Jim McGill 04 The Last Ballot Cast, Part 1

by Joseph Flynn

  “She’s right. We all do.”

  “That’s all I’m thinking,” Kenny said. “I just joined the club.” He finished his juice and gave McGill a hug. “Thanks for the lesson, Dad. I’m going to shower and take a nap. I’ll eat when I get up.”

  “Okay.”

  Kenny started to leave, then turned around.

  “I am glad you have Sweetie, Deke and Leo to help you.”

  He smiled and left the room.

  McGill sat in the kitchen by himself, thinking Kenny wouldn’t be the only one in his family who would be unhappy to hear Deke was no longer available to take a bullet for him.

  Before he had too much time to beat himself up about that, the phone rang.

  Patti calling to tell him the country was once again back in the best of hands?

  “Mr. McGill, this is Byron DeWitt.” The deputy director of the FBI.

  McGill felt a ripple of energy pass through him.

  “Good news?” he asked.

  “We’ve found a trucker by the name of Lydell Martin. We’re all but certain he’s the man who transported Damon Todd, Arn Crosby and Olin Anderson.”

  “All but?” McGill asked.

  “We haven’t picked him up yet, but using the process of elimination, we think he’s our guy. All our other leads for commercial drivers who fell behind on their delivery schedules have been eliminated. Martin pulled into his depot six hours late. He told his dispatcher he got dizzy while driving and had to get off the road. He couldn’t remember whether he just pulled off to the side or into a rest area.”

  “Making his whereabouts impossible to either confirm or disprove,” McGill said. “A very convenient case of amnesia.”

  DeWitt agreed. “Specialized, you might say. Martin was given a complete physical. No tumors, no neurological deficits, no defects of the inner ear. In short, no reason to get dizzy. The trucking company still didn’t want to take any chances so they gave him a desk job that was supposed to last for a month. Inside the first week, Martin came up with two efficiency measures that the company says will save them millions of dollars. He’s now on the executive track and expected to move up fast.”

  “Sounds like Damon Todd’s handiwork to me.”

  “Yes, it does. The only other possibility is the bad guys highjacked another vehicle and killed the driver. But we’ve checked that angle and can’t find either a missing person or stolen vehicle that works with our time frame.”

  “I think you can eliminate the all but,” McGill said.

  DeWitt said, “I think so, too. We’re working out how far Martin might have taken the escapees and still get back to his depot six hours late. The first estimate covers four states.”

  McGill thought about that. “They could have been dropped off and used another of Todd’s sleepers to move again or they might have found a congenial spot and are sitting tight.”

  “Depending on whether the just want to stay free or —”

  “Hit back,” McGill said, “at me or anyone else who has angered Todd.”

  “Or targets of spite for the former CIA operatives.”

  “Or both.”

  “Any suggestions for dealing with Lydell Martin, Mr. McGill?”

  DeWitt’s level of cooperation was almost too good to be true, McGill thought.

  But he wasn’t going to let old local cop prejudices get in his way.

  He said, “The CIA wasn’t able to crack Todd’s assumed personality after three years of trying. There’s no reason to think Martin’s going to be any easier. But Todd might call him at home, at work or on his cell phone to make sure his new identity is holding up. If you can get a warrant to tap Martin’s phones, you might hear something.”

  “I’m sure we could do that, but how long do we wait before bringing him in?”

  “Maybe that’s a last resort. If you don’t intercept a call from Todd in, say, two weeks, then we could, if we want to be manipulative and nasty, begin a disinformation campaign.”

  “About Martin?”

  “Yes,” McGill said. “My bet is Todd takes great pride in what he does for people, making their lives materially better. How do you think he might react if he read, heard or saw on TV that one of his subjects went off the rails in a major way?”

  DeWitt took a moment to consider the idea.

  Then he said, “He might stop by to see what went wrong.”

  The White House

  President Patricia Darden Grant stopped off at the residence to get a quick once-over from Nick and to change into a navy blue Chanel business suit. She checked the reflection in her bathroom mirror. Not a hair out of place, light makeup evenly applied and teeth sparkling white. So far so good. Now, if only the old ticker continued to beat as it should.

  Nick said, “Madam President, you appear ready to resume your duties but, please, do your best not to let anything agitate you.”

  “Easy for you to say, Nick.” Then she smiled and said, “I’ll be good.”

  It helped her demeanor that every uniformed Secret Service officer she passed snapped to attention and saluted her, staffers came to their feet and applauded and Edwina stood behind her desk outside the Oval Office and said, “It is so good to have you back, Madam President.”

  “Thank you, Edwina. It’s good to be back and see everyone again.”

  “How is young Master McGill?”

  “Kenny is recovering strongly, thank you.”

  “I hope you won’t mind, Madam President, but I’ve left a bit of a mess on your desk.”

  Patti raised an eyebrow.

  Edwina told her, “After Vice President Wyman announced your return last night, messages of congratulations from heads of state around the world began to arrive. Ambassadors from almost every embassy in town have been delivering them personally.”

  Patti felt a catch in her throat. Then she remembered Nick’s advice to avoid agitation. She hadn’t expected such a warm welcome, but it certainly wouldn’t do to let it make her swoon. She’d be whisked off to the hospital and there was no telling when they’d let her return.

  Of all the people who had greeted her, three were conspicuously absent: Mather Wyman, Galia Mindel and Celsus Crogher.

  Edwina cleared up one-third of that mystery.

  “Chief of Staff Mindel is waiting for you in the Oval Office, Madam President.”

  “Thank you, Edwina. Please give me fifteen minutes and then ask the vice president to come see me.”

  “Yes, Madam President.”

  “No interruptions from anyone else except Mr. McGill.”

  As soon as the president entered the Oval Office and the door behind her had closed, Galia Mindel said, “I don’t want to muss your appearance, Madam President, and I don’t want to seem presumptuous, but I would like to give you a hug.”

  Patti extended her arms to Galia and the two women embraced, for just the right duration. Taking her place behind her desk, the president looked at the stacks of envelopes covering her desk. She turned her attention to Galia, sitting opposite her.

  “Anyone significant missing?” she asked.

  Galia said, “Madam President, do you think I —”

  “Edwina said she’d left a mess on my desk. What I see here are neat stacks. Arranged alphabetically.”

  Galia smiled. “Sometimes I’m a bit compulsive, and, no, nobody important forgot their manners.”

  The president looked at one small stack. “You even separated well wishes from royal houses?”

  “I thought they’d be more comfortable that way.”

  The president picked up an envelope from the Queen of England. She remembered meeting with Her Majesty in the gardens at Buckingham Palace. The queen had suggested to the president that she spare Erna Godfrey’s life. Extend her sentence was the way she’d put it. The president was glad she’d taken that advice. She opened the envelope and found a handwritten note that made her smile.

  She told Galia, “Nick tells me I have to limit my working hours, but I’m goi
ng to have to spend half my time writing thank you notes.”

  “Sure, it’s not like you have anything pressing to do.”

  Patti returned the queen’s message to its envelope and put it on the right stack.

  “As I’m sure you know,” she told Galia, “Marlene Berman came to see me at Camp David.”

  “Everyone in the building knows that, Madam President. I made sure of it.”

  “Well, here’s what she told me. The Democrats want me. They’d like to make my switch to their party formal and public as soon as possible. They assure me that the party’s power structure and a supermajority of their Congressional caucuses will pledge their support.”

  “But?” Galia asked.

  “But I can expect primary challenges from two of their prominent names.”

  “Not just Roger Michaelson?”

  Patti said, “Him, of course. We expected that. The other, though, is Jean Morrissey.”

  “The governor of Minnesota,” Galia said.

  “Yes. Marlene says I’ve inspired her. The governor was of the mind that a Democrat would have been the first woman elected president. She even thought it would be her. My run last time around caught her by surprise, before she was ready to take the leap herself. She’s determined to try this time.”

  Galia nodded. “You’ve opened a lot of women’s eyes as to what’s possible, Madam President. From now on, there are likely to be serious female candidates in both parties for every presidential primary season.”

  Patti smiled. “Just a troublemaker, that’s what I am.”

  “Certainly, Roger Michaelson would agree. With Governor Morrissey in the race, though, he’s probably rubbing his hands together in glee.”

  “Figuring two women will split the female vote and he’ll scoot all the way to the nomination on the strength of the male vote. What do you think, Galia?”

  The chief of staff considered the question with the seriousness it deserved.

  “I think,” she said, “that it’s not that simple. Things never are. The questions are how will you and Governor Morrissey divide the women’s vote and which of you will attract more of the men’s vote. I think you’ll do better than either Michaelson or Morrissey with the African American and Latino communities. Jean Morrissey, being six years younger than you, might give you a run for the money with younger voters.”

  Patti agreed with all of her chief of staff’s assessments.

  “And the outcome?” she asked.

  “You should win, but with another woman in the race, it will be a narrow win. You’d have to find a way to heal any rifts the primaries might cause to run a strong general election campaign.”

  “Still think the Democrats are a better choice than running as an independent?” Patti asked.

  “I’ve given that question a lot of thought, and one name keeps coming to mind.”

  “Teddy Roosevelt,” the president said.

  “Exactly. We now think of him as one of our great presidents. But in 1912 with the new Progressive Party he lost to the Democrats and Woodrow Wilson, who is not one of the four guys on Mount Rushmore. There were circumstances unique to that time that mattered, but thinking we can do better than Teddy Roosevelt …” Galia sighed. “That would take some doing.”

  The president asked, “So whatever challenges we face with the Democrats, you think they are the better bet?”

  Galia nodded. “Under the circumstances you’ve just described, Madam President, yes.”

  “And if I win the Democratic nomination with Jean Morrissey coming in a close second, do you think the country will be ready for an all-female ticket?”

  Before Galia could answer, the intercom on Patti’s desk buzzed.

  Edwina Byington announced, “Madam President, Vice President Wyman is here to see you.”

  Mather Wyman entered the Oval Office with a smile on his face. He nodded an acknowledgement to Galia’s presence. He offered a hand to the president.

  “It’s good to have you back, Madam President. I trust all’s well with you and the McGill family.”

  Patti gestured to Wyman to take the seat next to Galia.

  “Everyone is doing fine, Mather, thank you.”

  The social graces behind them, Wyman asked, “Am I here for a performance review, Madam President.”

  “Not specifically, no. Would you like one?”

  Sparing a quick glance at Galia, he said, “Yes, to be honest, I would.”

  The president said, “You weren’t perfect but you were close, Mather. You handled the Salvation’s Path situation as well as anyone could have. We both owe Galia our thanks for finding out about Burke Godfrey’s tunnels; that made things much easier for everyone.”

  The vice president gave Galia a small bow. “Madam Chief of Staff, thank you.”

  Galia returned the gesture with a nod.

  “Your announcement of Burke Godfrey’s passing was respectful and clear,” Patti told Wyman. “Your pledge to make known all the medical information regarding the cause of his death was just what the situation called for. Your press conference regarding the passing of Justices Calendri and Hawkins, and your refusal to speculate on their replacements was also respectful of the presidency and of me. Thank you for that.”

  “You’ve more than earned my respect, Madam President.”

  “The one instance where you overreached was considering a charge of treason against Godfrey. In light of his passing, that would have looked very bad. Changing your mind was the smart thing to do.”

  Wyman asked, “Were you able to speak with Mrs. Godfrey before I spoke publicly?”

  “I did. She was terribly hurt by the news, but she thanked me for telling her personally. She said … it was very kind of me and it only renewed her sorrow for what she did to Andy.”

  “Remorse on her part is a good thing,” Wyman said.

  Patti thought so, too, but she wasn’t about to share her private feelings.

  The idea of forgiving Erna Godfrey still made her dig in her heels.

  “Mather,” she said, “Galia and I have just been looking ahead politically. I want you to know that I’ve been extended an offer by the Democratic leadership to run for reelection on their ticket. I’ve decided to accept that offer.”

  The vice president needed a moment to digest that news.

  He finally said, “You’re quite the history-maker, Madam President. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of that happening before.”

  “It hasn’t, as far as I know,” Patti said. She turned to Galia for confirmation.

  The chief of staff shook her head. It hadn’t happened before.

  “The change in party affiliation, will it be effective immediately?” Wyman asked.

  “That’s a very good question, Mather, the matter of timing. We haven’t decided yet. But there’s another point of discussion we need to get to first. I understand that I’m not the only one in this room who is being recruited to sit in this office.”

  “Madam President?” Wyman asked.

  Patti nodded to Galia.

  She said to Wyman, “Reynard Dix and Peter Profitt want you to be the GOP candidate and word of their interest has reached you, Mr. Vice President.”

  Patti picked up the ball. “At your press conference, Mather, you conceded your experience as acting president gave you an edge over other possible GOP candidates for the nomination. You said that you hadn’t decided to run but, forgive me, you didn’t sound very convincing.”

  Feeling he’d been set up by the president and her chief of staff, Wyman grew stiff.

  “Would you like me to resign the vice presidency, Madam President?”

  “No, not at all,” Patti said. “We’ve worked well together. It would be a shame to let politics come between us.”

  Wyman looked for a sign that he was being played for a fool.

  Before his inspection could go too far, Galia interrupted his search.

  She said, “It would be the wrong move, Mr. Vice President, if you
do want the Republican nomination. In your present position, you have superior status in the GOP. Resigning would diminish your standing.”

  “Galia’s right, Mather,” the president said.

  “You want me to run against you?” he asked.

  “Somebody from the Republicans is going to do it. Who better than you?”

  He thought about that. “I’d run hard, give it my all.”

  Patti said, “I wouldn’t expect anything else. But I think the two of us could keep the debate on a plane that most presidential elections never manage.”

  Wyman looked the president in the eye. He knew what she meant. She wasn’t going to tell anyone that he was gay. In return, she’d expect him to play a clean game, too.

  He told her, “Once you sit behind that desk, it’s hard to leave, isn’t it, Madam President?”

  Patti only smiled.

  Galia, watching both of them closely, had the uneasy feeling the president and her number two shared a secret that neither of them intended to share with her. She hated that. It would only make her job harder.

  The president stood and offered her hand to Wyman.

  “A clean, hard-fought campaign?” she asked.

  Wyman stood and shook hands. “Agreed.”

  “Galia,” the president said, “will you have the White House photographer come in, please? I think it would be a good idea to provide the media with a picture of Vice President Wyman welcoming me back. We’ll show the American people how power can be transferred cordially in our country.”

  The chief of staff nodded and departed the Oval Office.

  The woman and the man she left behind shared the same thought.

  I hope I don’t regret this.

  The Mandarin Oriental Hotel — Washington, D.C.

  Hugh Collier reclined on one of the twin silk sofas in the living room of the presidential suite and sipped from a flute of Krug Clos Du Mesnil champagne. The bottle sat in an ice bucket nearby. A second glass rested on an end table. He’d ordered from room service and had tipped generously. Putting both the bubbly and the gratuity on Uncle Edbert’s tab.