St. Clair shook his head.
“I don’t see that we can do anything with it—anything that actually helps anybody, helps the country.”
“That’s exactly the way I’ve been thinking, Dad, and I have been thinking about it.”
“Yeah. Me, too. A lot.”
“Seems to me like the only thing we can do that helps the country is keep this thing as far under wraps as we possibly can.”
“Who else do you suppose knows?”
Jack picked up the file and leafed through the pages.
“Besides Carlos, I don’t know.”
“You’ve talked to Agent Rodriguez. What’s he say?”
Jack explained that the matter was so delicate that he arranged for Rodriguez to transmit information to him only in person. They’d meet in bars or out-of-the-way restaurants for updates. No phones. No emails. No texts. Nothing traceable. Jack then typed up the notes to give to his dad.
“This isn’t in the report, but Carlos thinks it might be possible that Bianca knows about Bill and Tim.”
“Oh, Jesus—this just gets worse.”
“That she found out through Phil Thuris.”
“Who’s one of the sneakiest devils in politics.”
“And that—”
Just then, the intercom buzzed. St. Clair touched a button.
“Yes?”
“Your son just arrived, Mr. President, with Antonia,” said his secretary.
“Thanks, Helen. Send them in.”
“We’ll get into this later,” Jack said.
“Yes, Jack. We want this between you and me.”
“And Agent Rodriguez.”
The door opened and U.S. Coast Guard Captain Rafael St. Clair came into the room with his girlfriend, Antonia Fuentes, from an important Cuban family in Miami.
The President came from around the desk to give his second son a big hug. Rafael looked much like his mother, Sofia, with her smooth fine skin, easily exotic to the eyes and silky to the touch. “Smooth and brown, all year ’round,” as his dad was fond of saying. Rafael had her ink black hair, dark eyebrows, piercing dark brown eyes. Every time the President looked at Rafael, he saw Sofia. Jack, on the other hand, looked like a carbon copy of his dad, though younger.
“I’m so glad you could get away, Rafael. And you, Antonia,” he smiled, giving her a big hug. “It’s really a treat having you up here with us.”
“Hey, it was easy to get away,” said Rafael, dark eyes sparkling. “When your dad’s the Commander-in-Chief, scheduling’s no problem at all,” he laughed before turning to Jack and giving him a hug.
“Rafael.”
“Jack, hey. How you liking it up here in Washington?”
“Unlike Dad, I can’t wait for it to be over and get back to Miami.”
Jack moved over and hugged Antonia.
“Hey there, sweetie,” said Jack.
“Hi, Jack,” she said, kissing him on the cheek.
“The fucking weather here, man. It’s just shitty!” said Rafael. He took off his greatcoat and tossed it onto a chair and went over by the fireplace to warm himself.
“I know. It’s been like this for about two weeks—just solid bad weather,” Jack said, looking out the windows behind the President’s desk to the trees beyond. A stiff wind with driving sleet moved through the leafless branches.
“Have a seat boys, Antonia. What’ll you have to drink?”
“Jack still trying to teach the ushers here how to make a decent café con leche?”
“Comin’ right up,” Jack said, bolting for the butler’s pantry.
“They do a little better with a café au lait, but it’s all the same to them,” said the President.
“Gotta use that Café Bustelo, man,” said Rafael. “It’s the only way.”
“I brought two cases when I came up from Miami to work on the campaign,” Jack called out from the pantry.
“I’m really glad you came up for the ceremony tomorrow,” said the President while Jack busied himself making coffee. “We’ll go up in the morning, come back here and have a nice Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow night, just us. Francesca is coming down from New York.” He called out to the pantry. “Isn’t that right, Jack? Francesca’s coming down tonight?”
“Yes, sir!”
“It’s a big occasion at the Academy. I’m glad you included me.”
“Well, I was unhappy when you chose the Coast Guard over the Navy, but that’s all in the past.”
“I know, I know. I didn’t follow in your footsteps. And Jack’s. I didn’t want to be a SEAL, Dad. I just wanted to stay as close to Miami as possible.”
“I know. I was wrong even to question your decision. Everybody has to make up his own mind. And that’s why I want you there with me tomorrow at the Academy.”
“I was surprised, thinking they might put it off at the last minute because of what happened to Mowbray.”
Jack exchanged a quick glance with his dad as he put the coffees on the desk, one for Antonia and one for Rafael. He went back to the pantry to get his and his dad’s.
“Listen, very little changes the President’s schedule. A war can start and they’d still have me greeting a troop of Boy Scouts or meeting with some two-bit head of state.”
“Well, when you’re on Air Force One, the office travels with you,” said Rafael, sipping his coffee from his demitasse, with its discreet little gold rim and the Seal of the President on the side.
“That’s right. Wherever the President goes, the work goes with him. I can do anything in New London that I can do here in the Oval Office.”
“So Dumaine’s on his way back? In case Mowbray dies, or something?”
Jack, now seated, sipped the pleasantly scalding brew.
“Or something,” Jack mumbled.
“One thing, Jack,” said Rafael.
“Yeah?”
“You make kick-ass coffee, dude,” Rafael laughed.
St. Clair smiled. He really liked it when his sons got along, which usually wasn’t the case.
“Dumaine ought to be back in an hour or so. He’ll go straight to Bethesda to make a courtesy call on Mowbray.”
“They say on the news if Mowbray dies, Dumaine becomes the President-elect, right? And then President, without ever being elected?”
“That’s right,” said the President.
“Is that in the Constitution?”
“Yeah,” said his dad, “it’s there, all right, in the Twentieth Amendment.”
“But that’s never happened before, the President-elect dying.”
“No,” said the President, looking down at the folder containing Agent Rodriguez’s “eyes only” report.
“Not yet,” Jack said, barely joking.
Rafael sat up in his chair and put his coffee cup on the desk.
“So tell me some gossip,” he said excitedly, his eyes lighting up and a big smile on his face. “Antonia’s been nagging me about gossip.”
Antonia leaned forward as well, nodding her head.
“Yes, yes! Something scandalous nobody in Washington knows,” she added quickly.
There was an awkward pause as Jack and the President exchanged glances.
“You go first, Dad,” Jack smiled.
* * *
CHAPTER 64
While the St. Clairs caught up with each other in the cozy confines of the Oval Office, Dumaine’s Boeing C-32 landed at Andrews Air Force Base, escorted by two fighter aircraft dispatched to meet it on its way back to Washington. The good thing about Andrews, one quickly realized, was the complete absence of press.
But the media were waiting outside the gates, even though Dumaine’s press secretary had issued a statement earlier that he’d have no comment. His motorcade barreled right through.
Dumaine and his family were driven to their home in Georgetown, now cordoned off and under twenty-four-hour guard by the Secret Service. Beyond the cordon, however, the press was clearly in evidence.
The kids were set
tled in and Dumaine and Bianca took showers and changed clothes.
They immediately set off for Bethesda Naval Hospital to make a courtesy visit to the stricken Mowbray.
Once there, they were taken up to a special VIP suite housing the President-elect. Dr. Gerald Moore, head of the cardiac unit, came out to greet them. He resembled Jack Nicholson a little, with slightly tinted glasses and that leery smile. Mowbray’s wife, Gloria, was right behind him.
Gloria came over and hugged Bianca first, then Bill.
“Oh, Gloria, you must be in total shock,” Bianca was saying as Dumaine talked to Dr. Moore.
“I’m more in shock than Douglas,” she laughed, slightly giddy with sheer exhaustion.
“Well, you’ve certainly had quite a day, for God’s sake,” said Bianca.
“At least he’s stabilized,” said Gloria. “Dr. Moore’s been a godsend.”
They turned to Dumaine and Moore in time to hear Moore say, “It’s certainly not the best thing, Senator, but he insisted on seeing you the minute you got here.”
“I can always come back. Whatever’s the best thing.”
“No, no, go in, but don’t be long. Don’t let his manner fool you. He’s chipper enough, but he’s had some serious damage to his heart tissue.”
“You go, honey,” said Bianca. “I’ll stay here with Gloria. Just give him my best.”
Dumaine nodded, kissed Gloria on the cheek quickly, and followed Dr. Moore.
Mowbray was propped up by lots of pillows. A nurse stood by. The room was lavishly appointed for a hospital room, thought Dumaine, who’d never been to Bethesda before. The VIP suite where they’d installed Mowbray had what looked like mahogany paneling, featured fake Oriental rugs, hardwood floors, damask wallpaper. It looked much more like the Presidential suite at the Four Seasons than a room in a Naval hospital.
“Ah, Bill. There you are. You probably hate me for ruining your Thanksgiving.”
Dumaine laughed.
“Not at all. To tell you the truth, I was really missing the lovely weather we’re having in Washington.”
Mowbray laughed. Dr. Moore interrupted.
“We’ll leave you alone for a few minutes,” he said. He nodded to the nurse and she left the room.
“Thanks, Dr. Moore,” said Mowbray.
Moore held up a wagging finger.
“Just a few minutes, remember?” he said with that Jack Nicholson smile.
Then they were alone. Dumaine pulled up a chair and sat next to Mowbray.
“What kind of fun were you and Bianca having down there in St. Barts when you got word?” Mowbray asked.
Dumaine knew he ought to be struck dead at that very moment, because what instantly came into his mind was:
I was kissing my boyfriend and pressing my hard-on against his crotch hiding from the Secret Service behind some palm trees.
What he said was:
“Uh, snorkeling. I’d just finished snorkeling and was walking on the beach when I saw a speed boat with the security detail driving hard for the shore. I knew something was up.”
“Or something was down,” said Mowbray with a heavy laugh. “Me!”
Right then and there, Dumaine knew that Mowbray deserved to be President much more than he did. He was the better man, no question.
“You know, I never even got to change clothes till I got to the airport. I was in my swim trunks and we went straight to the little airport on St. Barts—you ever been there?”
“No. Always wanted to go.”
“Well, it’s a scary landing, let me tell you. You come over this mountaintop in a little plane, and then the pilot has to swoop down the side of the mountain and you get that feeling in your stomach when you come down a ferris wheel. He has to land the plane on a runway that’s so short you can see the harbor right through the open door of the cockpit. Then he hits the brakes. It’s white-knuckle time. So we had to go back the same way. On a turboprop to St. Martin to pick up our ride. I took a quick shower to get the salt off on the plane.”
“Those C’32s are nice, huh?”
“Very,” said Dumaine. “Bianca’s never been on one before. And the food’s damned good, too.”
“Yeah.”
“So, Doug, how are you feeling, really? You’re looking great.”
“Actually, I’m feeling pretty good, too. Damn doctors. A little spasm and they think I should run around in a wheel chair.”
“That’ll be the day.”
“So, I haven’t been watching much TV, but Henry and Gloria tell me they’re taking this pretty crazy outside.”
“Oh, they are, they are. You can count on the media to go nuts over something like this,” said Dumaine.”
“You’ll have to go meet with St. Clair, maybe tomorrow or the day after Thanksgiving, because I know he’s got an event up at the Coast Guard Academy. The White House will set it up. I just want you to put a good face on it, okay?”
“I’ll do my best. Not as well as you’d do.”
Mowbray was smarter than that.
“I’m sure you’ll handle it just fine, Bill, just fine. That’s something I wanted to talk to you about, anyway.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m not sure, really, how bad things are with me. What I do know is that if I’m not in the best of shape, I’m gonna want you to take on a lot of duties that the President would normally tackle. A lot more’n I thought before this happened. I want you to be a working partner with me—a genuine working partner—after I’m inaugurated.”
“Look, Doug. You’re going to be the next President of the United States. You call the shots. You want me to do something, I do it. You have my complete and undivided loyalty.”
They shook hands and Dumaine leaned over to embrace the older man.
“Thank you, Bill, thanks so much. When you get outta here, I want you to do something.”
“Sure. Name it.”
“I want you to thank that aide of yours, Tim Harcourt.”
“Tim?” Dumaine suddenly felt a lump in his throat. What was this about?
“He told me you didn’t know,” Mowbray smiled, obviously enjoying the moment.
“Didn’t know? Didn’t know what?”
Dumaine had no idea where this was leading.
“Just after I went over the top in the convention, he came down to my suite and we had a little talk, no more’n a couple minutes—but he convinced me you were the guy. I was thinking of two other men for the nod, ’cause I was taking some of the things you said during the campaign a little more personal than I shoulda. Which isn’t the way it oughta be. You oughta be thinking of the country, not yourself. When you pick a running mate, I mean. Something of that magnitude. That importance. And was Tim ever right. So you tell him. You thank him for me.”
“I will, Doug, I will.”
“Come see me again tomorrow, will you, Bill? We have a lot to go over, you and me.”
“I will, Doug. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“I’ve got to rest a little now. I gotta get better.”
“The country needs you to get better, Doug.”
Mowbray snorted out a gruff laugh.
“The country? Pah! The country will be fine without me, Bill. I’m thinking of my little Glorey.”
“You wife Gloria?” Dumaine didn’t get it.
“Bill, I never met another woman in my whole life,” he shook his head ruefully, “who wants to be First Lady more’n my little Glorey.”
Bill thought to himself:
Doug, you’re wrong. I know somebody who wants it a whole lotmore than “little Glorey.”
* * *
CHAPTER 65
Out in the corridor, Dumaine went over to Gloria and comforted her.
“He’s very tired, but I’ve never seen him in stronger spirits.”
“He needs rest, that’s all,” said Dr. Moore.
“Maybe we should all go home,” said Gloria.
“That’s exactly what the doctor orders,” smiled th
e genial Dr. Moore.
“He said to say ‘Hi,’” Dumaine said to Bianca, though Mowbray hadn’t even mentioned Bianca. Dumaine was sure when he told Mowbray he’d been snorkeling that the old man assumed he’d been snorkeling with Bianca, not Tim Harcourt.
They all started making their way down the corridor, back to the cars. Bianca drifted next to Phil and fell into conversation. Bill lagged behind a little and Tim sidled up next to him.
“He’s really looking okay?”
“Yeah, just tired. Needs to get his energy back.”
“Good,” Tim said with a sigh.
The Running Mate (A Jack Houston St. Clair Thriller) Page 23
