Ballots and Blood by Ralph Reed

the U.S. Senate doesn’t sound like a throwaway line to me.”
    â€œCome on, Marvin, the guy’s running for president! He’s using you to make us look bad.” Jay shot forward in his seat, pounding the dashboard with the palm of his hand. “Do you think we’d be dumb enough to call Birch of all people and suggest he do something so idiotic? It’s insane! Give me more credit than that.”
    â€œCalm down. But they did talk? You can confirm that?”
    â€œYes, but the characterization of the conversation you relate bears no resemblance to what the president said.”
    â€œDuly noted. If I do something, I’ll say a White House official said it was a courtesy call.”
    â€œThat’s all it was. Birch is just trying to be more important than he is.”
    â€œSo . . . who do you think he’ll appoint?”
    â€œHonestly, Marvin, I don’t know. We’re hearing all kinds of rumors. If he goes with a D, he’ll blow himself up. I think Miller was the only Democrat who could hold the seat. Any other D goes in with no mandate, no money, and they have to face the voters in thirteen months. Birch knows that, so my hunch is it’ll be an R.”
    â€œWho do you think is the strongest Republican?”
    â€œA member of Congress along the I-4 corridor. It won’t be Don Jefferson—Birch hates his guts. Birch loathes the legislature, so it won’t be a state legislator. His LG is weak, so he can’t go there. In the end, it’s all about Birch.”
    â€œWell, it’s working so far,” said Myers, chuckling. “One more thing. The FBI is broadening the Perry Miller investigation. Word is they have the client list of Adult Alternatives and more shoes are going to drop.”
    â€œSpike-heeled shoes. Lots of collateral damage.”
    â€œAny names?”
    â€œNothing beyond rumors. How ’bout you?”
    â€œNothing yet, but I’m digging. And I’m not alone. The National Enquirer , TMZ, and Merryprankster are all over it.”
    â€œThat doesn’t end well.”
    â€œNo. If you hear anything, I’d appreciate a heads-up.”
    â€œHeads-up!? Are you kidding?” bellowed Jay good-naturedly. “Marvin, I feed you so many stories I should share your byline!” Laughing, he hung up. He hoped the schmaltz and lies limited the damage from the president’s ill-advised call to Birch. He wondered how Long could have done something so dumb. For the moment he had bigger worries. He hoped no one in the administration turned up on the client list. Jay shuddered at the thought.
    PATRICK MAHONEY STEPPED INTO THE guardhouse on the Pennsylvania Avenue side of the White House, slipping off his FBI identification and sliding it under the Plexiglas window to the officer. He lifted his coat, revealing his FBI-issued .38 revolver. The officer looked over the ID and nodded.
    â€œHe’s good,” he said to the other officer working the metal detector.
    Mahoney walked through the metal detector and strolled up the driveway toward the West Wing lobby. A guard opened the door. White House deputy counsel Maureen McConnell was waiting for him.
    â€œAgent Mahoney, welcome,” said McConnell. A former JAG officer, McConnell had short, wavy brown hair, intense eyes staring out from behind rimless glasses, a pug nose, and a sharp jaw. She exuded the efficiency and discipline of a reform-school headmaster. “Mr. Battaglia sends his regards. He’s sorry he couldn’t join us.”
    Sure he is, thought Mahoney.
    McConnell led Mahoney across the alley to the Eisenhower Executive Office Building. As she walked down the shiny green-and-white linoleum floor, her heels clicked on the tiles. They rounded a corner, and she opened the door to an unmarked conference room.
    Truman Greenglass stepped forward and shook Mahoney’s hand, their eyes locking. With a compact build and a shock of dark hair,