At Risk of Winning (The Max Masterson Series Book 1)

by Mark E Becker

  From behind a huge walnut tree, the man in black watched their departure through highly amplified night-vision goggles. he was code-named Darkhorse, and his vocation as a mercenary allowed him to continue his passion for killing. If they wanted me to snuff him, and the girl, too, he thought, I’d do her for free, just like his Daddy’s girlfriend.

  u ChAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  You really had them going, yesterday, Max. I can’t stop thinking about the look on old Donald Richmond’s face when you jumped off the stage in front of him. he’s got to be around a hundred years old by now, and I thought he was going to wet his pants.” Andrew had watched from the second-floor window of the old building housing the campaign. he knew in advance that Max had carefully exited the building by an underground tunnel built in the mid-1800s that had helped runaway slaves escape to boxcars at a railroad yard that had long since been dismantled to give way to progress. The area was now occupied by upscale condos, but the tunnel still led to a nondescript building that was once adjacent to the railroad tracks. The trains that had secretly transported slaves to sympathetic northern states were now gone, but the secret escape route was still a good one.

  Max left by the tunnel for weeks before the press arrived, and his lack of discovery gave him a misplaced sense of security. It wasn’t that he was being careless, it was more like a feeling that all was well enough to keep him from fearing capture by the press. As he emerged from the old door housing the tunnel, he walked right into the bright lights of a film crew, fronted by none other than Greg huffington himself.

  “We’ve been waiting for you, Mr. Masterson!”

  his startled face was sure to appear on every network every fifteen minutes for the next day, at least. “Before you run off, I’d like

  to ask you a few questions, if I may.” huffington was going to get his

  time in the limelight, and he would not be deterred by Max’s quick

  escape. Besides, his way was effectively blocked by the satellite truck

  and equipment. Max resigned himself to the idea that he was trapped,

  but his eyes continued to look for an escape route.

  “You are a very elusive man for a politician. Is this how you intend

  to deal with the press when you are president?” his tone was more a

  scolding than an inquiry, and Max took an immediate dislike to him. “I am not a politician. I am a man who is running for president.

  When I come to live in the White house, I assure you, Mr. huffington, that you will not be invited to stay in the Lincoln bedroom. I

  think you’re an asshole. Now excuse me.” Max did a quick left fake,

  dodged right, and vaulted over the front hood of the sound truck,

  sliding across the hood and nimbly landing on both feet. Before the

  cameras could turn and refocus, he made a quick right so that the

  truck was between him and the camera crew, and he was gone.

  u ChAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  That evening, the news reports featured the short “interview,” and the regulars at the tavern began playing a constant loop of the encounter as soon as they arrived.

  “I can’t believe it! I never thought I would live to see the day that a politician gave what for to huffington. Did you see the look on his face? I can’t believe it!” Phil was known for repeating himself, and every time he watched the video and sound bite, he came full circle.

  “You know, I admire a guy who says what he thinks. I’m leaning toward voting for him. I voted for Blythe last time and look what he did to us! You know . . .” Phil stopped talking long enough for the loop to finish its latest cycle, and they all laughed, which continued through the first half of the next loop.

  “I still can’t believe that he called him an asshole. I always thought he was an asshole, but I never thought I’d hear anyone call him that to his face. Ya know?” Jerry reached for his third beer with his left hand and a chicken wing with his right and watched a remote camera view of Masterson and an attractive young woman boarding an ancient seaplane on the split screen. Surveillance cameras had tracked Max from his escape at the underground railroad tunnel to a marina, where a Beech 18 seaplane was apparently docked. A voiceover by huffington droned on as the seaplane skidded across the bay and took flight.

  “In his latest display of un-presidential behavior, Independent candidate Max Masterson is seen fleeing our nation’s capitol with an unidentified young woman . . .”

  “I hate that asshole reporter,” said Jerry, as he clicked off the reporter’s tirade and transferred the split screen to a MaxTracker map. The map showed a magnified satellite image of the seaplane flying low above the treetops “how did they know he’s leaving D.C. and not know who he’s with? I suppose we’ll see her in a bikini on the evening report,” he said as he directed his attention to Max’s latest sound bite.

  u ChAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  The meeting went for hours before anyone lost focus enough to declare that they were hungry. Food was ordered, and the hours stretched into the night. Outside, the media was huddled around TV monitors watching the major news channels. It was a constant loop of Max’s sound bites linked together by commentary, and the home office was getting itchy for new material.

  “how long can we keep repeating a two-minute spot on illegal immigration?” bellowed howard Ransom from the New York office of News Tonight. The object of his scorn was Greg huffington, who was glued to his cell phone, reporting nothing and getting more exasperated by the minute.

  “I know he’s in there, howard. They assembled for a meeting at ten a.m., and they have been going steady since then . . . I know that makes it seven hours straight. I don’t know what to tell you. They ordered out for Chinese about three hours ago, and my people guarding his exit tunnel say that the door is locked and nobody has entered or left . . . I know he hasn’t been seen in public . . . howard, I don’t have any more information than anyone else . . . howard, dammit! I know how to do my job!” he hung up and auto-dialed his last hope for news.

  “Greg here. Anything? You mean to tell me that nobody has left his estate? how can that be? his staff says he’s here in a meeting . . . Are you sure? OK, OK, I don’t doubt you . . . Keep me posted, will you?”

  u

  In the meeting room, Max had changed from running clothes to a dark three-piece suit in a rare display of conformity. he listened to his advisors while munching loudly on a Braeburn apple. Bill Staffman began his assessment of the situation.

  “Max, you are beginning to act like you are going to win this thing, and the polls give the Democrats and the Republicans one-third of the popular vote. You managed to get all of the third-party votes and crossovers from both parties, but if it turns into a three-way race, you won’t get enough votes to make it a win. We can only hope to get enough crossovers to throw it over to Blythe.” he grabbed a jelly donut and downed it in four bites. If we’re going to survive this campaign without getting a heart attack, I’ll have to ban junk food from the room. Bill’s getting lumpier every day, if that’s possible, Max assessed.

  Andrew was the next to weigh in. “ If you’re going to really go for a win, we need to form an alliance with a running mate who has name recognition and broad appeal. It wouldn’t hurt to have a little experience, either.”

  Fox was still stinging from the recent news stories about the experience factor. Whenever a candidate runs for reelection, one asset they can pull out of their bag of tricks is the one that their opponent can’t.. Max not only had no experience at being president . . . he had no experience at holding any kind of public office. Inexperience could be perceived as change, but Max needed to project his candidacy as a fresh change and a separation from past policies that had failed. Not only policies, a separation from a president who had failed the American people.

  u

  Andrew continued.

  “Max, we have done everything you asked us to do. We went to boring speeches and timed how long it took for the bored
om to set in. I was as surprised as anyone to hear that nobody can keep an audience interested for longer than it takes to play a song on my I-Pod, but it makes sense,” he paced as he talked. “After all of our hard work you have our total support. We believe in you, and we believe you can win. But you can’t do it unless we gang up on Blythe. his people play dirty, and they’re good at it. I have heard that his people are out there interviewing your old girlfriends, trying to dig up something nasty and kinky. I’m afraid that—”

  Max took his turn interrupting his protege. he laughed, then his face turned suddenly serious. “You mean, the ladies didn’t turn on me? They didn’t find any illegitimate love child that I have been supporting, or a medical report showing that I got the Clap on a trip to Paris, or how about that I like to be spanked?” he smirked. In the back of his mind, he knew that they would find nothing that would hurt his public persona. his father had protected his personal life since he was an infant, and the more they dug, the better he looked in the eyes of his detractors.

  Luke Postlewaite was the next to express his thoughts. he had served as the observer and the link to the hearts and minds of the people that politicians pandered to while seeking public office, but ignored when they had attained it—regular folks. “Max, I have been watching the reaction of people when you walk into a room.” he paused to get their attention, and realized that he had it.

  “The one thing you have that sets you apart is the feeling of hope that things will be better if you are in charge. It doesn’t matter that you have no voting record. I don’t think people care one lick that you have never been elected to anything or run for this job before. They look at you as the guy who will save them from the other politicians. But here’s the thing. You need experience on your shoulder if it isn’t under your belt.”

  “Andrew, Bill, Luke,…” Max paused and stared out the window at the tangle of cables and people in suits that spread outside the window. “I don’t pay you enough. I also don’t talk to you enough. I have been getting the same phone calls from most of the women they spoke to. I’m not worried. They called to tell me that they only said good things about our time together.” he stared out the window toward the street, watching the incessant jumble of press below. They looked purposeful and productive, but so does an anthill.

  he stopped reflecting and resumed planning. “Let’s focus on the important issue here. I know my lack of experience is going to be problematic. I have been thinking like you do, that we need to bring in someone who can complement my assets, and we need to look like a team that people can have confidence in. I have that someone in mind, but I’m sure you and Bill have been secretly making me a list of suitables, am I right?” he returned to the chair at the head of the table and waited while his two trusted advisors scrambled for their lists.

  “Let’s streamline this a little bit, just to save time. Do you agree on one person who is alive today and is the most qualified, whether they want it or not, who would be your first choice? Don’t waste my time with anyone else.” Both of them stopped their search and resumed their seats, leaning forward on their elbows with expectant looks. Bill had seniority, and he spoke first.

  “Scarlett Conroy.”

  “Andrew?”

  “Scarlett.”

  “Good,” Max immediately replied. “That’s who I picked, too. I met Scarlett when I was a kid, and she had that politician look back then. She needs to loosen up a little, but she’s a perfect fit. Now we need to figure out how to convince her that she can’t win without us. Oh, and her running mate may have a problem with us stealing her away.”

  u ChAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  After the election of 2012, there was a move to amend the Constitution to eliminate the electoral college and bind delegates to the popular vote. The new thinking on the subject was, after nearly two hundred and fifty years, to finally trust the voters to decide who they wanted to win the election. A vote to amend the Constitution requires two-thirds of both houses of Congress to pass, and debate on the subject spanned years before it came to a vote.

  A vote for change would eliminate the backroom dealing that frequently resulted in the loser of the popular vote winning the presidency, contrary to the will of the majority, and backers of the honesty in Elections movement were accused of everything from promoting anarchy to aligning themselves with Socialists. They were persistent, though, and the effort was popular with the voters, who could never quite understand why they bothered to vote when someone else actually decided who was going to hold office.

  It all went back to the early days of the existence of the nation when most people were illiterate, naive, and easily influenced by fast-talking men who were successful at selling, persuaders who had their own fortunes to grow, and were not patriots in any sense of the word. They had their selfish interests at heart and taking the power to choose away from the public was the only way to ensure that they could control the result. In the end, change prevailed, and the electoral college was retired by the closest vote in U.S. history.

  Iowa and New hampshire have traditionally been the states to kick off the campaign season, which coincidentally is during the same time that football playoffs and hunting season occur. In some parts of the U.S., it’s a miracle that the attention of the American male can be diverted long enough to vote. Two changes in the way people vote made all the difference in the next race for president, and politics as usual failed to recognize their significance. The first was the federal law that mandated that all state primaries take place on the same Tuesday in February. The other change of great significance was the ability of voters to vote from home.

  Since people from Iowa and New hampshire are never more important than the rest of the country than when they cast the first ballots, they didn’t much like the idea of voting at the same time as everyone else. As a result, they stubbornly swam against the flow and refused to hold their primaries on Super Tuesday, mandated by federal law to be the day after President’s Day. New hampshire had previously passed a law that made their primary the first in the nation, preceded only by the Iowa caucuses.

  Aside from Iowa and New hampshire, all of the major primaries happened on the same day, and nobody had to leave home to vote. No dangling chads, no waiting in line, no taking time off work, and no excuses. Everybody voted who was registered to vote. Democrats voted for Democrats, Republicans voted for Republicans, and Independents voted for whomever they damn well pleased. In pleasing themselves, Independents gained enormous power and so did the third-party candidates. The exclusion of third-party candidates was on a level playing field with weaker mainstream candidates. If they didn’t gather the requisite twenty percent of the popular vote, they didn’t make it past the primaries. By the time the primary votes were in, the race was expected to come down to one incumbent, one Independent, and a candidate with the support of a major party.

  u

  Max was sequestered with Andrew and Bill, strategizing for the day before the rest came wandering in. It was 6:00 a.m., and they had spent the better part of the hours before sunrise trying to define how to reach the voters with the least cost and travel. Bill had been trying to reason with his candidate, but Max was rebelling.

  “The Iowa Caucuses are attended by 100,000 registered voters. There are 1.4 million registered voters in Iowa. That leaves 1.3 million votes for me to capture, and the other guys can have the rest. They have already made up their minds, anyway. I’m not polling anyone, and I’m not flip-flopping on any of my positions just to get a few votes. I’m a package deal.”

  Andrew had enough of Max’s independent streak so early in the morning. holding up the maxims, he confronted Max with the list he had distributed the previous day. “I like the fact that you had this embossed in gold, and it’s waterproof, too. Feels like paper, but when I spilled my coffee on it a few minutes ago, the stain just beaded up and rolled off. You must want these ideas to endure. Is that right, Boss? You want us to follow these maxims forever?” Andrew leaned across th
e table, causing Max to take his feet off of it and assume a defensive posture.

  “Yes, Andrew. I want you and everyone else involved in this campaign to memorize them. Live and breathe them. To do it different than ever before.” he stood and leaned forward until their noses almost touched. “And most of all, I want you to believe that by doing so, we are going to win.”

  Max was intense. he and the senator had rehearsed the maxims for years before he died, and in those years, the plan had been formulated to achieve the presidency, with each detail meticulously laid out. As a child, Max was indoctrinated into this mindset, while the senator and Luke Postlewaite worked out each step in a plan that left no room for indecision.

  “Then when I follow these rules, I expect that you won’t buck me on them, right?” Andrew wasn’t backing down, and he wasn’t backing off. he had no intention of being a potted plant in this campaign.

  “Andrew, when I asked you to sign on for this assignment, I already knew that you were the only person for the job. I needed someone who tells me like it is, not how I want it to be. Besides, I’ve met your mom, and she would never send me another blueberry pie if I fired you for speaking your mind.”

  “Good. If I thought you would fire me for speaking my mind or saying something that some interest group took offense to, I’d rather go back to my long and illustrious career as a print journalist,” Andrew replied. They laughed at the private joke, knowing that his career prior to joining the Masterson campaign consisted of two weeks on the road reporting about the idiosyncrasies of third-party politicians.