by Gen LaGreca
"First, there's verbiage in the notes on how to address the item appearing in The Daily Sun that claims the chairman of the House Committee on Urban Development called the director of housing a moron—"
"But, Darcy, do you really think we need to address this in the presidential briefing? I mean, who cares about these petty squabbles except the inside-the-beltway crowd?"
"They're the ones we're talking to."
"I thought we were talking to the American people."
"But you always need to address inside-the-beltway stuff that the press eats up," she said, thumbing through her notes. "Let's see what else. Oh, yes. The Advocates for Peace and Democracy held a demonstration yesterday in Atlanta that got a little out of hand."
"I'll say. Ten people hospitalized, dozens of stores looted, police cars overturned, and a fire set in a shopping mall. Very few of the rioters and thugs were arrested, and they promise another round of street fighting tonight."
"Talking like that isn't helpful, Sean. You need to be careful. Our party's biggest donors fund that group, and the group campaigns for our candidates. We need to frame the coverage of our people in the most positive light. The Advocates for Peace and Democracy are a civil rights group addressing real grievances of people that society has forgotten. Yesterday, the advocates were engaged in a peaceful protest, when a few individuals in the crowd were provoked by rough police tactics, and they felt they had to . . . push back."
"I think even the sympathetic members of the press corps will challenge me on that rosy picture of the thugs," said Sean.
"Just say: We call on all sides—the police and the demonstrators—to exercise restraint."
Sean hesitated. What would Laura think of me if I equated the police with the rioters? But reluctant to challenge his new boss, Sean conceded.
"Okay, Darcy, if that's what you want."
"And the tax proposal that the president submitted to Congress. We want to frame that as a tax cut."
"But it raises taxes."
"Not on the lowest bracket."
"It raises taxes on all the other brackets, which make up seventy percent of the taxpayers. So seventy percent of taxpayers will get an increase from the president's plan."
"Sean, we want to de-emphasize details that could undercut our proposal. I want you to frame it as a sweeping tax cut that will help the neediest Americans."
Sean smiled nervously.
"Well, okay," he said. "The president's critics will no doubt have their say, and the truth will come out."
"You mean, the . . . other aspects . . . of the plan will come out," Darcy corrected. "Then there's the matter of Vita Simpson."
"What about her?" asked Sean. He knew Taninger News' fearless reporter and the confidence Laura placed in her.
"When it comes to Vita, never be afraid to use mockery, insinuations, and cutting remarks."
"But we need to be careful, don't we, Darcy? We don't want the president's office to appear defensive or . . . vicious . . . in responding to questions from the press."
"Taninger News isn't the legitimate press."
"You mean, they're not the press that agrees with our positions, don't you? I would think we don't want to stoke up Laura Taninger with cutting remarks at Vita."
"Do you think we're afraid to take that hack on?" Darcy asked heatedly.
Sean wanted to rush to Laura's defense, but instead he managed a nod and a smile.
"Taninger News is the enemy, Sean. We meet it head-on. That's how we deal with Vita . . . and her boss." Darcy irritably fanned herself with her notes. "When Vita peppers you about documents that Taninger News wants to obtain from the Bureau of Elections, the answer we give is: All requests are handled by the agencies in question, which comply fully with the public disclosure laws. When Vita accuses our administration of putting pressure on Laura Taninger and her family to thwart her investigation, the answer is: We know nothing about any pressure to discourage members of the press from pursuing whatever they choose to pursue. Then add a little putdown, like, Of course, it's too bad that our simple explanations don't spike ratings. Be cool when you say it, then move on to another questioner."
Sean's smile faded at the insults to Laura.
Darcy looked at him curiously.
"Are you uncomfortable with the talking points?"
"I guess your talking points are okay, Darcy, if you don't expect to speak the truth with them."
"Words can be used for so many other purposes."
Did he detect a note of condescension? He was prone to overreact, so he cautioned himself to check his impulses and not contradict his new boss.
"I don't mean to . . . challenge . . . anything, Darcy. I'm just asking questions to try to understand what you want."
"Words are flexible, Sean. Words are tools—asserting the truth is only one of their many uses, and not the most interesting one, either."
"I see. I . . . think I see."
"We make magic with words," said Darcy proudly.
"You mean, you pull them out of a hat to trick your audience?" he blurted involuntarily. "I mean, uh, I didn't mean to imply—"
Darcy smiled, unoffended.
"We awe an audience," she said. "That's what we do. We enthrall, mesmerize . . . even hypnotize."
Later that day Sean stood behind a lectern in the briefing room, with the nation's colors displayed at his side. The round seal of the People's Manor hung behind him on the wall like a halo with his face in its center. His first press conference had begun.
Rows of reporters took notes as he described the president's schedule of upcoming meetings and trips. Then he took questions. A few threw him softballs for his first day, which he easily fielded. No one asked probing questions or raised the slightest suspicions regarding the hot spots on which Laura had focused. How many of them were awaiting a position in the inner circle of the People's Manor—he wondered—a prestigious post like the one he had just obtained? A troubling thought flashed through his mind: Am I a role model for their . . . compliance? But his new job put him at the pinnacle of his career. How could he have misgivings during this, his finest moment? He hastily dismissed his qualms.
After the easy first round, he called on Vita Simpson.
She asked, "Will the Bureau of Elections respond promptly to the second request by Just the Truth for full public disclosure of the payments made and the contractors used in assembling SafeVote? Will Taninger News finally obtain the complete records, or will the administration stand by and allow Elections to keep stonewalling?"
There was only a moment's pause before Sean answered. What he said was the truth. He believed that. He had no evidence to controvert it.
"I assure you, Vita, no one is being stonewalled—in this matter or any other."
Arriving home after her show that evening, Laura sprawled across the couch and kicked off her shoes. As she waited for a food delivery, she had an idle moment. Her body lay limp and exhausted while her mind was still consumed with work. She grabbed her mobile phone and searched for the media's latest potshots at her, likely triggered by the president's sniper, Zack Walker. Since she had left the office, several new postings had appeared.
An article was published on a news site that had a reputation for pandering to the sensational and paying for stories. The piece was an interview with a former staff member of Taninger News, Ben Peters. The man expounded on how impossible it was to work for the explosive, out-of-control Laura Taninger. The assertions he made were unsubstantiated, and there were no corroborating witnesses named in the story. She remembered Ben Peters as a disgruntled employee who had been fired. The interview did not mention his dismissal. If he had received payment for his story, that, too, was not revealed.
Then there was the story on another news site of how Laura Taninger had once been arrested for drunk driving, but the matter was covered up due to her family's money and influence. An unnamed source was quoted as the only evidence for the claim. The charge was categorically false, but La
ura knew the article's heading was sufficiently intriguing to lure tens of thousands to click on it to read the piece. She could join the fray and offer an absolute denial, backed up with public records showing she had never been arrested for anything, but she knew that even if the news site issued a correction, it would likely reach only a small fraction of the audience that saw the original piece. She could mention the matter on her show, but that would give the news site that attacked her substantial publicity and attract a greater audience to it.
The injustices stung. She jumped up. She paced. She tried to imagine it was someone else who was being attacked—someone else who was a monster, who was arrested, who was not to be trusted. She had to decide how to respond. She tried to quell the feelings that were playing within her—the anger, disappointment, revulsion, and pain.
Then the doorbell rang. It was her dinner delivery, and she remembered that she hadn't eaten all day.
Chapter 10
President Ken Martin's chief advisor and senior strategist were on their way to a meeting. No limousine or gaggle of press accompanied them as Darcy Egan and Zack Walker parked their car a distance away and walked through the alley leading into the dusty courtyard of Meadowlark Gardens. Nippy mid-September breezes tossed Zack's thinning hair and upset the bird's nest that was Darcy's do. Darcy and Zack's dip into the sinkhole of the abandoned housing project contrasted sharply with their climb to nosebleed heights in recent years.
Six years ago, Darcy had been a college teacher with a new book that had failed to break out of its small circle of academic readers, and Zack was an unemployed journalist, fired by Laura Taninger for violating company ethics in his coverage of a Senate campaign. As Darcy and Zack wandered along the backroads of their professions, their paths were soon to cross. When Senator and presidential aspirant Ken Martin discovered them, they received a jump-start onto a superhighway of dreams.
Just when Senator Martin had been searching for a route to the presidency, the headlight he'd found pointing the way was Darcy's book, The New Leader. According to the author, the world was awaiting a New Leader who would completely reshape it. To succeed in ways surpassing any predecessor, the New Leader, Darcy wrote, must possess three qualities. As Ken Martin read Darcy's book, he realized that he himself did not possess all three qualities needed for the New Leader's post. Nevertheless, he could compose a team that fulfilled each role and make himself the figurehead.
First, the New Leader needed a heart to form visionary policies that would best help the people, especially the ones Darcy alleged were victims of society's injustices and needed rescuing. Martin envisioned the heart of the New Leader not in himself, but in Darcy. What better heart could he find than the book's author herself, who would serve as a central pumping station for circulating the visions and policies that the Leader needed?
Darcy's assertions of caring about the people would form the moral basis of his campaign and the emotional appeal of his platform to the public. Did Darcy really have a heart? he had wondered. Then he told himself it didn't matter. It was the alleged caring that made her the heart. By the premises of her book, wasn't the impression all that counted?
Second, the New Leader needed a firm hand to topple the opposition. Nothing gets built up without tearing something else down, Darcy had asserted. The New Leader must have a strong will and an unusual talent to smash any opposition. To achieve noble ends, tactics such as dirty tricks, character assassination, ad hominem attacks, and outright falsities were a legitimate means. Martin had someone in mind for this task. He had taken notice of the Taninger News reporter who had caused the election loss of a favored senatorial candidate whom the newsman attacked with a brazen hit piece, replete with accusations later proven false. This behavior may have cost the reporter his job at Taninger News, but it had made Martin notice Zack Walker. How much of a fist would Zack Walker be, with his wrinkled pants and confused look? Martin had wondered. But Zack's venom-spitting pen rivaled the bite of any python in sapping his adversaries, and Martin's critics feared him, so he was the pick.
According to Darcy, the third quality essential to the New Leader was a charismatic personality to win over the public. The person who would transform society had to be charming enough to gain the citizens' trust and clever enough to articulate the vision in terms they would accept. The New Leader would convince the people that the cure for their ills was his own pervasive presence in their lives. The New Leader would masterfully win the voters' affections and motivate them to turn out at the polls. Thus, he would rise to power. For this quality, Martin's best fit was himself.
His handsome appearance and gift for oratory had turned his campaign into a cult of personality, with stories abounding about his family, his pets, his hobbies, and his famed chili recipes. He appeared on media where his base lived—on contemporary music, comedy, sports, and cooking programs. The entertainment industry was his booster rocket, and the media was his fuel in a campaign that catapulted him to the nation's highest office.
Some commentators had called Martin the fortune cookie president because he was given to making statements which were so vague that people could read into them whatever they wanted. Martin became the champion of their hopes and dreams. When Martin heard the fortune-cookie comment, he'd replied, "I always liked fortune cookies. Thank you."
One commentator had connected the Martin presidency to Darcy's theory of leadership, but in a triumvirate form. The observer noted that Martin alone did not possess the New Leader's three attributes, but in combination with his two closest aides, the three of them covered the ground well. Inferring from remarks Martin had made about the relationship of the three of them, the chronicler pinned Darcy Egan as the heart, Zack Walker as the fist, and Ken Martin as the mouth of a new order. When Martin heard the remarks, he was pleased that his ingenious strategy had been recognized by someone in the media.
"That pretty much summed us up," he'd proudly told his two aides.
"You mean, we have a heart, a fist, and a mouth?" Zack asked. He had not read Darcy's book and was unfamiliar with the traits of the New Leader. "Where's the brain? Who generates the ideas?"
"The ideas don't come from the brain. They come from the heart, and that's me," Darcy said.
"The ideas were spelled out long ago," added Martin. "It's just that the pathway to realize them has been cluttered with dead movements and defeated fighters who couldn't pull it off. We now have what it takes to put our own spin on the old notions."
Awed by thoughts over his head, Zack asked, "What notions?"
Martin explained, "Basically, we're here to fix whatever troubles the people. Whatever their problems are, we're the answer. Right, Darcy?"
"Right, Ken. Got it, Zack?"
Zack nodded.
Martin summed up, "We have to make the old slogans sound fresh and new, while we crush our political enemies and get our people to the polls. That's the ticket."
With this strategy, Martin had hoped to achieve a power beyond that which any past president had ever possessed, a tight-fisted power masked by the engaging, toothy grin of its wielder. As Darcy devised the new order and Zack brought the representatives of the old one to their knees, Martin rallied the people left standing—his people, the ones who worshipped at his altar—and a new country, they'd hoped, would be born.
In Martin's first term, the triumvirate had laid the foundation for the New Leader's America. But now a great threat had emerged. The president's economic advisors and pollsters had reported that the economy was tanking, his programs were ineffective, and suspicions were circulating about his administration's involvement in Spenser's death. These circumstances were causing the polls to turn against Martin in a reelection he had to win.
As they walked to their meeting in the Meadowlark Garden's complex, Darcy and Zack knew that Frank Foxworth, standing in the courtyard waiting for them, was integral to their success. With his hands in his pockets, wearing his trademark sunglasses, he watched them approach as he stood with
a laptop bag dangling from his shoulder.
"Velvet," he said, bowing his head slightly to Darcy. He turned to Zack. "Leather." Foxworth had the air of a gentleman at a dinner party, except for the mocking grin.
"Think this is a joke?" Zack snapped.
"Do I rattle you?"
Ignoring their exchange, Darcy asked, "What've you got, Fox?"
The Fox gestured for them to follow as he walked a few steps toward the old picnic table in the courtyard. He sat on one of its benches and opened his laptop. His two companions took the bench opposite his, staring warily at him from across the rusted metal grid on the table's surface. Raising his sunglasses to his forehead for a few moments to enhance his view, the Fox called up various screens of a program. He turned the monitor so all three of them could see and demonstrated maneuvers as Zack and Darcy leaned forward to observe. The screens were polished, complete with visuals, tabs, instructions, and live links, ready for use by the administrators of the program and the public.
"Here's the administrators' home screen, and this is the user interface," the Fox explained. "So far, I've done a bunch of updates and revisions. For example, I made this function easier to use. In this section, I added a few more options that are beneficial to the administrators."
He demonstrated the program changes he had made. His audience listened and watched intently. When he was finished, the Fox closed his laptop and stared at them. Darcy stared back with a look as arrogant as that of their programmer, while Zack avoided his penetrating, mocking glare.
"The modifications I've made so far are to give you cover," said the Fox, returning his sunglasses to their proper position. "If my participation in this program is ever discovered, and you're called upon to explain the work I did, your tech guy inside the Bureau can point to the things I just showed you. They're all legitimate programing modifications."
"Okay," said Darcy.
"But from here on, nothing will be legit."
