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

by Mark E Becker

  Under normal circumstances, the attention of the audience would have been focused on the front of the room, where two large screens displayed photographs of the speaker and promoted upcoming events. This day, they turned their chairs to face Max, who was failing miserably at remaining anonymous. They didn’t directly engage him

  AT RISK OF WINNING

  in conversation, but they stared openly and spoke to each other in low voices while Max smiled and tried to remain nonchalant. The mystery of his presence was compounded by the fact that he was apparently alone, with no staff and no security. If there were Secret Service agents assigned to the event, they were obviously focused on Scarlett’s security, not Max’s. The vacant chairs in the room were around Max, in curious violation of the time-honored tradition of surrounding political candidates with a cushion of adoring humanity at every public appearance.

  The audience had one thought about his presence, “Why is he here?”

  Scarlett was patiently reviewing her three-by-five card when her staffers burst into the room. “he’s here!” they announced in chorus.

  “Who’s here? What are you talking about, why are you so excited? Miniver didn’t follow me here, did he?” she worried.

  “No! Max Masterson! he’s sitting in the back row!” sputtered Angie Francis, her youngest event planner. Angie had assumed the duty of crowd control. She was charged with making sure that signs prominently displaying Scarlett’s name in red were in the hands of anyone who agreed to hold them up whenever the cameras were pointed in their direction. She hadn’t noticed Max’s discreet entrance until the rumbling of the audience began, but when she saw the cause of the commotion, she wasted no time in battling her way backstage to announce the surprising news.

  “Well, I don’t suppose you asked him why he is here,” responded Scarlett to nobody in particular.

  “Uh . . . no ma’am.”

  “Well go out there right this instant and ask him, then get right back to me. I don’t want to be the last to know, ladies, and I expect you to give me a complete report before I walk out on that stage. I will not be upstaged by a political opponent at my own event.” Scarlett’s tone was stern, and her normally cordial demeanor was distorted by the events of the day. “Did you misunderstand me?”

  “No ma’am,” they chirped in unison as they trailed backwards out the door.

  When they reached the main room, Angie took control. “She means for me to do it. We can’t walk up to him like a pack of highschool girls. You two stay back, and if you see me signal, come and rescue me. how do I look?” Angie’s subordinates looked glum and wouldn’t answer. She was only a messenger, but they both silently wished that they could spend a moment alone with the handsome man, even if he was the competition.

  Angie made her way across the room, weaving deftly between the tables of local dignitaries. As she approached, Max watched with interest as she tripped headlong over a purse that blocked her way, and recovered on the back of a large woman whose hat blocked the view of most of the audience behind her. She regained her dignity as she skidded to a stop directly in front of her target. She timidly held her hand to the side of her head and whispered into his ear.

  “Mr. Masterson, I’m Angie Francis. I’m from Miss Conroy’s staff. She . . . She asked me to come over here and ask you what you are doing here . . . No, that didn’t sound right. She wants to know why you came to hear her speak . . . You are here to listen to her speech, aren’t you? Really, you have everyone curious.”

  “Angie, it’s a pleasure to meet someone so graceful in maneuvering through that minefield,” he remarked, still appreciating her approach. “Tell Scarlett that Max Masterson would like ten minutes of her time,” he whispered back.

  u ChAPTER EIGhTY-EIGhT

  This is unprecedented. It wasn’t planned. I can’t just change my speech to suit Mr. Masterson. What is he trying to do, rattle me? I fully intend to take that stage and make my planned presentation and then I’ll deal with Max Masterson. how do I look?” Scarlett’s agenda had been scuttled from the moment Cunningham dropped dead, and she was uncomfortable dealing with constant change. That morning, she was the imputed candidate in her party’s quest to unseat an incumbent president, now she was swimming alone in shark-filled waters.

  “Miss Conroy,” whined the staffers in unison. “Are you going to talk to him?”

  Scarlett averted her gaze from the mirror for a moment, her annoyance apparent in her expression. “Please ask the moderator to make my introduction. I am going to make this speech. Now.” She stood, and made her way toward the door as her three assistants scrambled to make last-second preparations.

  Already on stage, Martha Worthington, the chapter president, was warming up the crowd with a rousing introduction of their featured speaker. News of Max’s presence had been quickly relayed to her, and the audience was buzzing about it. She was uncertain whether to announce his presence, along with that of the local dignitaries who had graciously taken time to attend. Part of her believed it would be rude to have another presidential candidate in attendance and fail to acknowledge him, nonetheless she couldn’t help wondering why he was here. Candidates didn’t customarily crash their opponent’s speeches. Martha didn’t know what to do and was further confused by Scarlett’s premature appearance on stage. It all seemed so rushed and impromptu. Scarlett was walking to her prearranged position on the stage, forcing Martha to hurry her introduction. She abandoned her notes that she had spent the entire morning drafting and refining, and began her introduction. “Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you Scarlett Conroy, candidate for president of the United States of America!”

  The applause began, and Scarlett moved into the stage lights, pausing to pull her silver brush from her purse as she had so many times in her political career. As she began combing her red hair, the spotlight swung to the audience microphone, where questions were to be asked during the give-and-take session following prepared remarks. Max stood at the microphone. Scarlett’s expression betrayed her annoyance at being upstaged by her opponent.

  Realizing that the microphone was dead, Max stepped back and, in a loud voice, announced, “Ladies, would you mind if I took ten minutes of Miss Conroy’s time? We’ll be right back.” Max walked up the steps toward Scarlett, who shook her head. The audience, knowing that they were being treated to an event that would end up on every news feed in the world by day’s end, murmured their consent if only to be part of the unplanned ex

  AT RISK OF WINNING

  citement. he took her arm as she protested, and escorted his opponent to a private anteroom.

  The press assigned to the event quickly delivered the news by cell phone. Video coverage of the event was provided by the lone camera of the League, and anything newsworthy would be edited from the group feed, which would not be ready for broadcast until after the event. The delay launched them into panic mode, and they rushed to get the news to the newsroom.

  “Max Masterson just showed up at a Conroy speech and dragged her offstage!”

  “What is he doing there?”

  “I don’t know. he said he would be back in ten minutes.”

  “Where are they now?”

  “In another room. Alone.”

  “Get in there and find out what’s happening.”

  “I don’t think we can. They asked to be alone.”

  “They’re presidential candidates, for Chrissakes. They don’t have any right to be alone.”

  Greg huffington, capitol correspondent for News Tonight, would have none of this. Masterson had thwarted him at every opportunity, and he would not sit still for another report that parroted the rest of the press corps. he was the lead dog, the one who got the news before his competition. he was in charge, and no third-rate politician was going to upstage him in front of his audience again. he made his way through the crowd toward the room, film technician in tow.

  An elderly woman returning from a well-timed trip to the ladies’ room was slowly making her way back
to her seat. Obviously not moving fast enough for him, he unceremoniously steered her into the lap of a large black woman, who loudly proclaimed her annoyance to everyone in the room. “Who does that white man think he is? I don’t deserve to be treated like this! Now look what you’ve done! My dessert is ruined!”

  The elderly woman looked apologetic as she pulled her hand from the strawberry shortcake and stood up.

  huffington continued barging forward, intent to get into that room. As he made his way to the stage and hurried across the lighted expanse toward the door, two Secret Service agents placed a welltimed tackle from behind and took him out at the knees.

  The applause was deafening.

  u ChAPTER EIGhTY-NINE

  It took two minutes for Scarlett to stop protesting in her most authoritative and presidential voice that Max Masterson would never work in Washington again after this stunt, until she realized that her opponent had never worked in Washington before and that he was smiling.

  “What are you smiling about? I hate you!”

  “No you don’t. You love me.”

  “I do not! I’m leaving this room right this second!”

  “Before you leave, I need to ask you a question.”

  “Max, you exasperate me. What could possibly be so important

  that you have to drag me off the stage just before a speech?” her complexion was quickly matching her hair, and her normal composure was degenerating into a state of uncontrolled anger. Max paused, waiting for her to stop talking and calm down. he knew he had little time left before they broke the door down and rescued her from her opponent’s grasp. he sat down, releasing his grip, realizing that Scarlett wouldn’t bolt out of the room until she satisfied her curiosity. She collected herself, and he marveled at her ability to recover from the unexpected in so short a time. Finally she sat down, waiting.

  “Will you be my running mate?”

  Scarlett’s mouth fell open, and for the first time in her political career, she was at a loss for words.

  Max continued. “Scarlett, I have known you since we were little. My father had a great deal of respect for your daddy, and whether you realize it or not, we have both been raised to—”

  “Reared.”

  “What?”

  “You rear children. You raise livestock.”

  “OK, reared then, dammit. Are you going to correct my diction, or are you going to let me finish before they break the door down and haul me off?” The sound of muffled voices was accompanied by an authoritative knock. Scarlett was oblivious.

  “Why on earth would you want me?’

  Max tried to continue, but the knocking became pounding. he got to the point.

  “Scarlett, ever since we were kids, you have been good at all of the stuff I’m not good at, and I was better at the rest. I can’t think of anyone who would be better at balancing the ticket for the benefit of the American people. Now, if you are so inclined, would you be so kind as to inform those folks at the door that you are not being molested, as desirable as that sounds to me, and that you require a few more minutes alone?” Scarlett jumped up and hurried to the door, pulling it open so fast that a Secret Service agent lost his balance and stumbled into the room, followed by a surge composed of Scarlett’s staff, several reporters, and the collected leadership of the D.C. chapter of the League of Women Voters. They all looked crazed. Max sat with his hands folded in his lap, smiling at the throng.

  “I am in a private meeting, and I require several more minutes to discuss a matter of great importance with Mr. Masterson, and I do not want to be disturbed again. Now, everyone out!”

  The surge reversed, and she slammed the door loudly.

  She’ll make a good VP, if I can get her to take the job, thought Max, as she settled back into her chair.

  “Now, Max, before I give you my response, I’d like to hear more about what you have in mind.”

  “Scarlett, as I was saying before your adoring supporters interrupted me, is that we have both been reared since we could talk, for one goal. Now that we are both pursuing that same goal at the same time, it is beginning to look like neither of us can succeed without the other.” he stood and faced her.

  “So . . . Be my running mate. I know about your meeting with Miniver and his henchmen. My people had a similar meeting with Blythe’s henchmen a few days ago, and they said basically the same thing. I am at the top of the polls, as much as I loathe them, because people are fed up with politicians and the usual way of electing a president, and you have succeeded because you are so good at playing the game better than anyone in politics. Together, we can’t lose. Apart, we both lose. So what’s it going to be?” Max began to count off the seconds in his head. If she didn’t respond within one minute, the offer would expire, and he would walk out of the room.

  Scarlett didn’t wait. her response took less than ten seconds. Without a word to Max, she stood up and walked out of the room, greeted by the cheers of three thousand curious supporters and made her planned speech.

  u ChAPTER NINETY

  Intelligence Secretary Jason Bland took his directives from the president, and he took them seriously. After serving under four previous administrations, he had made friends and avoided enemies. One enemy was unavoidable if he was to do his job, and he dreaded it more than words could express. The pompous asshole has been around longer than I have, and Homeland Security is the farthest thing from his mind. Adam Pryor collects secrets and uses them against anyone who stands up to him, he thought as the limo wound through the streets of Washington. his meeting with the homeland Security director had been hastily arranged after his run-in with the president, and he resented the time he was diverting from the terrorist threat to deal with the president’s insecurities about Max Masterson. If anyone had any dirt to throw at Max, Pryor would be holding the shovel.

  he could have taken the secure underground route to the homeland Security headquarters in the Eisenhower office building, but he wanted to be as conspicuous as possible if Pryor were to deny that he had met with the intelligence secretary. he wanted his whereabouts to be documented if Pryor decided to add him to his enemies list, which was becoming longer than the roster of serving members of Congress. If his suspicions were correct, he would be confirming that the director of homeland security was at the center of a conspiracy that had simmered for a generation, and he had no doubt that things would get ugly. Adam Pryor had a lifelong reputation of taking names and destroying his opposition in sinister ways. Max’s father had been the first of a long line of politicians who had stood up to Pryor and had suffered for it in profound ways.

  A long-hidden report into the bombing of the Patriot Society meeting many years before had never become public. Anyone who had any intelligence experience would immediately conclude that a domestic conspiracy was directly connected to Pryor, but he would never see justice. he was too slick to leave a trail that would stand up in court, and his enemies in the political world had too much to hide. Adrianna McVeigh’s death and the near-demise of John “Minuteman” Masterson, had Pryor’s modus operandi all over it, and he could see it happening again.

  It had been long known in the intelligence community that homeland Security had direct contact with mercenaries who were actively carrying out Pryor’s orders, purportedly in the interest of eliminating terrorist threats within America’s borders. As the years went by, their assignments extended throughout the world, and their purpose grayed into any area that the homeland Security director chose to define. It was his prerogative, and the mercenaries hired to carry out his orders never questioned his intentions.

  Bland entered the plush office and marveled at the cost of furnishing the immense suite. Dark mahogany paneling with ornate baroque trim was accented by burgundy curtains that hung heavily to the sides of arched windows, whose obviously security-enhanced thick panes extended from floor to ceiling. he surmised that the walls were reinforced to withstand a bomb blast, and if the building took a direct hit, homeland Security
would likely survive intact after the rest of the building burned to ashes.

  Bland was scanned for weapons by devices concealed in the doorway. If the scan revealed metal or any chemical residue by the “sniffers,” a silent alarm would trigger an immediate intercept by security personnel who prided themselves on a response time of less than five seconds. he was ushered into Pryor’s office, which elicited a planned response—across a huge expanse of thick gold carpet was a single chair in front of an immense desk that made a visitor feel like he had been transported back to a high-school principal’s office for a welldeserved scolding and punishment.

  The homeland Security director was unaccustomed to visitors languishing in his office and got directly to the point. “Bland, what is this cryptic message I received from your assistant that you needed to speak with me about a matter of timely and crucial importance?” Pryor glared over antique reading glasses that revealed a reverence for the past and a disdain for modern science that had all but eliminated eyeglasses of any kind. he didn’t bother to rise and shake the hand of his contemporary, and he had long-since dispensed with the formalities of social discourse.

  Their previous meeting had been shortly after the attempt on the life of Max Masterson two weeks earlier, and Bland’s internal radar had immediately sounded alarms at the discovery that homeland Security had been briefed of the details of the shooting before his agency was alerted of the attempt on the life of a presidential candidate. After all, his responsibilities extended to the Secret Service, who were assigned to protect anyone who had a remote chance of running for the highest office in politics. he held a disdain for the man and his imperious ways. Even his body language revealed complicity.