America the Beautiful

by Laura Hayden

  Visit Tyndale’s exciting Web site at www.tyndale.com

  Visit Laura Hayden’s Web sites at www.suspense.net or www.EmilyBenton.com

  TYNDALE and Tyndale’s quill logo are registered trademarks of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc.

  America the Beautiful

  Copyright © 2008 by Tekno Books. All rights reserved.

  Cover photograph of flag copyright © by Rubberball/Getty Images. All rights reserved.

  Cover photographs of the White House and woman copyright © by Veer. All rights reserved.

  Designed by Julie Chen and Dean H. Renninger

  Published in association with the literary agency of Alive Communications, Inc., 7680 Goddard St., Suite 200, Colorado Springs, CO 80920.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Hayden, Laura.

  America the beautiful / Laura Hayden.

  p. cm.

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4143-1939-1 (pbk.)

  ISBN-10: 1-4143-1939-8 (pbk.)

  1. Women presidential candidates—Fiction. 2. Political fiction. I. Title.

  PS3558.A8288A8 2008

  813′.54—dc22 2007051777

  Build: 2015-11-20 12:11:46

  To my family,

  who understand and respect

  my dedication to my work.

  Most of the time.

  CONTENTS

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  A Note from the Author

  About the Author

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Someone we all know once said it took a village . . . Ha! It takes far more than that. First, I’d like to thank my critique group—Pam, Karen, Angel, Jodi, and Paula—for their unwavering support. In addition, many thanks to Becky Nesbitt, Jan Stob, Kathy Olson, Ethan Ellenberg, and Lee Hough. All of them contributed to this book with their keen insights and excellent editorial comments. I’m also very grateful to Dr. Dale Hayden for his insight into politics from a historical standpoint.

  Most importantly I want to thank Denise Little. It’s not a requirement that your editor be your friend, but I’m so very thankful that she is both.

  One last note—I’d also like to thank the dedicated folks behind TheGreenPapers.com Web site. It became my single most important source for up-to-date information about a constantly changing political calendar. Thanks, guys!

  “IF I CAN FIND the ammunition—and it’s looking good that I will—what I want to know is just how far we’re prepared to go in using it.” Kate Rosen looked around at the people gathered in the penthouse suite of a Dallas hotel. “I know we want to win, but—” she turned to face the most important person in the room—“this could get ugly.”

  Emily Benton, with a term as governor of Virginia under her belt and nearly a lifetime in politics before that, stared in obvious disbelief at her best friend and political manager, the person who had helped engineer her many previous successes.

  “Of course it’s going to get ugly, K.” Emily pushed her honey blonde hair over her shoulder in a characteristic gesture. The shade, as well as the style, had been carefully calculated for maximum public appeal. Feminine but not fussy. “This is politics. Not just any politics either. This one’s for the White House.”

  “Exactly,” Kate said. “When this thing is finally over, the last candidate left standing is going to run this country. I intend for that person to be you. But I also want you to have the moral authority to do the job well. As my father always said, ‘You can’t take the high road if you insist on playing in the gutter.’ If the campaign gets too dirty, it’ll undercut everything we’re trying to achieve once you’re in office.”

  “Maybe you have a point, but as my father always said, ‘If you don’t play to win, you won’t win,’” Emily said. “I intend to be the first woman president of these United States, to go down in the record books as the woman who broke the gender barrier to the highest office in the land. And I’ll do whatever it takes to succeed.”

  That’s nothing new, Kate thought. Emily always played to win. It was her signature strength, something she’d learned as a baby on her father’s knee, sitting not in the family living room but in the smoky power centers where old-time politics had lived—in boardrooms, in back rooms, and in hotel rooms far less well-appointed than this one.

  Kate knew such old-fashioned images lingered in the minds of the American public. They believed politicians still forged their deals in smoke-filled back rooms over good single malts and a couple of Cubans. But knee-deep in the twenty-first century, the big decisions were far more likely to be made over Chinese takeout in a smoke-free room of a business-friendly hotel.

  Today’s politicians realized the importance of mobility and access. Not like the good ol’ days, when news releases had to be timed to take advantage of printing press schedules and personal appearances were positioned to make the six o’clock news, when all of America stopped what they were doing to watch. In today’s world, the latest information and gossip circumnavigated the globe in nanoseconds, news channels ran around the clock, and virtual newspapers didn’t need to wait for print runs.

  Today, Dallas. Tomorrow, Denver. The next day, Des Moines.

  One hotel room looked pretty much like another to this crowd of political experts, advisers, and operatives, but all of their lodgings had to have the minimum of creature comforts—ergonomic desk chairs, excellent cell phone reception, in-room faxes, high-speed wireless Internet, twenty-four-hour room service, and a gym with unlimited access. And, of course, room enough to accommodate a candidate’s inner circle of advisers, who could be called up at any time for a powwow just like this one. In fact, two key members of Emily’s kitchen cabinet, Dozier Marsh and Chip McWilliamson, were there representing the broadest spectrum of politics: Dozier, from the old school, brought a sense of history and experience as a political adviser, and Chip, a Silicon Valley whiz kid, engineered their campaign in virtual arenas—MySpace, Facebook, Flickr, YouTube, Second Life, and of course, EmilyBenton.com.

  But both of them remained silent as Kate and Emily hashed out the current battle of political philosophies—restraint versus going for the jugular. Undoubtedly neither wanted to get caught in the cross fire. Since Kate and Emily had been having discussions just like this one since they were teenagers, Kate actually enjoyed the debate. She knew Emily was the best person for the job—and had known it for nearly twenty years. But she and Emily still had fundamental differences in their approaches for achieving that goal.

  Everyone watched Emily as she rose gracefully from the desk chair and walked over to the window to stare at the city beyond. Reunion Tower was putting on a light show in the night sky, looking like some giant electronic dandelion. Kate reached over, snagged a four-dollar bottle of water, and opened it. She might as well kick back and get comfortable as she watched Emily perform. She cracked the seal on the bottle and thought about how much time it had taken her to suppress her
inner cheapskate, who insisted that tap water was good enough for slaking her thirst.

  After six months of preprimary positioning, hotels like this one had become her natural habitat, and part of that nature included not thinking twice about guzzling four-dollar bottles of water. Kate had been away from her home so long and so often that even her dog, Buster, had trouble recognizing her when she finally got back for a change of underwear and to pay bills. The campaign was taking its toll on Kate. Yet Emily thrived on the pressure. Kate supposed it was because she was born to it.

  While Emily paced back and forth, talking about her vision for the campaign and how much she wanted—and America needed—her to be the next president, Kate thought about how well suited Emily was for the job because of her background, because of her vision, and because of her aptitude for governing.

  But only a person who’d lived under a thick layer of rock would fail to recognize the Benton name and associate it immediately with politics. Emily’s family had been big in government for three generations, with Emily representing the fourth. Over the years, the Bentons had spawned three large-city mayors, five state representatives, two governors—including Emily, three senators, four members of the House, and one president. The Bentons shared not only a successful political platform but a proclivity to identify and expose their opponents’ biggest weaknesses, thanks to surgical strikes of spin and political intelligence that would have made the air force proud.

  And Emily was no different.

  Kate sipped from her water bottle, then cleared her throat. Time to get Emily focused back on the issue at hand. “We’re going to make this happen, Emily. As per your instructions, I’ve had our people out digging on Talbot for months. They’ve got leads on a couple of good stories that are panning out well. If you’re prepared to use what we find, repercussions and all, I’m pretty sure it will bring him down. But Talbot’s got people doing the same thing to you. Remember, playing cutthroat politics can rebound on us, in the polls and in salvos from the other candidates. The competition’s worried about you. No, not worried. Running. Running scared. They’re slowly realizing you just might win this election, so they’re arming themselves with every sling and arrow they can find. If we start lobbing cannonballs at them, there’s no telling what they’ll fire back.”

  “Let them. It’s not like my life isn’t an open book. I grew up in the public eye. There’s nothing the world doesn’t know about me.”

  Ha! Kate thought, then paused to draw in a deep breath. She and Emily had a long, strong, and deep friendship. Emily wasn’t often the type to shoot the messenger, but she’d taken her share of shots at Kate. The fact that Emily trusted Kate totally meant that she also felt free to behave her worst around her best friend. It was like two sides of a coin. Just as Emily’s best could be breathtaking, her worst could knock Kate flat. In a way, Kate knew those knockout punches were a tribute to their friendship. Emily had faith that Kate would stay by her side, no matter what. That faith was mutual.

  Kate figured that’s what friends were for. If your best friend wouldn’t tell you the truth, who would?

  Kate braced herself, then let the words go. “Don’t be sure. Here’s the bad part. My source in the Talbot camp tells me that his people are putting out feelers to Nick. And I have to admit that it’s a smart tactic. What better way to derail our campaign than by bringing your ex-husband on board theirs?”

  Emily didn’t move. That was bad. She was very controlled in public, another lesson learned from her very public childhood. But Kate knew Emily well enough to see the anger in the way her friend stood, the muscles in her shoulders and back unusually rigid.

  But then Emily’s voice betrayed her, revealing something else mixed with the anger.

  Regret?

  “Oh, well. I knew they’d make a play for him sooner or later. I just didn’t think it would be this soon.”

  “Emily, honey, it’s been a long time,” Dozier “Bulldozer” Marsh said softly. He’d been leaning against a wall, having waved away a seat when they started their powwow. He pushed away from the wall now and straightened, commanding the collective attention of everyone in the room except Emily, whose back was to everyone.

  He might be past eighty these days, but Dozier still moved like a man twenty years his junior. The old hands on Emily’s team swore he kept young by living on the blood of the lesser beings who had dared to stand in his way. He’d survived more nasty political campaigns than any four dozen politicians alive. Part of his success was due to the fact he’d aligned himself with Big Henry Benton, Emily’s dad, becoming a key member of her father’s legendary inner circle. After a couple of beers, Emily could often be persuaded to tell Kate hair-raising stories about her Uncle ’Dozer. So Kate knew the legends were true—and, if anything, understated.

  Usually a thundering voice in any discussion, Dozier spoke now in uncommonly tempered tones. “I know the divorce was messy. What divorce isn’t? But that piece of buffalo chip matters less than a stinging ant in a wasp nest.” He stepped across the room and joined Emily at the window, throwing a fatherly arm across her shoulders. “Nick’s been out of your life . . . what? Twelve years?”

  Chip McWilliamson spoke from across the room, his comment almost too quiet to hear. “Longer than you were married . . .”

  “Exactly.” Dozier turned briefly to acknowledge the younger man’s contribution, then faced Emily. “He’s been out of your life so long that Talbot won’t get a blessed thing of any use from him. He’s hiring the boy solely to throw you off your game. You’re not going to let him get to you, are you?”

  Emily took a deep breath and evidently shook off whatever emotions had threatened to swamp her. She also stepped away from the protective arm of Dozier Marsh.

  Emily Benton stood in the shadow of no man.

  “Get to me with Nick? Sorry. No way. Talbot’s made a big mistake, tipping his hand like this. If he’s prepared to hire Nick, willing to tolerate being in the same room with him, then my opponent’s demonstrated just how low he’ll really go.” She sounded almost as if she believed her own words. “Better than that, Talbot’s camp is proving just how desperate they are.”

  Emily turned her back to the Dallas skyline and faced her inner circle, the occupants of this room. “So I guess that answers your question, K. We’re going to need a wide variety of weapons and all the ammunition we can get. From handguns to howitzers. And we’ll use them. We’ll use them all. Nobody messes with me and comes out unbloodied. In fact, nobody messes with me and comes out alive—not in politics!”

  She smiled. Kate and most likely everyone else in the room noted the glint of steel in her gray eyes, one Kate knew meant an unstoppable amount of dogged determination. But there was more in that expression. Looking past the classic beauty of Emily’s face, Kate knew her friend’s curling lips formed something less than a smile and more like a stylized snarl.

  It was Emily’s war face.

  Kate had first seen that particular expression during their days together as law school roommates at Georgetown University. That look always meant trouble—not for Emily but for anyone who dared to oppose her, from the cafeteria worker up to the dean of the law school. Kate had survived as Emily’s friend by knowing when to feed the beast and when to keep her fingers away from the gaping maw.

  And now it appeared that Emily Benton had just declared war to the knife.

  Talbot, Kate figured, was history. And Nick, being caught in the cross fire, would be an acceptable casualty along the way.

  Emily caught Kate’s eye and held her gaze for a moment. It was a clear signal: time to strategize, and that meant a tête-à-tête between just the two of them. Kate turned to her companions, about to make a suggestion that it was time for Emily to get some rest, but Emily beat her to the punch with her usual blunt honesty.

  “K and I need to be alone to talk.” Her smile grew less predatory as she addressed Dozier and Chip. “You two need to get some sleep, anyway.”

&nb
sp; Dismissed, Dozier stepped over, bussed Emily on the cheek, and paused to lean down and touch foreheads with Kate, a gesture she didn’t particularly like but tolerated for Emily’s sake. “Don’t let her stew too long,” he said in a loud stage whisper.

  Kate responded with a small wink.

  Chip seemed reluctant to leave. Lately he’d been jockeying things around to put himself closer to Emily, and Kate was pretty sure it was part of his thinly veiled bid to become the First Gentleman of the United States. But Kate knew his efforts were futile and had told him so on several occasions. In his favor, he was smart, handsome, and ambitious, but he was also too young, too inexperienced, and much too naive in the world of politics.

  Emily needed somebody who would challenge her. Chip couldn’t even influence her.

  Yet he persisted, and Kate and Emily weren’t above using his dogged determination for their own purposes. If nothing else, he was an attractive bit of beefcake to drape on Emily’s arm at Washington social events.

  He served his purpose, and his governor, well.

  Chip tried and failed to hide his besotted smile as he stepped closer to Emily. His face betrayed an obvious desire for a good-night kiss, but then his common sense prevailed. “Sweet dreams, Governor Benton.”

  She shrugged off the formal title that sat so oddly on Chip’s lips and sent him away with a brush of her hand. Her smile had now lightened to something bordering on sociable. But the moment the door closed behind the men, her more pleasant expression disappeared.

  Now that it was the two of them, Kate and Emily, the real dialogue began. Kate knew that Emily trusted no one else but her when it came to the big issues.

  “Nick can hurt us. Hurt me.”

  “I know. So what are you going to do about him?”

  “Short of killing him, I don’t know. Yet.”

  “Seduction?”

  Emily flopped onto the bed with a sigh. “He was good in the sack. I’ll admit I still miss that aspect of our marriage. But . . . no. If I seduced him, it’d simply prove that we consider him a threat. He’d love it. Then he’d hold it over me like a WMD for decades.”