah said before hanging up the phone.

“I’m guessing that had nothing to do with getting either of us a raise,” Sawyer said, smiling a bit while Sarah looked stunned.

“They’re getting ready for me in the Situation Room.”

“Good job perk. Handsome men in uniform.”

Sarah smiled and then laughed a little before turning serious again.

“Handsome men who seem very convinced they have news to report.”

“West Samatan?”

Sarah didn’t respond.

“Something above my pay grade?” Sawyer said as she stood.

Sarah said nothing.

“I think I’ll head back to my office,” Sawyer said, well aware that the answer to both her questions was an emphatic yes.

“Wait,” Sarah called out.

“Yeah,” Sawyer said as she stopped in the doorway.

“Don’t tell anyone, but if what I’m about to hear isn’t crap, there’s one more speech you’ll need to write before picking a replacement.”

Copyright - Christopher Truscott - 2013

War of Choice (DRAFT): Chapter 19

Chapter 19

 

Monday, Aug. 11

 

Clarissa Jennings sat down behind her desk in the Oval Office a few minutes before 5 a.m. She was exhausted since she hadn’t slept for more than an hour or two at a time all weekend. No matter how hard she tried to push the matter from her head, she knew what she had to do. It was unavoidable. And it had to be done this morning. It had to be done right now, in fact.

The president set her glasses on the desk and rubbed her eyes. Then she looked at her watch. 4:59 a.m. She had asked her chief of staff to be here at 5 a.m. While Clarissa hoped he’d be late, she knew it was unlikely. Brandon van Tassel was always perfectly punctual.

Clarissa stared at her watch as the second hand crept toward the 6 at the bottom. 4:59 and 30 seconds. Each moment felt like an eternity as the president’s mind raced through 24 years with Brandon—campaigns they had worked on together; her own campaigns; him serving as the top guy in every office she ever held. For more than two decades, he had been absolutely indispensable and loyal beyond reproach.

“Shit,” Clarissa whispered as the second hand neared the 12. Then the side door leading from the chief of staff’s office opened.

“Good morning, Madam President,” Brandon said as he entered.

Clarissa nodded toward the chairs in front of her desk.

“Do you know why you’re here?” she said, quietly.

“I’m going to guess it isn’t the wild fire in New Mexico.” He tried to smile, but couldn’t.

“That’s under control,” the president said flatly.

“It is—”

“Why, Brandon? Why?”

“Madam President?”

“Don’t ‘Madam President’ me,” Clarissa snapped. “Why did you do it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Clarissa pulled the Kevin McCall article from the top drawer of her desk and handed it to him.

“I know you didn’t talk to the reporter,” she said. “I think what you did was worse. You took the coward’s way out.”

“Ma’am—”

“Brandon, this article could get people killed. Not just protestors in West Samatan, but our people. If I have to do something militarily, you just tipped my hand. Shit, you might as well have called Lee Haz and told him. Could’ve cut out the middle man altogether.”

“Ma—”

“No,” the president said, her voice rising. “No. I’m done listening to you. I’ve weighed what you said. I’ve registered your objections all damn summer, but at the end of the day—I’m the president. I get to decide what our policy is. That’s what I was elected to do.”

Her own emphasis on the word “I” made her cringe. She campaigned four years ago around the word “we.” But so much about this job made her cringe now. She had sought the presidency based on the strength of her 12 years as governor of Minnesota. Foreign policy had been the last thing on her mind when she stood on the front porch of her parents’ house in south Minneapolis and announced her bid for the White House. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

“Respectfully, Madam President, you weren’t elected with a mandate for this foreign policy.”

Clarissa glared at him hard before speaking.

“My powers under Article II of the Constitution are contingent on getting elected, not what I may or may not have said during a campaign. I won, so I get to govern.”

The word “I,” again. She felt queasy.

“Ma’am—”

“No, Brandon, save it.”

“Madam President, are you asking me to resign?”

Clarissa stared into the middle of her desk. Brandon looked down at the floor.

“Madam President, if you’re asking me to resign, let’s not leave today without—”

“No, Brandon, I don’t want your resignation.” Clarissa paused and reached for a mug of coffee that wasn’t there. “You don’t get to resign, Brandon. I know you didn’t talk to McCall. You had Kimberly do it. You talked to your deputy because you knew she’d do what you couldn’t.”

Brandon stared straight at her, unable to speak. Clarissa wanted to continue, but it took a while to find the words she never imagined saying.

“So you don’t get to resign this morning, Brandon. Quite frankly, I should be on the phone with the attorney general right now and you should be hiring a lawyer, but I’m not interested in dragging this out.”

Clarissa paused. Brandon’s mind raced. He remembered the first time he met her. He was a high school senior volunteering on a congressional campaign she was helping run. She had summoned the “kid in the blue shirt” to go find her coffee—and he had been at her side ever since. Now it was over—unceremoniously.

“You simply can’t work here anymore,” the president finally said as she stood. “You’re fired, Brandon. The Secret Service should be in your office right now. They’ll be showing you out of the building in 30 minutes.”

“Ma’am—”

“No more,” Clarissa said, walking toward the back door leading onto the long outdoor walkway connecting the West Wing to the residence. “Get your stuff and leave.”

*****

Jennings Purges Dissenters from Inner-Circle

Loyalists Elevated to Replace Ousted Chief of Staff, Deputy

By Kevin McCall

The Beltway Insider

Monday, Aug. 11

Updated: 7:31 a.m. Eastern Time

WASHINGTON—President Clarissa Jennings moved swiftly this morning to purge from the White House inner-circle two key advisers who had voiced strong opposition to her foreign policy, including potential military options to resolve the increasingly disastrous situation in West Samatan.

Brandon van Tassel, the chief of staff and an adviser whose tenure with Jennings predates her first run for the Minnesota Legislature 20 years ago, was fired during a pre-dawn conversation in the Oval Office, according to White House sources. His deputy, Kimberly Shea, was dismissed an hour later by Sarah Paulsen, who was promoted from communications director to chief of staff.

“The president appreciates their service, but decided it was time to part ways,” said press secretary Tina Herrick. “President Jennings is always interested in bringing new voices to the table and that’s what this morning was about. New challenges require new ideas. There’s nothing more to it than that.”

While some of the names and titles have changed, it’s unclear whether the “new voices” will bring “new ideas” to the table.

Paulsen joined Jennings during her first campaign for Minnesota governor 18 years ago. Sawyer Rydell, a speechwriter who wields unprecedented influence in matters of foreign and domestic policy, was elevated to communications director. And Cynthia Kilbourne, a former Capitol Hill staffer and director of pro-Jennings think tank America’s Future, was brought on to serve as deputy chief of staff.

“This is startling,” said William Brown, a University of Minnesota history professor who has followed the president’s career closely. “Dumping van Tassel and Shea sends a really chilling signal to the rest of the West Wing—dissent will not be tolerated.”

Rebecca McElroy, a former U.S. senator and one-time mentor to the president, was more blunt in her assessment.

“The adult voices are gone and all that’s left are the mindless sycophants,” she said. “Clarissa Jennings has gone from being a political leader to some kind of religion and I think that’s absolutely mortifying.”

Shea could not be reached for comment and van Tassel offered nothing to clarify matters.

“The president gets to pick her staff and that’s what she did,” he said.

Appearing on CNN this morning, Republican nominee David Harmon said that “once again, this president was dangerously slow to act.”

“You can talk about this being a purge or whatever you want,” Harmon said. “But the facts are simple. President Jennings has spent far too much time wringing her hands. That’s why Lee Haz doesn’t take her seriously and that’s why the rest of the world has reason to doubt the sincerity of her commitment to freedom.”

In the nearly three weeks since wide-spread pro-democracy protests began across West Samatan, international observers estimate that Haz’s regime has killed upward of 15,000 people—mainly unarmed university students. At a campaign stop yesterday in Colorado, Jennings compared the dictator to “Hitler, Stalin, Saddam Hussein—the very worst history has ever offered.”

“We’ve seen their kind before,” she told a cheering crowd outside Denver. “And the only way to deal with a thug is to stand up to him. Others may talk about appeasement, and just hoping against the evidence that things will get better, but the United States won’t. Freedom isn’t an American value to be exported. It’s God’s gift to all mankind—and it’s not to be denied based on race or religion or geography. Freedom is a fundamental human right, period.”

When asked to comment on that statement this morning, van Tassel took a pass.

“I suppose we’ll see how it plays out,” he said. “Soon enough, we’ll see who was right in this thing.”

Jennings, meanwhile, is scheduled to campaign in North Carolina and Virginia today before returning to the White House for dinner with the British ambassador to the United States.

*****

“It’s a little surreal how she can act like nothing fazes her whatsoever,” Kevin McCall whispered as he approached Sawyer Rydell a few minutes after 3 p.m. The two were standing in the back of an auditorium on the campus of Christopher Newport University in Newport News, Va. The president, meanwhile, was addressing 300 honors students from the women’s studies and history programs.

“It’s also surreal that you can come up and talk to me like the last few days never happened,” Sawyer said. “It’s—really, you shouldn’t be talking to me at all.”

“Don’t give me that. Come on, Sawyer, you got promoted.”

“I didn’t want to get promoted. Everything would be fine if you didn’t—”

“Shit,” Kevin said, forgetting to whisper. “I didn’t do anything and you know that. People wanted to talk to me. I didn’t make them talk and I didn’t make the president fire anyone.”

“I’m sorry,” Sawyer snapped, speaking in a loud whisper. “Kevin McCall the victim, so becoming. And keep your damn voice down.”

The speechwriter-turned-communications director returned her focus to the front of the room, where Clarissa was now fielding questions—easily talking about being the first woman to hold the nation’s highest job; the highs and lows of being president; and the complexities of foreign and domestic policy. It was effortless as she walked across the bowl of the auditorium, making eye contact with students in every corner of the lecture hall. Despite all the changes over the years, the president was still a natural and gifted politician—entirely at ease in front of groups both large and small. Sawyer did privately accept McCall’s point that it was a little surreal how quickly Clarissa had moved past firing Brandon just 10 hours earlier.

“Did you write this stuff for her?” Kevin said, smiling a bit.

“You should limit your contacts with this administration to the press office.”

“I mean it, Sawyer. It’s pretty good. She’s for America and apple pie. That’s what I’ve always liked about the president; you know where she stands.”

The communications director didn’t say anything as a sophomore was recognized and stood to ask a question.

“Madam President, can you talk a little about how you see America’s role in the world and whether it’s smart for us to keep playing such a large role in the affairs of other countries?”

“Sure,” Clarissa said. “I think that’s a great question—and one that goes to the heart of the debate we’re having right now over West Samatan and our administration’s foreign policy in general.”

Kevin considered making a joke, but decided to take a pass as Sawyer watched intently.

“I believe in America as a force for good,” the president continued. “And I believe in American exceptionalism. I think it’s a historic truth and American exceptionalism really is a moral imperative because, when you look at history, there’s simply no denying the connection between American greatness and advances for all mankind. When America’s doing well—honoring our special place in the world—the benefit is truly shared everywhere.”

Kevin rolled his eyes as Sawyer jotted down a few notes in the margins of an unrelated statement the press secretary’s office was set to release later in the day.

“We are the greatest pioneers, inventors and defenders of freedom history has ever known,” Clarissa said, before pausing to take a sip of water. “I’m 52 years old. I’m not young anymore, but the best doctors in the world tell me I’m in good health. So I really am counting on living to see the day when we reach beyond Mars and farthest stars. And I’m looking forward to a time in which the world is free of tyrants—when evil is given no quarter, anywhere.”

Sawyer looked up from her notes as Clarissa finished and then turned to Kevin.

“How do you spin that, columnist?”

“Do I have to spin at all?”

“I’m sure you will.”

“No,” he said quietly. “Really speaks for itself, don’t you think?”

Sawyer smiled, but didn’t say anything.

“Not that I expect a response,” Kevin finally said. “Just an acknowledgement later that I’m not a nut after this crusade turns into an unfixable disaster.”

Copyright - Christopher Truscott - 2013

War of Choice (DRAFT): Chapter 18

Chapter 18

 

Source: Jennings Considering Military Action in West Samatan

By Kevin McCall

The Beltway Insider

Friday, Aug. 8

Updated: 8:52 a.m. Eastern Time

WASHINGTON—President Clarissa Jennings is weighing military action against West Samatan, including plans for a joint-operation with East Samatan that has been widely regarded as implausible, a senior administration official said late last night.

The official, speaking on the condition of anonymity due to the nature of the information being revealed, said the president is “obsessed with killing Lee Haz at the expense of everything else.”

“The unification strategy, working with the East, has been derided as entirely and categorically without merit by successive presidents, Joint Chiefs of Staff and secretaries of state,” the source said. “The president knows this, but she’s operating in her own world at this point.”

The unification strategy, dubbed “Operation One Samatan,” was first devised two decades ago and has been modified several times since, according to a former Pentagon official who asked that his name be withheld since the plans are classified.

“The operation is supposed to keep this from becoming an American war,” the White House source said. “It’s supposed to be our airpower, but the East doing the heavy lifting on the ground. That’s in theory, of course. In reality, the East’s military capabilities are beyond laughable. The only reason Lee Haz hasn’t taken the whole damn island is because of our 40,000 troops, fighter jets and ships sitting over there and keeping the peace.”

These revelations come just days after Abigail Swenson-Harp, a reporter for this publication, was executed in West Samatan following her July arrest on numerous charges, including espionage. Swenson-Harp and Jennings were classmates and friends at Macalester College in St. Paul, Minn. Swenson-Harp then covered Jennings’ meteoric rise in Minnesota politics for the state’s public radio station before moving to Washington during the last presidential campaign.

Tina Herrick, the White House press secretary, would not address direct questions regarding a military action in West Samatan.

“We don’t deal in rumor and innuendo,” she said in an exclusive interview early this morning. “We especially don’t swing at pitches in the dirt—from unnamed sources, no less—when it comes to national security. This president takes seriously her responsibility to defend the American people and our interests, and she will continue to do so.”

The situation in West Samatan has become increasingly dire. International human rights organizations estimate the Haz regime has gunned down upward of 10,000 protesters in recent weeks, which Jennings seized on during a campaign stop last night in Gary, Ind.

“We will not ignore the call of history,” she said in a question-and-answer session with union construction workers. “We will not turn our backs on those wishing to be free. We will not stand by while a tyrant murders unarmed students. That’s not what Americans do and so long as I’m president, that’s a course we won’t take.”

David Harmon, the Republican presidential candidate, said he welcomed a military strike against Haz and criticized Jennings for being slow to act.

“Clarissa Jennings fancies herself as a defender of freedom,” he told Fox News this morning. “But for the last three months she’s done nothing but sit on her hands while things in the West got worse and worse. Her inaction has sent a chilling message to pro-democracy activists around the world—that America’s only on your side when it’s easy for America.”

Herrick accused the GOP nominee of playing politics with national security.

“Everything looks easy from the cheap seats,” she said. “But I would remind Gov. Harmon that 350 million people in Pakistan, Venezuela, Vietnam, Syria and Belarus are free today because Clarissa Jennings is the president of the United States.”

Allen Landes, a Yale historian whose book Clarissa’s Way is the authoritative source on the president’s political career, said West Samatan is her defining moment.

“Clarissa Jennings still has a domestic policy,” he wrote in response to questions e-mailed to him this week while he travels in Asia. “At some point soon, she’ll get to sign gay marriage into law. She’s presiding over a strong economy and budget surpluses. But she’s made foreign policy the centerpiece of her legacy and the money is on the table right now. What happens in West Samatan—in this showdown between her and Haz—is it. She’s had successes before, but this is the biggest fight of her life and it’ll be the one that measures her effectiveness as a leader on the global stage.”

Vanessa Braddock-van Tassel, a Minnesota Democrat who chairs the House Foreign Affairs Committee and is married to the president’s chief of staff, agreed with Landes’ assessment—reluctantly.

“He’s right,” she said. “It shouldn’t have come to this, though. It’s been a lonely summer for those of us interested in a responsible foreign policy, but that ship has sailed. This is the president’s legacy. She has trashed the Anglo-American alliance, thumbed her nose at the United Nations and now accepts as gospel a military strategy that has little or no chance at actually working. That’s her legacy.”

*****

Clarissa Jennings had been a guest in Tara Gunderson Hansen’s downtown Minneapolis radio studio countless times over the course of her political career, but this was her first trip back since becoming president. She had returned to Minnesota this afternoon for the funeral of Marcia Marshall, who served as her secretary when she was governor and was the wife of the late Winston Marshall, who mentored the future president and her husband early in their respective political careers.

The interview was scheduled this morning, after Kevin McCall’s damning report in The Beltway Insider. The president was here, shortly after 5 p.m., to defend her foreign policy to an audience of millions of drive-time listeners, before making an appearance at the Olympics and then heading off the next morning to campaign in the Rocky Mountains.

“Nobody cares about inside baseball,” Clarissa said. “We’re doing what we said we would and there are people who don’t like that. There are people out there, unfortunately even in the White House, who think the status quo is something we can work with. They think, sadly, that it’s OK for some people to live under tyranny while others live free.”

“Madam President—”

“And I simply won’t stand for that,” the president continued over Hansen’s attempted interjection. “Instability anywhere is a threat to stability everywhere. And the people of West Samatan are no less deserving of freedom and human rights than their countrymen in the East.”

“Countrymen? Madam President, it sounds as if you have already—”

“I haven’t already done anything, Tara. I’m just saying that it’s unconscionable that millions of people in the East enjoy a standard of living that’s almost unrivaled, while the people of the West live in fear each day—while students, Tara, are gunned down on the streets. This is what we talked about in London last spring. This is the kind of thing I said can’t be allowed to happen in the 21^st century.”

“Madam President, let me read you a quote from Bethany Hawkins’ speech in Berlin today.”

Clarissa nodded. She knew what was coming. The president thought the British prime minister’s speech was akin to appeasement, but she forced herself to smile anyway as Hansen read the highlighted portion of a news article printed off the Internet.

“The global community has a duty to oppressed people and the global community will respond. Cowboy diplomacy and half-baked military schemes serve nobody. This is the responsibility of the global community and I know of no leader anywhere who denies that—save for one.”

“Right,” Clarissa said.

“How do you respond, Madam President?”

Clarissa smiled and took a sip of water as she gathered her thoughts. Earlier in the day she told Sawyer Rydell that history would judge Hawkins “to be one of the great cowards of our time.” She was more diplomatic in public—but just barely.

“I don’t know, Tara. I’d say the prime minister and I have a different view of the world. She’s comfortable with more of the same failed policies—sanctions and what have you—that haven’t done anything to make the people of the world safer. I favor a new approach. Lee Haz has long since lost his legitimacy. The time for negotiating with a tyrant is over. It’s time for him to honor the right of self-determination and step down. He can either accept that the tides of history are against people like him or he can deal with the consequences.”

“What kind of consequences, Madam President?”

“It’s too soon to say, Tara.”

Hansen was determined to press. Despite being a conservative Republican, she had always liked Clarissa. There was something about the president’s steadfastness that she admired—from her first run for governor 18 years ago, all the way through her first term as president. But the host knew she had to press. She had the president of the United States sitting across from her and it was time to make news—to provide fodder for this evenings’ cable shows and tomorrow’s newspapers.

“Too soon to say? I don’t think it is. You’ve been talking about regime change this evening, Madam President. In no uncertain terms, you’re embracing regime change.”

“Why shouldn’t I? It is the policy of this government—so long as I’m president—to recognize the right of people everywhere to be free. And it is the long-standing policy of the United States to not recognize Lee Haz. We haven’t had diplomatic relations with the West for decades. I’m simply following that policy—and trying to do something about it.”

“Then what happens? Let’s say there is regime change—”

“Then people are free—”

“But what happens next, Madam President? West Samatan versus East Samatan makes East Germany-West Germany look like nothing. If West Samatan is freed at some point, how do you assimilate into the global economy a country that’s been isolated—”

“Fair question, Tara, but I don’t view that as a problem. Freedom is the single greatest driver of economic growth. Free people and free markets lead to prosperity. Then prosperity solves other problems.”

Clarissa knew that line wouldn’t go over well with congressional liberals, but she didn’t care. She was riding a 20-point lead in the polls over David Harmon and her approval rating on foreign policy had just topped 70 percent, compared to 63 percent on domestic policy. The American people were behind her. People like Rep. Braddock-van Tassel were irrelevant.

“Madam President, this afternoon Rebecca McElroy told Minnesota Public Radio—”

“I’m aware that the former senator doesn’t see eye-to-eye with me on this and I respect that. People are free to believe what they want. That’s what makes America different from West Samatan. You can voice dissent—and I refuse to believe that’s a right that should be strictly reserved for a select few. Rebecca McElroy disagrees with me on that point and she has the right—the freedom—to do so.”

Hansen was caught off guard. Clarissa had never publicly acknowledged the opposition of the woman who helped turn her into a star in Minnesota politics. Without McElroy, Clarissa may not have become governor of Minnesota—at least not at age 34. Had she not been a young governor, she probably wouldn’t be president today.

“Madam President, that’s a very direct—”

“It’s really not, Tara. It’s just a simple statement of fact. There are people who talk about freedom and human rights and there are people who do something to advance freedom and human rights. That’s the difference between me and the former senator.”

*****

“You have a lot of fucking nerve,” Holly Schaffer said as she opened the door to her downtown Minneapolis condo a few minutes after 11 o’clock. “I can’t believe you’d show up here after that stunt you pulled. Shit! I can’t believe the Secret Service even let you on Air Force One!”

Brandon van Tassel was expecting this, but it still hurt. He didn’t want to fight with Holly. He didn’t want her pissed at him. He wanted things back the way they used to be. They were a team. He handled the details of governing and she took care of making sure Clarissa got elected to whatever office she sought. It got them to the Minnesota Legislature, the governor’s office and the White House. It had always worked so well.

“Just let me in,” he said, glaring at Holly, who hadn’t moved away from the slightly ajar door.

“Why should I do that? So what I tell you in confidence can end up in the news, too? You fucked the president over this morning. Is that what you were going for?”

“You don’t understand. You couldn’t possibly understand.”

“I understand just fine. We work for the president and we don’t betray her confidence to anyone—especially to a reporter. How’s that? Seems like I understand just perfectly.”

“Please,” Brandon whispered. “Just let me in, Holly.”

She wanted to scream. She wanted to throw things. At this moment, the only thing Holly felt for her long-time friend was an intense hatred she didn’t even expend on those who launched the Republican Party’s nastiest attacks.

“And don’t get me started on your wife,” she snapped. “Clarissa—the president—created her. Fine way to repay that favor.”

“Holly—”

“Why should I let you in? We’re not friends anymore. You’re not stupid, so you have to know that.”

“Then because we used to be,” Brandon said, softly. “Let me in because for the last 24 years it’s been you, me, the president and Carter. Let me in because we did great things together.”

Holly sighed and walked away from the door, allowing Brandon to let himself in. She crossed the living room of her 9^th-floor unit and stood at the sliding glass door, leading to a balcony overlooking downtown.

“So,” Brandon said, as he stepped inside. “You’ve seen the news, I guess.”

“Fuck you,” Holly whispered. “Of course I saw the news. There’s only one person in the world who could’ve leaked that information to McCall—other than the president, and I’m pretty sure she didn’t call that asshole herself.”

Brandon looked down at the floor as he spoke.

“Even if that were true, that information needed—”

“No,” Holly snapped, hard. “No. Do not come into my home and tell me that. Do not come here and tell me that what happened today was acceptable.”

Brandon considered his next words carefully. He didn’t want to sound like a big-shot or an asshole.

“Holly, I promise that if you were privy to the information I see each day—”

“So you’re smarter than the president? Problem solved. We can cancel the election because Brandon van Tassel has decided he can run the world from the little office next to the president’s. I’m sure that’s what our voters had in mind four years ago—”

“Holly—”

“No!”

“You just don’t understand,” Brandon shouted. “You don’t get it. This isn’t the Minnesota Legislature she’s fucking with. This isn’t a game. This is serious and that information needed to get out. Something needed to be said before we get rushed into something really—”

“If you say ‘stupid,’ I’ll throw you out the window,” Holly said. “Don’t you dare even say it.”

“Why? Why can’t I say the president is doing something really stupid right now? You heard her on the radio tonight. We’re heading toward—”

“She won the election, Brandon, which means she gets to govern. She’s going to get re-elected, too, which—”

“She’s getting re-elected because Americans are fat, happy, rich and stupid. The president isn’t getting re-elected because people understand the extent of her delusions on West Samatan. She’s getting re-elected because the economy is booming, so don’t go all sanctimonious on the beauty of democracy.”

“Fuck you, Brandon,” Holly said, in a voice barely above a whisper. “Fuck you. Don’t you dare insult my work. Don’t you dare insult the president and what she has accomplished—”

“Holly—”

“Go to hell!” she shouted, loud enough for anyone on the 9^th floor to hear.

“Jesus,” Brandon said, his voice flat. “What the hell is the matter with you? What the hell is your problem? Why can’t you see it?”

Holly didn’t say anything as she walked into the kitchen and grabbed the glass of wine she had poured right before Brandon showed up.

“Holly, try to understand where I’m coming from, OK?”

Holly returned to the living room without speaking. She stared at Brandon for what seemed like an eternity to both of them, before finally breaking the silence.

“Please, Brandon, just leave. Leave my house, go home and write your letter of resignation. Please do that. Will you please do that?”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Yes, it is, Brandon. We work for her—not the other way around. You can’t serve her anymore, so you have to go. That’s the way it works.”

“This isn’t a cult, Holly,” Brandon said, speaking firmly, but without contempt. “I never took an oath to follow Clarissa Jennings blindly—”

“Jesus,” Holly whispered.

“Just wait—”

“No, Brandon. I’ve heard enough. I really have. I’ve heard enough self-righteous crap from you to last a lifetime.” She set her glass down on the desk against the back wall and started toward her bedroom. “Show yourself out and don’t ever speak to me again.”

A moment later Brandon turned and walked out the door, feeling completely alone. The president had failed him and so had Holly. He knew what he had to do, but hoped he could put it off a while longer.

Copyright - Christopher Truscott - 2013