The Running Mate (A Jack Houston St. Clair Thriller)

by Andrew Delaplaine

  The

  Running

  Mate

  A Jack Houston St. Clair Thriller

  By Andrew Delaplaine

  KINDLE EDITION

  © Copyright 2011 by Gramercy Park Press

  All rights reserved

  Comments or queries: andrewdelaplaine@mac.com

  * * *

  DEDICATION

  To Renee Delaplaine Rodgers,

  who always wanted to see Jack come alive, this book is affectionately dedicated. This may not be what you had in mind exactly, but it’s a start.

  * * *

  Other Books by the Same Author

  (All books available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, etc.)

  ADULT

  MIDNIGHT MASS - A Mary Freeman Thriller

  Det. Lt. Mary Freeman stumbles upon a spectacular robbery of historic Trinity Church in downtown Manhattan on Christmas Eve, and after impressing the Mayor, gets assigned to the Task Force investigating the crime, throwing her headlong into a world of political intrigue and murder that rips into every part of her life. LINK TO KINDLE

  THE METER MAID MURDERS - A Jake Bricker Comic Thriller

  A serial killer is loose on South Beach. But he’s only killing meter maids, threatening the economic foundation of Miami Beach. Mayor Johnny Germane wants the killer caught NOW! But tall, dark and handsome Det. Sgt. Jake Bricker can’t seem to nab the devious killer, even though he knows who the next victim will be. [Foul language; not for kids.] LINK TO KINDLE

  YOUNG ADULT

  THE TRAP DOOR: THE “LOST” SCRIPT OF CARDENIO

  A boy goes back to 1594 and Shakespeare’s original Globe Theatre in search of a “lost” play by the world’s greatest writer, and ends up embroiled in the plot to kill Queen Elizabeth the First and replace her with Mary, Queen of Scots. LINK TO KINDLE

  SANTOPIA: BOOK I – SANTA & THE LOST PRINCESS

  Three days before Christmas, Connie Claus has a son, and Santa names the boy Nicholas.

  Ameritus, Great Sage of Santopia, issues a Prophecy – the next girl born in the Kingdom will grow up to become Prince Nicky’s Queen, and Nicky will become betrothed to her on his eighteenth birthday when he is invested as the future Santa at the Ritual of the Green Gloves.

  Far across Frozen Lake, the Baroness von Drear gives birth to a baby girl – she’s is overjoyed that her new baby will be the future Queen of Santopia. But when she discovers another girl was born just hours before her own to a peasant family living in her Realm, she sets out to destroy them. LINK TO KINDLE

  DELAPLAINE TRAVEL GUIDES

  Delaplaine Travel Guides represent the author’s take on some of the many cities he’s visited and many of which he has called home (for months or even years) during a lifetime of travel.

  The books are available as either ebooks or as printed books. Owing to the ease with which material can be uploaded, both the printed and ebook editions are updated 3 times a year.

  The Guides are available at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, the iTunes Store and everywhere books are sold.

  In his Guides, Delaplaine doesn’t list every hotel and every restaurant; rather, he thinks it more important to be selective than comprehensive. It’s no fun reading the Yellow Pages.

  But all his Guides contain plenty of information about restaurants, lodgings, shopping ideas you might not otherwise know about, unusual attractions, different nightlife activities, etc. When he likes something, he tells you. When he doesn’t, he tells you why.

  Current editions available:

  Delaplaine’s 2012 Guide to Cancun

  Delaplaine’s 2012 Guide to Merida

  Delaplaine’s 2012 Guide to Rio de Janeiro

  Delaplaine’s 2012 Guide to San Francisco

  Delaplaine’s 2012 Guide to Miami & South Beach

  Delaplaine’s 2012 Guide to the Florida Keys

  Delaplaine's 2012 Guide to Fort Lauderdale

  Delaplaine's 2012 Guide to Las Vegas

  Delaplaine’s 2012 Guide to Orlando & Walt Disney World

  (All books available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, etc.)

  * * *

  THE RUNNING MATE

  Principal Characters

  In the White House

  President Sam Houston St. Clair, Republican from Miami

  Jack Houston St. Clair, his son and occasional aide

  Francis Clougherty, Chief of Staff

  Carlos Rodriguez, Secret Service agent

  In the Dumaine Camp

  Senator William Dumaine, Democrat of Massachusetts

  Bianca Dumaine, his wife

  Phil Thuris, his campaign manager

  Tim Harcourt, his Body Man

  In the Mowbray Camp

  Governor Douglas Mowbray, Democrat of Pennsylvania

  Gloria Mowbray, his wife

  Henry Westmoreland, his campaign manager

  In the Iranian Secret Police (MISIRI)

  General Ghorbanali Akbary, chief of MISIRI

  Colonel Reza Shahzad, head of super-secret VASAK Unit of MISIRI

  Seyed Gilani, his No. 2

  Mahmoud Yazdi, operative in U.S. surveilling Dumaine

  * * *

  Prologue

  Jack Houston St. Clair eased his midnight blue Bentley GTC into a space in front of La Carreta on Calle Ocho, got out and went inside. Though La Carreta didn’t have the best Cuban food in Miami, it was a mainstay in Little Havana, and was as busy as ever.

  He went inside, said hello to the owner’s wife, and saw Secret Service Agent Carlos Rodriguez’s upraised hand and made his way over to a table in the far corner. As busy as the place was, Carlos had managed to secure a two-top in a cozy corner in the very rear of the place where there were a few empty tables separating them from the crush of people in the front of the house.

  Rodriguez got up and gave Jack a big bear hug with that easy familiarity that long-lost fraternity brothers share. Jack found himself wondering why he couldn’t have with his half brother Rafael the kind of deep relationship he had with Carlos Rodriguez.

  Jack ordered a Corona and the La Carreta version of a Cuban sandwich: ham, roasted pork, Swiss cheese and Spanish sausage. Carlos got a medianoche and a Becks, but also ordered a bowl (not a cup) of the fabada (Galician white bean soup) with chunks of smoked ham and blood sausage.

  “They have the best,” he said.

  “So, your mom’s sixty-five, huh?” said Jack.”

  “Yes, sir. Tomorrow.”

  “It’s good they gave you some time off so you could come down here and leave Washington behind for a couple of days.”

  “Yeah. The whole family’s gathering for a big party.”

  “You making lechón asado?”

  “Yes, sir, we are. And when I told her I was going to see you, she told me she’d be very honored if you’d join us tomorrow. She knows how much you like that roasted pig.”

  “Ah, that’s sweet of her, but I have Francesca coming in tonight and I haven’t seen her since I was in New York a month ago.”

  “So you’ll be trimming a few horns tonight, yes?”

  “Mucho, mi amigo, si.”

  “She’s a beauty, that Francesca.”

  “Yes, she is. I’m lucky she likes a lazy guy like me.”

  “She’s after your money,” Carlos laughed.

  “You know damn well her family could buy and sell the St. Clairs.”

  “That’s true.”

  “So, how do you like being assigned to the Dumaine campaign?”

  Jack noted an instant change in Carlos’s mood. His expression changed immediately and he leaned in, lowering his voice.

  “
Well, Jack, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about?” he said hesitantly. Whatever it was that Carlos wanted to tell Jack, he was having some trouble getting it off his chest.

  Carlos was chief of the unit protecting Senator William Dumaine of Massachusetts, the on-again, off-again frontrunner for the Democratic nomination for President of the United States.

  “So what’s on your mind that you couldn’t talk about it on the phone?”

  The waiter brought their sandwiches and they ordered another round of beers.

  “Y trae un poco de mostaza,” said Jack, whose Spanish was pretty good for a gringo. (He wanted mustard for his sandwich.)

  “You know about the oath I took when I joined the Service.”

  “Sure,” Jack said, biting into his sandwich and savoring the juices of the different meats and the texture of the crunchy Cuban bread. “You swore an oath not to betray the people you guard, something along those lines, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And that’s bothering me. But this is so big I think it could tilt the election in favor of the Republicans if it ever got out.”

  “Obviously, this has to do with Dumaine, since you’re assigned to him.”

  “Right.”

  “But he hasn’t even got the nomination yet. The convention’s still a couple of weeks away.”

  “I know. I’m just saying, if Dumaine gets the nomination, then the Republicans would find this information useful.”

  “That big a bombshell, yeah?” Jack said skeptically.

  “You betcha.”

  “Well, Carlos. Obviously you’ve made the decision to tell me what it is or you wouldn’t have called me,” Jack said before taking a long swallow from his beer.

  “That’s true,” he said, a guilty look crossing his face. “It’s just… I feel kind of guilty, you know…”

  Jack interrupted.

  “Carlos, what the fuck is it?” he hissed.

  Again Carlos leaned in, his brown eyes darting around the room as he whispered.

  “You know every candidate has a Body Man, right?”

  “Sure, the guy that carries the candidate’s suitcase, candy bars, cellphone, shit like that.”

  “And Dumaine’s Body Man is a guy named Tim Harcourt.”

  “I’ve seen him. He’s always there with Dumaine.”

  Carlos leaned back up into a normal sitting position as the waiter served their second round of beers and left the mustard, and when the waiter had gone, leaned back in to Jack.

  “Dumaine is sleeping with Tim Harcourt and nobody knows it but me.”

  “Whoa,” Jack whispered.

  Carlos nodded.

  “How long have they—?”

  “Don’t know. Had to start before I got assigned. I’ve been with the campaign for a few weeks analyzing their needs. We bring our full team in next week.”

  “You sure about this?”

  “I get paid to notice… the little things.”

  “His wife?”

  “They sleep separately.”

  “And he’s sleeping with his Body Man…?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Oh, boy.”

  La Carreta’s fine sandwich turned to ash in Jack’s mouth.

  Because, if Bill Dumaine got the nomination, the incumbent in the White House he would face in the election was none other than Jack’s father, President Sam Houston St. Clair.

  * * *

  CHAPTER 1

  It was barely dawn, and a light fog drifted in off the Detroit River as Senator William Dumaine (D-Mass.) and his Body Man, Timothy Harcourt, jogged side by side through Grand Circus Park, their bodies rising and falling with the steady, assured rhythm of long-time runners.

  Dumaine was forty-two, and at six-foot-one, had the kind of body most men his age would envy, but then most men didn’t work as hard at keeping trim as Bill Dumaine did. He had black hair, just the tiniest touch of gray at the temples, and eyes the color of royal blue.

  Tim Harcourt, at twenty-eight, was just a half-inch shorter than Dumaine, a little broader in the shoulders, but more heavily muscled. He’d played football in college (George Tech), had wavy blond hair and green eyes.

  “What do you think of that Secret Service guy they sent us?” asked Tim.

  “I don’t think anything. I don’t like it, but I know it’s gotta happen eventually.”

  “Them sending us a detail, you mean?”

  “Yep,” said Dumaine.

  “That Agent Rodriguez seems like a nice enough guy,” said Tim.

  “He’s been working pretty closely with Phil,” said Bill.

  “Setting things up.”

  “Right,” said Bill.

  “That means we’ll have a little more company on our morning runs,” said Tim.

  “We’ll deal with that when it comes.”

  “It’s going to be weird, having them hovering over us.”

  “That’s what they do: hover.”

  “What are we gonna do?” asked Tim.

  Bill cast Tim a sideways glance and smiled.

  “You and me—we got no choice—we’re gonna hide.”

  “Hide?”

  “Yeah, hide the only place we can hide. In plain sight. Till we figure this shit out.”

  They made the turn and headed back to the hotel. As they approached the impressive entrance of the Detroit MGM Grand, they caught sight of a few early risers among the press corps assigned to cover the Dumaine campaign.

  “Jesus,” Tim whispered as they slowed to a walk and headed up the steps of the main entrance, cameras clicking left and right. “How we gonna keep a lid on this?”

  “That’s the second most important thing we have to do.”

  “What’s the first?”

  “Win the Presidency,” said Bill with a wink, flashing that million-watt smile that was good enough to put him to second in the polls in a huge field of eight candidates for the Democratic nomination.

  “You guys beat us up every morning,” said one cameraman.

  “The Secret Service will have to double team you, Senator,” said another one.

  “Yeah,” said a third reporter. “Round the clock shifts and get ready to run at dawn!” laughed another.

  Dumaine went up to the second cameraman and patted his belly.

  “You oughta set your alarm tomorrow, Freddie. Get up and join me and Tim here, work off some of those hot dogs and beer.”

  “Well, Senator,” grinned a sleepy but happy looking Freddie, “if you hadn’t gone to the Tigers game, I couldn’t-a had those dogs and beers.”

  “Too bad the Tigers had to lose,” said the third cameraman.

  “Hey, don’t use the word lose in front of me.”

  Laughter all around.

  “The manager blamed it on you,” said another reporter. “The players were all paying too much attention to you in the row behind the dugout, and not on the game.”

  “Hey, I’m second in the polls—I get blamed for everything,” Dumaine laughed and the press laughed with him.

  Tim smiled as he watched Bill work the boys. They liked him, all right. They all liked him. It was almost impossible not to like Bill Dumaine.

  A couple of the Dumaine campaign security guys caught up with them outside the hotel under the expansive awning over the front steps and escorted them as they worked their way through the press clustered outside and into the ornate lobby, pausing as hotel guests reacted with the customary oohs and aahs and stopped Dumaine to tell him how much they supported him.

  (Tim often thought they were all bullshitting. Well, at least half of them had to be bullshitting. Whether they supported him or not, they wanted a good reason to talk to a media star, an important politician, perhaps the next President of the United States. Something they could tell their friends and family for years to come—if Dumaine went the distance and actually got elected. Of course they’d say they supported him. Anything just to shake his increasingly famous hand.)

  Dumaine had ins
tructed his security people not to follow him when he jogged with Tim in the morning, telling them that the ex-footballer was plenty of security for him at this stage in the campaign, and that he’d accept the imposition of tighter security as the convention neared.