by Tom Grace
“The six candidates are holed up in suites around town with their representatives shuttling back and forth between the camps trying to broker the best deal for their guy or gal. What’s happening behind the scenes is old-fashioned political horse-trading and we’re left waiting for the white smoke to billow from the formerly smoke-filled rooms to signal that we have a nominee. I can only imagine the frantic action swirling around the six hopefuls.”
If only they knew, Maya Randell thought as she checked herself in a full-length mirror, listening to Denby’s commentary.
“Hon, our guests are arriving,” Burton announced. “And for the record, you look stunning.”
“Why thank you, my dear.” Maya decided she was suitably arrayed and turned to her husband. “Shall we?”
Burton offered his arm and guided his wife through the expansive country home to the entry foyer. The villa and the surrounding vast acreage belonged to friends who were summering in the Hamptons.
Outside, a convoy of nondescript SUVs with dark glass windows rolled up the long, tree-lined drive toward the home, with no sign of any accompanying media.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
TRENTON, NEW JERSEY
JULY 24
“Good evening, Trenton!” Egan shouted to the capacity crowd that filled the Patriots Theater at the War Memorial. “And I thank you for braving that monsoon outside just to see me. You’d think I was Springsteen or Bon Jovi.”
The audience roared its approval at the mention of the Garden State’s homegrown rock legends.
“Of course, when I think of this historic city, I can’t help but recall the motto: Victory or Death. Washington’s victory here on Christmas Day in 1776 proved a turning point in the war that, until then, was going poorly for those seeking independence.
“Victory or Death—three words that distill the essence of our struggle, to enjoy the fruits of our labors and to flourish in the liberties bestowed upon us by our Creator. And this struggle didn’t end with the founding of this great nation, for it can never end. One of the greatest men to ever serve as president wisely noted that freedom is never more than one generation away from extinction.
“A year and a half ago, I stood on the banks of a river, in a place where freedom was just hours from extinction. And those brave men and women who pledged their lives to liberty’s defense chose as their motto those same words first uttered here: Victory or Death.
“For us, the struggle isn’t so obvious, but it’s no less real. Our enemy isn’t a tyrant’s army standing on the far side of the Delaware, but a gradual, progressive erosion of our freedoms under the false flag of social justice. Instead of cannons and muskets, we face a swarm of legislative and bureaucratic termites gnawing away at our liberties.”
PHILADELPHIA
“Well, that’s it, ladies and gentlemen,” Denby said, talking directly to his audience through the camera. “Another round of balloting has brought us no closer to a Republican nominee. The mood in the hall is somber as the party, and the nation, are in limbo over this impasse among the GOP leadership. If there was ever a time for the national chair to show some cojones and broker a deal, it’s now.”
“Excuse me, Garr,” Denby’s co-host for the broadcast cut in. “But there’s some kind of disturbance on the convention floor.
The monitors in the broadcast booth, and the image beamed out to millions of viewers nationwide, showed people fleeing and security guards wading into a knotted altercation. The guards roughly pulled combatants from the melee, digging their way to the center of the disturbance.
“Do we have any footage of what started this fight?” Denby asked in a voice-over.
The monitors split between the live feed from the floor and a video from a few moments earlier.
“We’re looking at either the Michigan or Mississippi delegation,” the co-host said.
One of the delegates, a middle-aged man with an ample paunch and thinning pate, angrily scrawled something on the back of a cardstock sign. He then stood upon a chair and held up his message. A couple of nearby delegates began yelling at the man and grabbing at his sign. Soon others joined the fracas and the man lost his balance, toppling into a pile of flailing bodies.
“Did you catch what the sign said?” the co-host asked.
“Not from this view,” Denby replied, “but it looks like they’re getting to the bottom of the scrum. I haven’t seen a pileup like this since the closing seconds of the Rose Bowl.”
The man at the center of the disturbance emerged with the aid of some guards and delegates. His forehead was streaked with blood that ran down his face and shirt. His sign, also splattered with blood, read: EGAN 4 GOP/USA.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
HARRISBURG, PENNSYLVANIA
JULY 25
“As I’m sure you’re aware,” the local morning show host said to open her interview with Ross Egan, “the GOP convention is going on just up the road in Philadelphia.”
“I saw something about that on the news last night,” Egan joked. “At first, I thought I’d tuned into a wrestling match.”
“It appears that you were the cause of the altercation.”
“‘Cause’ is a bit strong,” Egan offered. “An expression of support for me—”
“As the GOP nominee.”
“—yes, as the GOP nominee, triggered the unfortunate incident. I understand that the gentleman’s injuries were less severe than they looked.”
“Reports are that he will be back on the convention floor later today for the next vote. Since you’re in the neighborhood, would you care to guess who the GOP nominee will be?”
“It really doesn’t matter.”
“It doesn’t?” the host asked, baffled by the response.
“No, not really. My campaign isn’t about who I’m running against, but what I’m running for. Mine is a campaign of ideas, not a cult of personality. The reason I’m polling as well as I am is that I am the only candidate with a clue how to fix the mess we’re in and the ability to articulate it. What resonates with the people is that there’s no magic to what I’m saying, just plain old good sense. Most people know the truth when they hear it, especially since they so rarely hear it in a political context.”
“And you’re bringing your Fifty-Fifty Tour to its penultimate stop here in Harrisburg.”
“Yes. I’ll be speaking to another sold-out crowd at the historic Forum Auditorium. The tour has been both exhilarating and exhausting, and I’ve felt a real connection with the people I’ve met along the way. Amazingly, at some of my stops, I was the first presidential candidate to ever set foot in that state’s capital. Seems crazy to me. The way I see it, my best shot of winning this election is to take my ideas to as many people as possible.”
“If the polls are any indication, your strategy is working so far.”
“Perhaps, but we’re still in the summer months and the GOP doesn’t have a candidate, so I may be benefiting from the doldrums. There’s a lot of campaigning left before November.”
CAMP DAVID
“Anything happening?” the First Lady asked as she entered the study.
She sat beside her husband on the sofa. He was reading. The television in the corner was on with the volume low.
“Some kind of deal in the works,” the President replied. “Hook has swung his support behind Vogel, and Widmer is now backing Neuske.”
“That doesn’t get anyone the votes they need to lock up the nomination,” the First Lady said, doing the math in her head.
“Quite the opposite. It puts the remaining contenders in a four-way tie. My sources say the two front-runners were playing hardball with the rest of the pack, not offering much in the way of guarantees in exchange for support. The GOP chair brokered this deal to shift the balance of power. The price of this nomination is going to be very high for whoever emerges on top of the ticket.”
“You must be very pleased with yourself.”
“For this,” the President smiled, “I most ce
rtainly am.”
“Any chance the convention will fail to select a nominee?”
“Given the four left standing, it is entirely possible. But I won’t get greedy. Screwing them up this long has been a real blessing to my campaign. It’s made them look weak and fractious to the American people.”
“While letting you, by comparison, appear presidential and above the fray,” the First Lady said coyly.
The television provided a panning view of the packed convention hall. Another vote was in progress and a box with the vote totals filled the bottom of the screen. Amid the professional placards was a scattering of handmade signs that read: DRAFT EGAN!
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
DOVER, DELAWARE
JULY 26
“… and so I proudly end my Fifty-Fifty Tour where it all began,” Ross Egan said to his enthusiastic supporters, “in the state that first joined the union and made real the freest, proudest and most prosperous nation the world has ever known. In the history of the world, the United States of America is unique. And when progressives say we are behind the times, that we are not keeping up politically or socially with the nations of Europe or elsewhere, I can’t help but shake my head. Since the founding of this nation, people have flocked to our shores to escape the so-called enlightenment politics of every other nation on Earth. What makes us unique among all nations is good, and it must be preserved.
“I thank you for the tremendous outpouring of support I’ve received since arriving in the First State. It is your passion that will carry this campaign to victory in November. There’s not a thing that’s wrong with our government that can’t be fixed, and not a thing that’s right with this country that we can’t depend on.
“God bless you all! God bless the great state of Delaware, and may God continue to bless the United States of America!”
Egan paced the stage, waving to the capacity crowd that filled the six-hundred-seat auditorium. Ray Charles’ heartfelt rendition of “America the Beautiful” filled the historic opera house along with the roar of a standing ovation. Egan gave a final wave to the audience and slipped off stage.
“That was quite a speech,” Niki said as she handed Egan a cold bottle of water.
“Thanks,” Egan replied, his voice slightly hoarse. “What’s next?”
“Road trip. VIP lunch in Wilmington. More road trip. Then perhaps a nap before your private dinner with the Randells. We’re staying with them at an estate outside Philadelphia, so no hotel tonight.”
“Will you please brief me on who’s who for Wilmington?”
“Certainly.”
“I’m burnt to the point where I can only take information in small bites.”
They exited the rear of the theater into the sweltering midday heat and humidity. Secret Service agents guarded a line of black SUVs. Egan smiled and nodded to the agents as he climbed into one of the trucks.
“And there is a fresh shirt and jacket in the truck,” Niki said.
“Thanks. You’ve been incredible on this tour. I don’t know where I’d be without you.”
“In Dover, with a damp shirt and no pictures.”
Egan laughed as he settled into his seat and, eyes closed, reclined his head back.
“A quiet dinner with friends,” Egan sighed. “I cannot think of a better way to spend the evening.”
PHILADELPHIA
“Garr, what’s your take on the rumors about a deal?” the network anchor asked.
“A deal has to be cut or this convention will end in utter failure and the GOP will look like a bunch of rank amateurs. After nearly four years of what is arguably the worst presidency in the history of the nation, the Republicans should be riding a wave of popular enthusiasm out of Philadelphia all the way to an Election Day landslide, but they’re not. This confusion only benefits the current regime and it has to stop today.”
“Any thoughts on who the nominee will be?”
“Each of the four camps is convinced that their guy is the top of the ticket, so I’m clearly not talking to anyone who really knows anything. If a deal has been cut, the circle of people in it is very small.”
“Well,” the anchor said, “the delegates are back in the hall for this, the fourth and final day of the convention. We’ve had another round of speeches on policy issues and the party planks, and the usual railing against the President and his administration. But the lack of a nominee, and the coalescing of the party’s hope and enthusiasm around a standard bearer, is noticeably absent.”
“In all the years that I’ve been watching political conventions,” Denby offered, “and this goes back to the fifties with my dad explaining to me what was going on, I have never seen one like this.”
“Excuse me, Garr, but the Republican Party chairman is walking on stage to announce today’s vote.”
“My fellow Republicans,” Brian Frakes called out from the main stage, “my fellow Republicans. After several days of intense negotiations with our six worthy contenders, any of whom I would be proud to see leading our party to victory in November, I am pleased to report that an agreement has been reached that I am certain will unify the party for the difficult campaign ahead. Candidates, if you will please join me.”
Frakes turned to face the right side of the stage as the GOP candidates streamed out, waving to their supporters. He applauded the six as did the delegates, who offered a standing ovation.
“First, I am authorized by our candidates to announce that all delegates are now free to vote as they feel best represents the intentions of voters in their home districts. They are all gratified with your support following the first ballot but, standing here with me, they wish to reaffirm that all pledged and bound delegates are released.
“Second,” Frakes continued. “Our candidates have united in their support for the person they feel best represents their values, the values of the Republican Party, and the values of the citizens of the United States of America. It is this individual that they as a group wholeheartedly endorse and encourage you to support with our party’s nomination.”
The image projected out to viewers across the country showed Frakes standing at the lectern, center stage, flanked on both sides by three of the Republican candidates. Behind them, a huge LCD video wall glowed with a flowing image of the Stars and Stripes. The video wall then suddenly turned solid red.
“The name that I am pleased to offer for your consideration as our nominee is,” Frakes said dramatically, “the favorite son of the great state of Michigan, Ross Egan!”
“What the f---” the anchor exclaimed over an open mike before the quick-thinking booth operator cut the live feed.
Egan’s name filled the LCD display before a stunned arena of delegates. Frakes and the six candidates applauded the announcement. Those delegates supporting the draft Egan movement cheered and chanted his name.
“And with that,” Frakes announced over the din. “I call for an immediate vote.”
CAMP DAVID
“What the hell just happened?” the President demanded.
He directed his question at Daniel Page, his campaign manager. Peter Sturla sat beside the President with a glass of iced vodka in hand.
“Can they do that?” Sturla asked. “Pick an outsider?”
“Apparently they can,” Page replied. “But I’ll be damned if I can figure out how Egan swung this. It’s unimaginable.”
“I pay you to imagine the unimaginable,” the President complained.
On the television, Egan’s name was officially placed into nomination by the Michigan delegation and quickly seconded. The GOP chairman then announced a roll call vote. After a quick huddle, the spokeswoman for the Alabama delegation cast all of her state’s votes for Egan.
“What does this mean?” Sturla asked.
“It means,” the President replied bitterly, “that we’re in a two-horse race.”
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
PHILADELPHIA
“This is unbelievable,” the network anchor gushe
d. “The Grand Old Party has just drafted an independent candidate for its presidential nomination. Is this a sign that this party is cracking up?”
“Quite the contrary,” Denby said smugly. “Based on everything that Ross Egan stands for, his rock-ribbed conservatism on economic, political, and social issues, I’d say it’s a sign that the party has finally come to its senses about what it truly wants to be. And according to the Who Is I crawl running across the bottom of our broadcast feed, Egan officially joined the GOP an hour ago. Being from northern Michigan, I guess Ross Egan is the candidate who came in from the cold.”
“But where is he?”
“Somewhere nearby,” Denby replied. “The chairman wouldn’t make an announcement like that unless it was a done deal.”
“What kind of deal would Egan have to cut in order to skip the primaries and still win the nomination?”
“If you are implying that the Republican primaries were a sham and that the fix for Egan’s nomination was in from the start, then you have to believe that some vast right-wing conspiracy is at work.”
“But how can rank-and-file Republicans go along with this?”
“Republicans are just like Democrats—they like to win,” Denby explained. “Egan’s ideology fits well with the conservative core of the party and, frankly, a majority of Americans.”
“But Egan is behind in the polls.”
“The latest polls showed him slightly ahead of any of the Republican candidates—sorry, make that the former Republican candidates—and closing on the President. He was behind because he split the right in a three-way race. If the right moves solidly behind Egan, that split disappears and the President wakes up tomorrow with a double-digit deficit to try to close by November. I don’t think rank-and-file Republicans will have any problem with that kind of convention bounce.”
