The Run

by Stuart Woods

  “I’ll believe that when I see it,” she said.

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

  “Senator, it’s Tim. I’m in a car about a few blocks from you with Leo Berg, who’s agreed to run our advance operation.”

  “That’s great news, Tim; tell him I’m very pleased.”

  “You’ll get to tell him yourself; we’ll be there in five minutes.”

  “What for?”

  “I’ll explain when we get there. We’ll try not to interfere with your dinner.” Tim hung up.

  “We’re about to have visitors—Tim Coleman and a man named Leo Berg, who used to run the White House Secret Service detail. I don’t know what they want.”

  The doorbell rang, and Will got up.

  “Tim lied; they weren’t a few blocks away, they were outside.” He let the two men in.

  “Senator,” Berg said, “thank you for the opportunity; I’m looking forward to it.”

  “I’m glad to have you aboard, Leo. Now what can I do for you two?”

  “Senator, Tim tells me that there was an attempt on your life some years ago by a right-wing militia group.”

  Will glanced at Tim sharply.

  “I’m sorry, Senator, but I felt Leo should know about this.”

  Will turned back to Berg. “That’s correct. It was a group calling themselves The Elect, and it was run by a retired general named Willingham. Both Willingham and the assassin died in the attempt.”

  “Because of that, Senator,” Berg said, “I want to ask for Secret Service support earlier than it would ordinarily be granted in a campaign.”

  “Do you really think that’s necessary?”

  “Sir, these militia groups are in touch with each other; if you’ve annoyed one of them, you’ve probably annoyed more.”

  “I don’t know, Leo,” Will said. “I don’t want to ask for anything that other candidates won’t be getting.”

  “They can make their own requests,” Berg replied.

  Kate piped up. “Listen to the man, Will,” she said firmly.

  Will sighed. “All right, I’m listening.”

  “I’d like to do a sort of preliminary survey for the Service,” Berg said. “Then I’ll contact them tomorrow to arrange for your protection from Saturday, and if you’ll allow me to do this now, I think I can save you some intrusion by a lot of agents.”

  “Come into the study,” Will said. “Can I get you a drink?”

  “Scotch,” Tim replied.

  “Nothing for me,” Berg said.

  Will introduced Berg to Kate, and they all sat down.

  “Now,” Berg said, “let me familiarize you with what’s going to happen from the point of view of the Secret Service, and Mrs. Lee, I’m glad you’re here to hear this, because it’s going to affect you, too.”

  “I’m all ears,” Kate said.

  “The Service will likely assign you a detail of sixteen men, Senator,” Berg said. “A dozen of them will work in four-man teams on eight-hour shifts, and they’ll be with you wherever you go. The other four will float, depending on the circumstances. Mrs. Lee, there’ll be six assigned to you, and two will remain with you at all times.”

  “I don’t think that will be entirely necessary, Mr. Berg,” Kate said, “since I work at the CIA, and that is a very secure environment. They can escort me to and from work, though.”

  “Good point,” Berg said, taking notes. “Is there a downstairs bedroom in the house?” Berg asked.

  “Yes,” Kate replied. “There’s a maid’s room at the rear. We don’t have any live-in help, so it’s empty.”

  “Good. There’ll be two men in the house at all times, and that will allow them to take turns sleeping at night.”

  “Do they have to be in the house?” Kate asked plaintively.

  “I’m afraid so. Don’t worry, they’re trained to be as unobtrusive and discreet as possible. Senator, they’ll be in your office, as well, and in the corridor outside. And anywhere either of you goes, you’ll be driven in a Service automobile, probably a Lincoln Town Car.”

  “How nice,” Kate said dryly.

  “Who lives in the big house across the street?” Berg asked. “It’s dark.”

  “The ambassador to Saudi Arabia,” Will said. “They’re not there much.”

  “Good; maybe the Service can arrange to use it as an outpost. They’ll go through the State Department for that. What’s out back?”

  “A garden, and beyond that another garden and another house,” Will said. “The owner does something at Justice, I believe.”

  “Good. They’ll want to know about that. Your neighbors on either side?”

  “The Times of London rents the one on that side for their bureau chief,” Will said. “The other one is owned by a lawyer with Ropes & Gray.”

  “Neither of those should be a problem,” Berg said.

  “Leo,” Will said, “I want you to stress to the Service that life on this street should not be disrupted in any way.”

  “You’re dreaming, Senator,” Berg replied. “The first time something controversial happens in the campaign, you’ll have two dozen press out there, howling for a statement, and there’ll be sightseers, too.”

  “Rather than have that happen, ask them to block off the street and allow only residents through,” Will said. “I mean it, Leo, I’m not going to let this disrupt my neighbors’ lives. Tell the Service I’ll be intractable on this point.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Berg said, making a note. “You have a security system in the house, of course?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll want to see the central box and then check every window and door. There’s every likelihood that it’ll have to be beefed up.”

  “All right.”

  “The Service will want their own phone lines in the house, too. I notice you have a garage downstairs.”

  “Yes, the house is unusual in that respect.”

  “Two cars?”

  “Yes.”

  “The Service will like that. What brand of garage-door opener?”

  “I haven’t a clue,” Will said.

  “I’ll check it out, and we’ll order some extra remote controls.”

  “As you wish.”

  “How many cars do you have here?”

  “Two: a Suburban and a Lincoln Continental.”

  “Is there someplace you can store them?”

  “What?”

  “The Service will want their sedans in the garage. Don’t worry, you won’t be needing a car between now and the election.”

  “I suppose I could park the Suburban in my parking space in the Senate garage.”

  “And I could park the Lincoln in the Agency garage,” Kate said.

  “Perfect. Now, could I look around the house?”

  “Sure.”

  Tim stood up. “You go ahead and have dinner,” he said. “I’ll show Leo around.”

  “Thank you, Tim,” Will said.

  He and Kate went into the kitchen, and Kate took some steaks out of the fridge. “So, it begins,” she said, and there was a little sadness in her voice.

  18

  Will worked on a combination of Senate and campaign business through the morning; then, just before lunch, his pollster, Moss Mallet, arrived and was shown into Will’s office.

  “It was tight, but I have the results of your poll,” Moss said.

  “Tell me about it.”

  “There’s good news, and there’s bad news.”

  “Shoot.”

  “The good news is that nearly a third of likely Democratic voters have heard of you.”

  Will winced. “What’s the bad news?”

  “The bad news is that less than a third of likely Democratic voters have heard of you.” Moss handed him a sheet of paper.

  Will looked at the paper. “Jesus, nine years in the Senate, and I register with only thirty-two percent of Democrats?”

  Moss handed him another sheet of pap
er. “Relax, it’s not as bad as it sounds. Only forty-six percent know who George Kiel is, and he’s the minority leader in the Senate.”

  “So much for an informed electorate.”

  “Listen, Will, this could be a lot worse. This is the first national polling we’ve done, you know, and I’ve seen guys you’d think were well-known who hardly raised a blip.”

  “That’s comforting.”

  “Okay, here’s something that is comforting,” Moss said, handing him another sheet of paper. “Of those likely Democratic voters who know both you and Kiel, forty-one percent would vote for Kiel, in a head-to-head race, and forty-six would vote for you.”

  “What about the other thirteen percent?”

  “A plague on both your houses, more or less.”

  Will sighed.

  “Can’t you see what this means?”

  “Tell me.”

  “It means of those who know you both, you get a more favorable rating than Kiel.”

  “Should that make me deliriously happy?”

  “I can promise you, it’ll depress the shit out of Kiel.”

  “Well, that’s something, I guess.”

  “Look, Will, if we can extend these numbers, it means that, as people get to know you, they’ll like you better than Kiel. What more can you ask?”

  “I guess you’re right,” Will said.

  “I promise you, Tom Black is going to love these numbers.”

  “I’ll feel better if he does,” Will said. “Anything else?”

  “That’s it for now. Later, we’ll do polling on issues, running mates, the works, but for right now that tells you where you have to go.”

  “And where is that?”

  “On TV, my friend, and the more often, the better. I’d recommend doing an immediate campaign designed to raise public awareness of you.”

  “We don’t have the money yet.”

  “Then get all the free time you can grab. Just remember, hardly anybody outside of Georgia knew who Jimmy Carter was when he announced. You’re a lot better off than he was.”

  Kitty stuck her head in the door. “There’s a report on CNN that George Kiel will announce on Monday,” she said.

  “That’s good news,” Will replied. “We’ll beat him by forty-eight hours.”

  “Not really, not unless we start spreading the word now. This means people are already hearing Kiel’s name, and not yours. I’ve had a bunch of calls from press asking what you’re going to do, and I’ve been coy. I think it’s time to telegraph your entry into the race.”

  “Okay, do it; tell them I’ll have an announcement to make tomorrow, and you’ll get back to them on time and place. Start angling for the Sunday-morning TV shows, too.”

  Moss stood up. “I’ve got to run, Will. I’m going to put together a polling proposal for the next month and send it to Tim. Let me know what you want to do.”

  Will stood up and shook his hand. “Thanks, Moss; I’ll be in touch.”

  Late in the afternoon Tom Black came to Will’s office, and the two of them compared notes on the announcement speech.

  “Yours is too long,” Will said. “I’d like to make it easy for the networks to run the whole thing on the news.”

  “Not going to happen,” Tom replied. “If you give them a minute, they’ll run seven seconds; if you give them five minutes, they might run half a minute. Our job is to break the announcement into segments, any one of which they can pick up at different times, and to have one paragraph loaded with the gist.” He tapped Will’s sheet of paper. “I like this: ‘It’s time to make a new center that we can all gravitate to.’ Make that New Center, in caps, and we can craft something that will be a theme for the whole campaign.”

  “Start crafting,” Will said. “I’ve got to make some begging calls to scrape up some money. Moss wants us to run a national TV campaign to increase awareness that I’m alive and running.” He handed Tom the poll results.

  “Not bad,” Tom said, “but national TV spots are not going to happen anytime soon. We’re going to have to put the money into specific states to win primaries, and let the media make you famous for it.”

  “You’ve got a point, but we’re going to need the money, anyway, so I’d better get started.”

  “You do that.”

  Will started with a list of a hundred men and women who’d given substantial sums to the party in the past during his elections. Eighty-one of them were Georgians. At the top of the list was one Lurton Pitts, fried chicken king. Using a private line that he paid for himself, Will dialed the number. In a moment, he was put through.

  “Will, how are you?” Pitts boomed.

  “I’m real good, Lurton; how’s the chicken business?”

  “Not bad.”

  “That’s good, because I’m about to hit you up for some money.”

  “I knew there must be a reason for that sinking feeling in my stomach. What’s going on? You’re not running this year.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  There was a brief silence. “Oh, Jesus,” Pitts said. “You’re going to go for it.”

  “That’s right; I wanted you to be the first to know.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned. I knew you’d do it eventually, but I guess with Joe Adams out, the time is now.”

  “I couldn’t have put it better myself.”

  “How much you want?”

  “Just a thousand.”

  “I can handle that.”

  “Plus a thousand from everybody you know and all their friends and relatives and all their friends and relatives.”

  “How about PACs?”

  “Nope.” Will had never taken any money from a PAC.

  “How about soft money?”

  “Not until after the convention. I’ll have to take it as long as everybody else does.”

  “Damn, Will, I think my pulse just went up about twenty points.”

  “Mine’s been that way all day.”

  “Where do I send it?”

  Will found the number of his new post office box and gave it to Pitts.

  “Will, you remember that first time, when I got those fellows together to talk to you about your Senate run?”

  “I’ll never forget it.”

  “I want to do that again.”

  “You bet. Sam Meriwether’s going to be my campaign manager; he’ll be in touch.”

  “Go get ’em, Will!” Pitts cried, then hung up.

  That was why he’d called Pitts first; he needed to hear that kind of enthusiasm. He went on telephoning, and by dusk, he had raised a good seventy thousand dollars, and it would turn into a lot more when the people he’d called had had a chance to call their friends.

  Tom Black handed Will a new sheet of paper. “Try this on.”

  Will read it. “It’s good. Take it to Kitty and Tim, and see what they can do to help it.”

  Will watched him go, then went back to his telephoning. It kept him from thinking about how nervous he was becoming as his announcement approached.

  19

  Will stood on the Capitol steps in the still, cold winter air, in bright sunshine, surrounded by a busload of Georgians and a horde of television cameras.

  “Good morning,” he said. “During the past few days, we’ve seen American history take a sudden turn. The sudden and tragic illness of our president and the withdrawal of the vice president from the presidential race have cast the 2000 election in a whole new light, and a whole new slate of candidates is now stepping forward. I’m pleased to be among the first of them.

  “I’m here to announce my candidacy for president of the United States.”

  The little crowd went as wild as a little crowd could.

  Will waited until the cheering began to subside, then continued. “And I’m here to tell you why I’m running.” He paused for a moment, then took a deep breath. This would be the sound bite that would be on every news program that evening. “I’m running because I see my country torn apart by partisan wrangling; I�
�m running because I see the political parties jockeying for petty advantage, instead of doing what we were sent to this building to do.” He gestured over his shoulder at the Capitol. “I’m running because I want to lead this country toward a New Center, a New Center where every voice can be heard—Democratic and Republican. A New Center where conciliation and consensus can overcome ideology of any stripe and take us on toward new heights in the new millennium to come. We are a diverse country, but one idea has always driven us: We are all in this together!” Will paused for more cheering, smiling broadly, knowing that it was at this point that the TV news shows would move on to something else.

  “I run as a Democrat,” he said. “Make no mistake about that. I run on the ideals that have helped our party help this country to be great: individual liberty, without undue interference from government; good public education for all; a safety net for the elderly and the disadvantaged; sensible, cost-effective programs to help our weakest citizens become strong and self-sufficient; a strong and lean national defense; and above all, the guaranteed equality of all our people.” More cheering.

  “But I will tell you this: We can only have what we can pay for. We have lived beyond our means, and we can no longer do that. As I speak, the federal budget is balanced, and the administration I lead will keep it that way.” More cheering.

  “As I go out into this country I’m going to address all the issues that are vital to us; I’ll praise good ideas and condemn bad ones—and the people who put them forward. But I’ll do so in a constructive way that will build consensus. I invite every one of you to come along on this journey.

  “I hold out my hand to every American—not just every Democrat, but every Republican and every independent in this land. I tell you that, together, we can do anything; that, from a New Center, we can take this country anywhere we want to go!” Will stepped back from the microphones, waving both hands and smiling. While the applause raged, he shook the hands of those around him, then stepped forward to the microphones again.

  “I want to introduce you to some of the people who will be making this journey with me. First among equals is my wife, Kate.” He held out his hand; she took it and joined him for a moment. “You’re going to be seeing a lot more of me than you will of Kate, because she has important work to do here in Washington, and I’m not going to take her away from it. Wouldn’t be good for the country.” He introduced Sam Meriwether, Tim Coleman, and Kitty Conroy. “Finally, I want to introduce you to someone who hasn’t decided yet whether to vote for me. I’m determined that this campaign will follow the letter and the spirit of the laws governing campaigns, and that the actions we take will be not just legal, but ethical. With that in mind I’ve asked former federal appeals court judge Mason Rutledge to be an objective arbiter of all our actions. Judge Rutledge has had a long and highly distinguished career at the bar, in the Justice Department, and in the courts. He has been, since his retirement from the bench, a professor of constitutional law and legal ethics at Harvard Law School. He will remain there during the campaign, but he will be on call when we need him to help us make the right decisions. And if he feels we haven’t, he’ll be free to call a press conference and tell you why. Judge Rutledge?” He beckoned the tall, handsome man forward.