Mounting Fears

13

FBI ASSISTANT DIRECTOR KERRY SMITH, ALONG WITH A RECORDING TECHNICIAN AND the agent who was nominally in charge of the background investigation, Shelly Bach, presented himself at the reception desk at the White House.

Smith gave his name and title. "I have an appointment with Governor Martin Stanton," he told the uniformed Secret Service officer behind the desk.

"Yes, Director Smith," the officer replied, "we've reserved the Map Room for you, and you'll have half an hour to set up your equipment before the governor arrives."

Smith and his little group followed another officer down hallways until they were admitted to a handsome room.

"This is called the Map Room," the officer said, "because during World War Two all the theater operations maps were displayed here and kept current so that President Roosevelt could consult them at any time."

"That's very interesting," Kerry replied, because it was. "Thanks for your help." The man left, and the technician began setting up the equipment around the conference table.

WILL LEE STOOD as Governor Stanton was shown into his private study, off the Oval Office. They shook hands and sat down.

"Good morning, Marty," Will said.

"Good morning, Will."

"I've talked with all the relevant people about your situation, and there's a general agreement that you should remain on the ticket. Whatever light flak we might receive about your domestic situation would be less than the difficulties involved in choosing a new running mate, and we all agree that you're the best man for the job."

Stanton heaved an audible sigh. "Thank you, Will, I'm very pleased to hear that."

"We're able to proceed as before, largely because of your candor in bringing up the situation now, instead of later, and I want you to know we're all grateful to you."

"I'm looking forward to the campaign," Stanton said. "Just let me know what you want me to do."

"Right now my staff are putting together a schedule for you, Marty, and, of course, they'll want your approval before it's all set. Roughly, the FBI expects to conclude its background check this week, perhaps as early as tomorrow, and the day after the National Cathedral service for George Kiel, I'll announce that I'm appointing you to his unexpired term. Barring any hiccups, we should have Senate approval inside of a week."

"That's moving fast," Stanton said.

"We're going to need every day between now and the election," Will said. "The Republican Convention starts Monday, and we'll all be interested, of course, to see who they pick. They're going to get a big television audience, because of the closeness of their race. No one candidate has the delegates to sew it up yet."

"I think you can beat any one of them handily, Will."

"Together, I think we can." Will's phone buzzed, and he picked it up. "Thank you," he said, and hung up. "The FBI people are ready for you in the Map Room."

Cora Parker, the formidable African-American woman who was Will's personal secretary, came into the room. "Governor, if you'll follow me, please," she said.

"We'll talk more later," Will said, waving him off.

KERRY SMITH STOOD as Governor Martin Stanton walked into the room. "Good morning, Governor," he said, with a smile. "I'm Assistant Director of the FBI Kerry Smith. This is my associate, Special Agent Shelly Bach, and our technician, Danny Miller."

The governor shook hands all around.

"Please have a seat there," Kerry said, indicating a chair on the other side of the table. "As you can see, you and I and Shelly each have a microphone before us." He pointed to the other items on the table. "These small objects are high-definition television cameras. It's customary to record all background-check interviews, so that we can review transcripts for accuracy, if necessary. When the interview has been completed, the tapes will be secured in an FBI vault. At a later date to be determined, they will either be destroyed or given to you for your collection of personal papers, whichever you desire."

"That's fine with me, Director Smith," Stanton said.

He was an impressive man, Kerry thought, handsome, with a fine baritone speaking voice, and he exhibited no signs of nervousness, as many men in his shoes would have.

"If I may, I'll begin by going over the answers on the questionnaire you completed, to be sure we have your answers correct and to your satisfaction."

"Fine."

"Let's begin with your birth," Kerry said, getting right to the point. "Where were you born?"

The governor smiled. "I was born in the backseat of a 1957 Cadillac Sedan de Ville, on the way to the San Diego Women's Hospital, where both my father and maternal grandfather were born."

"Can you tell us the circumstances surrounding that event?"

"My family have had business connections with Mexico for three generations," Stanton said. "My grandfather was a Coca-Cola bottler in San Diego, and my father, after his graduation from Oxford University, in England, and with his father's help, bought the franchise to bottle Coca-Cola in Tijuana, Mexico, along with a Mexican business partner with whom he had roomed at Eton and Oxford. My father fell in love with and married his partner's sister, and they built a home in Tijuana, so that he could closely supervise the business activities and advertising while his partner managed the bottling plant.

"My parents had planned for the birth to occur in San Diego, since there was no equivalent to Women's Hospital in Tijuana. The day before my mother was to move to my grandparents' home in San Diego to prepare for the birth, which her doctors had predicted would take place two weeks later, my father was about to leave for work when my mother went into labor. She later told him she had had mild contractions during the night but had thought nothing of them.

"He panicked, of course, and hustled her into the rear seat of the car, while his regular driver got the car started and headed for San Diego.

"My father was, like most American men of that day, unacquainted with the details of the birth process, and as my mother tells it, when my birth drew very near, his panic gave way to hysteria. He had a slightly different version of the story, of course, but the result was that my father and his driver, Pedro Martнnez, a family employee, changed positions, and my father drove while Pedro, coming from a society where births were not always accomplished in hospitals, delivered me. He did a good job, apparently, and when we all arrived at the hospital, the doctors and nurses praised him for his skills."

"That's a delightful story," Kerry replied, laughing, "but can you tell me exactly what time and where, geographically, you were born?"

"Well, I was pretty young at the time, so I've had to rely on my parents' accounts and that of Pedro, of course, who has told me the story more than once, and they were all pretty busy for half an hour or forty-five minutes. As I understand it, I drew my first breath only a minute or so after crossing the border."

"Are your parents still living?" Kerry asked.

"My father passed away more than twenty years ago. My mother is still alive, but she is ninety-two and suffers from Alzheimer 's disease. She's in a residential facility in San Diego."

"What about Mr. Martнnez?"

"Pedro is still alive and living outside Tijuana on a bottling company pension. I last saw him early this past summer, when he and I were both in San Diego, and, although his health is not good, he is alive."

"Can you give us his address?"

"The bottling company in Tijuana will have it," Stanton replied.

"Why? Are you looking for confirmation?"

"Frankly, Governor, yes. It's not that we doubt your account, but as you say, you were pretty young at the time, and the question of whether you were born on American soil has become pertinent."

Stanton frowned. "You mean my citizenship? My father was an American citizen, so I am, as well. I have an American birth certificate and an American passport."

"I understand, Governor, but a vice president must be a native-born American, and a potential problem exists in the legal definition of what is native-born." Kerry produced a sheet of paper. "This is what Section 1401 of the U.S. Code says about aliens and nationality:

" 'The following shall be nationals and citizens of the United States at birth: (a) A person born in the United States, and subject to the jurisdiction thereof.' (b) This one is not relevant, it's to do with Indian tribes and Eskimos. '(c) A person born outside of the United States… of parents both of whom are citizens of the United States.' "I believe your mother was a citizen of Mexico at the time of her birth?"

"That's correct," the governor replied.

"There is another situation that might apply: one born to a foreign national and a U.S. citizen who, prior to the birth, was present in the United States for periods totaling not less than five years, at least two of which were after the age of fourteen.

"Now, according to the form you completed, your father's early years were spent almost entirely in Mexico, and from the age of eight, he was educated at Eton, then Oxford, in England, and he was twenty-two years old at your birth. We've combed through this very carefully, and the most we can put him in the United States, conforming to the statute, is three years and two months, so that part of the statute does not seem to apply to you. Finally, there is a circumstance where the citizen parent has been physically present in the United States for a continuous period of one year, and you do not qualify under that circumstance, either."

"But I was born in California," the governor replied.

"Governor, if our investigations can confirm that, you will have no problem meeting the qualification."

The governor was frowning. "So where do we go from here?" "We'll interview Pedro Martнnez, and that should do it. In the meantime, let's keep working our way through the questionnaire."