They had to get elected! Nothing was going to stop that process. Nothing.
Carolyn’s insistence that she be the vice presidential running mate could not be tolerated. Warner would act, or he would call upon the Council. The deal was done and Richard intended to hold them to it. He was the vice presidential candidate. This was his shot at power, real power, and he would win.
Jefferson City, Missouri
Warner hung up the phone, Richard’s angry voice still ringing in his ears. He leaned forward, resting his chin on his fists. A cluster of pain pounded behind his eyes. Damn Carolyn! Her insistence on running as the V.P. had thoroughly pissed off Richard, and they couldn’t afford to lose his support. Unfortunately, Carolyn had no idea that Richard was even a factor, nor could she be allowed to find out.
But, Warner thought, Richard needed to understand that she had to be handled carefully. Her national profile was too strong. The safest way for them to deal with her was to make her candidacy someone else’s concern. Nick was the perfect messenger.
Warner pressed a button on the intercom. “Call Stan Braunson, and get him in here pronto,” he said to his assistant.
Ten minutes later the campaign pollster stood in the doorway of Warner’s office. “Stan, hi. We need some information. I want a current read on the public’s perception of Carolyn’s reform ideas and my economic policy. See how it compares to President Washman’s policies and try to pinpoint the areas where people are most dissatisfied with Washman.”
Stan looked surprised. “Nick and I have already discussed this. I suggested we do a dial group.”
“Run that by me again.”
“It’s a group of people who represent a cross-section of the population. They each hold a dial while being exposed to various information on video. When they like something they turn the dial up, and when they don’t they turn the dial down. The information is compiled and broken down into age, gender and race. It can be pretty specific.”
“Can we do it quickly? I want the information now.” Warner realized he’d stepped into the consultants’ territory, but he didn’t care.
“Sure. Nick already has me on it.”
“Right out of the starting block, I want to hit these areas hard.” Warner stood and leaning across his desk, handed Stan a handwritten list. “And run some potential running mates by these guinea pigs. Include Carolyn. Let’s see what the feedback shows.”
“Nick’s already approached me.” Stan said. “He wants numbers on Richard Young.”
“Good.” Smart man, Warner thought. Nick knew where victory lay.
“Oh, and Stan, I want to see the numbers first. Give me the original papers, and don’t make copies. Understood?”
Stan shrugged. “Am I to assume this conversation never happened?”
“You know how to stay employed.”
“I’ll get right on it.”
“Get the numbers to me as soon as possible, but be thorough,” Warner ordered.
“I can have results to you-” Stan started to say over his shoulder.
“How about Wednesday at two o’clock?” It was a directive. Warner moved past Stan and headed in the direction of the conference room. The daily two o’clock meeting was about to begin.
Warner’s political savvy told him that he couldn’t afford to anger Carolyn. She was too strong and too popular. He’d have to manipulate her carefully. Warner knew that maintaining Carolyn’s loyalty and support could make the difference between winning and losing.
***
Warner was the first to take his seat for the dissection of the dial group data. Carolyn was absent, speaking at a Women In Politics caucus. Preliminary numbers showed the Lane economic policy as well received, and Carolyn’s war on drugs as their strongest suit. President Washman’s foreign policy stance remained his best asset.
The voters, however, were disillusioned by Washman’s lack of concern about the sluggish economy. Even though people respected his foreign policy, the data showed that they no longer cared about world affairs. Their concerns had shifted to their own economic needs and job security.
The voters wanted change; they no longer had faith that the current administration could improve their lives. Thank God for the bad economy, Warner thought. It was the best front on which to attack the other party.
“Well,” Nick said taking charge as usual, “my sense is that we can kick the pants off Washman if we stick to economic reform by virtue of tax relief. This recession is killing his approval ratings. We emphasize supply side economics and stimulate the marketplace by cutting taxes, both individual and corporate. Simple concepts, just hit the highlights, include the environment, and keep Carolyn in the limelight with her war on drugs. Focus on her consistent record against drug dealers.”
“Let’s hear it for the recession,” Matt cheered. The group laughed.
Warner sat back, gauging the interaction. He allowed them to run the meeting as long as his agenda dominated.
Nick continued. “Washman’s camp will keep trying to replay his foreign policy successes. The only way to address that is to demonstrate that we’re more concerned with the people in this country than the plight of others around the world. Stress domestic issues. Change versus more of the same.”
Everyone was quiet; some were taking notes.
“What else do you have?” Nick asked, looking over at Stan.
“I asked Stan to run some numbers on potential vice presidential running mates.” Warner interjected. “I feel Richard Young would boost our campaign.” He’d already reviewed the numbers in private, and had made a few adjustments to the original figures.
“Has there been discussion with Senator Young?”
Warner sensed the anger in Nick’s question. Nick didn’t like being outside the loop. “Richard and I go way back. Let’s leave it at that.”
“What about Carolyn?” Nick asked.
Warner turned to Stan. “Why don’t we concentrate on the numbers for now?”
Stan handed out additional data sheets illustrating the dial group’s response to various V.P. candidates. The top page showed Carolyn’s profile; the numbers were high. Her national popularity had increased dramatically. Charismatic, gracious, and an eloquent speaker, Carolyn had won over the public. Her one woman war on drugs had hit a national nerve, and her record stood for itself. The polls contained that she was perceived as a role model for both men and women, alike. A rare occurrence for a public figure, Warner mused, and possibly for the first time in the history of America for a female. He hadn’t tampered with any of these numbers, knowing that the data was critical to the correct positioning of Carolyn in the campaign.
Their ad campaign was obviously affecting the polls, Warner thought. They were currently running a series of television spots in which his head and shoulders were superimposed over people and events important to the country. This gave the impression that he was in control of the very issues the viewer witnessed on the screen. He loved the image.
They’d run an ad featuring Carolyn in courtroom settings, emphasizing her background as a prosecutor who’d beaten down every drug lord who’d crossed her path. The ad went on to show her in the political arena, suggesting a battle for tough legislative reform to punish offenders. All the while, Warner was superimposed over the picture, giving the impression that he was directing the fight against these issues.
Warner pretended to peruse the information in front of him. He ran his finger down the page, searching for the data on Carolyn as a potential running mate. He stopped where the numbers took a nosedive. The last study confirmed that, although Carolyn was exceptionally popular, the public was not ready for a husband and wife team in the White House. The idea smacked of a monarchy. He bit back a smile. Before his adjustments, the numbers had reflected negatively. Now they plummeted.
Warner looked up, watching the others as they read through the data and caught up with him. Discreetly, he studied Stan’s reaction.
Stan smiled reassuringly
.
Warner’s secret was secure.
When everyone had read the information, Nick began. “We need to speak to Carolyn about this and give a recommendation on who the running mate should be.”
“The numbers show clearly that Senator Young was well received, but that’s not a surprise,” Matt stated. “How’s his son?”
“Bobby’s fine. Kids bounce back quickly,” Warner said.
“If he can commit to the campaign without worrying about his boy, he’d definitely add strength to the ticket,” Ernie chimed in. “His wife, Dixie, is also an asset. They make an attractive couple, and they’re well liked inside and outside of the beltway.”
Young was the obvious choice. Warner had made sure of that. But who was going to tell Carolyn? This was an awkward situation for the consultants. Warner knew that no matter what happened, she wouldn’t back down without a fight.
“This needs to be discussed with Carolyn,” Matt said. “I’m sure she’ll agree when she reads this data. Washman is going to be tough to beat, we need every advantage.”
“When can you speak to her?” Nick asked.
“I’ll speak with Carolyn this afternoon, I guess, but we need to interview Young.”
“I’m sure that will only be a formality.” Nick’s gaze met Warner’s.
Warner was impressed with Nick’s smooth pass to Matt. Without intending to, Matt had caught the job of sacrificial messenger.
“Matt, tell Carolyn we’re setting up a meeting with Young. I’ll take care of it. We’ll try for tomorrow at five o’clock. Warner, you need to stay in Jefferson City. We’ll hold the interview here. Oh, and guys, try to keep it from the press.”
Warner relaxed. Success, he mused, lay in the preparation.
***
Carolyn scanned the data. “We need to do something – run some ads to spin the idea and educate the public. We can move the perception away from the appearance of a monarchy and reinforce the democratic image.”
Matt took a drink of water. “You’re probably right. It could just be a matter of education, but we don’t have time to find out. It would be a huge risk to put you on the ticket, and as you know, we need to announce the vice presidential candidate before the convention. We wouldn’t have time to find out if an ad campaign was successful before we’d have to commit to your candidacy.”
He set his glass down. “If you want to do it, I’ll back you, but you have to consider the downside. We’ve been focused on our own party in the primaries. Now we have to focus on Washman. He’s no pushover, we’ve got a tough battle ahead. Young brings some serious advantages. The numbers show him in an extremely strong position. Plus, it appears Warner is set on Young as his vice president. We can’t afford to have you two at odds. The campaign just came off life support from Warner’s problems, and this could put us back in intensive care.”
“What about Richard’s son?”
“He’s on the mend. Young can commit to the campaign.”
“The country’s crying out for change.” She looked up at Matt. “But maybe the wife of the president as vice president is too much, too fast.” Carolyn clasped the arms of the chair, struggling for composure.
God, how she wanted the vice presidency! Yet all of her efforts, her popularity, and her strong record would now go to put Warner and Richard in office. Typical, Carolyn thought. Everything boiled down to gender issues. Women throughout history had suffered the same fate. But that reality did nothing to lessen her disappointment.
Be patient, she told herself, your turn will come. She knew that Matt was right – the campaign couldn’t afford to be back on a respirator. She swallowed hard, still trying to choke down the unfairness of it all.
Mart’s cell phone rang, and he took the call.
Young was the best option, she knew, but he was going to be difficult to control.
Matt severed the connection and set aside his phone.
“Young is it, then,” Carolyn said, forcing a confident tone she didn’t feel. “He has no obvious skeletons and a good family image. His family history in politics will help with the Washington insiders. When do we interview him?”
Matt looked perplexed. “You surprise me. How do you know what Young might or might not have to hide?”
She dismissed his question with a flutter of her hand. She’d never admit to hiring Winston Cain.
“I’ll tell Nick to set it up. Would tomorrow afternoon work for you?”
“Fine, let’s get this done.” Carolyn said, preoccupied with her own thoughts. She knew that all of their guns needed to be drawn when they marched into the National Convention and readied themselves for the shoot-out against incumbent President Charles Washman. But first, Richard Young needed to understand that she and Warner were running the campaign. Hence, he would be expected to take a secondary role, a role that never overshadowed Warner, and never compromised her control.
FORTY-TWO
August, 2000
Jack stepped out of the shower. He tossed his towel onto the bathroom floor and stood damp and naked in front of the mirror. “Decision time,” he said to his reflection.
The man who stared back looked frustrated, stifled, housebroken. He’d been following the Lane campaign for weeks and doing little more than regurgitating their rhetoric and contributing to the Lane propaganda machine. He had to follow his instincts, even if it meant war. Jack knew that his employers would be furious, but it was the forces behind the scene that were truly dangerous.
Jack strode into the bedroom, grabbed the phone, and dialed his secretary.
“Maureen, book me to Missouri and then on to the National Convention.”
Missouri, Jack thought, the Show Me State – time to live up to this motto or he’d force the issue. Maureen, thorough as usual, put Jack on the next flight to Jefferson City.
***
The first two days he was back in Missouri, Jack felt like one of Pavlov’s dogs. Every candidate had a dark side and Lane was no exception. The figurative bell rang with rumors and innuendo, making his mouth water. The scent of a story wafted through the air, but the meat of the scoop eluded him.
His greatest frustration was Mortimer Fields. Upon his arrival, he’d immediately driven to Fields’s office. Mort’s assistant claimed he was out of town, and refused to say where he was, or when he’d return.
Jack walked to the nearest pay phone. “Mr. Mort Fields, please.”
“I’m sorry, he’s not in.” Fields’s assistant said. “Can I take a message?”
“This is Sergeant Leonard Rand, of the Jefferson City Fire Department We have an urgent matter to discuss with Mr. Fields. Please tell me how to contact him.” Jack said.
“I’ve been instructed not to give out his travel arrangements, sir. Can I take a message and pass it along?”
“This is urgent, ma’am. I believe he’d want to speak to me. His residence needs to be boarded up.” Jack said.
“Boarded up?”
“Yes, ma’am, from the fire.”
She gave Jack a hotel phone number in New York City. Jack called repeatedly, but never got an answer in Fields’s suite. He knew it was better to catch a source off guard so he didn’t leave a message.
Sipping a cup of coffee at a local diner. Jack glanced at his list of leads. One jumped out at him: Erma Miles.
***
Jack went out for an early-morning jog. After forty-five minutes he slowed, turned a corner and found himself staring at the house of Erma Miles. He walked up the steps and rang the doorbell. When there was no answer he walked around to the back of the home.
Across the yard he saw a small figure, wearing a wide-brimmed hat and crouching over some flowering bushes in the garden. Gloved hands skillfully clipped and shaped the plants.
Without turning to look at him, she asked. “Who might you be?”
“Jack Rudly.” He wiped a bead of sweat as it trailed down his temple.
“You’re Bill Rudly’s son, the journalist, aren’t you?” She
turned, her blue eyes sparkling with vitality.
“Yes, ma’am. I was wondering if I could speak to you about your husband?”
Erma’s face clouded. “My Adam passed away some time ago.”
“I was sorry to hear that.”
She stood and patted his arm. “Thank you.”
“I don’t mean to impose on you, but-”
“Yes, you do. You need something.”
“You’re right. I do. I was wondering about Adam’s relationship to my father. Specifically, why they started meeting. Can you help me?”
“I’m not sure. Come in.” She led him through the back door of her home.
“You need to be careful, young man. There are those who would not take kindly to your inquiries. Your father, God rest his soul would have told you that.” Erma removed her hat, revealing perfectly coifed white hair.
“How well did you know my father?”
“Only socially. Our paths crossed quite often at political functions. He and Adam disagreed regularly.” She hung the hat on a wall hook next to the door, and continued into the kitchen with Jack close behind. “Even though they often argued. Adam always had the utmost respect for him. He wasn’t bogged down in all the political hoopla. He just told it straight – very diplomatically, of course. Boy, he used to raise the hair on the back of Edmund Lane’s neck. Those two were always fighting.”
“I have a few questions.”
“I’m sure you do. But smart folks won’t have anything to say about these people.”
“I’ve been accused of a lot of things,” Jack said. “But being smart isn’t one of them.”
Erma chuckled. “Please, have a seat. Would you like some iced tea?”
“Sure.”
“Sugar?”
“No, thanks.”
She poured two glasses. “I doubt you’ll get anyone to go on the record.”
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