The Practical Spy

by Doug Walker

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  In a quiet moment after dinner, after the twins had quieted down, after Cook and the nannies were in bed, Orson asked Katrina, “What do you think of Mary Warren’s plan?”

  “I’m flattered to be included in a small group proposed by the President. Many people are in awe of the White House and all it represents.”

  “And your job at that White House?”

  “I could be a clerk in a gift shop, or a cashier in a supermarket. But I should do something. Cook and the nannies hold the fort.”

  “But you will in fact be working directly for the President. There is a certain confidentiality there.”

  “I know, Orson. And I’m pleased with it. It opens new horizons, fresh vistas. I admire Mary Warren and am pleased I have her confidence. I may have to add to my wardrobe.”

  “I’m sure we can pick something up at Goodwill. But tell me, Mary must have spoken to you about her lust for big bucks and the group of us gypsies hitting the road and establishing a type of compound; somewhere, I might add, where joys never cease.”

  “You can add anything you like, but that’s probably not one of them. There is reality and there are dreams. Mary has scratched her way to the top on a very tough battlefield. She has watched her every word, planned move after move like a chess master. She deserves a little slack, and her dreams need to germinate.”

  “Well said, but I wouldn’t sell her short. This method of achieving a larger amount of cash than the three of us already have, it puzzles me.”

  Katrina smiled and sipped her red wine. Late in the evening, or after five, it seemed there were always wine glasses and bottles to fill them close at hand. “I can explain that in one word – foundation.”

  “My God!” Orson exhibited true surprise. “Of course, a foundation. Who better to start a foundation, than the President of the United States? As the head of a foundation there would be money to burn. Any special program – save the sea turtle, protect the upland grouse?”

  “Help the poor struggler. Anyone in need, anywhere in the world, any ethnic group, friend or enemy, help the pitiful wretch.”

  “She’s a bloody genius. And you’ll handle that?”

  “I will.”

  “Katrina, you’ve lifted a great weight from my shoulders. She has a method to virtually steal money, yet it’s sublimely legal, in fact she’ll be much admired for it. The possibilities are endless.”

  A day or two later, Orson was on the Hill carrying out his normal routine. This time chatting with a senate committee chairman who had been rumored as a presidential candidate. He was flogging an immigration bill that had been kicking around in one form or another for years.

  As was the case with most folks on the Hill, be they elected or staffers, the senator preferred to talk politics.

  “I’m guessing your boss is making early preparations for reelection,” the senator said, adding, “She has an impressive war chest.”

  “That’s Tom Morgenson’s department. I don’t bother with politics,” Orson replied.

  “You should if you want to keep your job.”

  “The history of second terms involves many of the faithful fleeing the administration. It’s like a fresh start. Anyway, why would you think she is so dead set on a second term?”

  “Don’t you?” the senator questioned, his ears perking up.

  “Well, there’s this foundation thing. I think Mary Warren is a do-gooder at heart.”

  “What foundation?” the senator asked, attempting to hide his spiked up interest.

  “You know, to help people all over the world. That sort of thing. The usual.”

  “I didn’t know she had a foundation.”

  “She doesn’t really. I think there’s been an application for tax-exempt status. If it gets off the ground, that is if she gets the money, she would feel right with it for a start, that might be it.”

  The senator’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, that might be it.”

  “President or not, Mary Warren is still a woman. That maternal instinct. She wants to help people. Asians, Europeans, American Indians, anywhere there’s a need.” Orson could have gone on, but he felt he might lay it on a trifle too heavy. So he offered his hand to the senator and said, “Please, this time let’s do something good on immigration. Think of all those minority voters.”

  The senator nodded and said good day. He was considering minority voters and was thinking of his chances with them and everyone else if Mary Warren booted a second term. He knew for a fact that Orson was close to the President, very close. How could such a thing happen? She had a second term for the asking. She had the minority and women’s vote on ice, plus the liberal community. What were the odds?

  Orson did his subtle best to spread the word on the Hill. The President was creating a foundation. If successful, she might simply throw in the political towel and do good work. Members of both parties caught the scent of political blood. The next presidential election could be wide open!

  The White House press secretary was bombarded with questions about the President’s foundation. Finally, Lucy Lapin, the full-time chief of staff appeared in the pressroom and answered, “Yes, the President is starting a foundation. It would help the needy wherever they might be. Those in poverty, the disease stricken, penniless students, oppressed minorities and the list might go on and on. You media hawks might dig up a few more categories.”

  The Kansas City Star asked, “Is this being run out of the White House with federal dollars?”

  “Yes and no,” Lapin replied. “By necessity the President wants to keep the initial staff near her, but no federal money is involved. There is the minor use of office space, but if the foundation takes off, or even if it doesn’t, that will be paid for with private funds.”

  “And this staff?” someone shouted.

  “The staff is one person, an intern paid with private funds.”

  “And who might that be?” the Salt Lake Deseret questioned.

  “The President’s good friend, Katrina Platt.”

  “She’s the wife of your counterpart, Orson Platt,” The New York Times said.

  “Quite true. They’re good friends. Katrina’s very competent.”

  “She was a ballet dancer. How does that qualify her?” the Daily Beast asked.

  “Let’s say she’s as qualified as you are,” Lapin said with a sly smile.

  “That’s no answer,” the Beast replied.

  “I really have nothing else to say. You have the entire story.” Lapin, also known as Bunny, or the Rabbit, turned and was gone.

  Sunday morning talk and the late night talk shows squeezed what they could from the President’s foundation. No name had been given, so it was simply called the Warren Foundation or the Mary Warren Foundation. Katrina was stunned by the number of calls that came in inquiring where and how to contribute and whether it had been cleared with the IRS as a tax deduction. The intern was forced to hire a secretary at Orson’s expense.

  The tax situation was soon ironed out and money began flowing into the coffers, the name now official – The Warren Foundation.

  Orson and Katrina had more than one conversation over what Mary might have in mind for a family compound. In general, they were in accord with her plan. But the devil seemed to be in the details. Not the foundation, because that seemed to have taken off with a little help from Hill politicos.

  Orson made arrangements to lunch with the President, then showed up at her office with a couple of flatbread sandwiches and two cans of diet soda.

  He tossed lunch on her desk along with several napkins and grabbed a chair. “Katrina and I have been wondering about the end result of your plan. Where might this compound be located?”

  “You’re not getting cold feet?”

  “No. The idea appeals. We have to live our life somewhere. Just so we can be together, educate the children, have Cook and the nannies, seventh heaven.”

  “I’ve given it some thought and I’d like the three of us t
o get together and hash it over.”

  “But you have ideas?”

  “Well, remotely. I thought of Canada, but it’s too cold. Then the Pampas, we could have a large working cattle ranch. Or the Australian Outback. Maybe the large Hawaiian island. What do you think?”

  Orson stifled a laugh. “I’d definitely veto the Outback. Maybe I could visit the Pampas, chat with a few gauchos or vaqueros, whoever I might run across. Now the Hawaiian thing sounds OK. You haven’t thought this through, have you?”

  “I haven’t spent a lot of brainpower on it. Maybe if we got a map. The first part to me was the most important, getting a foundation up and going, starting the flow of money.”

  “That’s another issue. Most of the money should go for good deeds.”

  “I agree. Katrina and I have talked about that very topic. I’ll have a salary, she’ll have a salary. Maybe Cook or a nanny might have a salary. There will be expenses for travel, flying down to Rio to help the poor at Cape Horn. Katrina has the con.”

  “I understand. We have time to work something out. You realize several presidential hopefuls are salivating.”

  Smiling broadly, Mary said, “I know. Isn’t it wonderful?”

  That same afternoon, Orson had an urgent call from Tony Morgenson, the President’s political guru who had an office a few blocks from the White House. He wanted a meeting. Orson agreed to see him at breakfast the following day. He would pick up something from Bojangles and bring it to his office.

  “Not too greasy or spicy,” Morgenson insisted.

  “Would you prefer Dunkin’ Donut?”

  “Frankly, yes.”

  “I’ll do it.”

  Morgenson got right to the point when they sat down with their coffee and donuts. “I’m working like hell to keep the campaign money flowing in, and now there’s a highly regarded rumor that she won’t seek a second term.”

  “I’ll not lie to you, Tony. It’s a very real possibility. But the election’s a long way off.”

  “But where would that leave me? Her winning a second term is almost a no brainer. I’m constantly polling.”

  “I agree. But you are working for the party. You are working for whatever candidate the party in its wisdom deems qualified to carry the banner into the maelstrom. That’s how the money would be spent. You will doubtless have a high, if not the highest position, in the next presidential campaign.”

  Tony bit into his second donut, this one coated with a sugary pink icing, and nodded. “You and Mary would see to that, wouldn’t you?”

  “Of course. But there’s no seeing to it, Tony. You win the spot on merit. You’re the best.”

  “Thanks Orson. We still haven’t had that fight, have we?”

  “No. And I don’t want to get scuffed up this morning. I’m a family man.”