Ballots and Blood by Ralph Reed Page A

killed U.S. soldiers in Basra and Baghdad, trained terrorists who killed innocent civilians in Buenos Aires, and harbored and funded Rassem el Zafarshan, the murderer of an American vice president.” The catalog of Iran’s sins complete, Long moved in for the money line. “In the 1930s, some said Hitler’s rhetoric was only for domestic consumption. It led to the West’s surrender at Munich. If we allow the regime in Iran to threaten the world with nuclear weapons, fifty years from now those who survive the inevitable cataclysm that follows will turn to those of us who could have stopped it and ask, ‘How could you have let this happen?’” Long stabbed the air with an index finger for emphasis. “We must vow together that they will never have to ask us that question.”
    The crowd rose to their feet in a throaty roar that rolled across Long in waves of adoration. They elected him! He would not let them down.
    â€œThe Senate has before it legislation containing crippling sanctions against Iran unless it abandons its nuclear weapons program,” Long continued. “It includes an embargo on exports of refined gasoline to Iran, insurance of vessels traveling to and from Iran, loans by the Export-Import Bank to companies doing business with Iran, and banking and financial services to Iranian entities.” Long leaned into the podium, his mouth closer to the microphone, raising his voice a decibel. “I ask the Senate to send me this bill forthwith for my signature. And if these sanctions have not had the desired effect, I ask the Senate to authorize my administration in consultation with other nations to take the necessary steps to end Iran’s threat to the civilized world.”
    The crowd leaped to their feet yet again. A guttural, ear-splitting roar filled the ballroom. Long stepped back, nodding, basking in the applause.
    Truman Greenglass and Jay Noble stood backstage in the dark, watching Long from the side. Greenglass looked on the front row and saw tears of joy streaming down the face of Yehuda Serwitz.
    â€œCheck out Yehuda,” said Greenglass.
    Jay glanced over. “I guess he’s glad he’s finally got a U.S. president with the kahunas to take on Iran.”
    â€œYeah,” whispered Greenglass. “Wait until he finds out if the sanctions don’t work—and they probably won’t—it’s going to be the Israelis, not us, who have to take out Iran’s nuclear program.”
    Jay looked at Greenglass and gulped.
    A MOB OF REPORTERS WAITED in the rotunda of the state Capitol in Tallahassee for the news conference to begin. A podium was rolled into the center, a clutch of microphones attached to it. Beams of sunlight streamed in from the windows above, giving the cavernous room an ambient glow.
    â€œHere they come!” someone said in a stage whisper.
    Heads turned to see Governor Mike Birch strolling down the marble stairs, chatting amiably with another man wearing a blue suit, white dress shirt, and red tie.
    â€œWho is it?’ someone asked. It didn’t appear to be one of the Congressmen on the short list.
    â€œIs that . . . Dolph Lightfoot?” asked the Orlando Sentinel.
    â€œNah, it couldn’t be,” said the Florida Times-Union.
    â€œIt is!” replied the Sentinel.
    Birch approached the podium with his arm around Lightfoot, a former governor who left office because he was limited to two terms. Lightfoot, sixty-nine, was a chamber of commerce centrist like Birch, no friend of either the Tea Party or the religious right. His appointment was guaranteed to send tingles down the legs of the press corps.
    â€œThank you all for coming,” said Birch, wearing a satisfied smile. “When the Senate seat held for over two decades by my friend Perry Miller became vacant because of his untimely death, I thought long and hard about who would make the best U.S. senator for the people of Florida. Perry