Election

by Brandt Legg

  “That guy’s crazy,” Melissa said, pointing to Thorne on the screen. “He’s inciting them.”

  “Do you know what this means?” Hudson asked, seemingly not hearing her last remark.

  “What? That a bunch of crazies are intent on making our country into the next Iraq?”

  “No,” Hudson said, his gaze still far away. “I could actually win the presidency.”

  Chapter Six

  Schueller arrived first. Hudson took a deep breath. He didn’t approve of his son’s bohemian lifestyle, nor his anti-everything attitude. But he tried, he always tried.

  As he hugged him, he recalled the young boy who had lost his mother at age ten. Hudson thought his son looked too skinny, and he could smell the aroma of tobacco—at least he hoped it was only tobacco. His shaggy brown hair hadn’t seen a comb in months, the stubble on his face meant days without a razor. Thrift store clothes and his mother’s eyes; the combination always left him wondering what his late wife would have thought.

  She probably would have reminded me to relax and support him. “The more you fight it, the more he’ll fight back.”

  It just bothered Hudson that his son, who’d tested off-the-charts smart, was seemingly wasting his brains, and his life.

  Melissa hugged Schueller, too. He liked her. He could talk to her, and, oddly, they had the same taste in music. “How’d the gig go last night?” she asked.

  “It was just a coffee shop thing,” Schueller said, obviously pleased she’d remembered. “Kota posted a couple videos already.” He glanced at his father, knowing he didn’t much care for his girlfriend, Dakota.

  “Oh, good. I’ll watch later,” Melissa said.

  Schueller nodded and smiled, knowing she really would, knowing he’d get a text that night saying what she liked most. The venue had been small, but he’d packed the place and sold a good handful of CDs. “So, what’s the emergency?” he asked.

  “Let’s wait until Florence gets here so I only have to say everything once,” Hudson replied in a serious tone.

  “You’re not sick, are you?” Schueller asked, suddenly sounding younger. They all knew he was thinking about his mother’s cancer battle.

  “No, I’m in great shape.”

  “Schueller, did you hear about Senator Uncer?” Melissa asked.

  “The sinister senator from Arizona?” Schueller replied. “What’d he do now? Put out a plan to outlaw solar power?”

  “No,” Hudson said. “He was assassinated.”

  “Really?” Schueller almost smiled. “Well, no loss there.”

  “Schueller!” Melissa admonished. “He had a family.”

  Hudson shook his head.

  “I’m sorry, but the guy was a bastard.”

  Florence came through the door. Blonde, like her father, but with her mother’s face; high cheekbones, thin nose, and a playful sprinkle of freckles. She hugged her brother first.

  “Good drive?” Schueller asked sarcastically.

  “Well I made it in five hours,” she said, moving to hug her father and then Melissa. “No cops on the road. I think they’ve all been pulled to the cities. Everyone’s freaking out about these NorthBridgers. The radio’s full of it. Have you heard?”

  “We were just telling Schueller. He missed it since his car is a music-only zone,” Hudson said, leading them into the living room. The TV was repeating the profile of the NorthBridge terrorists. They watched for a few moments.

  “How awful,” Florence said, seeing the images for the first time.

  “No one knows much about this group,” Melissa said. “Hopefully it’s a couple of fanatics trying to make themselves sound bigger than they are.”

  “Your brother thinks the Senator deserved it,” Hudson said.

  “You do not,” Florence said, giving Schueller a little shove.

  “It gives Thorne a better shot,” Schueller said. “And Thorne is the best chance we have for real change. For truth.”

  “You’re not serious about supporting that clown,” Florence said. “He’s not fit to be president.”

  “Oh, he’s serious, all right,” Hudson said. “Although, I always thought you were a liberal, Schueller. You do know Thorne is running as a Republican, don’t you?”

  “Maybe we shouldn’t talk politics right now,” Melissa said, motioning to the TV.

  Hudson gave her a quizzical look. “Actually, this all relates to why I called you here today.”

  “Are you getting married?” Florence asked.

  “They could have told us that over the phone,” Schueller said, resisting the urge to delve into a full political debate with his father.

  “Yes, we are,” Hudson said, glancing at Melissa in time to see her surprised expression. “But there’s more to it than that.”

  “Congratulations,” Florence said, hugging first her father, and then Melissa.

  “I’d say welcome to the family,” Schueller said to Melissa, “but you’ve been family for a while now.”

  Melissa gave him a peck on the cheek. “Thank you, Schueller.”

  “You said there was more,” Florence said. “A baby?”

  “Oh my goodness, no!” Melissa said.

  Hudson laughed at the thought. “No, it’s much crazier than that. I’ve been approached to run for political office.”

  Neither of his children were surprised. They knew people had tried to get their father to run for mayor, but surely that wouldn’t have required them to drive home on such short notice.

  “Governor?” Florence asked.

  Schueller raised his eyebrows.

  “President,” Hudson said, holding his breath.

  “Of what?” Schueller asked.

  “The United States.”

  “Dad!” Florence said. “Come on.”

  “Seriously,” Hudson said.

  “Who approached you?” Schueller asked.

  “Arlin Vonner.”

  “Arlin Vonner? Why?” Florence asked. “I mean, I think you can do anything, but you’re my father. Why does he think anyone other than me and Schueller would vote for you?”

  “And Melissa,” Melissa added.

  Florence nodded, smiling. “Okay, he’s got three votes, maybe a few hundred more from friends and relatives, but hardly a landslide victory.”

  “Vonner is a pig,” Schueller snapped. “The guy buys politicians. He’s part of the problem. He spreads corruption like the flu.”

  “Do you know him?” Hudson asked.

  “Of course I don’t know him. He doesn’t associate with regular riffraff like me. So why does he want you?”

  “He thinks the American people are ready for some ‘riffraff’,” Hudson said.

  “And you’re the best he could come up with?”

  “You may not believe your old man is very cool, but a lot of people think I’m a pretty good guy.”

  “Dad, seriously. I love you. I do. And I’m proud to be your son. We may not see eye-to-eye on many things, but I know you’re smart and honest and into helping others. You’d be great, but don’t you see the only way you can win is if Vonner buys it for you?”

  “We don’t live in some Third World country. Contrary to your radical views, you can’t actually buy an election in America. Vonner may help with funds to pay for the tons of advertising we’ll need, and his media connections can get my name out there, but I’ll have to convince everyone that I’m the guy. I’d have to get the votes.”

  “And what about this?” Schueller asked, pointing to the image of Senator Uncer’s burning car on the TV.

  “What about it?” Hudson asked.

  “Is Vonner just going to have all your opponents killed?”

  Hudson recoiled as if someone had taken a jab at his face. “Vonner had nothing to do with that.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I know.”

  “How? Like you know that some angry Muslim on dialysis orchestrated the 9/11 attacks from a cave? That a collection of misfits and losers managed t
o hijack four commercial airliners at the same time, on the same day, and kill three thousand people on American soil?” Schueller was pacing, his arms punctuating his points. “And let’s not forget they crashed into the Pentagon, the Pentagon, and of course somehow brought down the two World Trade towers and Building Seven—a building not even hit by a plane, and yet it collapses at free fall speed in a perfect controlled-demolition for no apparent reason. Have you ever read about Building Seven and the other crazy-unusual stuff that happened that day?”

  “Look, I know you believe 9/11 was some wild conspiracy, but—”

  “If you don’t believe me, read about it yourself. Just search the internet for ‘9/11 conspiracy’ or check one of the video sites. People have researched this in incredible detail, and if you would just watch some of it you’d know—”

  “Know what?” Hudson said, rising from his seat.

  “That Vonner is using you.”

  “Why?”

  “That’s the question you should be asking yourself, Dad.” Schueller stopped right next to his father—the two were the same height—and looked him in the eye. “Why did one of the richest men in the world pick you? Why?”

  Chapter Seven

  Arlin Vonner, sitting in the three-thousand-square-foot “Pacific room” of Sun Wave, his massive Carmel, California estate, secretly listened live to every word of the Pound family meeting. A butler handed him a scotch as he mounted his custom exercise bike. Vonner liked to “drink and ride.”

  Joining Vonner in the magnificent room, enjoying a stunning view of the Pacific, was Rex Lestat, a sturdy-looking man with a wide face and curly brown hair that appeared impossible to tame. A man Vonner called “the fixer.” Rex had been with Vonner’s organization for more than twenty years, but few knew of his existence. His power lurked in the shadows, a master of both the DarkNet and the deep web, places that could not be accessed from the regular internet; places where criminals and conspirators lived.

  “Schueller could surprise us,” Vonner said as they listened to his conspiratorial rant.

  “I don’t think so,” Rex said in his deep baritone voice, making each statement like an announcement. “He’s a twenty-two-year-old musician. He doesn’t know what the hell he knows. He’s a punk.”

  “It sounds like he knows exactly what he thinks he knows,” Vonner said. “What about his footprints online?”

  “Done,” Rex said firmly.

  Vonner smiled, knowing Rex had erased all traces of Schueller’s internet browsing history—one filled with conspiracy, left-wing radical, anti-war, anti-Federal Reserve, and similar assorted sites going back years. The fixer had replaced it with more standard American teens’ preferences. He knew the media would start digging as soon as Pound announced, and wanted to be sure they didn’t find anything too exciting. “And the daughter?”

  “Nothing I could do to make her any more perfect. Excellent grades all the way through her academic career, a top nursing student, lots of charity work, and she’s already earned distinction at work. She doesn’t drink or smoke and has a steady boyfriend—a lawyer. And, although Florence is a Democrat, she’s far more to the center than her brother.”

  Vonner smiled again. He knew all this, but liked to be reassured. There was so much riding on his choice. “Each election demands more finesse, more excitement.”

  “Like telling a bigger lie to cover the last,” Rex added, rolling a pair of green dice in his hand.

  “It’s really more like making each successive action movie bigger than the one before.”

  “Where does it end?”

  “I don’t ever want to know the answer to that question,” Vonner said, an uncharacteristically worried expression appearing on the youthful face of the seventy-two-year-old tycoon. He covered it quickly with a phony smile, but both men had the same concern. Would this be the year that things spun out of control? Each cycle had gotten bigger, the battles more brutal, the players more than willing to do anything it took.

  The voice of Melissa Atwater broke the tension. Vonner had read the latest on Hudson’s girlfriend—now fiancée—and still believed she would be an excellent First Lady. Beauty, business, and brains meant she would be an asset on every campaign stop with both men and women. Melissa was explaining to Schueller that she, too, had been suspicious of Vonner.

  Vonner raised his eyebrow.

  “Not to worry,” Rex said.

  Vonner knew she wouldn’t be a problem, but these were the times to be most careful. They listened as Melissa explained that she’d followed Vonner’s career for years, and had, ever since learning of Hudson’s meeting with him, added to her knowledge of the man with extensive research. The specifics didn’t exactly sway Schueller, but they could tell that Hudson’s son respected his soon-to-be stepmother, as he definitely softened his stance. What seemed to make the biggest impact was her point about how much good his father could do.

  “And, Schueller, what if you’re right about everything?” Melissa asked. “What if the Federal Reserve is manipulating and controlling the economy? What if 9/11 wasn’t the work of Al Qaida? How do you propose to expose and change all that? Couldn’t having an honest man like your father in the White House be our best chance at getting to the truth?”

  Schueller’s reply wasn’t audible, but they assumed he nodded, based on the brief pause before Melissa pushed on.

  “He can make the world a better place.”

  “Sounds a little corny,” Hudson said, “but that’s just what I want to do.”

  “They won’t let you,” Schueller said.

  “Who is ‘they’?” Hudson asked, exasperated.

  “Whoever is really running things—Vonner, the Fed, the Rockefellers, the Rothschilds. If I knew for sure who they were, I would probably be dead.”

  “Are you serious?” Hudson asked, more concerned than angry.

  “I just know the world isn’t as it appears.”

  “Why? Because some website claims to know the truth? Some guy in New Jersey or wherever makes a video about the Illuminati and suddenly his version of the world becomes fact?”

  “You don’t have to believe it.”

  “I’m all for the truth. Show me some real facts and I’m right behind you, but if you don’t have any, then you sound kind of ignorant, and I know you’re not.”

  Schueller nodded. “Don’t worry, Dad. I won’t mess up your campaign. I’ll keep my views to myself, because if I’m right, maybe you can fix it, and if I’m wrong, then maybe you’ll prove it and then fix it anyway.”

  “Either way, Schueller, I want to make you proud of your dad. If I win—and that’s a long, long, looooong shot anyway—but if I do, I’m going to try to do as much right as I can. And I promise I’ll look for any secret government cover-ups for you. UFOs, Kennedy’s assassination, Elvis hiding out somewhere—”

  Schueller laughed. “Okay, Dad.”

  “Fake moon landing,” Hudson continued. “Paul McCartney is dead—”

  “Very funny, Dad,” Schueller said, laughing harder, but adding, “We’ll see, though. Keep an open mind and we’ll see.”

  “My mind is totally open,” Hudson promised. “Now, what about you, Florence?”

  “Careful, Florence, they’re listening to every word we say,” Schueller said in a sinister voice.

  Vonner knew Hudson’s son was joking, but still got an adrenaline jolt.

  “A real wise-ass, that one,” Rex said. “He couldn’t know.”

  “But he may be smarter than he looks,” Vonner said.

  “He will not be a problem,” Rex said emphatically. “But if he ever becomes one, we’ll handle it.”

  Vonner nodded. He knew the plan. Rex had handled hundreds of “situations” before. He’d hired the former Marine out of the CIA after Vonner had been tapped to covertly help fund a coup in Central America. Rex had been one of the lead operatives, and Vonner’s go-between reported back to his boss, “If you want a ‘fixer,’ this Rex Lestat guy is the re
al deal.” Vonner threw the right amount of money at Rex, and he’d been his number one lieutenant in charge of starting or containing trouble, depending on what the situation called for, ever since.

  “Dad, I’m so excited for you,” Florence said. “But are you ready for all the attention? It seems every year the political campaigns get nastier.”

  Vonner winked at Rex.

  Hudson smiled at his daughter. She’d always been the worrier in the family. “Vonner thinks the media is going to love me. He believes I’m just what everyone’s been waiting for—a real person running for president, an honest guy with common sense.”

  “I think it’s awesome, Dad. You’ve got my vote. Just stay safe, okay?” Vonner couldn’t see it, but Florence nodded toward the TV, still replaying Senator Uncer’s fiery death.

  “Looks like you’ve got yourself a candidate,” Rex said.

  “Candidate nothing. Hudson Pound will be the next president of the United States.”

  Chapter Eight

  After lunch, Hudson and Melissa went for a drive to Lake Hope State Park. It had long been a favorite destination of Hudson’s. He rowed the rented boat out into the 120-acre lake and found a picturesque cove. The sun sparkled on the water, and a fragrant spring breeze teased Melissa’s hair. Hudson smiled as he fumbled in his pocket and produced a stunning engagement ring.

  “When did you get this?” Melissa asked in surprise.

  “I’m a resourceful fellow,” Hudson said quietly. “I want to do this right. This shouldn’t be about political expediency, or the timing of my announcing, it should be about us . . . Melissa, I love you, and I couldn’t imagine going on this journey, or anywhere into the future, without you. What I’m trying to say is, will you marry me?”

  Melissa beamed, but remained silent for nearly a minute. Hudson believed she loved him, and knew she’d been thinking about their potential marriage ever since Vonner suggested it. They’d been happy and serious enough that she must have had thoughts even before Vonner entered their lives.

  So why is she taking so long? he wondered.