The Run

by Stuart Woods

Tim joined them and gave the same report. “Senator,” he said, “has it occurred to you that, if the president dies, Joe Adams might appoint you vice president?”

  “It crossed my mind,” Will said.

  “That would certainly change everything to do with our plans,” Tim said.

  “None of our planning would be wasted; I’d still be running this year.”

  Tim looked at him oddly. “Do you really think that, if Adams became president, he’d decline to run?”

  Will shrugged. “I can’t get into that. Just continue to work on the campaign as if nothing has happened.”

  Tim and Kitty looked at each other, then at Will, askance.

  “Don’t ask,” Will said.

  At three o’clock they gathered around the TV set and waited for the press conference. The White House press secretary strode onto the platform and took his place at the podium. A hush fell over the room. “Same rules as this morning,” the man said. “Absolutely no questions.” He took a sheet of paper from his inside coat pocket and read from it. “Tests being conducted on the president at Walter Reed Hospital are not yet conclusive. The press office will issue bulletins as information comes in. The vice president will address the nation on television at six o’clock this evening, eastern time. I will be making no further statements between now and then.” He turned and walked from the stage.

  An uproar ensued. “Is the president conscious?” someone screamed, but the press secretary left the briefing room and closed the door behind him.

  “This doesn’t look good,” Tim said.

  “We’ve no way of knowing that,” Will replied. “We don’t know what’s happening.” He picked up the phone and called a couple of people close to the president, but got nowhere. He hung up. “Everybody is just shutting down,” he said. “We’re just going to have to wait.”

  The phone rang, and Will picked it up. “Hello?”

  “It’s Kate; I gather you’re going to be late for dinner this evening.”

  “Quite possibly.”

  “Have you heard anything?”

  “Nothing. Nobody’s talking.”

  “Neither have I. I’ll see you when I see you.”

  They both hung up.

  Will, Tim, Kitty, and Sam Meriwether were gathered in Will’s office at six o’clock. An announcer intoned, “Ladies and gentlemen, the vice president of the United States.”

  Joe Adams came on screen looking calm and confident. He was sitting at a desk, but it looked like a studio set, not a real office. “Good evening,” he said. “As you have, no doubt, already heard, the president suffered a fall early this morning and was taken to Walter Reed Hospital, where he underwent a battery of tests. The doctors there have determined that his fall was very likely the result of a stroke, and the concussion resulting from his fall has complicated his condition. As of this time, the president has not regained consciousness, and the prognosis is guarded. The first lady is with him in the hospital.

  “Upon receiving this news, I convened meetings with the leaders of both parties in Congress, the members of the cabinet, the national security advisor, and the Joint Chiefs of Staff. At that time, since the president has been at least temporarily incapacitated, all the necessary steps were taken to have the vice president assume the role of acting president, with all the powers of that office. This is a day that I hoped would never come, but I have always worked to keep myself ready for the possibility. I will act as president until such time as his doctors feel the president is ready to assume his proper role again.

  “I want to assure you that the business of government will continue without pause, and that the interests of the American people are being looked after in the same way as they were yesterday. I intend, during my stewardship, to continue the policies of this administration as they have been formulated over the past seven years.

  “Effective immediately, I will move into the Oval Office, bringing only a few of my vice-presidential staff with me. The remainder of the vice-presidential staff will remain at their desks in the Executive Office Building, to do their work as before. All the members of the president’s staff have agreed to continue their work as usual, for which I am very grateful. The first lady will continue to live in the White House, and my wife and I will continue to live in the vice-presidential residence at the Naval Observatory.”

  Adams paused, then continued. “Now I must tell you of a personal decision which was speeded by the events of today. As you will have heard, my wife underwent surgery yesterday at Walter Reed. The surgery was a success, and she is doing well. Her full recovery and her continued enjoyment of our life together is, of course, very important to me. Last year I let it be known that I would be a candidate for my party’s nomination for the presidency, and many of you have been kind enough to offer your support. However, my wife’s illness, combined with the incapacitation of the president, has caused me to make the irrevocable decision to withdraw from the race. I shall not be a candidate for my party’s nomination. I shall, instead, devote myself to the work of acting president until the president recovers, and to my wife’s full recovery and future happiness.

  “I know that there are other able men and women of my party who may have been kept from the presidential race because of my presence in it. I now leave the field open to them, and I encourage them to take their ideas to the American electorate with enthusiasm and without delay. In order to have the fullest and widest-ranging discussion of the issues by all the qualified candidates, I have decided that I will not endorse another candidate before the Democratic convention in August. At that time, depending on the circumstances, I may or may not choose to do so. I ask all members of my party to respect my wishes in this matter.

  “Now, it remains only for all of us to extend our heartfelt sympathies to the first lady, to pray for the president’s full and speedy recovery and return to office, and for me to ask for your prayers in my execution of the work ahead.

  “Thank you, and good night.”

  Will stared blankly at the TV screen.

  “That went very well,” Tim said. “I think everybody is going to be reassured.”

  “Will,” Kitty said, “what’s wrong?”

  Will’s consciousness returned to his surroundings. “Nothing,” he said. “Joe’s speech was good.” And now, he thought, we have a president of the United States who has Alzheimer’s disease.

  16

  Will was discussing Joe Adams’s TV address with Tim, Kitty, and Sam Meriwether, when his phone buzzed. He picked it up. “Yes?”

  “Senator,” his secretary said, “the president is on line one.”

  “What?” Could he have dreamed all this?

  She repeated herself.

  Will picked up the phone. “Hello?”

  “Will,” Joe Adams’s voice said, “I’m sorry I couldn’t call you before now, but you’ve no idea what it’s been like around here today.”

  “Mr. President,” Will replied, “that’s quite all right; I understand perfectly.”

  “You’ve got a scrambler on that phone, haven’t you?”

  Will had a scrambler because of his membership on the Senate Armed Services Committee. “Yes, sir.”

  “Turn it on.”

  Will pressed the button. “It’s on,” he said.

  “Good; I don’t want this to go any further.” Adams took a deep breath. “The president is in a deep coma; he may well be dying.”

  “I see,” Will said, conscious that others were in the room.

  “I took his doctor aside and had a frank talk with him. The president’s chances of survival are poor, in the short term.”

  “I see,” Will repeated.

  “That means that I have to start planning right now. I want you to know that, if the president dies, I’ll appoint you as vice president. I would expect the Senate to confirm you without delay.”

  “I see,” Will said.

  “Will, are you alone?”

  “Not exactly.”

&nb
sp; “Oh. I was wondering about your reaction. Don’t say anything else, except yes, you’ll accept.”

  “Yes, of course I will.”

  “Good. My first impulse was to install you in my EOB office right away, so we could get your feet on the ground as soon as possible, but on reflection, I think it would be better to wait until we have more word on the president’s condition. The next few days are, apparently, going to tell the story.”

  “I see.”

  “And the president has a living will, in which he requests a do-not-resuscitate order be issued, in the event of something like this, so he won’t be put on a respirator.”

  “I see.”

  “I think you should go ahead with your campaign announcement, just as you had planned. I hope being vice president will give you a big leg up on the nomination.”

  “Thank you, sir. I appreciate your statement on television. That will make it much easier for me to proceed.”

  “Then go to it, boy!”

  “I will.”

  “Good-bye until later. I’ll let you know if there’s a change in the president’s condition.”

  “Thank you, sir. I hope Sue continues to improve.”

  “She’s coming home tomorrow.”

  “Give her my love.”

  “I will. Good-bye.”

  “Good-bye, Mr. President.” Will hung up.

  “Which president was that?” Sam Meriwether asked.

  “The new one,” Will said.

  “And what did he have to say that needed scrambling?”

  “I can’t go into it,” Will replied. “He did say that we should proceed with the campaign announcement as planned.”

  “Great! And because of what he said on television, nobody can fault you for jumping in.”

  “Along with a number of others,” Will said. “Now we all have a lot of telephoning to do, so let’s get started.”

  Everyone left to return to his or her own office.

  Will took a handwritten list from a desk drawer and began dialing. He called Tom Black first.

  “Yeah?” Tom said into the phone.

  “It’s Will. Saturday at noon, on the Capitol steps, I’m announcing for the presidency.”

  “Hot damn!” Tom yelled.

  “We’re busing a bunch of folks up from Georgia for background and to staff a Washington campaign office.”

  “Great! I’ll have a camera crew there to film the announcement. We can use it in commercials. Let’s you and I get together tomorrow and go over your actual words, so I can lift some sound bites.”

  “Let’s do it Saturday morning,” Will said. “Come to the house for breakfast at seven.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “By the way, Sam Meriwether is campaign manager.”

  “Good choice; I can work with him.”

  “Keep this as close to the vest as possible. Word is bound to leak, as I start calling people, but I don’t want Saturday to be an anticlimax.”

  “Right.”

  Will said good-bye and hung up. The phone rang, and Kate was on the line.

  “I don’t want to talk right now,” Will said. “I’ll bring you up-to-date at home tonight, okay?”

  “Okay,” she said, and hung up.

  He thought about who his next call should be to, and he dialed the number.

  “Yes?”

  “Mason Rutledge?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mr. Rutledge, this is Will Lee; how are you?”

  “I’m very well, Senator,” Rutledge replied. “I hope you are, too.” The voice was slow and patrician.

  “I am, thank you. I’m calling you because I’ve decided to run for president this year.”

  “That’s good news,” Rutledge said. “I think you’ll make a fine candidate.”

  Will noted that he had not said “fine president.” “Thank you, sir. I’ve called to ask for your help.”

  “Well, I’m not a rich man, Senator, but I suppose I could manage something.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t intend to ask you for a contribution to my campaign—at least, not a financial one.”

  “What sort of contribution would you like me to make?”

  “One I believe would not take you away from Harvard Law or your duties there. I want my campaign to be on a firm legal and ethical footing from day one. I want someone to consult on campaign financing issues and to offer advice on ethical matters. I’d be very pleased if you would serve that function in my campaign.”

  “Well, that’s very flattering, Senator,” Rutledge said, “but I can’t honestly say that I’ve already decided to vote for you. I’d like to see who else is running.”

  “It’s not necessary that you vote for me, Mr. Rutledge,” Will said. “I think you’d be making a fine contribution to the political process, in general, if you could help keep just one major campaign on track. I don’t want to see the excesses of the past races this year, and I’m sure you don’t, either. Your work at the Justice Department and your personal reputation make you an ideal person to make this contribution.”

  “Would you expect to use my name?”

  “Yes. I would release your name, along with a list of other people who are assisting my campaign, and a description of your function.”

  “Well, I suppose that would be all right. The purpose is a noble one, and I wouldn’t appear to be taking a partisan political stand.”

  “I’m not sure that’s the case,” Will said. “The mere mention of your name in conjunction with my campaign will cause many people to infer that you’re supporting me. You would be free, of course, to clarify your position to your colleagues at Harvard Law and to the press. You need never make a statement supporting me, not even if you decide to. I’m quite content to have you as an outside, objective advisor to my campaign.”

  “I appreciate your candor, Senator,” Rutledge said. “On that basis, I accept. I would be grateful if you would write to me, setting out what you expect my contribution to be, and I will respond in writing. Down the road a piece, it might be good to have such a communication on the record.”

  “I will do so immediately,” Will said, “and I’m delighted that you’ll serve in this capacity. I’m announcing at noon on Saturday, on the Capitol steps. Everyone so far associated with my campaign will be there, and we’d be very pleased if you would join us. When I introduce you, I’ll stress your objective status.”

  “I’d like very much to meet your people,” Rutledge said, “and I’d like to be there.”

  “Good. I’ll have my office arrange airline tickets, and if you’d like to stay overnight, my wife and I would be very happy to have you as our guest in Georgetown.”

  “Thank you. Can I let you know?”

  “Of course. My office will be in touch about the tickets today.” Will gave him his private office number. “I hope you’ll feel free to call me if you have any questions for me or any member of my staff.”

  “Thank you,” Rutledge replied. “I look forward to receiving your letter, and I’ll see you on Saturday.”

  Will said good-bye and hung up. Immediately, he dictated a letter to Rutledge. Now he had a campaign manager, a political consultant, and a Holy Man. It was a start.

  17

  Will and Kate sat before a blazing fire in his Georgetown study. He had poured her a scotch and himself a bourbon. “A lot happened today,” he said.

  “I expect so. Tell me about it.”

  “Biggest news first: Joe Adams called me right after his TV address and told me that, if the president should die, he will appoint me as vice president.”

  Kate began choking on her scotch. Will got up and clapped her on the back a couple of times. “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “I took it pretty much the same way, but others were in the room, and I couldn’t let on.”

  “Is the president going to die?”

  “The prognosis is poor,” Will said.

  “You know, I was never his biggest fan, but he did
a good job, and he was nice to his wife.”

  “I hope when I go, someone will speak as well of me.” Will laughed.

  “The statement applies to you in full, except that I’m your biggest fan.”

  “Kate, sometimes I wonder about that.”

  “If I’m your fan? You can’t be serious.”

  “It’s just that you never seem to get very excited about anything that happens to me. Sometimes I’m not even sure that you approve of my line of work.”

  Kate put down her drink, got up, and sat on his lap. She kissed him thoroughly. “I’m sorry if I seem that way,” she said. “Just for the record, quite apart from loving you dearly and completely, I want to see you go all the way this year. If I sometimes seem reticent, it’s because I’m selfishly thinking what this is going to mean to me.”

  “I know that you’re accustomed to our life the way it is, my love, but try and look at this optimistically. If I win, our lives are going to be more exciting than we could ever have dreamed, and if I lose, we’ll be back to normal by Thanksgiving.”

  “Don’t kid yourself, pal,” she said, kissing him again. “Once you make that announcement on Saturday, nothing is ever going to be the same again. It may be better, it may be worse, but it won’t be the same.”

  “You have a point.”

  “I just hope that, no matter how hard the wind blows, I can hang on to my job.”

  “I’ll do everything I can to see that you do,” he replied.

  She kissed him again, then went back to her chair and her scotch. “Oh, Jesus,” she said suddenly.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “If you’re vice president, we’ll have to move into the vice-presidential residence, won’t we?”

  “You know, I hadn’t given that a thought.”

  “I believe you are acquainted with how much I hate moving.”

  “I believe I am. Maybe, since this would only be for the year, we could stay here.”

  “I’d love it if we could,” she said.

  “If somebody makes us move, then I suppose we could just pack our clothes and leave everything else here as it is for our return.”