The Race

by Richard North Patterson

  "'What you mean,' I answered, 'is Grace can't be handled. Especially not by you.'

  "He gave me this little smile, like I'd read him. 'Maybe so,' he answered, 'but I'll tell you something else about him. People see all that careless charm and think they know him. But they don't. No one does.'"

  Except for Lexie, Corey thought. "That's a compliment?"

  "Of a kind. Magnus was saying that what drives you is beyond his grasp. And, at times, mine." Spencer looked at him steadily. "But whatever it is makes you too valuable to lose. Your speech at Carl Cash was as fine a moment as I've seen in politics.

  "I view this election as America's last chance. So yes," Spencer concluded with a smile. "I'm emerging from a comfortable retirement to run your damn campaign. That flattery enough?"

  Corey felt a wave of relief. "It'll do," he answered.

  THEY SAT ON a rock, facing the blue-gray water and, beyond that, the green rolling hills of Marin County. "First things first," Spencer said. "Let's talk about Marotta.

  "Price has packaged him as a man of principle, even as Marotta tacitly consented to whatever acts of moral degradation might allow him to survive." Spencer spoke with cool determination. "We're going to tie South Carolina around his ankles like a two-ton ball and chain.

  "We can't prove what Price did below the radar screen--at least not yet. But a Catholic pandering to an anti-Catholic bigot like Carl Cash should pay the price with Catholics in primaries like Michigan, Connecticut, and Rhode Island. And he will.

  "That's not negative campaigning. It's evidence of what Marotta is willing to do if the alternative is losing. And it draws a stark contrast between the two of you." His tone became clipped and practical. "So let's look at the map.

  "There are moments in politics when goodness triumphs. But goodness requires a helping hand; in this case, the Reverend Christy's. You need him in the race for at least the next two weeks, so he can cut into Marotta's vote in states where the Christian Right is strong: Alabama, Louisiana, Texas, Oklahoma, Georgia, and Virginia. If Marotta sweeps all those, you lose. But if he doesn't, and you survive to California--"

  "We've got a deadlocked convention," Corey finished.

  Spencer nodded slowly. "I've gone over this state by state, and I don't see any realistic way you clinch the nomination before our happy gathering in New York City. But if we can get you there, that's where the three governors--Blair, Costas, and Larkin--will try to auction off their delegates to the highest bidder. And, of course, Christy will do the same."

  "Does God make deals?" Corey asked. "In Bob's theology, I'm pretty sure, God won't settle for anything less than President Christy."

  "Maybe so. But in the back of that very shrewd mind, Christy knows that vice presidents can morph into presidents. After South Carolina, that may be God's last, best hope."

  Corey watched a buoy bob in the choppy water. "In other words," he ventured, "my chances depend on whether Christy is lured into toughing out these charges by delusions of vice presidential grandeur. Maybe with a little help from me."

  Spencer faced him. "What's your gut say? Did Christy come on to her?"

  Corey sorted through his shifting sense of Christy's character and motives. "I don't believe Price is responsible for every bad thing in the world--or even in South Carolina. It's possible that Christy is a horndog and Magnus just got lucky. But ask me to choose, and I'd say Christy's innocent."

  Spencer's eyes lit with interest. "Why?"

  "Because he's not a sociopath. He may think he's God's anointed, but I don't believe he thinks God's given him a pass. Add ambition--and the obvious price God's candidate would pay for being exposed--and I'd guess Christy's too disciplined to come on to a woman Dakin thinks has got a screw loose.

  "More likely, Christy's weakness was in feeling so armored in his own integrity that he didn't worry about being alone with her." A fresh pall of gloom overcame Corey. "It's sad, but paranoia's become a requirement for running. Since the campaign started, I've never been alone with any woman but Lexie."

  Spencer gave him a keen look, as though Lexie Hart was problem enough. "How much are you willing to gamble on being right?"

  "I guess we're not talking about money."

  "I'm talking about the presidency. And that rests on Christy staying in to the bitter end--and maybe, come the convention, on his goodwill. So what I suggest is that you give Christy a public statement of support: that in a dirty campaign like this, Christy should not be driven from the race by unsubstantiated charges."

  Once more, Corey thought of Lexie. "That is a gamble. Women who've been abused--or sympathize with those who have--might condemn me for it. And if this woman's charges end up looking credible, I'll be damaged."

  "No," Spencer corrected, "you'll be dead. Because Christy's dead. You and Reverend Bob have turned into Siamese twins."

  Corey pondered this. Before he could respond, Spencer said, "Now about Ms. Hart ..."

  "Yes?"

  "Personally, I'm filled with envy: not only is she beautiful, but she's plainly smart as a whip. So it's no big stretch for me to see you two together." Spencer's tone was blunt. "But that's me. If she's why you and Rustin fell out--and I suspect it is--I have to say Blake's right."

  "Blake may be right, Hollis. He's also gone."

  Spencer gave a small smile of acquiescence. "I can't tell you how to live your life. In my own life, I loved only one woman, and I married her. And when she died ..." To Corey's surprise, Spencer's eyes misted. "Whatever you decide, I'll work with it."

  Corey nodded. Out of respect for Spencer's sentiment, or maybe his own unwillingness to believe that he had lost her, Corey did not say that Lexie, too, was gone.

  "All right then," Spencer said. "Let's get rolling."

  THOUGH HELD WITH only two hours' notice, Corey's press conference was filled with reporters either eager for a story or scenting blood in the water. But the return of Spencer to the political maelstrom clearly surprised the media.

  "Hollis Spencer," Corey told them, "is the preeminent political strategist of our time, and one of the most honorable. We agree on a fundamental principle: winning the presidency should not tarnish the presidency.

  "Which brings me to the charges against Bob Christy. Though serious, they are just that--charges. He is not accused of anything that can be proven or disproven. And so each of us must make our own judgment about his character." Corey paused, waiting for the reporters scribbling shorthand to catch up. "Here's mine: however much we disagree about issues, I believe Bob Christy. Just as I believe that, absent proof, he should not be driven from this race.

  "This, as I say, is a question of character." Corey let the anger surface in his voice. "In South Carolina, as part of an avalanche of innuendo, I was accused of being an agent of Al Qaeda. Reverend Christy repudiated this charge and asked Senator Marotta to do the same. Senator Marotta declined.

  "That moment said a great deal about character--Reverend Christy's and Senator Marotta's. So I'm giving the senator a second chance." Pausing, Corey spoke directly to the cameras. "I urge Bob Christy to stay in this race and to allow Americans to decide this contest on the issues. And I ask Senator Marotta to join me in that call. It's not too late for him to show some character."

  And that, Corey thought with satisfaction, would lead the evening news.

  IN THE CAR to the airport, Hollis Spencer said, "It'll be fun to watch Marotta deal with this one."

  Corey sat back. "My favorite instructor at the Academy used to tell us that 'character is who you are in the dark.' These days I wonder what Rob would do if there was no one around to watch."

  Corey's cell phone rang. When he pressed it to his ear, a deep southern-tinged voice said, "Corey? It's your semifriend Bob Christy."

  As Corey laughed, Spencer turned to him. "Come on, Bob," Corey said. "Let's go all the way."

  "Not funny, these days. And I'm not sure you're my type. But here's what I wanted to say to you, as sincerely as I know how." Christy spok
e each word slowly, as though hoping to establish a bond. "I'm not naive, Corey. I know you have your reasons. But you've got too much integrity to say what you don't believe.

  "I don't care about Marotta. But the opinion of a hero matters to me. Whatever happens, I won't forget this day." Christy paused, then chuckled softly. "By the way, I'm staying in the race. I'd hate to leave you with only Rob for company."

  15

  TWO WEEKS LATER, SENATOR COREY GRACE LANDED IN CALIFORNIA for the final days of the primary campaign.

  In a motorcade headed for Los Angeles, Corey and Spencer watched CNN as Dana Bash described the stakes. "The math is brutally simple," she explained. "To keep his campaign alive, Senator Grace must win in delegate-rich California.

  "The California primary is 'winner take all': no matter how narrow the margin, the winner will claim all of California's one hundred and seventy-three delegates--by far the biggest prize of the primary season. And in a state where gay marriage, border security, and illegal immigration are hot-button issues, Senator Grace will face voters who are in a particularly volatile mood."

  "Unlike the ones I've already met," Corey remarked. Studying new polling numbers that showed Marotta ahead in California, Spencer merely grunted.

  On CNN, the picture shifted to a map of the primary states already decided. "As you can see," Jeff Greenfield told Wolf Blitzer, "Senators Marotta and Grace have played a game of electoral leapfrog, trading victories as Reverend Christy has siphoned just enough delegates to keep either senator from clinching the nomination--a task made even more difficult because favorite-son governors in New York, Illinois, and Mississippi have kept those states out of play. But the dynamics of this seesaw contest confirm that these two very different men have different weaknesses and strengths."

  "Yeah," Spencer grumbled. "One tells lies."

  Greenfield touched the computerized map, causing Michigan to turn blue--the color designated for a Grace victory. "In Michigan, Grace won by garnering a large crossover vote from blacks, Catholics, and independents, even while losing conservative Republican votes by thirty-five percent." Touching Virginia, Greenfield turned it to red. "Contrast this to Virginia, a more conservative state, where a similar cushion for Marotta among Republicans gave him a nine percent margin over Grace, who barely edged Christy for second place.

  "So just for fun, let's look at Alabama." Once again, Greenfield tapped at the screen. "We've classified it as a purple state because no one knows what's going on. To everyone's surprise, Grace won the Alabama primary with a crossover vote from blacks and a whopping plurality among veterans, while social conservatives split their votes between Marotta and Christy.

  "But then the party's state chairman--allegedly prodded by Magnus Price--challenged the legality of the election, and held a state convention that elected delegates pledged to Marotta. So now we have two delegations--one elected and one appointed--who will fight it out at the convention for the right to vote for their candidate of choice. In this tense and rancorous contest, such backroom maneuverings may ultimately determine the nominee and, perhaps, the next president."

  In the car, Corey and Spencer were silent and intent. "That's a big part of the story," Greenfield continued. "But in terms of the candidates themselves, in many ways Senator Grace is the story. On the Democratic side, the contest ended swiftly, focusing national attention on the dogfight among Republicans. Based on candor, charisma, and his appeal across party lines, Senator Grace has lasted longer than most prognosticators thought he would--despite, or maybe because of, the drama surrounding his relationship with Lexie Hart."

  Who rarely talks to me now, Corey thought. Since South Carolina, they had not seen each other; their conversations, while filled with affection and concern, were bereft of any plan for the future. When Corey had said, "I don't want to just be your friend," she had answered softly, "But we are friends, Corey. Friends care for each other and speak the truth. Unless the truth hurts too much to speak."

  "But with or without Ms. Hart," Greenfield was saying, "Corey Grace is a political rock star, drawing young people, minorities, independents, and suburban women, all of whom have typically shunned Republicans." Smiling, Greenfield concluded, "One sentence sums up his promise and his dilemma: Corey Grace is the most popular politician in neither party."

  Gazing out at the clogged six-lane highway, Corey took out his cell phone and called Governor Charles Blair. "It's Corey," he said. "Just calling to take your pulse."

  "It's still beating," the youthful governor said, his chuckle at once practiced and evasive. "You know who I feel closest to, personally and philosophically. But Marotta has some powerful supporters out here. Best I keep the party together by keeping our delegation out of play."

  "And maybe become the candidate?" Corey inquired wryly. "Or, at least, vice president?"

  Blair chuckled again, the disarming laugh of a man caught out. "I'm a red-blooded American governor, Corey--I wouldn't hide if the lightning struck."

  "And if it doesn't?"

  "Then I promise you this much: if my choice comes down to deciding which of you becomes the nominee, you know where I stand."

  And where is that? Corey wanted to ask. "Thank you," he said graciously. "Knowing that means a lot."

  Corey got off. "How'd it go?" Spencer asked.

  "More foreplay and polite evasion. He's waiting for the moment when I have to offer him VP. Why commit now in exchange for nothing?"

  "Still," Spencer said, "it's good to remind him that you care. Among the things the so-called experts sometimes forget is that politics is about people. Who would have guessed that you and Christy would have this odd rapport?"

  At once, Corey thought of Clay. "I do what I have to do," he said softly. "At least as far as conscience allows."

  Spencer gave him a puzzled look, then returned to his computer run.

  REPORTERS CLUSTERED IN front of the hotel in downtown Los Angeles. Looking out the window, Corey said, "What a bizarre place this is--office towers with no people in the streets. Looks like a giant Lego set someone dropped from the moon."

  "Don't ever fail to not mention that," Spencer advised dryly, and both men clambered out of the limo.

  Kate McInerny was in the front rank of the media, as avid as the others for an encounter with a candidate disinclined to duck their questions. "Senator?"

  Corey smiled. "Loitering again, Kate? What's up?"

  "This morning, Senator Marotta called for a massive effort to deport all illegal immigrants, and a thousand-mile security wall along the Mexican border. What's your reaction?"

  "That Senator Marotta calls for lots of things. In the country I'm familiar with, some important segments of our economy depend on illegal immigrants. And we don't have the manpower to find ten million illegals, let alone deport them."

  "And so?"

  "We should tighten border security and offer illegal immigrants a carefully designed path to citizenship." Corey shrugged. "I believe that on principle. In terms of politics, Senator Marotta's trying to win a primary by pushing a volatile issue. But if he wins the nomination by offending Hispanics, come November he'll lose California by twenty points. When bad policy meets bad politics, it's an achievement of a kind."

  Spencer, Corey noted, watched with resignation and veiled amusement--these unscripted encounters, for all their risk of disastrous comments, had become integral to Corey's appeal. "Senator Marotta," Jake Linkletter from Rohr called out, "has just scheduled a Senate vote Thursday to pass a constitutional amendment banning gay marriage. Clearly, this requires you to duck that vote or to cast a vote that might well influence the outcome of this primary. What is your intention?"

  Corey tried to choke back his disdain. "If Rob wants to play this game," he said in a tone of resignation, "he can. All I can promise is to be there on Thursday."

  "Senator Marotta," Linkletter pressed, "also repeated his charge that gay marriage is, quote, 'a second cousin to incest, polygamy, and people having sex with animals
.' What is your response?"

  Corey shot him an incredulous look. "What do you expect me to say? That I tremble for our nation's innocent sheep population? That I fear the day when our national anthem will become 'Embraceable Ewe'?"

  Except for Linkletter, the cluster of reporters burst out laughing. "Perhaps that's not a very presidential remark," Corey told Linkletter. "But when a presidential candidate actually says things like that, all one can do is make an offering to the god of laughter.

  "Listen to Senator Marotta, and you'd think America's biggest problem is gay couples burning flags to celebrate their anniversary. This strategy of turning Americans against each other is tearing us apart. That's the most unpresidential thing a candidate can do."

  "What is America's biggest problem?" Linkletter asked in a gibing tone.

  "Where do I begin--global warming, nuclear proliferation, oil gluttony, and instability in the Middle East are all contenders. But let's take another issue: fighting domestic terrorism.

  "I'm grateful we've had no recent incidents of terror. But as suggested by last year's attempt to assassinate Senator Marotta, we're pressing our luck. As one example, I worry about terrorists crashing a private plane loaded with explosives into a football stadium. Our ability to prevent that is nil--"

  "Senator," Linkletter interrupted, "don't you worry that simply by suggesting such things you'll give our enemies ideas?"

  Corey fixed him with a cold stare. "They're not stupid. The terrorists who brought down the World Trade Center figured this one out a decade ago. And people who suggest that it's wrong to point that out make ostriches look like visionaries."

  With that, Corey headed for the hotel entrance. "Senator," Linkletter called out, "is there a reason Lexie Hart has stopped campaigning with you?"