by Stuart Woods
Billy drove back to his office, lost in thought. He’d have a word with Harry tomorrow. The young man always came in early to get a head start on his work.
—
HARRY TOOK HIS paper bag into the now-deserted armory and went to his workroom. He weighed the bag: six and a half ounces. Plenty. He molded the malleable plastic explosive into the desired shape, then unwrapped a throwaway cell phone he had bought at his neighborhood supermarket and plugged it in for charging. The battery was already eighty percent charged, so he didn’t have to wait long. He cut a piece of wire, stripped the ends of their insulation, secured one end to a detonator he had taken from the construction shack, and pressed the detonator into the soft explosive, then he used duct tape to fix the cell phone to the explosive, satisfied that it had a sufficient charge. He did not fix the detonator wire to the phone—not yet. Safety first, he told himself.
Harry put the completed bomb and some tools and duct tape into his tin lunchbox, then went home. As he walked into his apartment, his phone was ringing and he picked it up.
“This is your client,” a woman’s voice said. “The gentleman you seek will depart at nine A.M. the day after tomorrow, not tomorrow. All other arrangements are the same. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” he said, and she hung up.
—
STONE AND ANN arrived at the Staples Center with the Bacchettis in an Arrington SUV and, after the usual security procedures, took the elevator up to Stone’s skybox.
The bartender brought them drinks, and Stone picked up a pair of binoculars and stood at the big window, panning around the convention floor. He found the New Mexico delegation—only five delegates, but with various spouses and hangers-on seated with them they came to fifteen or twenty, including Ed Eagle, who stood head and shoulders above the rest. Pete Otero was not in sight.
Stone kept panning until he found the Virginia delegation—bigger than that of New Mexico, with thirteen delegates. Senator Mark Willingham was not among them.
He did the same for the huge California delegation. With its fifty-five delegates and their hangers-on it came to more than a hundred people. Governor Dick Collins stood in the midst of them, shaking hands and buttonholing delegates, whispering intently into an ear here and there.
Stone called Ed Eagle, who answered immediately. “Hi there, I’ve got binoculars on you.”
Ed turned and looked up at the skybox and waved.
“Where’s your governor?”
“I don’t know—not here, though.”
“Funny, Willingham isn’t with his delegation, either.”
“Train your binoculars to the right, under the first balcony. There’s a bar.”
Stone panned right. “Got it.” Ah, there were the missing pols, in earnest conversation. “Otero has Willingham by a lapel. I’ll bet he doesn’t like that, but he’s nodding, so they must be in agreement. Powwow is breaking up now. Your governor will be with you in a moment.”
“I’d better go,” Eagle said and hung up.
Stone watched Otero work his way across the floor, shaking hands, smiling, slapping a back here and there, pecking women on the cheek. Then he found Willingham, rigid in his pin-striped suit, greeting men—only men. He apparently didn’t have much use for women, and it didn’t take him long to rejoin his delegation.
“Well,” Stone said to Dino, who stood beside him, “all the players are where they’re supposed to be.”
The convention was being hammered to order by the chairman, who was shouting at the delegates to take their seats.
Stone took a seat next to Ann, found a remote control, and turned on the TV sets to get the play-by-play.
—
BACK IN THE library of The Arrington’s presidential cottage, Will and Kate Lee sat, having dinner off trays. Kate put her fork down. “I don’t think I can eat.”
“Funny, I’m starved,” Will said, shoving a slab of steak into his mouth and sipping from a glass of Cabernet.
“Well,” Kate said, “that’s the difference between an office seeker and an officeholder—and a lame duck at that.”
—
CHRIS MATTHEWS WAS holding forth on the balloting. “Kate Lee has taken an early lead,” he said. “Arizona, whose delegates Martin Stanton won in the primary, went solidly for her, but Alabama and Alaska went for Willingham. California has put the first lady ahead—she got forty-two of her fifty-five delegates. And Otero got the rest.”
—
STONE SAT UP. “Thirteen went to Otero? Dick wasn’t able to swing them all.”
“That could hurt us later in the balloting,” Ann said, chewing her lip and taking a swig of her martini. “God, I hate this part.”
Stone looked over Ann’s shoulder at the running totals she was keeping on a legal pad. “Kate can’t be that far off Sam’s projection,” he said.
“Hang on, here comes Illinois.” Illinois’s twenty delegates were voted for Kate.
“That’s better,” Stone said, relieved.
“Yes, but we’re only twelve votes ahead. And we’ve got some Willingham and Otero states coming.”
Kansas cast six votes for Otero and Missouri ten for Willingham.
“Why is Otero so far behind?” Stone asked.
“Texas,” Ann replied. “Second-largest delegate count. When we get to the Ts, Texas will bring Otero up to fiftyish.”
“How long before we get to the Ns?” Stone asked.
“Soon.”
Stone called Ed Eagle.
“Yes, Stone?”
“Ed, how would you like to elect the next president of the United States?”
“Personally?”
“Personally.”
“How do I do that?”
“Take Otero aside and tell him that Kate is going to win it on the first ballot.”
“Are you sure?”
“Very nearly,” Stone lied. “Do it now, Ed, and it will be over. She won’t need him or Willingham. Tell Otero if he throws his delegates to Kate, he’ll be in the good graces of the next president. Or if he sticks it out with Willingham, he’ll be number one on Kate’s shit list. And tell him anything else you can think of.”
“I’ll call you back,” Eagle said.
Stone picked up the binoculars and trained them on the New Mexico delegation. Eagle had taken Otero into an aisle, a few steps away from the others. Ed was looking down at Otero and Otero was looking at the floor with an ear cocked toward Ed. Otero was shaking his head vehemently.
“Oh, shit,” Stone said, lowering the binoculars. “Where are we in the ballot count?”
“Projecting one thirty-one,” Ann said. “This is not good, Stone. Somebody is making a lot of promises to delegates who committed to Kate.”
Stone raised the binoculars again. Otero and Eagle were gone. He swept the New Mexico delegation; they were not there. Where the hell were they? New Mexico would be called on in a minute or two. Then he spotted them: they were striding toward the Virginia delegation, and Willingham had just seen them coming. “Something’s going on,” Stone said, half to himself.
“What? What’s going on?” Ann asked.
“Powwow at the Virginia delegation. Ed and Otero are over there. Ed is doing all the talking.”
—
KATE LOOKED OVER Will’s shoulder at the chicken-scratching on his pad. “What does all that mean?” she asked.
“I’m a little confused,” Will said. “We seem to be three or four votes behind where we should be at this point. Where the hell is Sam Meriwether?”
“With the Georgia delegation,” Kate replied.
“See if you can get him on the phone.”
Kate called the number and put the phone on speaker.
“Kate?”
“Sam, Will’s worried about the delegate count.”
&
nbsp; “He should damn well be worried,” Sam replied. “By my projections, we’ll be three votes short of the nomination. And if that happens, then Otero and Willingham will join forces on the second ballot and take the nomination. Oh, and Otero is over at the Virginia delegation right now with Willingham. They’re cooking up something.”
“Sam,” Will said, “drop everything and get over to Virginia. See if you can break up whatever they’re thinking about.”
“I’ll call you back,” Meriwether said.
“Will, I’m sorry I ever did this,” Kate said, resting her forehead on his shoulder.
“You just hang on, sweetheart, it’s not over yet.”
“I just have this awful feeling in the pit of my stomach.”
“Have a bourbon and Alka-Seltzer—that always works for me.”
—
“NEW MEXICO!” the chairman was shouting.
Stone watched as a New Mexican he didn’t know stood up and took the microphone. Otero was nowhere in sight.
“Mr. Chairman,” the man shouted, “I am the deputy chairman of the New Mexico delegation. I request a poll of the delegation!”
The audience roared with laughter. There were only five delegates and they were sitting next to one another.
“That was funny,” Stone said.
“They’re buying time,” Ann said. “I don’t like this.”
The chairman began calling the names of the New Mexico delegation. When he got to Ed Eagle, there was no response.
Stone checked the Virginia delegation again. Willingham was there but Otero and Eagle were not.
“New Mexico, do you wish to cast only four votes?”
“One moment, Mr. Chairman,” the deputy delegation leader said, looking desperately around the floor.
Then Pete Otero strode up and took the microphone away from the man. Ed Eagle was standing beside him. “Mr. Chairman, I am Pete Otero, governor of the great state of New Mexico!” he shouted.
The chairman shouted back, “I thought you looked familiar!”
The audience roared with laughter again.
“Mr. Chairman,” Otero said again, “at this time I wish to withdraw from the race for the presidential nomination of the Democratic Party.”
There was a mixed audience roar, cheers and Nooos.
“Mr. Chairman,” Otero shouted, “the New Mexico delegation casts all its votes, and I request all delegates pledged to me to vote for the next president of the United States, Katharine Lee!”
The audience went crazy. The chairman put up with it for a couple of minutes, then began hammering the podium with his gavel. Then, as the roar subsided, another voice was heard.
“Mr. Chairman, I am Senator Mark Willingham of Virginia and I wish to be recognized.”
“This is irregular, Senator,” the chairman said, “but you are recognized.”
“Mr. Chairman,” Willingham shouted, “I wish to withdraw at this time from consideration for the Democratic nomination for president. And, further, I release all delegates pledged to me and urge them to cast their votes for the next president of the United States, Katharine Lee of Georgia!”
Pandemonium reigned. The chairman hammered for order without effect. Stone looked over at the New Mexico delegation and saw Pete Otero standing on a chair, keeping his balance by hanging on to Ed Eagle’s shoulder. “Mr. Chairman!” he was yelling. “Mr. Chairman!”
Finally regaining some order, the chairman pointed at Otero. “The chair recognizes the governor of the great state of New Mexico, Pete Otero!”
“Mr. Chairman,” Otero yelled, “I move that the convention nominate by acclamation as its nominee for president, Katharine Lee of Georgia!”
A huge affirmative roar from the audience.
The chairman hammered again. “The chair recognizes Senator Mark Willingham of the great state of Virginia!”
Willingham grabbed a microphone and yelled, “Mr. Chairman, I second Governor Otero’s motion!”
“All in favor, holler!” the chairman shouted.
And the crowd hollered for a full seven minutes.
Stone and Ann were hugging each other and laughing, and Dino was pounding him on the back. Viv was pointing at the turmoil on the convention floor and laughing.
Ann called Kate, but her line was busy. “We’ll never be able to get through to Kate,” she said. Then Ann’s phone rang.
“Hello?”
“It’s Kate. Turn off the TV.”
Stone turned it off and Ann pressed the speaker button.
“Congratulations, Kate!”
“You mean what I just saw really happened?”
“It certainly did.”
Will’s voice came on the line. “Stone, what was Ed Eagle doing with Otero and Willingham?”
“I’m looking forward to asking him that, Mr. President,” Stone said, “but whatever he was doing, it seems to have worked.”
“If you see Eagle, please have him call me.”
“Yes, sir!”
“Ann, Stone,” Kate said, “thanks for your congratulations, but you’ll have to excuse me, I think I should take some incoming calls!”
“Yes, ma’am!” Ann ended the connection. “May I have another drink, please?”
Stone waved at a waiter. “Open some champagne,” he said. Then someone was hammering on the skybox door. Stone opened it, and Ed Eagle, Susannah Wilde, and Mike Freeman spilled into the room. The hall outside was crammed with people.
Stone got the door shut. “Come on in, we’re starting on the champagne,” he said. A waiter came with flutes and poured the wine. Stone raised his glass. “To Ed Eagle and whatever he said to Otero and Willingham.” They drank. “Ed, what did you say to Otero and Willingham?”
“Exactly what you told me to say,” Ed replied. “I may have been a little more emphatic, though.”
“We were going crazy up here watching you with binoculars.”
“Otero got it immediately,” Eagle said, “but he didn’t want to get it. Then he grabbed me and dragged me over to the Virginia delegation and got ahold of Willingham. The senator was adamant—tried to talk Pete out of it, but Pete didn’t budge. Finally, Willingham did the arithmetic, swore a few times, and said, ‘Okay.’ The rest you heard on TV.”
“We had a hell of a time getting off the floor,” Mike said. “The aisles were solid with delegates, a lot of them getting drunk in a hurry. Has anybody talked with Kate?”
“She just hung up to start taking congratulatory calls,” Stone said. “Ed, the president asked that you call him.” He produced his cell phone, pressed the button, and handed the phone to Eagle.
“Hello, Mr. President? Yes, sir.” He walked across the room and kept talking into the phone. A couple of minutes later he hung up and rejoined the others.
Stone pointed at the television set. “You’re on TV, Ed,” he said, switching on the sound. Chris Matthews was talking.
“We still don’t know exactly what happened,” he was saying, “but that tall guy standing next to Otero had something to do with it. His name is Ed Eagle. He’s a big-time trial lawyer from Santa Fe, and he’s a New Mexico delegate. He and Otero went over to the Virginia delegation—Wait a minute, we have tape on that—there, Eagle and Otero arguing with Senator Mark Willingham of Virginia, and whatever they’re saying, the senator isn’t buying it. Now he buys it: he’s nodding at Otero, then Otero and Eagle go back to the New Mexico seats, where the delegation is being polled, all five of them, much to the amusement of the crowd. Then Otero grabs the microphone, and you know the rest.”
Ed laughed. “I didn’t know I was on TV,” he said. “I’ll catch hell about that when I get back to Santa Fe.”
“I guarantee you,” Stone said, “every TV reporter on the floor is looking for you right now.”
“Then I’m staying he
re,” Ed said. “I’ll sleep here if I have to.”
“What did the president have to say to you?” Stone asked.
“The same thing you said to me when I got here,” Ed replied. “I talked to Kate, too. She’s pretty excited.”
“I’ll bet she is.”
“Oh, when I took Otero aside and started in on him and told him what you said about the delegate count, the first thing Pete said was, ‘Who the hell is Stone Barrington, and why should I believe him?’ I told him you were the smartest guy in the hall and had the only accurate delegate count, and that Sam Meriwether was feeding it to you. Was I lying?”
“Not exactly, Ed, but when I talked to Sam, he was still pretty worried about how the count was going.”
“Then you were bluffing?”
“Let’s just say I was a little optimistic.”
“Well, it worked. That’s poker—if you can’t tell who’s bluffing, you’re being bluffed!”
“Well, I’m glad I didn’t have to do it face-to-face with Otero and Willingham,” Stone said. “They would probably have called me on it!”
Ann settled into a sofa. “Turn the TV back on. I’m not leaving here until all those people down there go home!”
Stone and Ann didn’t get home until well after midnight, and they slept until after eight o’clock, late for them. Ann had turned her phone off the night before, and when she checked her voice mail there was a message from Kate, left only minutes before.
“It’s chaotic over here,” Kate said. “I hope it’s okay if Will and I come over there for breakfast because we’re on our way!”
“Oh, shit,” Ann said, running for the shower. “Kate and Will are probably downstairs demanding breakfast!”
Stone picked up the phone and ascertained that this was true. “Give them whatever they want,” Stone said. “We’ll be down in fifteen minutes.”
They made it in that time to find the Lees digging into omelets on the patio by the pool. They joined them.
