by Peter Parkin
The crowd was on its feet again.
Sandy waved to each section of the room, to no one in particular, but, of course, this is what politicians were expected to do. Make each person think he was waving to just them.
Then he bowed in respect.
The crowd kept cheering, and a human wave took shape, swaying from one end of the room to the other. It was easy to tell that the several thousand in attendance were engaged, hooked, and effectively hypnotized. Even with the controversial and shocking questions that had been asked, the people seemed to be in the palm of his hand, as would future crowds, he hoped.
Sandy glanced upward for just a moment, thinking a silent prayer to Sarah, Liam and Whitney. Hoping they were watching. Hoping they were proud.
He kept a confident smile painted on his face, as he’d been coached to do, and braced himself to keep that smile lit up until he’d gracefully made his exit out through the back of the stage.
Then he’d be able to relax, breathe normally again. And, even frown if he wanted to.
And he had some reasons to frown.
Why were those two questioners not vetted by his campaign? Why were their questions allowed, when they were clearly reporters? This was supposed to have been a town hall session for voters, not a press conference. And both of those reporters seemed to have information that was sensitive and generally unknown.
He gazed out over the crowd while continuing to wave with both hands.
Suddenly he gasped, as his eyes stopped on a figure standing five rows from the front, swaying along with everyone else.
Goosebumps rippled down his spine as Sandy fixated his gaze straight into the eyes of a ghost.
46
Sandy jumped off the ramp and began pushing his way through the crowd. Ignoring the cries of protest from his two security men, he aimed blindly in the direction of where he’d seen the ghost.
Squeals of delight accompanied his unplanned safari into the masses. It was hard for him to move, with pads and pens being thrust into his face by eager autograph seekers. And trying to dodge phones now that he was down on the floor with everyone else, was impossible. He knew he’d be appearing in countless selfies that attendees would treasure for posterity.
He could hear the frantic panting of his security team as they tried to keep up with him. Finally, one of them succeeded in grabbing him by the shoulder and spinning him around.
Slightly muffled by the roar of the crowd from Sandy’s unexpected star turn, he heard one of them—a guy Sandy thought was called Frank—grumble through clenched teeth, “What the hell are you doing, Dr. Beech? This is not secure.”
Sandy put his mouth up to Frank’s ear, and cupped his hands. “There’s a man in the crowd, moving towards the exit. He’s short, chubby, and balding, wearing a green jacket and a green Celtics ball cap. He’s a threat. I’m not going to be able to reach him through this crowd, but maybe you can.”
Frank glanced toward the exit. “Okay, let me try to grab him. But, you have to head backstage with Victor. Now!”
Frank used his bulk to push faster through the crowd than Sandy had been able to do, and the other security guy—who Sandy just learned was named Victor—grabbed hold of Sandy’s arm and started leading him back to the ramp.
He whispered, “Dr. Beech, you’d better sign a few autographs and smile for a few photos while you’re down here. This will be spun by the media as alarming if you don’t attempt to make it appear as if this was your attempt at a crowd-pleaser.”
Sandy stopped in his tracks. “You’re right. Keep an eye on me while I wander a bit.”
He shook a few hands, signed a few autographs and posed for some pictures. All the while, he had one eye on the exit doors. All six feet, seven inches of Frank was pushing his way out into the concourse, but Sandy saw no sign of the guy in the Celtics hat.
As Sandy signed his last autograph, he began to doubt himself, and who it was he thought he saw. It was crazy. Too crazy to comprehend.
*****
He was sitting backstage with his campaign and security staff, scanning through video footage of the crowd on a computer monitor.
Frank leaned over his shoulder. “Anything?”
Sandy shook his head. “Haven’t seen the right angle yet. And he’s a short guy, so wouldn’t be easy to spot.”
“I’m so sorry I couldn’t grab him, Doctor. I checked out the lobby and outside of the convention hall. Didn’t see anyone by the description you gave me.”
Sandy shook his head. “No worries, Frank. The crowd was huge—like finding a needle in a haystack. Maybe my eyes were just playing tricks on me, anyway.”
Sandy rubbed his eyes and turned them away from the monitor just as Rod Crenshaw entered the room through a side door.
He strode over to Sandy wearing an impatient grimace on his face. Rod was tall, blonde, movie-star handsome, and had an efficient air of authority about him that caused the room to become instantly silent.
“What’s going on here? Been waiting outside in the van. We have a fund-raising dinner to attend, Sandy—$5,000 dollars a plate. If we don’t move our asses we’re going to be late, and these aren’t the kind of people we want to keep waiting.”
Frank held up his hand. “Calm down, Rod. Dr. Beech was concerned about someone he saw in the crowd. We’re scanning some footage to see if we can spot him.”
Rod leaned up against the wall. “I missed the last part of your speech, but I heard it went well. Then, someone told me that you jumped down onto the floor. Is that what you were doing? Trying to confront this person?”
Sandy nodded. “Yes, I was. Stupid of me, but I just reacted.”
“Well, don’t do that again, Sandy. It’s too risky. That’s why you have Frank and Victor. Leave things like that to them.”
“You’re right, Rod. Was probably just imagining things anyway.”
“Was it someone you know?”
“Someone I knew. But…he’s supposed to be dead. So, I must have been hallucinating.”
“What’s his name?”
“Don’t want to say.”
“Okay, well, describe him to me.”
“Short, fat, balding, puffy face, wearing a green jacket and green Celtics cap.”
Rod put his arm around Sandy’s shoulder, and turned him away from the computer. “You’ve just spent a couple of hours on your feet and delivered one hell of a rousing speech. Exhaustion and adrenaline can play tricks on all of us from time to time. I want you to head out to the van, lay your head back, and relax. Let me look through the rest of this footage for you. That’s what campaign managers are for. To do the crap stuff, so you candidates can shine. Okay?”
Sandy nodded wearily. “Good idea. I was probably just dreaming, anyway. Finish up here and I’ll see you out in the van.”
Rod smiled. “Glad you agree. Our mutual friend would be very disappointed in me if he knew I was allowing you to get all stressed out.”
Sandy frowned. “What mutual friend?”
Rod leaned in closer and whispered, “Well, Vito, of course.”
“I wasn’t aware that you knew Vito.”
Rod shuffled his feet. “Not as well as you probably do, but I know him as being just someone on the fringe of the campaign.”
Sandy folded his arms across his chest. “He’s not supposed to be on the fringe of anything. Vito can’t be associated with this campaign at all.”
Rod shook his head. “No, you misunderstand. Of course, he can’t be involved. He’s completely in the background. He just pulled some strings to make certain things happen for you. That’s all.”
Sandy drummed his finger into Rod’s chest. “Are you one of those strings he pulled? Did he choose you to be my manager?”
“No, not at all. Not directly at least.”
“How indirectly, then?”
He lowered his voice to a whisper again. “Sandy, don’t be so naïve. Vito has been a big help to you, in more ways than you realize. This is how politics works. Sometimes we deal with people who hold cards we wouldn’t want to play. Trust me, I’ve been at this a long time, and every campaign has a Vito or two in the background. Not to worry. We know how to insulate candidates from benefactors like that.”
Sandy stared into his baby blue eyes, and this time Rod stared right back without blinking.
“You come highly regarded, Rod. Apparently, you’re one of the best. I guess I’m going to have to trust you.”
Rod squeezed his shoulder. “You can trust me. And, you’ll be glad you did. So, for now, go on out to the van and leave this searching stuff to me. You’ve given me a good description of the guy. If I find him in any of the footage, I’ll show it to you to see if it’s who you thought it was. But, if he’s indeed as dead as you say, then we’re going to be looking at a pretty spooky video.”
*****
Rod cleared everyone out of the room, and sent Frank and Victor out to the luxurious travel van to keep Sandy company. He sat down in front of the laptop where all the crowd videos had been downloaded and began his scan.
He was proud of his candidate. One of the brightest and most charismatic he’d ever managed. He could feel it in his bones that Sandford Beech could go all the way, and with Rod’s expert help, the man could easily be in the Oval office in less than a year’s time.
A dream candidate, and one who had been groomed without him even realizing he’d been groomed. That was the best part, because every sincere bone in Sandy’s body was committed to a cause out of pure unadulterated passion. An honest passion, something that was rare in politicians. Committed to a cause that was greater than any one man. Something that had existed in the politicians of long ago, but certainly not in modern times.
But, Sandy was naïve, as all decent people were. The good doctor was a genius and a genuine hero, but idealistic as hell. Which was both a good thing and a bad thing. Hopefully, over the course of the campaign he’d develop a thick skin and become more realistic about how things had to be done in the rough and tumble world of politics. Rod considered Sandy a project, almost like in the movie, My Fair Lady. He felt like he was Professor Henry Higgins, and Sandy was Eliza Doolittle. And the project was to transform the best presidential candidate in a generation into a hard-nosed leader who would inspire millions of people into an agenda of power and prosperity that would rival the heights of the Roman Empire.
Suddenly Rod clicked Pause on the monitor, and he stared hard at one of the crowd stills. Then he enlarged it.
“Shit!”
He pressed the Delete button, and continued to scan. The fat little man in the green Celtics cap popped up in four more scenes. Rod clicked Delete again.
Then he sighed and picked up his phone. Punched a speed dial number and waited for the familiar voice to answer.
“Hello?”
Rod spoke in hushed tones, just in case someone was still lurking outside the door.
“It’s me. Our puppet is back in the country. Causing some mischief. Perhaps he thinks his payday wasn’t big enough?”
The man sighed in exasperation. “Okay, leave it with me.”
47
“You were supposed to use that Judy Nichols as leverage. Were supposed to do something to her and her precious daughter. You still have time. He might drop out of the race if you take drastic steps.”
Meagan allowed a wry grin. “No, we’re not going to do that. No need.”
Linc banged his fist on the table. “What do you mean, no need? Sandy’s ahead in the polls for the Dems. He’s going to get their nomination next month—no doubt about it. We have to stop him.”
Bob Stone reached out and put his hand on Linc’s shoulder. “It’s too late to do anything like that, Linc. He’s too far along in the race. We can’t take a chance on something backfiring on us. And there is that apparent issue with you and that young girl. You never told us about that. You should have.”
“That’s false. Nothing happened.”
Meagan leaned forward in her chair. “The media has been having a field day with that rumor. All sorts of conspiracy theories. Luckily, nothing concrete, but your poll numbers have dropped a bit. Anything you want to tell us about it? Is there possibly any truth to it? Did you have sex with an underage girl? And…did she die?”
Linc shook his head, but Meagan noticed that his eyes betrayed him.
“Well, then, we’ll just have to do our best to plant some distractions. Keep the media focused on other stories.”
The Senator’s voice elevated to a full octave higher. “This was supposed to have been a sure thing. We never counted on Sandy entering the race. How did that happen? I know I can beat him, but he wasn’t the one I was supposed to have been competing against. If he wins the nomination for the Democrats, I’ll be in for the fight of my life.”
Bob shuffled some papers and stuffed them into his briefcase. “Well, then, you’ll just have to fight for your life. You two are at opposite ends of the spectrum, but conservative voters love your message. You’re still the odds-on favorite.”
Linc shook his head in disgust. “But that’s now; this is just the primaries. In the general election, I’ll have to compete for all voters, not just conservatives.”
Meagan stood. “Bob and I have a meeting to attend. Stop your whining; get out there and compete. I’ll be honest with you—it feels like you’ve lied to us. God help us if you did. There had better be nothing to that story about the girl.”
*****
It was the second meeting of the year for the Aufsteigen Group. A crucial one, as the presidential campaign was in the final lap. Senator Lincoln Berwick was the favorite to become the Republican nominee—and Sandford Beech, miraculously, seemed to have the Democratic nomination locked up in his favor, despite having entered the race in its latter stages.
There were twenty-six important people sitting in the conference room; the combined wealth of the group being almost beyond measure, particularly since a lot of their wealth was sitting comfortably in offshore bank accounts beyond the reach of the IRS and anyone else who had the nerve to challenge them.
A tall bespectacled man walked to the podium. In defiance of modern times, he had a file folder in his hand instead of an iPad. He opened the folder and began to speak.
“I will bring the formal stage of our meeting to order. As is customary, our given names will no longer be used during the solemn portion of this meeting. You all have German labels that identify you only to the people in this room, and I ask you that you all please follow our protocol and use only those labels. Thank you.
“We have a situation before us that is unprecedented. Our investment in Triple-L has paid dividends to us, perhaps beyond what any of us or our predecessors envisioned over the last few decades.
“But, the time is now, and we have the brass ring within our grasp. This is the first time any of our specimens have reached the point where they are of age to compete for the highest office in the land—indeed, in the entire world.”
He looked up at the group and smiled.
“We don’t just have one candidate in the running, we have two. Both major political parties have been hijacked unknowingly by our creations. Those two political parties have no idea of the quality of the candidates they have, or what their origins are. We in this room do know, however, and we are confident that America has never been in such a strong position as this before. Not in the entire history of the Republic.
“The name of our esteemed group, Aufsteigen, means Ascension. Our goal from the beginning was to have an Ascendant. Due to our unprecedented planning and manipulation, we are in the enviable position o
f having two Ascendants, not just one. We should all be very proud indeed, and I compliment the members of our group who were so active in engineering events to the state that we are at today.
“The papers I have in front of me are more than two decades old, yet due to our knowledge of genetics and our investment in the most revolutionary sperm bank in the world, the words in these papers carry relevance that is timeless.
“As all in the room are aware, both candidates are products of Triple-L and were students at West Point at the same time. Both were also chosen for the Honor Guild, although one was expelled due to certain…ah…violations. I won’t go into those, but rest assured those violations of his were carried out with the best of intentions. Which only underlines, to us at least, his superior character traits.
“These papers in my hands are psychological evaluations of both candidates, conducted during the time they spent in the Honor Guild at West Point.
“I’ll start with who I will refer to as Candidate A.
“As with previous votes we have taken pertaining to candidates for the Senate, we try to stay objective here. Although most members will easily guess who is Candidate A or Candidate B, we keep names out of it. You are to make your decisions based on the qualities that we want in the presidency.
“So, for Candidate A, I’ll read a brief synopsis of the psychological profile.
“He is a man driven by ego, and ego alone. His personality is assessed as being at the highest degree of narcissism. Power is important to this person, as is the need to crush all opposition. His brain is superior, and it has the ability to quickly analyse complex situations.
“Selfishness is a trait exhibited by him in almost every human interaction. Not capable of affection, devoid of the ability to appreciate any semblance of love of others. A sociopath of the highest order. He has difficulty controlling his anger as well as his need to win at all costs. Sometimes can be a loose cannon and leans in the direction of bullying as a tactic to achieve his goals. A high achiever, one who can accomplish any goal he sets his mind to.