At Risk of Winning (The Max Masterson Series Book 1)

by Mark E Becker

  At sixteen, Max realized that their special trip would likely be the last to their private spot. he could see the toll the hike was taking on the senator. It wasn’t that he wasn’t nimble; his father had a lifetime of athletic accomplishments as a rower, gymnast, and triathlete in his younger years. But the rasping sound he made upon exertion was new, and it foretold an underlying illness that the senator had hidden from everyone except his personal doctors.

  his father was slowly dying.

  In the year since his diagnosis, the senator had aged in subtle but distinct ways. his once proud mane of dark brown hair was gradually turning white. The color of his skin had taken on a yellow tint, not the robust golden tan of days spent rowing on the Potomac. his wrinkles, which started as crow’s feet, now extended across his forehead, and the dimples that he had endured since childhood as “dents” were now deep creases that extended from his cheekbones to his chin. Adrianna knew, and his doctor knew, and others only suspected. If he revealed his condition to the public, he would be deluged with unwanted attention, and Max would know. he would do anything to spare his son that pain.

  Max grew worried as he waited near the top of the climb. he had the backpack and busied himself setting up the tent while the old man brought up the rear. It was taking too long, and he decided to run down to the edge of the mountain where he could peer over the side of a large boulder and view a part of the trail.

  hundreds of yards below, in a small clearing, sat the senator. he seemed smaller than Max remembered. he was staring off into the distance, his back to the trail, and Max was tempted to toss a stone at his feet to get his attention. he decided that it was better to approach quietly from the rear and try to surprise him.

  “Come sit next to me, Son.” he hadn’t turned his head, but his ears were still sharp. Max sat without saying a word.

  “I need to talk with you. We may not have too many opportunities to do this again, and there are some words that need to be said.” he appeared to be out of breath, but after a moment of silence, his breathing returned to normal.

  The young man broke the silence. “Did I do something wrong?” “Oh, no,” he smiled and pulled him closer. Max felt the familiar arm around his shoulders. It had always calmed him; no matter how excited or aggravated he was, his father’s touch had an almost hypnotic effect on him. They held each other in silence for a long time. An osprey circled on the updrafts twenty yards away.

  “My boy, for the rest of your life, people will try to push and pull you in every direction except the way you want to go . . .” his voice trailed off, his face showed that his mind was far away. The past, present, and future are places where the mind can go, and it wasn’t apparent where he had gone, but Max was sure he wasn’t living in the present at the moment. he was somewhere else, that was certain, and Max watched his face intently, waiting for him to continue.

  “From the day I took you in, I have tried to keep you on course.”

  “What course?”

  “The path that is your destiny.”

  Max creased his forehead, trying to comprehend the meaning of his father’s simple statement.

  “The difference between those of us who succeed in life and the rest of the world is a basic truth. If you stick to your ideals, you will eliminate regret from the distractions that can hold you back.”

  The young man looked even more mystified.

  “Do you know what wisdom is, Son?”

  he thought for a moment and tried to answer the question, as if the question could be answered.

  “Listen, don’t speak. I need to share my wisdom, or it will be lost. You don’t have the time to make the mistakes I have made in order to achieve wisdom. he shifted and reached. “I have a gift for you.” he pulled his fanny pack up from between his feet and tossed it to Max, who had begun pacing nervously in front of him. “Look inside.”

  Max unzipped the waterproof pouch. Inside was an audio viewer and what looked like hundreds of flash drives, each capable of holding billions of bytes of information.

  “I made these for you.”

  “What are they?”

  “Wisdom.”

  Max pulled the flash drives from the pouch. Each one was inscribed with descriptive words and phrases along with a number.

  “The first time you watch these, I want you to watch them in order. There are written instructions in the bag. Listen to one an hour each day. They will provide you with the base that you need. After that, when you are in a situation that requires guidance, you can come back to the lesson that applies to your situation. After I’m gone, you will have the comfort of my thoughts. My wisdom.”

  “But I don’t want you to leave. Where are you going?”

  The senator faced him, his eyes exploring every detail of his young face as if it would be his last. his smile was kind; the glowing warmth of true love passed between them. he reached out and ran his fingers through his son’s thick mane, his strong hand resting on the side of his smooth face. “Look at me.”

  Tears welled up in Max’s eyes. he felt overwhelmed. he wanted to run, but his father held him tight.

  “Let’s make this a game. I won’t be going anywhere for a long time. I don’t know when I’ll leave this world, but I want you to be ready to get along without me. Pull out some of the flash drives and read them to me, and I’ll tell you a little bit of what’s on there. Some of them might make you laugh.” he sneaked his hand under his son’s left arm to a spot he knew was ticklish, and his fingers immediately found their mark.

  “Stop! Stop!” Max rolled off the rock and the contents of the bag spilled out on the ground. he stared at the scattered flash drives. Each had inscriptions etched into the side in gold, lending a special permanence to an everyday information storage device. The effect it had on Max was what an explorer must feel when encountering an abandoned temple in the Amazon rainforest, or when a treasure hunter opens a chest after it had lain beneath the ocean for centuries. Excitement was followed by serious scrutiny.

  The father waited for the adolescent son to gather his focus before speaking. “I want you to spend an hour each day going through these in order. There is a number assigned to each. One to one thousand and one, and I don’t want you to skip one simply because you don’t think you need it. That was decided by me when I began this quest, and I will always be older and wiser than you. Understand?”

  Max looked at the inscriptions. “OK, I’ll play. What do you want me to know?” his response bordered on insolence, but the senator dismissed it to the bravado of youth. In Max’s teenage mind, the attainment of his father’s knowledge was way low on his list of priorities.

  he picked up the one closest to him and made a sour face. “Love? You want to tell me about love?”

  Ignoring the embarrassment a young man feels when talking about personal issues, he explained. “You will fall in love. You might not know it at the time, but you will, and it will sneak up on you. There are two types of love. Crazy love and joyful love. Choose joyful love and reject crazy love.”

  “OK.” Max picked up the second at random. “Worry.”

  “People worry about two things. The first is the unknown. The second is that which we can’t control. Both are things that you shouldn’t waste your time about. Live in the present.”

  “Responsibility.”

  “In the back of your mind, whatever you do, think about the consequences of your actions on those you love and those you serve. They come first, and everyone else is beyond your control.”

  “Innocence.”

  “Always protect the innocents. Little children can’t be sinister. They haven’t lived long enough to be cynical. If you protect them, you will always be their hero.”

  “The Core? What’s that?” Max was incredulous.

  The senator continued. “Your ‘core’ is who you are and what you stand for and deserves no apology. State your opinion and your position clearly. If people agree with you, they will support your cause. If they disag
ree with you, they will still respect your opinion.”

  “Fame.”

  “Don’t seek it. There is no good to come from it. If it finds you, use it responsibly to do good or it will never improve your life or those of the ones who rely on you.”

  “Wealth.”

  “Wealthy people will always tell you that they are merely comfortable. In their reality, there is always someone wealthier. Never confuse wealth for being rich. Money never did anything more than keep people from worrying about money. The danger is when you have money, you might think you are better than someone who doesn’t have it. The reality is that because of money, you may lose sight of the values that make a person rich.”

  “Nothing.” he looked at his father expecting a joke but found a serious look. he laughed anyway, and the more he laughed the funnier it seemed, until tears were streaming down his face. Now, he was getting silly.

  “What are you laughing about? Did you think I was going to talk about nothing?”

  Max smirked. “how can you tell me about nothing?” As he said the word, he broke out laughing again, and the old man waited patiently while he got it out of his system. Finally, Max paused to take a deep breath, giving his father the opportunity to explain. “My point is, you can’t think about nothing. There is always something. Something to see, something to hear, a memory that fills your mind. You’ll find out some day that everything is connected. Every thought. What you think is a coincidence is really just a part of your life. There are no ordinary moments, nothing happens without purpose. You may not understand how it all connects, but believe me, somehow, some way, it all fits together.” Leaning over, he grabbed the bag and scanned the contents that hadn’t scattered on the ground, searching for the right message. Politics. Joy. Tradition. Intelligence. Freedom. Religion. Family. America. Privacy. Fear. Loyalty. Faith . . . Then he found it. “Work and Play,” he announced.

  Max was on his feet and grabbed the bag from his hands. he backed out of reach, expecting that the treasures would be ripped from his grasp. “I want to play, and you want to work, and I didn’t come up here to do nothing . . .” he paused and stared as if he was deep in thought. his hands were gathering the remaining flash drives and gently placing them back in the bag. he continued the serious look until he got the desired response.

  “What are you thinking about?”

  “Oh, nothing.” This thought got him laughing again, and he chuckled all of the way up the trail, pushing the old man from behind and forcing him to complete the trek to the top.

  By the time they reached the clearing where Max had erected the tent, the fire was smoldering. Max fed dry kindling to the flames until the firelight illuminated the boulders that surrounded their refuge. They remained silent until the darkness was complete, content in the solitude. When the time was right, they ate hotdogs cooked on green sticks suspended over the fire, not bothering to smother them with condiments. Camping was a time to return to basics.

  Continuing with their serious conversation, Minuteman took up where he had left off.

  “Most people go their entire lives not knowing. You are different. You have greatness in you. I felt it from the time I first held you in my arms, and I feel it now.”

  “Greatness? You mean I’ll be famous someday?” his face contorted slightly. he had no idea what his father was talking about, but he thought that if he focused hard enough and long enough, maybe the meaning of the words would pop into his mind. he wasn’t having much success, and after ten minutes he became distracted by an owl, which silently swooped into the clearing and snatched a field mouse with its claws not fifteen feet from where they sat.

  Until the owl forced Max to return his mind to the present, Minuteman sat waiting patiently. The interruption gave him the opportunity to speak. “Max, you don’t have any idea what I mean, do you?”

  “Not really.” he felt frightened, unsure of what he should say. “I always knew you had plans for me. All of the lessons, and the people you have introduced me to. We never really go on a vacation and do nothing . . .” he smiled at the thought, but was able to hold back the laughter. “I just assumed that someday it would all be clear to me, but that day never seemed to come.” he looked into the old man’s eyes for guidance, but found none. Instead, the senator rose to his feet and spoke in the voice he reserved for the Senate floor.

  “The time has come.” he paused to scan Max’s eyes. Clearly, he didn’t want Max to assume what he was about to say was anything other than serious. Seemingly satisfied by Max’s countenance, he slipped a gold card into Max’s hand. “Take this.” It was heavy and warm and substantial. The gold was real, not a plastic stamped imitation. Deeply engraved in the surface was a list:

  MAXIMS

  No speeches.

  No fund-raising events.

  No messages over two minutes long.

  If you bore the listener, they can’t hear you.

  Keep each message simple.

  Every statement is a sound bite.

  The message is available 24/7.

  It is better to say nothing than to say something stupid. It is better to confess you don’t know than to lie about it. The message is more important than the image. The image is more important than the candidate. Don’t quote a statistic unless you can back it up with facts. Educate people before asking them to decide an issue. American interests must prevail over world interests. Never lie to promote the interests of the minority. Always present an idea in a positive way.

  If you can’t commit to an idea, quit trying to sell it. The perception of reality is more important than reality. It’s not what you say. It’s how you say it.

  Max looked at the words and tried to absorb their meaning. “I guess I should say thank you, but I . . .” The senator held up his hand, commanding his son to listen. “You, my son, will be president of the United States someday, and these are the rules.”

  u ChAPTER ThIRTEEN

  OK, boys and girls. Take your seats,” proclaimed Luke Postlewaite in a loud voice. “I need to give you the general concept of successful political efforts, and then we will discuss the campaigns of successful candidates through history.” The class was composed of twenty of the best and brightest sixteen-year-olds from the elite families in America who, by inheritance or guile, had developed the networking and name recognition to place their most photogenic offspring into the political pool. The payoff for these families was enormous. By getting their child elected, a family tapped directly into the power supply of capitalism: money and connections.

  “I will give it to you in a few words, and then we won’t talk about it until you understand how the process works. I don’t expect you to have an opinion, and I’m not interested in it anyway. That’s not my job. My job is to train you to get elected. I’m sure you understand,” he shouted.

  “Yes, sir!” They had been trained at the outset to respond with enthusiasm, and they did it well. Twenty young voices shouted with enthusiasm. Max sat next to an attractive young redhead named Scarlett, and he was enthralled by her genteel demeanor contained in a cheerleader’s body. Between classes, he flirted with the young girl from Charleston, who responded with the appropriate amount of disdain at his every attention. her years of cotillions and Junior League‒induced social contact had created a well-cultured young woman. “Good breeding,” as they say in the South. Scarlett Conroy was a well-bred product of Charleston society, and her close proximity was making his male hormones work overtime.

  “here it is,” spoke Postlewaite, dressed in the formal attire of the successful political advisor. “All campaigns start out the same. You must look the part. When people speak your name, everyone must know who they are talking about, and most of all, they must have a favorable opinion of you on a subject that you agree about. Do you understand?”

  The shout was louder this time. “Yes, sir!”

  Postlewaite was a veteran of political campaigns beginning with the demise of Richard Nixon and throughout the nine presi
dential campaigns that followed, and he was highly regarded by each politician who had attained public office, whether they had hired him and won or hired his competition and lost.

  Luke had been on the losing side of an election only once since the 1980s, when he worked on the campaign of John Anderson during Reagan’s first run for the presidency. Of all the campaigns his candidates had won, that one loss had taught him the most, and now his wisdom was called upon full-time for huge compensation. Today, he was running a camp for baby politicians, and he looked at it as recreation in the interest of job security. Someday, these kids were going to be the people he worked for.

  AT RISK OF WINNING

  “Elected officials are, first and foremost, narcissists who surround themselves with ‘Yes’ men and women, and by doing so, they isolate themselves from the pulse of the American public. Issues that inflame the voter sometimes fail to reach the level of attention necessary to prompt a politician to action, and when the voice of the voter is not heard and heeded, a certain form of helpless alienation grows.” he scanned the classroom for recognition on their faces. Feeling that he had achieved partial success on that, he continued.

  “If it persists, the voter’s interest wanes and apathy sets in. With apathy comes a disconnect that becomes impenetrable for the politician when they run for reelection. If you let this happen, you stand a good chance of losing when it comes time for reelection. This invisible wall of discontent is the barrier between the person in office and the vote that keeps them there.” he knew he was talking over their heads, but he was speaking more for himself than teaching something they would retain and use.