Jack Canon's American Destiny

by Greg Sandora

  Tip was a man of few words and had one quirk: he refused to ever repeat himself. When he spoke, we all piped down for fear of missing even a single word. It was always interesting. An ex-Navy Seal, he was in charge of security for the campaign. I trusted him with my life. Decorated for Valor in Iraq, he was recruited with a sub-agency of the NSA. Tip and company had been dropped into hotspots all over Afghanistan to hunt for snipers. The agency believes ‘it takes one to hunt one’ and chose candidates based on natural ability, recruiting secretly out of the military. His group eliminated targets considered security threats to the United States. Nicknamed King Cobra, Tip commanded an elite squad outfitted with sophisticated survival gear, capable of encampment behind enemy lines for days at a time. Tip saved lives by surgically removing the enemy’s instruments of death. The existence of the team was never made public. [LM5]

  The operations were off the grid. Even as a member of the Armed Services Committee, I hadn’t heard about them.

  Tip finally spoke, “Jack they’ll have to double up on your secret service protection once you’re in office, at least until things die down. There’s gonna be some really bad people wanting you dead.”

  “Thanks for that rosy outlook, Mary Sunshine. I’ll sleep better now!”

  That broke some of the tension and we all had a good but brief laugh. Bill was first to bring us back to reality, “Once the bubble bursts, there’ll be upheaval as the oil countries scurry to try and maintain revenue levels. None of those spoiled bastards wants to tighten his belt. Once the Saudis drop the price of a barrel, the whole Middle East, Venezuela, Mexico, all the producing nations will follow suit, dumping oil all over the world. The day of the cartel is over, people. When things finally stabilize, they’ll be coming to us for the handout. We can finally break their backs. They’ll be slow to react, unprepared, and will never know what hit em.”

  Bud was giddy, “It’s perfect; Big Oil has no answer for America producing twenty percent of its own energy, just the threat of it and oil drops like a stone."

  I said, "This isn’t just for us. We have to teach the rest of the world to grow their own fuel, too. We can’t allow any relief from the downward pressure.”

  Bill added, “This is going to sound good on the stump!”

  Bud piped back, “It’s great stuff, what people are longing to hear.”

  Tip cautioned, “I hate to be a kill joy but where does Iran fit into a weakened Middle East?”

  “Tip’s right. The stakes couldn’t be higher. Barker’s letting Iran get the bomb; think about that for a second.” I continued, “It’s not gonna stop us, but we should have an answer to that question.”

  Tip added, “The Arabs will be at each other’s throats. There’s sure to be unrest in the neighborhood. Jack will have to deal with that!”

  “Expect upheaval; we’ll have to be ready if the Soviets, the Chinese, the North Koreans, or anyone else tries to screw with us,” Bud added.

  “Listen, day one, I’m gonna meet with the Joint Chiefs and let them know it’s not business as usual, the party’s over. They’re not going to have free rein to run multi-year wars when one bullet will get rid of the problem!”

  “Okay boys, I’ve got to change the subject, let’s win first. Listen to what I’ve worked up.” Lisa started, “I’ve been working up the scenario we spoke about.” Lisa was Bud's protégé; he liked working with her because she had the highest IQ of anyone we knew. An expert in statistics, she had a bachelor’s in math from NYU and a master’s in Poli-Sci from Harvard. Lisa wasn’t a beauty like Sandy; she wore the long sides of her brown bob pinned back and dressed too conservatively. She used scant makeup over otherwise pretty brown eyes and gave off an aura she’d given up trying to embellish the outer package. People who didn’t know her would've called her plain. But oh, if you knew her… she disarmed with other amazing qualities. Lisa was thoughtful like a scholar but as shy and timid as a schoolgirl. Her kindness and honesty so real, she was a joy to be around. I loved her for it. Professionally, she was a political mastermind. As an analyst, she could tell you, off the top of her head, the number of impressions needed and the cost per person reached for each state. Even more impressive, Lisa was a strategist who could teach--what it takes to win. That’s not saying there weren’t a bunch of really convincing people in this town bragging they could that, too. The difference was, she’d be right.

  In Washington, there’s no shortage of self-proclaimed experts shooting their mouths off to make a buck.

  Bud Singer was of that ilk - he could talk the bark off a tree! The difference was that Bud could deliver the goods. In the land of the dollar bill, where money is power, he could go out and get it for ya. Best of all he made it look easy. We were fortunate to have the best of both, the strategist and the dealmaker.

  Lisa continued to lay out a Primary Strategy we all thought was a breakthrough.

  “Jack, we skip Iowa and let the neophytes eat each other up out there. We go into New Hampshire with a big push, emphasizing your energy ideas. We tell the press only--we’re exploring our options.”

  “Sounds good, Lisa,” I nodded.

  “We maintain an above the fray posture until you make the formal announcement. We’ll have our attorneys walk in and register you just before the deadline.”

  Bill perked up, “I agree with Lisa; there’s nobody worth fighting with early on. Once a front-runner emerges, the rest of them will attack and bust him up.”

  Lisa quickly added, “Or her.”

  I half joked, “Most of that pack would eat their own young, but we can’t count on anyone else bringing the pain. We’ll have to supply it! Bud will arrange some serious counter ads. Did I say most would eat their young? I meant all.”

  Bud said, “They won’t suspect we’re behind the negative ads if we’re not up there.”

  Bud turned to Tip, “Have your guys been getting enough dirt for us to use after Iowa, if we decide to skip it?”

  Tip did all the heavy lifting, the dirty work we called it when he wasn’t in the room. He was expert at handling details the rest of the crew, while they didn’t particularly mind knowing about, didn’t have the stomach for.

  “Yeah Tip, even if we don’t go to Iowa we’ll still have to provide some help to cut the front-runners down to size,” Bill said.

  "If we don’t, odds are this strategy won’t work,” Lisa continued, “If we let anyone come into New Hampshire as a clear favorite it will be harder for us to gain national attention. That's a risk we can't afford.”

  Tip said, “Don’t worry, I’ll handle it. We’ll have something ready to go, guaranteed.”

  Tip had contacts within the agency and confided, once in always in. I know of several times, after technically leaving, he was called back in for assignments. He was on a true sabbatical now, working security for the campaign.

  Tip said, “You can’t get where these guys are and not be hiding something. Besides, most of the crew hitting Iowa, we don’t have to worry about anyway.”

  Lisa projected her plan onto the screen, “We hit the top twenty-five states considering electoral votes only. We plaster New Hampshire so hard - the governors will only feel safe betting on us. We’ve got so much tape of Jack in New Hampshire - voters will think he’s all over the state. Most people only see the candidates on television, anyway.” Adding, “Everyone wants to pick the winner, the press will be begging for us up there.”

  Bill agreed, “New Hampshire is the Big Story. We’ll shovel so much dirt on the Iowan group it will look like they’re half dead, or hopefully they’ll all just kill each other.”

  “I like it--we go after the majority of the delegates, straight through to the convention.” Bud added.

  Lisa was confident, “It’s for real, Jack. As long as we don’t make the formal announcement too early, we’ll have time to get your message out, before anyone spends money to come after us. We should get a pass through the Holidays.”

  “Great, no debates until New Ha
mpshire. In the meantime, we take our message on Energy for America directly to the voters. I think it will help in New Hampshire if we have a summer home in Maine and love their state. I’ll win them over with stories of all the non-political visits we've made. Just make sure there’s nothing on the tape dating it.”

  Lisa shaking her head, “Jack, come on, it’s not like we’re gonna use film of you holding an old paper!”

  Bud added, “Really, Lisa, as long as I’ve been around, I’ve seen stuff like that slip through.”

  Bill joked, “And that's been a while!”

  “You’re as old as I am,” Bud answered.

  Bill nodded, “Bud, tell us again how you used to break it to McGovern when he was wrong.”

  Bud answered, “We called in the consultants to do it... nobody else dared!”

  Lisa asked, “Didn't that waste a lot of time?”

  “Of course it did, but it wasn't just McGovern, it's every damn politician I've worked for!”

  “What about me, Bud?”

  Bud said, “We'll get Sandy to tell you.”

  We all laughed, everyone knew Bud had no problem telling it like it is.

  “The tape will be good, Bud,” Lisa assured.

  “Good--Listen, we've got the organization to hit up party members headed for the convention. We’ll lean all over the congressional reps, promising campaign stops and money to those who'll support us now.”

  I couldn't help myself, “What did Bush senior call it? Quid pro quo!” Everybody laughed again.

  My jokes were getting funnier. Anyway, this should be easier once the governors were on board.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Sandy announced on the intercom, “Bill it’s the Saudis on one, would you like to take it in there?”

  Bill answered, “That’s probably Omar. In here is good, everyone should hear this.”

  “Hi, you’ve got Bill Mitchell.”

  A voice on the other end of the line said, “Please hold for Mr. Omar Al Harbia.”

  Bill told us, “Omar is the Crown Prince’s cousin. He’s in charge of all the social engagements for the Royal Family.”

  A very friendly voice came on the line, oscillating in high- pitched broken English.

  “Bill, glad to catch you. I wanted to express the most pleasant news - his Royal Highness is expecting your party’s arrival on Thursday the 11th in Dubai. If the date is agreeable, His Majesty will meet with you to discuss matters of mutual concern. Provided all is acceptable, I will arrange transportation and accommodations.”

  I nodded to Bill, it sounded good.

  Bill answered, “I’m sorry, Omar, the 11th won’t work. The Senator has official duties in Washington as head of the Armed Services Committee.” Looking at his blackberry, “Can you make it the 19th, that way he can be back in the United States for Thanksgiving?”

  The voice on the phone paused, the noise was muffled, but it sounded like several people chattering back and forth…

  “Good call, Bill.” I was so happy to get the okay from the Saudis I’d forgotten my senate obligations. I knew the prince would never send a jet if they didn’t plan to contribute.

  “Very well, it’s all set. We will send our secretary to your office with the details and itinerary.”

  Bud motioned to Bill, pointing at his watch, like they had discussed something earlier.

  Bill said, “Omar, make sure they send the jet in the middle of the night; we don’t want anyone to see it.”

  The voice lowered, “Very well.”

  Later in the day, an emissary delivered a small token of the Prince’s appreciation for our agreement to visit. The gift was a pair of solid gold bookends, each weighing about a pound apiece. The itinerary was printed on fine parchment, the edges dipped in gold and wrapped in a leather outer cover emblazoned with the Royal Seal. The writing stated that a Royal Jet would be dispatched to pick us up and transport our party to Dubai. We’d spend the evening enjoying the top floor of the Royal Family’s 6-Star Hotel, and then be taken by armored limousine to the palace in the morning. We were offered to return by the route of our choice. Signed by the Prince who has many fine palaces he will make available to you, Omar[AMR6] .

  Bill said, “Jack, we gotta roll our sleeves up and get to work on this Jatropha thing. We need to get the buzz going so the Saudis believe we could actually get the votes to get it done.”

  I said, “Fine, write something up. We can shop around for some early support on the hill.”

  Lisa said, “We don’t really want it to go anywhere for now, but we’ll have our people hand deliver it around.”

  Bill said, “Yeah, so nobody else tries to steal it, get signed receipts to create a record we thought of the whole thing!”

  Tip added, “Jack, after you’re elected, we’ll ram it down the Republicans’ throats.”

  Lisa mentioned, “Our guys will be falling all over themselves to get on the bandwagon once you’re president.”

  Bill threatened, “Any Dem who goes against us will be run out of town.”

  “Bill, don’t be a hothead. We never want to make enemies with members of our own party. We can always persuade with a private meeting in the Oval; they’ll respond to that,” I advised.

  Bud counseled, “We’ll get enough of em, you’ll see, we’ll have more votes than we need to make this happen. Jack’s right, I’ve only been in the Oval Office a few times, but the air of power in there is like no other place; it’s life changing.”

  Lisa added, “Jack’s right, if there’s a few who want to do their own thing, we’ll just let them die on the vine and we won’t campaign for them.”

  Bud said, “Try rot on the vine, no one will screw with us. Bill, just concentrate on New Hampshire and the fund-raising for now; we need some serious gold to win up there.”

  Lisa said, "You aren’t kidding; the ads we have lined up are going to cost us about 15 million, just for New Hampshire!”

  “That has to be some kind of record,” I said.

  Bud added, “The ads will save us from Jack having to do too much meet and greet with the locals. I know you hate that. We are going to play the tape of you in New Hampshire over a much tighter message. We’re gonna need some good press right off the bat, as well.”

  “Thanks, Bud,” I was grateful not to have to be running around too early.

  Bud asked, “Jack, do you think we could send Kathy and the girls up there for a little vacation? We can get some of our friends in the press to cover the trip.”

  Everybody in the room agreed with me - Kathy, my wife, just 50, was the perfect media darling. Known for her beautiful blond hair, she dressed fashionably, was well spoken, and best of all she was a team player. Kathy believed in my plans for the country from the very beginning. She thought being first lady would allow her to do the charity work she’d always dreamed of. My daughters are bright and cheerful and look great alongside their mother in photos. The younger, Bethany, at 10 is a petite brunette with blue eyes. She’s easy-going and smart and looks more like me.

  The oldest, Martha, at fifteen is a five foot four-inch blond with green eyes, favoring her mother. She gets more beautiful with each passing day, but she’s becoming a bit of a handful. Thank God for Kathy, because I could never handle her alone.

  I said, “The press can’t make too much out of a little shopping trip. It’s a good idea Kathy is practically a celebrity in New Hampshire; they love her up there. I’ll ask her to do it for me.”

  “Do you think she’ll do it?” Bill asked.

  “Let me think... shopping, the jet, time with the girls, yeah I think she will, Bud, load up the debit card!”

  Bud said, “Jack, you should do a speech on your Energy Plan for America while the girls and Kathy are in New Hampshire. You know, since we’re gonna be shopping it, we don’t want anybody else trying to take any credit for our main card.”

  Lisa said, “We don’t want to do the speech in Iowa; that just puts Jack in the fray.”

 
“Bud, what do you think about Kentucky? I’d be on friendly territory.”

  Bud thought for a moment, “I like it. You being on home turf for the first run of this, we’d be able to get the kinks out.”

  “How about Georgetown College?” Lisa asked.

  Georgetown was just 13 miles north of my residence, in Lexington, Kentucky, and the home of Kathy’s Alma Mater, the University of Kentucky.

  Lisa cautioned, “We need to have Jack look like an outsider somehow, or at least a maverick.”

  Bud said, “Good thought, let’s do this thing Carter style and only invite a few of the local press. Make it look like the national media isn’t interested.”

  “That’s good stuff Bud, Carter somehow managed to package himself as an everyman peanut farmer from Plains instead of a Nuclear Physicist who happened to be the Governor of Georgia.”

  Bill said, “Yeah, let’s copy from his playbook. He had this great story about how he started out campaigning and only a couple reporters showed up for his first press conference. He went on to win the damned thing!”

  I said, “Stories sell, if we can tell a good story, people will remember it to the grave. Carter had a great story.”

  Bill said, “Great, we’ll do the speech on Energy in the afternoon and then fly over to Dubai that night, you’ll be back at the ranch for Thanksgiving.”

  Everyone was nodding approval and looking my way.

  “Let’s go with it. Are we good, guys?” That’s everyone’s queue to wrap it up.

  As everyone filed out, Sandy came in.

  “Are you okay, Jack, do you need anything?”

  ”Did you tape the game for me?”

  “Of course. Don’t I always?”

  “I’ll watch it then. Is there anything to drink in the fridge?”

  “All your favorites. What are you in the mood for?”

  “Maybe a cold one, no it’s a little early. Is my Red Bull in there?”

  “Of course.”

  I walked around the corner to the couch and sat down.

  The L-shaped area of the office was my oasis; Sandy called it the club. When we were in Starbucks, I might have mentioned once or twice, I liked the worn out chairs and the relaxed atmosphere. Sandy decked this private nook out with a big screen TV, a beat up chocolate leather couch, a couple of matching club chairs, and a coffee table to park our feet. She threw some big soft pillows around and a couple of end tables so we’d have places to set our drinks.