Chapter 135: Inauguration

First things first. “Are you sure about this?” I asked.

“Yes, sir! All the networks have called it!” The two staffers started hustling me inside, with Stormy happily leading us on her leash.

A minute later I was in our campaign suite, with people alternately congratulating me and asking where I had been. Stormy jumped up on a couch with the girls and allowed herself to be fussed over. On the television Tom Brokaw was making a report that there were unconfirmed reports that Vice President Gore was calling George Bush to concede.

Which meant absolutely nothing. I had been through this once before, on my first go. Florida had been so close a race that before the night was over, all the networks reversed their calls and ruled it too close to predict. Gore retracted his concession. For roughly a month we had dueling lawyers fighting over recounts and ‘hanging chads’ on the ballots, until George’s brother Jeb, the governor of Florida, had his handpicked election boss declare George the winner, and the Republican Supreme Court confirmed the victory. George also lost the popular vote count and managed to create a constitutional crisis along the way. It did not bode well for his future.

The Vice President doesn’t talk during these events, although I did go out into the main room to thank everybody and say other wonderful bullshit. It’s the night for the Presidential nominees to speak. Governor Bush did call me to tell me that Vice President Gore had called him to concede. The tipping point wasn’t Florida but Pennsylvania this time, so Jeb Bush managed to keep his good name through this. We lost Maryland, which we had expected, but the race was tighter than I had expected, 52-48. I went to bed that night not at all certain that history wouldn’t come back to haunt me, and that in the morning I would find that Al Gore had recanted.

I was wrong. When I woke up, I was still the Vice President-Elect. It took a bit for it to sink in. I was going to be the Vice President! After all the nonsense with the election, we had won, and handily at that. I had been right with my strategy of going full bore after Clinton. Bush might not agree, since it was all about him, but I had seen what the other side of the coin could be, and it wouldn’t have been pretty.

I think the thing that really stuck out as proof that we had won was that from about the time we climbed out of the sack the phone began ringing. Along with the usual congratulations, I was now getting all sorts of orders from various staffers about what I had to do. It really struck me that I was no longer my own man. I was going to spend most of the week making phone calls and preparing for the transition. Important supporters had to be called. We had to make the announcement about Cheryl. Most important, I had to get to George Bush to keep him from doing anything stupid.

Into all of this, while I was still working on my breakfast while wearing pants and a bathrobe, the Secret Service barged into my life. The Secret Service is mandated to provide security to the Presidential candidates, but it is only voluntary for Vice Presidential candidates. I was comfortable with my own arrangements and refused the offer. Now that I was officially the future Vice President, they were in charge of our security. They were there bright and early, looking dreadfully serious and impossibly arrogant. The pros from Dover had arrived, and the farm team was to be sent packing. I knew it was going to happen, and prior to the election had called in my security people and made plans. Most would be sent off, but I figured that one or two would be kept around for a few days to transition the Secret Service in. I assured the managers that I would be happy to provide recommendations for either individuals or the firm as a whole; it was the least I could do.

I met my new lead agent that morning. Special Agent Jonathan Reading was disdainful at best, even though several of my people had been former Secret Service themselves. I wasn’t using Wackenhut rent-a-cops to protect my family! They had all been high end Federal operatives at some point - FBI, Secret Service, U.S. Marshalls, Diplomatic Security, etc. He didn’t care.

The Secret Service announced that my existing alarm system was to be ripped out and a new one put in. The fences and gates would be replaced. The security shack across the street would be replaced. The pool house would be converted to a security monitoring and response unit. This was all academic, anyway, since they would be moving me and my family to the Naval Observatory as soon as the Gores vacated it in January. I should probably sell the place, since it was totally unsuitable from a security standpoint, and it wouldn’t be possible to stay there after we took office. Mind you, he didn’t ask; he ordered. I listened to this for a bit, and then nodded in understanding. I sat down at the bar in my kitchen and pointed at the seat next to mine, and then told Reading, “Please, have a seat.”

“Congressman, I have a lot to do. The situation here is much too exposed and dangerous.”

“Humor me, just have a seat.”

Reading looked unhappy at my interruption of his plans but took a seat next to me. “Yes, sir?”

“I just wanted to welcome you to my home. My home, is that understood? This isn’t the White House. This isn’t the Naval Observatory. This is my home. You do not come into my home and give me orders. You ask, and you ask a hell of a lot more politely than now. You do not order me around, and you sure as hell do not order my wife and children around. You don’t even order my dog around. Is that clearly understood?” I kept a smile on my face, but my voice was icy cold.

By the look on his face, Special Agent Reading was not impressed. “Congressman Buckman, you don’t understand the magnitude of what needs to be done. You’ll need to cooperate, sir.”

“Uh, huh.” I shrugged. “Okay, have it your way. Get your supervisor on the phone, please.”

“Excuse me?”

“Special Agent Reading, there is an unfortunate counterfeiting problem at this moment in Minot, North Dakota. You are going to solve that problem. If you force me to make that phone call, the counterfeiting problem will be in Nome, Alaska. Make a choice, Special Agent Reading.”

“You can’t do that, sir! You have no authority...”

I shrugged. “Back in a few minutes.” I went into the bedroom, where Marilyn was in the shower. I grabbed my cell phone and called George Bush. I managed to get through, and asked, “George, I need you to do me a favor. Can you put your lead agent on the line?”

“What’s up, Carl?”

“Nothing much, just a minor issue here on my security.”

“Okay, whatever. Hold on a second.”

About thirty seconds later a new voice came on the line. “Special Agent Wittimer speaking. How can I help you?”

“Special Agent, this is Carl Buckman. I don’t know if we’ve met before, but I am sure that President-Elect Bush will vouch that I am who I say I am.”

“Yes, sir, we’ve met, and the Governor told me it was you. How can I help you, sir?” he asked.

“It’s a matter of the lead agent assigned to me and my family. Can you have your supervisor call me on this number, so I can discuss it personally?” I asked.

“Of course, sir. Can I ask what the problem is?”

“Just have your supervisor contact me. I’m sure you will find out.”

I hung up and waited for a phone call. About two minutes later my cell phone rang. It was a supervisor type at the D.C. headquarters of the Secret Service. I explained my problem, and that Special Agent Reading was not going to be suitable, and in fact a posting elsewhere might be an excellent choice for him. I didn’t make a demand, because I didn’t need a reputation as an asshole with the people sworn to protect me, but the Secret Service didn’t need to piss me off either. I was assured the problem would be settled shortly.

I didn’t let Marilyn know what had happened, and after she got out of the shower, I went in and cleaned up, and then shaved. When I was out and dressed properly, I went back out to the kitchen. Special Agent Reading was no longer in sight. Instead, a much less arrogant Special Agent Ralph Jaworski introduced himself, and promised to work with me to make sure there wasn’t any future unpleasantness in our relationship.

“Special Agent Jaworski, I would appreciate that. Would you care to see my home and give me your thoughts on the security situation?”

“Thank you, Congressman, that would be very nice.”

Sometimes you need to smack the mule with a two-by-four to get him to pay attention.

Something was still nagging at me, and then I realized that I couldn’t go to the Bahamas. Nicaragua still was screaming about demanding my extradition and still had an outstanding warrant issued on me through Interpol. Nobody really took it seriously, since political crimes were expressly excluded from Interpol’s mandate, but they had it couched in terms of murder. We were in the unique position of swearing in a wanted felon as the Vice President! While I doubted anybody would do anything, could I chance it? I called Assistant Commissioner Javier and explained my problem. He almost dropped the phone while laughing, but he promised to take care of the problem, and the next day I received a phone call and a messengered note from the Bahamian Ambassador stating that the Bahamas would ignore the request from Nicaragua for my arrest. I got the impression that they did not need to have the 82^nd Airborne drop in on their little island to free me if I was thrown in jail.

Not that that was about to happen. Before I called Javier, I had called Secretary of State Madeline Albright to see if she could do something about the idiotic warrant. She was sympathetic but told me that President Clinton had tied her hands. As it was, he was leaving office under a massive cloud, because he had issued pardons to both Hawkins and Reinhart, who would probably be investigated for their part in leaking the Nicaraguan disaster to the press. There was nothing she could do. If I did get arrested outside of the country, she wouldn’t be able to help. She suggested I have Dick Cheney request it from the Nicaraguans when he took office.

I could just see that happening.

By the end of the week Marilyn and I were able to take a long weekend and head down to Hougomont. Special Agent Jaworski had taken his predecessor’s fate to heart and was a lot politer. I knew that there were going to be some changes, but I didn’t have to put up with orders from an asshole. I stressed to Jaworski that once in the Bahamas, I would almost certainly be meeting with the Prime Minister, and that he needed to sort out security arrangements with the locals. I also gave him the name of Assistant Commissioner Javier and suggested a call ahead of time would be a wise investment of his time. He was already aware of the issues with the Nicaraguan warrant.

My worries about George Bush doing something stupid were overblown. Dick Cheney wasn’t about to let George do anything Dick hadn’t already told him he was doing. I was a mistake that was not going to be repeated. Dick and Karl had a chokehold on the transition team, and on the cabinet and staff appointments that would be made. First and foremost, Dick was going to be Secretary of State. On my first run, Dick had been Veep, while Colin Powell had State. Now, since Powell was needed as both a sop to the moderate wing (like me) and because he was too prestigious for anything less, he was getting Defense. John Ashcroft, the former governor of Missouri and a staunch conservative, was getting Justice. Paul O’Neill, a Republican powerhouse and the head of Alcoa, was going to have Treasury, which I approved of; he was a moderate and a deficit hawk like me. As for the rest of the Cabinet, nobody cared.

For non-Cabinet positions, Paul Wolfowitz, a leading neo-conservative academic and former Deputy Secretary of State under George H.W. Bush, was going to get the CIA. Louis Freeh was still the Director of the FBI, but he wouldn’t last; he had a lot of baggage from the Clinton years and Cheney was already looking for a hard-core conservative. Condi Rice was slated to be the National Security Adviser, which wasn’t a bad idea. She was a black Republican woman, an unusual combination, and smart. Meanwhile Karl Rove would take a position in the White House as a senior counselor or some such.

Some of what was happening wasn’t amusing to me. I was also wondering to what extent George would be listening to me once he was sworn in. I may have shot my bolt simply by staying in the running when the others wanted me to drop out. We’d have to see.

In the meantime, we had about two months before the January special election for my Congressional seat. I threw my support and campaign chest into Cheryl’s corner, and she came out fighting. Rob Hollister had sworn he was going to run against whoever we nominated, but he didn’t have much money and we had whipped him soundly. The Democrats tried bringing in some fresh money, including from the national committee, but the RNC matched it. Every poll we ran showed Cheryl beating him. I even had George come up and we did a joint campaign tour for her, including a stop at the Westminster Diner, where we smiled for the camera with Nick Papandreas and his family. For a small-town Greek immigrant running a diner, having the President-Elect and the Vice President-Elect show up was very big news. We ended up on the local and national news that night.