Separation of Power by Vince Flynn Page A

colleague, had his towel wrapped around his waist. Clark swaggered into the hot misty room. Despite the haze of the steam, he easily picked out the cragged profile of Rudin.
    “Good morning, Albert.” Instead of sitting, Clark began his search for the eucalyptus bottle. He found it on the top bench, and after shaking it, he went about spraying it in the areas around the steam jets.
    “Not too much of that stuff,” grumbled Rudin.
    Rudin went on to mumble something else, but Clark couldn’t decipher what was said, nor did he care. Albert Rudin was a chronic grumbler, and Clark had learned to ignore it. He had in fact learned to ignore many of Rudin’s irritating habits. The senator set the bottle down and then reclined his large body on the bottom bench across from Rudin. Clark leaned back, stretched his arms out and rested his back against the upper bench. After letting out a satisfying moan and taking in a deep breath of theeucalyptus-laced steam he asked, “What’s on your mind today, Albert, and why are we meeting in the steam room? You haven’t decided to come out of the closet, have you?” Clark had a difficult time suppressing his desire to laugh. He had thought of the line on the way to the club, knowing it would irritate Rudin immensely. The man had absolutely no sense of humor.
    “I don’t find your humor very funny.”
    Clark choked on his laughter. “I’m sorry, Albert, but I couldn’t resist. You’ve never asked me to meet you in the steam room before.” The steam jets kicked on, and over the hissing there was more mumbling from the other side of the room.
    Rudin finally decided to enunciate his words and said, “You’ll have to excuse me, but I’m a little paranoid these days.”
    “And why is that?” Clark began rubbing the warm water into his face.
    “You know why.” Rudin’s words had more than a hint of accusation in them. He struggled over whether or not he should raise his suspicions over Charles Midleton’s suicide. After a brief pause he decided he needed to test the water a little. “I saw the footage of you at the White House the other day. How in the hell could you sit there next to that phony?”
    “Which phony are you referring to? There’s an awful lot of them in this town.”
    “The biggest phony of them all. Hayes!” The president’s name came out like a hiss.
    Clark let his head fall back and looked up through the steam at the ceiling. “Come off it, Albert. Thereare far bigger phonies in this town than Robert Hayes.”
    “Not in my book.”
    All Clark could do was shake his head.
    “How in the hell could you sit next to him and agree to Irene Kennedy as the next director of the CIA? How?” Rudin asked in exasperation.
    “Albert, I don’t know how many more times I’m going to have to explain this to you, but I don’t see Dr. Kennedy as a bad choice.”
    “Oh my God! I can’t believe you’re serious. What did Hayes offer you?”
    “I resent your implication, Albert. He offered me nothing. I think you need a refresher course in civics.”
    “What in the hell is that supposed to mean?”
    “It means that you’ve been in this town long enough,” Clark’s voice took on a slight edge, just enough to let Rudin know he shouldn’t push it too far today. “The president has the power to appoint. It says so clearly in the Constitution.”
    “I know,” snapped Rudin. “I’ve read it more times than you have. It falls under the Separation of Powers. The Chief Executive has the power to appoint and nominate and the Senate has the power to confirm. The fundamental principal is separate but equal,” hissed Rudin. “You have every right, no, you have a duty to block Irene Kennedy’s nomination.”
    “In the Senate we have something that you and your friends in the House are unfamiliar with. It’s called decorum. When the president appoints someone to a position we almost always give him his choice unless there is some skeleton in their