Brad Meltzer - The First Councel

Caroline shoots an angry look at Simon. There’s a long history between these two. When Hartson first got elected, they were both up for the Counsel top spot. Caroline was a friend of the First Lady. She lobbied hard, but Simon won. And the white boys ruled. “Maybe you’re not appreciating the process,” Caroline says. “There’s a difference between asking the hard questions and asking every question under the sun.”

“In an election year, there’s no difference. You know how opinions run-every little detail gets magnified. Which means every question’s an important question!”

“I know how to do my job!” Caroline explodes.

“That’s clearly up for debate,” Simon growls back.

Refusing to let Caroline take the fall, Pam jumps back in. “Sir, I appreciate what you’re saying, but I’ve been calling him for days. He keeps saying he’s-”

“I don’t want to hear it. If Gimbel doesn’t have the time, he doesn’t have the nomination. Besides, he’s a friend of the President. For that reason alone, he’ll sit for the questions.”

“I tried, but he-”

“He’s a friend of the President. He understands.”

Before Pam can respond, someone else says, “That’s not true.” At the other end of the table, Deputy Counsel Lawrence Lamb continues, “He’s not a friend of the President.” A tall, thick man with crystal blue eyes and a long neck that cranes slightly lower from years of hunching over to talk to people, Lawrence Lamb has known President Hartson since their high school days in Florida. As a result, Lamb is one of the President’s closest friends and most trusted advisors. Which means he has what every one of us wants: the President’s ear. And if you have the ear, you have power. So when Lamb tells us that Gimbel isn’t a friend of the President, we know the argument’s over.

“I thought they went to law school together,” Simon persists, trying not to lose face.

“That doesn’t mean he’s a friend,” Lamb says. “Trust me on this one, Edgar.”

Simon nods. It’s over.

“I’ll ask him about the rumors and the child,” Pam finally adds, breaking the silence of the room. “Sorry I missed it.”

“Thank you,” Simon replies. Determined to move on, he turns to me and signals that it’s my turn to present.

Lowering my legal pad, I step forward and tell myself that nothing’s changed. Whatever I saw last night, this is still my moment. “Been working on Justice’s wiretap issue. When it comes right down to it, they want something called roving wiretap authority. Currently, if Justice or the FBI wants to wiretap someone, they can’t just say, ‘Jimmy “The Fist” Machismo is a lowlife, so give us the wiretaps and we’ll set him up.’ Instead, they have to list the exact places where suspicious activity is taking place. If they change the rule and get roving authority, they can be far less specific in their requests and they can put the taps wherever they want.”

Simon runs his fingers along his beard, carefully weighing the issue. “It’s got great tough-on-crime potential.”

“I’m sure it does,” I reply. “But it throws civil liberties out the window.”

“Oh, c’mon,” Julian interrupts. “Put away the tear towel. This should be a no-brainer-endorsed by Justice, endorsed by the FBI, hated by criminals-this issue’s bulletproof.”

“Nothing’s bulletproof,” I shoot back. “And when the New York Times throws this on the front page and says Hartson’s now got the right to eavesdrop in your home, without reasonable suspicion, everyone from the liberal media to the conspiracy conservatives is going to be tearing hair. Just what Bartlett needs. It’s not an issue for an election year, and more important, it’s not right.”

“It’s not right?” Julian laughs.

Pompous political ass. “That’s my opinion. You have a problem with that?”

“Back to your corners,” Simon intercedes, waving us apart. “Michael, we’ll talk about it later. Anything else?”

“Just one. On Tuesday, I got the OMB memo on the new Medicaid overhaul. Apparently, in one of their long-term-care programs, HHS wants to deny benefits to people with criminal records.”

“Another reelection tough-on-crime scheme. It’s amazing how creative we can be when our jobs are on the line.”

I search his eyes, wondering what he means by that. Cautiously, I add, “The problem is, I think it conflicts with the President’s Welfare to Work Program and his rehabilitation stance in the Crime Bill. HHS may think it’s a great way to save cash, but you can’t have it both ways.”

Simon takes a second to think about it. The longer he’s silent, the more he agrees. “Write it up,” he finally says. “I think you may have someth-”

“Here you go,” I interrupt as I pull a two-page memo from my briefcase. “They’re about to go out with it, so I made it a priority.”

“Thanks,” he says as I pass the memo forward. I nod, and Simon casually turns back to the group. He’s accustomed to overachievers.

When we finish going around the room, Simon moves to new business. Watching him, I’m truly amazed-through it all, he looks and sounds even calmer than when he started. “Not much to report,” he begins in his always steady tone. “They want us to take another look at this thing with the census-”

My hand shoots up first.

“All yours, Michael. They want to revisit the outcome differences between counting noses one by one and doing a statistical analysis.”

“Actually, there was an editorial in the-”

“I saw it,” he interrupts. “That’s why they’re begging for facts. Nothing elaborate, but I want to give them an answer by tomorrow.” Simon takes one last survey of the room. “Any questions?” Not a hand goes up. “Good. I’m available if you need me.” Standing from his seat, Simon adjourns the meeting.

Immediately, half of the associates head for the door, including Pam and me. The other half stay and form a line to talk to Simon. For them, it’s simply the final act in the ego play-their projects are so top secret, they can’t possibly be talked about in front of the rest of us.

As I head for the door, I see Julian staking out a spot in the line. “What’s the matter?” I ask him. “You don’t like sharing with the rest of the class?”

“It’s amazing, Garrick, you always know exactly what’s going on. That’s why he puts you on the big, sexy issues like the census. Oooooh, baby, that sucker’s gold. Actuaries, here I come.”

I pretend to laugh along with his joke. “Y’know, I’ve always had a theory about you, Julian. In fourth grade, when you used to have show-and-tell, you always tried to bring yourself, didn’t you?”

“You think that’s funny, Garrick?”

“Actually, I think it’s real funny.”

“Me too,” Pam says. “Not hysterical, but funny.”

Realizing he’ll never survive a confrontation against the two of us, Julian goes nuclear. “Both of you can eat shit.”

“Sharp comeback.”

“Well done.”

He storms around us to get back in line, and Pam and I head for the door. As we leave, I glance over my shoulder and catch Simon quickly turning away. Was he looking at us? No, don’t read into it. If he knew, I’d know. I’d have to.

Avoiding the line at the elevator, we take the stairs and make our way back to the OEOB. As soon as we’re alone, I see Pam’s mood change. Staring straight down as we walk, she won’t say a word.

“Don’t beat yourself up over this,” I tell her. “Gimbel didn’t disclose it-you couldn’t have known.”

“I don’t care what he told me; it’s my job to know. I’ve got no business being here otherwise. I mean, as it is, I can barely figure out what I’m even doing anymore.”