Capital Offense

by Kathleen Antrim

  “If you’re on my side, then talk the magazine into releasing me.”

  “You can’t be serious. Take a few days to cool off, then we’ll talk.”

  “I’ve never been more serious in my life. Let me out of my contract.” Jack’s voice was cool. He fumbled through his pocket for a cigarette.

  “I’m sorry, but the magazine’s not willing to do that.” Pat’s voice was clipped and hard. “If you want to quit, that’s your business, but you won’t be able to write for anyone else until the contract expires.”

  “Unbelievable.” Jack snapped the pencil he was holding. “Quite an effective way to shut me down, isn’t it? They tell me what I can write, or I can’t write at all. And you support that? What happened to real journalism? And freedom of the press? What happened to Pat Mead? I never thought you’d ever sell out like this.”

  “All I can say is you’ve pissed off some powerful folks. And I’m doing my damnedest to save your career.”

  “Don’t worry. I get the picture. And for now, I’ll play ball.”

  “I’m glad you’re being reasonable. You’re my best correspondent, and I need you. You won’t be sorry. I’ll take good care of you. Let things cool down for a while. Next week I’m sending you to cover the end of the Washman campaign.”

  “Don’t trust me near the Lane camp?”

  “Very perceptive. But don’t be a hero on this, okay? Stay the hell out of Missouri. Maybe later we can get you in there, but for now, just watch your back. It looks like you’ve made some nasty enemies.”

  “It’s not the first time, and it won’t be the last.” Jack stared at the phone as he replaced the receiver. Yes, he’d have to watch his back. Someone had used a lot of pressure to call him off, a very powerful someone. But who?

  From experience he knew that the more extreme the reaction, the bigger the story. If that theory held true, he was onto one of the largest stories of the decade. But how to handle it?

  Jack had the resources to hire a battery of attorneys to deal with his employer and his contract, but a protracted legal battle was not the answer. His father had taught him that to right a wrong, one should work within the system, not alienate himself from it. No, Jack shook his head; the choice was simple. He’d fight his own battles.

  FORTY-NINE

  August, 2000 – Jefferson City, Missouri

  Who is Warner Lane?“ President Washman asked. He stood among classroom desks, a flag hung in the background. ”Is he a man we can trust with the welfare of our country? And the future of our children? His voting record in the Senate shows that he’s cut spending on education, raised taxes, and invested in projects his own state didn’t want. Does Warner Lane tell it like it is? Or does he tell you what you want to hear?“

  Nick turned off the television. “This ad campaign is focused on Warner’s first term, but the average voter won’t know that. In a nutshell, he’s hurting us. We’ve got to fight back hard. Washman can be beaten, but as the incumbent he’s got the advantage.”

  The consultants, campaign managers, staff, Carolyn and Warner Lane, and Richard Young all sat in on the strategy session.

  Nick stood with his hands resting on the back of the chair. “Andrea Walden feels strongly that Warner should appear on some of the top pop culture talk shows like ‘Late Night’ to appeal to the younger, more hip crowd. Other politicians have done it in the past with great success.”

  Andrea Walden, the media consultant, sat apart from the rest of the people gathered around the conference. Chain-smoking, she resembled an inscrutable chimney.

  “This afternoon we’re filming the television spots with Warner, Richard, and Carolyn. We’ll follow the same layout as the ads from the primaries, except this time Warner and Richard will be together, superimposed over Carolyn in the courtroom for crime, industrial cleanup for the environment, etcetera.”

  Nick gestured across the table at Dave Willis, one of the campaign managers. “Dave believes that if we get back to basics and utilize a grass roots type of approach, we’ll be viewed in sharp contrast to the ivory tower image of the Washman ticket.”

  “What do you have in mind?” Richard Young asked.

  “Actually we want to revitalize an old method. A tour blitz with a hometown angle,” Dave explained, “I’ve got it mapped out. We can do fifty cities in thirty days. We charter a few planes, take along the press, and we go out and meet the people. Face to face. Both you and Warner excel at this approach, so lets use it to our best advantage.”

  “What’s the hometown angle?” Carolyn asked.

  Nick smiled. “We fly into metropolitan areas, but drive out to the suburbs and throw big community picnics in the parks. The press will eat it up, no pun intended.”

  Carolyn laughed. “I can see that.” She glanced down the length of the table, meeting Dave Willis’s gaze. “Good job. Dave. This is an excellent vehicle for Warner’s and Richard’s styles.”

  “Let’s not forget yours.” Nick reminded her. “We’re going to have you stumping with them.”

  “All right.” Carolyn started making notes. “Why don’t you get Braunson on the line, Nick? We’ll want polls on everything. We need to know exactly what the American people want. Have him do the polls constantly, so we can adapt as the trends change. We’ll review his data every day, and that will keep us up to date on what our positions should be. Matt, you’ll want to call the Secret Service and notify them of our itinerary.”

  ***

  Without preamble or a fancy introduction, the hometown boy, Warner Hamilton Lane, strode onto a small stage in the town square of Medina, Ohio and greeted the masses like a rock star at a conceit. “Good evening, Medina!”

  A roar went up from the crowd, which was packed for a three-block radius.

  Upturned faces carpeted Warner’s field of vision. “I love this town-” he stalled, only to be interrupted by another roar. “Medina is an example of the United States at its best. A beautiful town full of hard working, law abiding citizens. Citizens who raise America’s future leaders. I grew up in a town like this, a town where you could walk the sheets at night without concern. But times have changed. Thieves, gangs, and drug dealers lurk in the shadows of America’s finest communities. Well. I say. ‘enough!’ It’s time to take back our neighborhoods. It’s time to take back our lives – our freedom. And I’m ready to lead that fight!”

  The crowd cheered.

  Richard and his wife, Dixie, joined Warner on stage. Warner shook Richard’s hand and hugged Dixie. Like a tag team member, Richard picked up the speech where Warn rt left off. “We must direct our energy to fight those who cut funding for our police forces, the programs for our youth, and those who cater to the underworld with soft prison sentences and lenient laws…”

  Their remarks, which focused on their dream for America, their goals, and their plans for attaining them, continued for forty-five minutes. Technically, the speech should have lasted thirty minutes, but breaks for applause and chanting stretched the time.

  Then Warner joined in. “Now, please let me have the honor of introducing the real headliner for the evening. Our very own one woman war on drugs, my partner, my wife – Carolyn Alden Lane.”

  Carolyn walked onto the stage and the crowd went wild. Three minutes later, she was finally able to speak over the din. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she said as she pointed at the crowd. “You are the heartbeat of America. You are the people who matter most. And you are why we are here today!”

  Again the crowd began to cheer.

  “We have a dream for a drug-free America, where children flourish, no one lives in fear or hunger, and families thrive. But as simple as this sounds, it’s far more difficult to accomplish.” Carolyn made eye contact with several people in the crowd below her. “The battle begins right here, in hometowns across America, where we come together to fight against drugs and crime. I’ve joined this battle, Warner has picked up the challenge, and we need you to finish the war. We can be victorious, we can hand Ameri
ca back to her law-abiding citizens – but it starts with your vote!”

  The crowd roared its approval and began chanting, “Lane in 2000.”

  Warner, Richard, and Dixie stepped forward. They linked hands with Carolyn and raised them high in the air.

  FIFTY

  October, 2000

  We’ve done it!“ Stan Benson stood in the doorway of the hotel room in Hutchinson. Kansas. ”We’ve pulled ahead of Washman in the polls, and our numbers are glowing.“

  A cheer went up in the room.

  Richard Young pulled Carolyn aside. “I have to compliment you,” he said as he took her hand. “Your war on drugs platform is our strongest asset.” His eyes searched hers.

  “Thank you,” Carolyn said as she met his gaze. Now that she’d gotten to know him, she realized he wasn’t at all as she had expected. Although he could be strong when necessary, she sensed a vulnerability in him, a sensitivity.

  “You’ve sot to have some of the highest approval ratings of any woman in American history,” he said.

  Carolyn blushed under his scrutiny. His compliment felt good.

  He smiled.

  She’d never paid attention to his dimples before. He was handsome, she thought, and like Warner, the female constituency loved him.

  He still held her hand in a warm but gentle grip. “I wasn’t sure about our relationship in the beginning of the campaign,” he continued. “But I hope we can be friends. I truly do admire you, and I think we make a great team.”

  Carolyn leached up and kissed his cheek. “We’re already friends.”

  She heard a cork pop in the background.

  “Champagne all around” Braunson said.

  A shiver of excitement skittered down Carolyn’s spine. The pendulum had swung in their favor. They just needed to keep their balance and maintain momentum.

  ***

  On election eve, the culmination of years of hard work ended. At eleven-fifteen in the evening, activity eddied around campaign headquarters as the exhausted staff returned to Jefferson City to give one final push, and to watch Warner and Carolyn cast their votes the next morning.

  “It’s almost over,” Matt said, slapping Nick on the shoulder. “I just want you to know that win, lose, or draw, I’ve enjoyed working with you.”

  Nick extended his hand. “I’ll only agree to a win, but the feeling is mutual.”

  “The polls are looking strong.”

  Nick shrugged.

  A phone rang in the background.

  “That’s mine.” Nick rushed into his office. “Creed” he said. A moment later, the color in his face drained. “You rotten son of a bitch. You do that and I’ll personally hunt you down and shoot you.”

  Matt turned when he heard the uncharacteristic fury in Nick’s voice.

  “You go public with that bunch of crap and I promise – and I mean promise – you won’t live to cash the check.” Nick slammed his door shut, but his raised voice remained audible.

  He emerged a short while later, his muddy-gray gaze as hard as cast iron. “Call Carolyn and tell her we’ve got a problem,” he said to Matt. “Have her meet us in the Situation Room as soon as possible. You come too, Matt. Get Ernie and call Warner.” He grabbed his car keys for the short drive to the Lane residence. “Son of a bitch, it’s eleven-thirty. Only a half an hour to Election Day. Why now?”

  ***

  “What’s going on? We’re all supposed to be resting up for tomorrow.” Carolyn had been last to arrive at the Situation Room. Her face was scrubbed clean and her hair was pulled back into a ponytail. She looked fresh, calm, exhilarated.

  “Nick received a phone call from a reporter who told him that Warner has an illegitimate child and that they’re going public with the information in tomorrow’s early edition.” Matt said.

  Warner paled. “That’s not true.”

  Ernie grasped Warner’s arm.

  “You have a child?” Carolyn asked her voice barely above a whisper.

  “I swear it’s not true.”

  “You bastard.” She slapped him across the face. The smack reverberated through the room.

  Warner touched the welt glowing on his cheek. “Carolyn, I don’t-”

  She turned her back on his protests, afraid that if she even looked at him, she’d lose control. They were so close she could smell the scent of Washington’s cherry blossoms. Why now? The words echoed through her mind. After all of their hard work, why now?

  “Where’s Richard?” she asked.

  “We haven’t called him.” Matt said.

  “He’s part of this team.” she said. “Get him on the line and update him.”

  Ernie moved into the hallway with his cell phone.

  “The reporter told me that they know who the mother is and the child’s name.” Nick said. “They located them in St. Louis.”

  “But it’s not true! She’s lying-”

  Carolyn spun to face Warner. “If you kept your dick in your pants this wouldn’t be an issue. Do you have her phone number?”

  Warner nodded.

  She turned back to Nick. “Call her. Pay her off.” Carolyn glared at Warner, “The poor woman probably needs the money. And make sure the child’s well cared for.” She paused. “Then, get to the reporter. I don’t care what you have to do or say. This cannot happen. An accusation like this will destroy us. If it comes out in the morning, we won’t have time to react.”

  “The reporter didn’t leave his name.” Matt said. “We have no way of contacting him.”

  “What are you telling me? How could you not get his name?” Carolyn cried. “This can’t be happening!”

  “He refused to identify himself. I knew the Secret Service would have the line tapped, so I didn’t worry about it.”

  “Call security. They can trace it,” Carolyn said.

  “We already did. It was a pay phone in St. Louis.”

  “That certainly narrows it down.” Carolyn didn’t care that she sounded sarcastic.

  “Not really. The reporter could be from anywhere.”

  “Think, damn it! Didn’t he give you any clues?”

  “Not one clue. I’ve gone over the whole conversation, but I didn’t recognize his voice.” Nick said. “He outlined his scoop. I went into some details of what would happen if he followed through, and then he hung up.”

  Warner rose. “I need a drink,” he said to no one in particular. As he left the room he flipped open his mobile phone.

  Carolyn registered his departure, but didn’t follow him. First, she had to find a way to save them from the disaster that loomed over their campaign. “I need to speak privately with Nick, so will you all excuse us for now?” she asked quietly.

  A subdued group of advisors departed the room.

  Carolyn took a deep breath and calmed herself. Less than twenty-four hours to victory. They had to stop this – no matter what. “Call Mark Dailey. You and he coordinate the investigators. I want every one of them acting on this tonight and I don’t care what we have to do to stop this train wreck from happening. Now, please.”

  “I’ll take care of it.” Nick promised.

  “I know you will.” she said softly. “Make sure Richard is thoroughly briefed. He needs to know what’s going on. He should have been called immediately.”

  “It was an oversight,” Nick said.

  “Don’t let it happen again.”

  Nick nodded.

  Warner made a confidential emergency call for help to Edmund. The resources of the Council reached far into the press. The source of the threat boiled down to a handful of major news organizations. The independent newspapers would be too small to make an impact before the electorate cast their ballots. After Cain’s forces were deployed there was nothing more anyone could do, except wait until the newspapers came out in the morning.

  FIFTY-ONE

  Each time zone meant big newspaper releases, starting with the east coast. As soon as the latest edition arrived, Nick and Matt searched for the inc
riminating story. They found nothing. Finally, morning dawned in Missouri. None of them had slept. When the local papers came off the press, there still was no sign of the threatened exposé.

  “Just a few more hours,” Nick said. “Then we’re in the clear.”

  Carolyn paced the room, glancing at the clock every few minutes, willing the hands to move forward.

  At seven-forty-five A.M… Carolyn appeared in a red Donna Karan dress, and Warner wore a midnight blue, double-breasted Armani suit with a white shirt and a navy-and-red striped tie. Clasping hands, holding their heads high, confident smiles secure, they walked down their front porch steps and out to the limousine that would take them to their assigned polling place. They would be the first to cast their ballots in Missouri.

  People lined the sidewalk, and camera strobes flashed as they left their car and strode over to the rope line for a few handshakes with other voters before walking into the building to vote. Carolyn walked a few steps behind Warner, bracing herself for possible questions.

  ***

  The room was silent.

  Nick replaced the receiver. “That’s it.”

  Carolyn was the first to speak. “Are you sure?”

  She could barely breathe.

  “Positive.” he said. “Ohio put us over the top!”

  “Oh, my God,” Carolyn said. Tears spilled onto her cheeks. “Oh, my God! We won! WARNER, WE WON!”

  Everyone erupted into cheering and congratulations.

  Warner leapt out of his chair, swept Carolyn into his arms, and twirled her around the room.

  Richard Young grasped his wife’s hand and simply smiled.

  Associated Press

  November 7, 2000

  Warner Hamilton Lane, 44th President

  FIFTY-TWO

  January, 2001