She glanced over at Nick Creed, Warner’s deputy campaign manager. He was deep in conversation with Jack Rudly. An interesting match, Carolyn thought watching the intense exchange. Nick’s wit against Jack’s dogged persistence.
Nick emanated high energy, radiated intelligence. His lean runner’s build matched his quick movements. Everything he did was fast, from his speech patterns to his thought processes. His answers were always direct and immediate, his social skills finely tuned, his smile filled with charm. At thirty-three, he exuded the competence of a more mature man. Clever enough to handle just about anything and anyone, she thought, he was patently Jack’s equal.
In the glare of the overhead lights, Carolyn could barely make out Matt Carson and Ernie Weiland, Warner’s political consultants, standing at the back of the hall. Both were engaged in conversations with members of the press corps. Spinning the message. Carolyn thought with satisfaction.
She turned her attention back to Warner. His powerful stage presence still startled her. Intuitively, he built enthusiasm to a crescendo. Carolyn watched, yet again, the transformation of the faces in the audience. Of course, many in attendance were already sold on the Lane agenda, and made their excitement known at the outset. But others initially appeared reticent and wary. Then, as Warner spoke, furrowed brows relaxed, narrowed gazes widened, and silent voices began to cheer.
Warner’s skill as an orator didn’t necessarily come from his word choice. Carolyn knew – after all, these were her words – but from that elusive quality that Hollywood producers referred to as “star power.” He had that unexplainable magnetism that caused crowds to follow. Warner not only possessed it, he knew how to exploit it.
He turned toward Carolyn. “Ladies and Gentlemen, let me introduce to you my partner, my teammate, and the woman I love, Carolyn Alden Lane.” He took a few steps toward her, clasped her left hand and kissed her cheek.
The crowd surged to their feet with another roar.
This was not part of the script. Shocked, Carolyn veiled her surprise She smiled and waved to the audience.
Warner waited for his supporters in the hall to quiet and retake their seats. “As many of you already know, this dynamic woman wages our most effective war on drugs – single-handedly. In the courtrooms of Missouri, she has sent more drug dealers to prison than any other prosecutor in the state.”
“It is time for all of us to fight for tougher drug laws, and changes in the social services system that will protect our children and take our nation forward. Carolyn Alden Lane is already fighting those battles. She is my partner, and I say we join her. Together, we can rebuild America. Together, we can overcome the plague of drugs, hunger, homelessness, and hardship. Together, we can again become the greatest nation on earth.”
The crowd cheered and clapped their hands high in the air. A group began chanting, “Warner, Warner…”
Warner held out his hand to stop the applause. “But tonight I come to you for a special purpose, because I truly need your help. I need your permission to pursue this office. I gave you my word that I would finish my term as senator before running for the presidency. So I come to you now and ask that I be relieved from that commitment. If you say no, I will respect your wishes. If you say yes, then it’s on to the White House.”
The crowd roared. “Lane for President. Lane for President…”
Warner flashed a big neon grin. Strobes exploded. Carolyn walked forward with Warner. They raised their clasped hands high in the air. The audience surged to their feet, again, clearly enthralled. Together they stood on the edge of the stage beaming, pointing and waving to familiar faces below in the crowd. They had their answer.
THIRTY-ONE
Pleased with the successful launch of Warner’s candidacy, Carolyn called a meeting the next day to discuss strategy for grooming their candidate for the primaries. Matt and Ernie, who clearly understood that Carolyn was the guiding force behind the man employing them, addressed Warner’s image.
Ernie began. “We feel the best angle for Warner is the ‘hometown boy done good.’ Warner’s humility and vulnerability are quite endearing and we want to capitalize on those traits. Our polls show that these qualities make women swoon and men trust him.”
“Warner’s got this image nailed in Missouri and the southern states, but we’ve got to translate it across all regions of the U.S.,” Matt said. “So, we need to work hard on your diction and communication skills.”
Ernie met Warner’s gaze. “Your accent needs to be toned down. In effect, your voice inflection needs to be homogenized so as not to ring any discordant bells with voters from other states.”
Like a tag team, Matt continued where Ernie left off. “The northern states will notice any type of southern accent. Everywhere Warner goes, we want him to appear to be the boy next door. We want people to relate to him. The best way to do that is to have him look and sound like one of them, or more to the point, who they’d like to be if given the chance. So, I’ve taken the liberty of hiring a voice trainer.”
Ernie took up the strategy. “there’s an interpersonal communication technique called ‘matching’ that we’ll key in on. It’s effective in all types of interpersonal interaction, but especially politics. Often, a politician will use region-specific jargon or a mannerism common to the group he’s addressing. This works on the subconscious, although people rarely realize why they feel so comfortable. Simply put, people like what’s familiar to them.”
“For example.” he continued. “In some parts of the country people will say soda when asking for a carbonated beverage. In other regions they order pop. Both terms mean the same thing, but they’re demographic specific. It’s our job to make sure you ask for a pop in the right places and a soda elsewhere.”
“We sure are paying you two a hell of a lot of money to tell me how to ask for a Coke,” Warner said.
They all laughed.
“Warner’s already a master of sustained eye contact while speaking to a crowd,” Nick commented. “He doesn’t need much practice with that.”
His gaze was like the Pied Piper’s flute, Carolyn thought wryly, drawing women to him in droves.
“Our secret weapon, however, is Warner’s memory. He remembers names and details of people he’s met by the thousands, and he’s able to make these people feel they’re of critical importance to him. I’ve watched you do it. Warner. Very impressive.” Matt slapped him on the back.
Warner preened.
“Our other secret weapon is Carolyn. She’s a woman of our times, and the voters like her willingness to support her husband’s goals, even though she’s successful in her own career.”
Carolyn smiled. A lot of political savvy had gotten them to this point, she thought. But political favors aside, she and Warner had the social expertise to cajole supporters out of buckets of money at fund-raisers.
She waited for a lull in the conversation. When it finally came. Carolyn got to her feet. “I think we need to confront a potentially difficult issue – Richard Young.” She looked at Warner. “I know he’s your friend, but we can’t afford to ignore the threat he poses to your nomination.”
“I’ll handle Richard. You just concentrate on how to make me a better candidate.” Warner said, his tone so harsh that everyone in the room glanced at him.
“We can’t afford to be naive.” she said. “Young will demolish us in the primaries. We need to neutralize him, or we can kiss the nomination good-bye.”
She saw the muscles in Warner’s jaw flex in anger, but she continued to challenge his gaze. She wouldn’t let him sabotage himself out of some misplaced sense of loyalty to a colleague.
“You heard what I said. I’ll handle it.”
“Warner, he might be your friend, but he’s also an adversary.”
“End of discussion.” Warner rose from his seat.
Carolyn shrugged to conceal her dismay and began to gather up the files she’d brought to the strategy session. Somehow, she had to protect Warner f
rom himself “I guess we’re adjourned, gentlemen.”
THIRTY-TWO
The next morning, Carolyn left early for the courthouse, aware that she needed to catch Mark before he became too invoked with his caseload.
His face brightened when he saw her. “This is a pleasant way to start the day,” he said, setting his newspaper on his desk.
Carolyn took the chair across the desk from him. She continued to take the moral high road where Mark was concerned, in spite of his frustration with her aloof behavior and her own need for companionship.
“Don’t look so bleak,” she said.
“Why not?” he asked, sounding unexpectedly terse. “I’m used to seeing you at least twice a week. Now, I’m lucky to get a glimpse of you on television.”
“You aren’t being fair, Mark.”
He hesitated, the pause long and lonely. “I’m sorry, I just miss you.”
Sadness draped her, soaking into her bones like a cold winter rain. Although it hadn’t been her intention, she’d hurt Mark. She cared deeply for him, and she valued his friendship. And she believed he loved her. But she couldn’t knowingly contribute to the destruction of his family.
“Me, too.” she said. “It’s just that things are crazy right now, trying to get the staff and organization in place for the primaries.”
“I know, I know. Can’t you take a few hours off for an old friend?”
“You know I can’t.” She reached across the desk, placing her hand on his. “I need your help.”
“Sure, what can I do?”
“It’s time to collect the last payment from Mort. I want to make sure that he’s sorry he pulled his support.” She shook her head in disgust. “Once we have that money, we don’t need him anymore. I’m going to use the funds for a special project I want you to set up. If there’s a way to delay paying taxes, that’s the route we need to take. Pull strings if you have to.”
“What’s this project about? Is it for the campaign?” Mark sat back in his chair, tapping one finger on the barrel of the pen in his hand.
“Of course it’s for the campaign. Remember the firm we used for Rudly and Fields?”
“Sure.” His lips drew back into tight line.
“It’s time to set up a permanent staff to investigate possible candidates for the nomination.” Carolyn stood and began pacing. “After that’s accomplished, the investigative staff will come in handy for the big campaign, in order to gather ammunition against President Washman and any of his advocates. I want you to set it up.”
“You need to be careful about this.” Mark warned. “It could ruin Warner if anyone found out.”
Concern nibbled at her. She understood that she was bending the law. “Which is why I trust you to handle everything for us. I want the best. Contact Winston Cain again, and tell him we only want ex-FBI and ex-CIA agents. We’ll need a lot of money to pay for that kind of talent, but I want them on retainer for us, and strictly us. And tell Cain that his people are never to know who they’re working for. Can I count on you to do this for me?” she asked quietly.
“Of course, but…”
“I don’t have time for buts.” She straightened. “Start right away. Call me if you have any problems. By the way, I’ve set up a private meeting room on the Internet. Here’s the address.” Carolyn handed him a piece of paper with Cleopatral600.com written on it. “The password is Caesar. Make sure Winston Cain has it, but no one else. Either of you can leave me a message anytime, I check it frequently.”
“Since when did you start using the Internet?”
“Since I discovered that my assistant. Katherine Seals, is a computer whiz. The girl’s absolutely brilliant. She can access anything. Which reminds me – I had her pull up Warner’s accounts.” She started pacing again. “What’s left of his investment portfolio won’t carry us far, but it’s a place to start. We’ll use my money when it becomes necessary, but until then we can tap into campaign funds. I have some overdue political favors that should generate funding, and I intend to call in those markers now.”
Carolyn paused and faced him. “Mort Fields may have pulled his support, but I know we can count on the Poultry Foods people for a steady supply of cash. We saved them tens of millions by pushing through some regulations that would have taken years to enact without our support.”
“You can’t risk misappropriating campaign funds. We’ve talked about this before.”
“I don’t intend to do anything improper, and I know you’ll use sound judgment every step of the way. We’re just creatively using campaign funds.”
Mark frowned as he got up from his chair and approached Carolyn.
“Please do this for me,” she said.
He nodded.
“Is anyone using my old office now?”
“Of course not. You’re supposed to be coming back from your leave of absence, remember?”
Carolyn smiled. “I’ll need to extend it indefinitely, I’m afraid. I’d understand if you gave my office away.”
“I’ll save it for you as long as I can. Right now, it’s still yours.”
Carolyn brushed his cheek with a platonic kiss. “Good. Then, I’m going to try office to put together some notes on the possible candidates. Let me know who Cain has on line already, so we can get these investigations underway. I want to start with a thorough report on Richard Young.”
***
After Carolyn left his office. Mark shut off the tape recorder Edmund had built into his desk. He opened the pencil drawer and popped out the tape. He twirled it between his fingers, and sat for a moment, considering his options. He knew that Edmund would want to hear what Carolyn planned. But it wouldn’t hurt to inform Warner, to prove his allegiance to the candidate himself, and build some loyalty, Mark thought, as he dialed the phone.
Warner’s secretary put the call through
“Hi. Mark. How are you?”
“Fine. Warner, fine. But this isn’t a social call, it’s about Carolyn.”
“Okay. What’s up?”
“I could have called Edmund, but I felt you had a right to know firsthand. Carolyn asked me to hire Cain to investigate your primary opponents. She’s going to focus on Richard.”
“Don’t worry. Young and I have discussed it. We’ve got Cain set up to handle her inquiries.”
“Good, but that’s not why I called. She’s had her assistant, Katherine Seals, pull up your financial accounts.”
Warner chuckled. “Edmund and I figured she might snoop around. Most of my assets have been taken out of my name, so relax. She can’t link me financially to Edmund anymore, so I doubt she found much of anything worth worrying about.”
“No, she didn’t. I just thought I’d better warn you.”
“Thanks, buddy. I won’t forget you for this. Loyalty like yours is hard to find. When I get to the White House, I’m taking you with me. In the meantime, let Carolyn do what she wants. We can take care of her.”
Mark hung up, satisfied with the outcome of the conversation. When Warner won, a Cabinet post would be his.
It bothered him that Carolyn might end up a casualty, but not enough to tell her the truth. Turnabout was fair play, he rationalized. She seemed to have no qualms about using him to forward her agenda.
She assumed he was a pushover, a docile man she could cajole and manipulate into doing her bidding. These were dangerous assumptions, Mark thought. Especially after she’d brushed him off as if nothing had ever happened between them, coldly rejecting his love. Now, her rejection and arrogance would cost her. And cost her dearly.
***
Carolyn stopped in the kitchenette and made herself a cup of tea before going on to her old office. The desk once occupied by her assistant, Katherine, sat vacant. Carolyn stepped past it and into her former domain. She sat down behind her desk. Although it felt good to be back, this office represented her past – a past she had no desire to revisit.
She turned her attention back to the campaign, and pulled a legal pa
d from her top desk drawer.
President Washman and Vice President Dexter would be dealt with later. For now, she needed to focus on the primaries.
Her biggest concern remained Senator Richard Young. What puzzled her was Warner’s relaxed attitude about the man. Young was, by far, the most serious potential presidential candidate aside from Warner.
His Boy Scout public image, however, frustrated her. She grasped the mug of steaming tea and held it between her two hands, taking tiny sips.
Other than a weakness for women, Young’s only other vulnerability was his devotion to his children. While this genuine love for his family aided him with the voters, she sensed that it might be the key to slowing down his momentum. Carolyn pondered the possibilities and concluded that, whatever it took, they would give Richard Young the fight of his political life.
She considered their other adversaries. Martin Gaston from New Hampshire and Frank Landon were both contenders. She’d heard rumors that Bradley Davis of California was on the verge of declaring, but she knew he’d be an easy target. Nebraska Senator David Taylor posed a more viable threat.
Carolyn decided to concentrate her energy on Taylor ’s personal past. He had to have ghosts, she concluded. Ghosts that the voters needed to be aware of when deciding the country’s leadership.
She had met Taylor once. He was an eloquent, charismatic speaker and his record included a Medal of Honor in the Vietnam War. He could be legitimately touted as a war hero. Compared to Taylor ’s record, Warner’s lackluster military career became a liability. She tapped the pencil against the bridge of her nose.
Her glance fell on the stack of mail in her basket that had yet to be forwarded on to her home. Carolyn set aside her pencil and flipped through the stacks of solicitations, letters and periodicals. Most of it was junk. She picked up the most recent issue of Today and began leafing through it.
“Just what we need right now.” she muttered as she read the bold-print header of the article
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