by Stuart Woods
“What’s the percentage of white males over thirty-five on the California delegation?” Stone asked.
“Sixty-one percent,” Ann said. “And the convention opens tomorrow night.”
Stone, the Eagles, and the Bacchettis were driven to the Staples Center in two Arrington SUVs. Somehow, Bentleys didn’t seem appropriate for a Democratic convention. They were driven into the underground garage, where every convention ticket, skybox pass, and driver’s license was checked and every one of them photographed for a convention ID, then they were admitted to a secure part of the garage by the sticker on their windshields. There were no photographers or TV cameras present here. They rode up in an elevator with an armed guard to the top of the hall. Stone had a pocketful of keys and he passed them out to the Eagles and Bacchettis. “Just in case there’s a remote possibility you might want to leave the skybox.” He had already given Ann her key.
They found the numbered door along a corridor, and Stone let them inside. They entered a foyer that contained a mahogany table with a large flower arrangement on it and a number of very nice art prints on the dark green walls. There were also doors to the men’s and ladies’ rooms. They then walked through a set of mahogany doors into what amounted to a large living room that had been decorated by Peter’s production designer at Centurion Studios.
“Can I live here, please?” Dino asked.
“Sure, Dino. There’s even a shower in the men’s room.”
“I didn’t bring a change of clothes,” Dino lamented.
There was a dining table set for twelve with Wedgwood china, Baccarat crystal, and linen napkins, and a buffet table where a waiter was placing platters of canapés from the adjacent kitchen. In a corner of the room was a well-stocked bar manned by a uniformed bartender.
They were separated from the convention by an eighteen-foot-long picture window, which was mirrored on its outer side. They could see the heads of conventioneers bobble past the window; a woman stopped and checked her makeup, not realizing she was being watched from inside.
On another wall were half a dozen large flat-screen TVs tuned to the three networks, plus Fox and MSNBC. The last was tuned to a football game, in case someone got bored. There was low-volume classical music playing in the background; otherwise the room was silent. Stone picked up a remote control unit from a coffee table in front of a sofa facing the huge window and pressed a button. Suddenly, the room was filled with the noise of the convention. Some governor or other was speaking, largely ignored by the huge crowd filing to their floor seats. The governor finished, and a band began playing “Happy Days Are Here Again.” Stone pressed the button again and they were back to Mozart.
A waiter materialized. “May I get anyone a drink? We have most liquors, plus wines and champagne.”
Everybody ordered something. Then Ann walked into the room, followed by Molly, Kate’s secretary, two Secret Service agents, and Kate herself. “Good evening, everybody,” she said. “In case you are wondering why I’m here, I’m not. Candidates are not supposed to visit the convention tonight, but I couldn’t resist. But the press can’t find me here. And neither can my husband.”
“What a nice surprise,” Stone said, kissing her on the cheek. “What can we get you?”
“I think a mimosa is about my speed,” Kate said. She accepted a Baccarat flute and walked over to the big window. “It’s like the world’s largest flat-screen TV,” she said. “Stone, you’ve certainly made yourself comfortable here,” she said. “How did you do it?”
“Peter and Ben are responsible. In case you were wondering, none of the furnishings and fittings are real. They’re right out of the prop room at Centurion Studios. The electronics are rented. Only the food and drink are genuine.”
A doorbell rang, surprising Stone. He went to the door and opened it to find the governor of California standing there with his wife and a plainclothes police officer. “Come in, Governor,” he said, shaking hands.
“This is my wife, Cara,” Dick Collins said. “Cara, Stone Barrington.”
Stone took them into the big room and introduced them to the Eagles and the Bacchettis. The Collinses greeted Kate warmly, then accepted a drink from the waiter.
Stone hung back, in case they wanted to exchange confidences, but Kate waved him into the little group. “I suppose you’ve seen the overnight poll,” she said to the governor.
“I have, but I never get excited about overnight polls. After all, opinions can change overnight, can’t they?”
“I certainly hope so,” Kate said.
“White males of a certain age react to sexual escapades somewhat differently from the rest of the human race,” Cara Collins said.
“Never discount testosterone,” Kate replied. “When are you speaking, Dick?”
“In about an hour,” Collins said, checking his watch. He handed the waiter his glass, still mostly full. “I don’t need that if I want to be coherent later. Just wetting the whistle.” He turned back to Kate and Stone. “I had a word with Marty this afternoon. He is disinclined to accept an appointment to the Senate.”
Oh, shit, Stone thought. So much for that idea.
“But that’s tonight,” Collins said. “Who knows what he might think tomorrow night after a fresher overnight poll comes out.”
“Marty has a tendency to go where the wind blows him,” Kate said.
Collins laughed. “Tell me, Kate, is there a message you’d like me to deliver?”
Kate looked at him for a moment, puzzled, then she laughed. “I have nothing to offer Marty,” she said, “unless Stone can come up with another movie star.”
“I don’t believe I can,” Stone said.
“Then I don’t suppose you know a likely porn queen?”
“I do not.”
“It’s just as well,” Kate said. “Otherwise, we’d be awash in the testosterone of American white males over thirty-five.”
Ann joined the group. “Governor, I’m hearing rumors of unrest in your delegation.”
“Never believe rumors, Ann,” he replied smoothly.
Everyone chatted for a while, occasionally listening to a speaker drone on.
Governor Collins stood up. “I’m afraid I must be going or they’ll start getting nervous backstage.”
Kate walked him to the door and, before he left, he whispered something in her ear. Kate closed the door behind him and came back into the room.
“Come on, Kate,” Ann said. “What did the governor have to say?”
Kate smiled. “He said that he told Marty Stanton that his offer of the Senate seat will expire five minutes after the end of the first ballot.”
Then the door opened again and the president of the United States entered the suite.
Everybody stood, and Will Lee shook every hand before sitting down.
“We weren’t expecting you,” Kate said to her husband.
“I wasn’t coming,” Will replied, “then I thought to myself, why should my wife have all the fun?” He ordered a bourbon and sat down, facing the convention floor. “I hope this is better than the football game on TV,” he said.
“You must have had the press all over you downstairs,” Ann said.
“No, I left the motorcade a couple of blocks up the street and arrived downstairs in a single SUV. Nobody twigged.”
“Look,” Ed Eagle said, pointing at a TV on the wall. They all turned and saw a shot of a single black SUV turning into the Staples Center underground parking lot. Ed switched on the sound as Chris Matthews was saying, “We’re told that was a shot of the president arriving at the convention. But there was no motorcade, and he hasn’t been seen on the floor or backstage. I’m betting he’s watching from a skybox.” Ed switched off the sound.
“So much for my security arrangements,” Will said. “If anybody calls, tell ’em I’m in some other skybox.”
&nb
sp; Mike Freeman entered the suite, shook hands with the president, and asked for a glass of orange juice.
“Have you made your rounds, Mike?” Stone asked.
“I have and all is well. Anyway, nobody would want to kill anybody who’s spoken so far. I did hear a rumor that a couple of VIPs sneaked past the press into a skybox.”
“Don’t believe a word of it,” Will said. He found the remote control and turned on the sound from the floor, plus a TV.
A documentary film began, honoring the recently deceased Senator Eleanor Stockman, and the crowd listened respectfully for five minutes, then applauded warmly.
“Here comes Dick Collins and his speech,” Will said.
“And here comes the young governor of California,” Chris Matthews was saying. “Eight years from now, he’ll be a likely candidate for president. His first two years in office have been a spectacular success.”
Dick and Cara Collins spent a couple of minutes waving at the crowd and making eye contact here and there, then finally Cara kissed him and left the platform. Then the podium and the glass shield rose from the floor.
“It worked!” Mike said. “As late as this morning we weren’t sure it would.”
“This is something new at a convention,” Matthews was saying. “That wall of non-glare glass is said to protect against bullets, bombs, and maybe even Republicans. Also, a little inside info: you can’t see it from the audience but the teleprompter is projected onto the inside of the glass wall so the speaker will appear to be speaking without reading it.”
Collins began to speak. “Good evening, and welcome to the great state of California!” The crowd went suitably wild, then calmed down. “Word has reached me that a Californian is seeking your nomination.” Big laugh. “I have not come here to endorse him.” He waited a beat. “Nor to bury him.” Another laugh. Then Collins got serious and began to speak of the challenges facing the country. He finished ten minutes later with a few short sentences. “I’m told that the current president of the United States is watching tonight. On television, of course. I want to say that this country is in the best shape it has been in for many years. Probably since World War Two. And Will Lee is the man we can thank for that!” The crowd went nuts, the band played, and Cara Collins appeared, took the governor by the hand, and led him off the stage.
“Well, that was mercifully short,” Will said. “I think we can thank Bill Clinton for the brevity. And what he said about me was nice.”
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t true,” his wife said. “If I get this office, I’ll do my best not to screw up your legacy.” She took his face in her hands and kissed him.
A waiter materialized. “Ladies and gentlemen, dinner is served.” They all got up and went to the table, where place cards seated Will and Kate at opposite ends of the table. The noise from the floor was turned off and the music restored.
A waiter brought a tray containing a large roast duck. He presented it, then two other waiters began to bring out plates of duck and vegetables. Stone was given the wine to taste and approve.
A cell phone was heard to buzz, and Ann left the table and went into the hallway. She came back a moment later and went to Kate. “Martin Stanton is on the phone for you. He wants a meeting.”
“Not now,” Kate said. “At our cottage at The Arrington.” She looked at her watch. “At ten o’clock.”
Ann left the room and came back a moment later. She nodded to Kate. “Done.”
“Well, that’s going to be an interesting conversation,” Will said. “Who knows, maybe some history will get made.”
Ann Keaton sat in the backseat of the SUV with Kate Lee as they approached The Arrington. Stone sat silently in a jump seat.
“What do you think Marty wants?” Kate asked Ann.
“I think he wants secretary of state,” Ann said.
Kate turned and looked at her. “You think he’s going to offer to drop out if I give him State?”
“It’s my best guess,” Ann said. “In those circumstances, would you give it to him?”
Kate emitted a low laugh.
—
KATE WENT INTO the library of the presidential cottage and looked around. There were two chairs near the fireplace and a fire had been laid. She pushed the chairs closer to the fireplace and each other, then, using a long match, lit the fire. She pulled a drinks cart closer to the chairs, then looked at her work. Fine. She heard the doorbell ring and looked at her watch. “Right on time,” she murmured to herself. She opened her purse, took out a small dictating device, reset it, and pressed the record button. Then she stuck it into the outer breast pocket of her suit jacket and turned to face the door.
A butler opened the door. “The vice president, Madame Director,” he said.
Martin Stanton swept into the room, his hand outstretched. “Kate, how are you? It’s been too long.”
Kate took it and allowed him a peck on her cheek. “Last month isn’t so long ago,” Kate said. “Have a seat, Marty. Can I get you a cognac?”
“Yes, thank you.” Stanton went and stood in front of a chair but did not sit down until she had poured the drinks, handed him a glass, and sat down herself. I can’t fault his manners, Kate thought.
“I want to have a serious talk with you, Kate,” Stanton said. “We’re coming into this convention with me in the lead and you trailing everybody else.”
“I watch the news, too, Marty,” she said, keeping any reproof from her voice. “And what I’m hearing is that you’re short of the votes you need for the nomination.”
“I’m here to tell you—all that has changed,” Marty said. “The California delegation is solid for me, and I’ve heard only this evening from nineteen delegates from other states who will switch their votes to me.”
“On which ballot, Marty?” Kate asked, trying to sound really curious.
“Why, the first ballot, of course. I know you’ve been counting on a second ballot, with all the delegates free to change their votes to you, but that simply isn’t going to happen.”
“You may be right,” Kate said, “but on the other hand—”
“There is no other hand, Kate. I now have the nomination in my pocket.”
“Is that what you came to tell me?”
“Not entirely,” Stanton said. “I’ve come to ask you to be my secretary of state.”
“That’s awfully generous of you, Marty.”
“You’re perfectly suited for it. I’ve always thought of director of Central Intelligence as a foreign policy post.”
“So have I,” she replied.
“There’s nobody in the party who can lay a glove on you for qualifications.”
“I appreciate the compliment. And what do you want, Marty?”
“Me?” As if the thought of a quid pro quo had never occurred to him.
“There must be something.”
“Well, I think it would be very good for the party and the country if you nominated me tomorrow night. It would bring us together better than anything I can think of.”
“And whom were you thinking of for your running mate?”
“I think the senior senator from Pennsylvania,” Stanton said. “With Pete Otero, we’d have two westerners as running mates. I think an easterner would be better for the ticket.”
That, Kate thought, is the worst possible ticket I can think of. “I’m sure your reasoning is sound, Marty.”
“And with you in the wings, waiting to take over at State, well, that would be like having another running mate.”
“You’d announce me for State before the general election?”
“I don’t think that would be presumptuous, given your stature.”
“Did you consider a woman as a running mate?” she asked coyly.
Stanton took a sip of his drink. “If you’ll forgive my saying so, Kate,
” he said, “I think that perhaps since the country has had a Lee in office for eight years, it might be a bit of an overdose to have you as number two for another eight.”
“Did it ever occur to you that they might not have had enough of the Lees?”
“They love you both, Kate, but they’re not addicted. You have to be realistic.”
Kate smiled but said nothing.
“What about it, Kate? Will you come with us?”
“Marty, I will make you a pledge right now.”
“And what is that?”
“I will support the nominee of my party.”
Stanton set his glass down on the little table next to his chair. “Well, I’m disappointed that you won’t accept, Kate, but I’ll give you until noon tomorrow to think about it. Talk it over with Will.”
“Oh, I’ll do that,” Kate said. She waited for him to stand, then she did, too. She held out her hand. “Thank you for coming to see me, Marty,” she said.
“Good night, Kate. I hope to hear from you tomorrow.”
“You will, Marty.” She watched him go, closing the door behind him. She heard the outside door close and a car door slam, then she switched off her pocket recorder, picked up the phone, and pressed a button. “Come on in,” she said.
The door opened and Ann and Stone entered the room.
“Pull up another chair, Stone,” she said, “and pour us all another cognac, will you, please?”
Stone carried out his instructions and sat down.
Nobody said anything for a moment.
“Well?” Ann asked, unable to contain herself.
“He offered me State,” she said.
Ann laughed out loud. “The arrogant son of a bitch!”
“He says he wants ‘the senior senator from Pennsylvania’ for a running mate.”
“The worst possible combination,” Ann said.
“Funny, I thought exactly the same thing.”
“Did he say anything else of import?”
“I believe he did,” Kate said, “though it wasn’t his intent to say it.”
