“How do you define the Bush Doctrine?” asked another reporter.
“It’s a policy decision that says we will go after the terrorists wherever they are, inside any country. The bold move made by President Obama in 2011 when he went into Pakistan to take out Osama bin Laden—well, you can plan on seeing a lot more of that type of Special Forces action after I’m President. Like I said, we’ll do whatever it takes, whatever the cost.”
Bystanders applauded. Media people were busy scribbling down Dumaine’s comments.
Both Phil and Tim pursed their lips—they both disagreed with that policy decision.
But—he was the candidate, not them.
* * *
CHAPTER 9
On the other side of the world, a group of operatives in the super-secret VASAK Unit of the Ministry of Intelligence and National Security of the Islamic Republic of Iran (the secret police commonly known by its acronym, MISIRI) sat spellbound in a basement office in a nondescript building in Emami Street in the center of Tehran as they reviewed Dumaine’s speech on a monitor.
“This is very serious,” said Seyed Gilani in a very low voice. “I thought you would want to see this tape. It was only a few hours ago that he made this statement.”
“I am impressed by his change of policy from working with the Russians bilaterally and now he wants to be able to act unilaterally,” said Colonel Reza Shahzad, the unit’s leader, finishing a cup of strong tea.
“And he said ‘whatever it takes, whatever the cost,’ didn’t he?” said Major Saleem Malek.
“But it—it’s just campaign talk, don’t you think?” Seyed Gilani shrugged.
“We should inform the Foreign Minister,” said Kamran Hasan.
“He will want to know, yes,” said Malek.
“What are the positions of the other candidates?” asked Dayan Pervaiz.
Reza Shahzad motioned to an aide to serve more tea to everybody in the room. He liked his tea blended specially, with two parts Darjeeling, one part Earl Grey (with double Bergamot) and a pinch of Orange Pekoe.
All eyes were focused on Shahzad. He always stood out in any crowd of men in Iran. For while most men were swarthy and dark-haired, similar to their Persian ancestors who fought in battle against Alexander the Great, Shahzad was a pure blond. He had a ruddy complexion, sometimes with hints of roses and strawberries in his cheeks. He was the product of an Iranian diplomat (mostly of French descent) who married a woman from Iceland while in the Embassy in Reykjavik. So he had a very Nordic facial structure, white-blond hair, and had the strikingly handsome features of a Calvin Klein underwear model.
Shahzad spoke in a calm, level voice.
“Not as extreme as this Senator Dumaine. The others have the attitude ‘live and let live.’ They do not consider our activities an immediate threat, and they would rather not bring it up in an election when the American people could not care less about whether we are building bombs or not. They are too busy with their movies and video games and iPads. They have no conception of the threat we can be, the threat we want to be. The threat we are!”
Reza Shahzad took his cup of tea from the aide.
Ali Nazir nodded. “The Foreign Minister will not tolerate this man to be the new President.”
Reza Shahzad placed a small sugar cube between his lips and sipped his tea. It was still too hot.
“No,” he said reflectively. “Then it would be wise to act only if this Dumaine reaches the convention and defeats Mowbray and becomes the nominee. If the polls show that he has a good chance to beat President St. Clair in the General Election, then we strike: before he wins, and thus before he can become the President. The security problem would be too difficult for us to surmount afterwards.”
“Yes, yes...” Kamran Hasan mumbled.
Reza Shahzad tried his tea again: perfect.
“Very sweet. Very nice. Another!”
An aide rushed over with yet another cup of the delicious brew.
Colonel Shahzad went on:
“There is a window of opportunity—and I hope we do not have to take advantage of it—between the time an American is elected to be President—and the time of the Inauguration. Several weeks. We could strike then. But if we strike before the election, if we think Dumaine will win, we will have a much better opportunity. Even though they are protected by Secret Service agents, in the excitement and heat of the campaign, the candidates commonly ignore even the most rudimentary security precautions, and this is the time to make our move.”
“We have been watching Dumaine for some time, based on his extreme statements,” said Kamran Hasan.
“But we will have to wait until he is nominated—if he is nominated—before making any decision.”
“The Foreign Minister will expect us to be prepared,” said Seyed Gilani.
“We will be prepared. We are always prepared,” said Shahzad.
“I will set a meeting with the Foreign Minister so that you can brief him,” said Saleem Malek.
Reza Shahzad nodded gravely.
* * *
CHAPTER 10
In New York, the Dumaine family was already inside the Green Room by the time Matt Lauer popped his head in to give them a morning greeting.
“Is everybody all right?” he asked. It was the top-rated Today Show host’s habit to make the rounds before air time visiting that day’s guests.
Dumaine got up and shook hands with Matt. “The girls really enjoyed their little session in the make-up chair.”
“We did!” squeaked Jennifer.
“It was fun!” added Allison.
“Well, they don’t need as much work as I do!” Matt said in a friendly manner.
Soon, he was gone and they watched the opening of the show on the monitor in the Green Room.
A producer came along to bring them into the studio for their segment, getting them settled into position on one of the couches.
Bianca was with Thuris talking to a senior producer. Bianca was needling the guy about the lighting.
“I don’t want too much red on him,” she was saying. The producer nodded politely, knowing he would never touch the lights, not for this bossy bitch.
Allison was whining a little.
“Oh, Daddy, we miss you so much.”
“As soon as the campaign is over, sweetie, we’ll have lots of time together, I promise.”
“Daddy,” Jennifer said urgently, “I want to show you the drawing I made in school.”
“What’s it about?” he asked.
“It’s about a dragon lady—” she began.
The producer talking to Bianca handed her off to a production assistant and she brought Bianca to the couch where she took her seat on the other side of the two girls from Bill, across from Lauer, who had the closest chair to Bill.
“Cueing,” called out the production assistant.
“Are we all ready?” asked Matt.
“Sure. Let’s go,” said Dumaine.
“Five, four, three, two, one. You’re on.”
Matt looked into the camera for his close-up.
“As part of our series during the campaign, we’re here with one of the eight Democratic candidates for the Presidential nomination, Senator Bill Dumaine of Massachusetts, and his wife Bianca, along with their two children, the twins Allison and Jennifer. Senator Dumaine is considered the leading candidate after the frontrunner, Governor Douglas Mowbray of Pennsylvania.”
He turned to Dumaine.
“Senator, thank you for bringing your family here this morning. How do you plan to overcome the lead that Governor Mowbray has over you?”
“Well, the Governor started running over two years ago, and I’ve only been in the race for a few months. We have a long way to go, but I think we’ll get our message across in time. We’re closing fast.”
“The Governor has amassed a huge campaign war chest. Will his ability to spend more money than you be a factor?”
“Money is always a factor—but so are the issues
, and I think as we get our message to the people, the dust will clear and I’ll win the nomination.”
“What issues particularly do you think will separate you from Governor Mowbray?”
“In the area of foreign affairs, Governor Mowbray has no experience, whereas I’ve sat on the Foreign Relations Committee in the Senate since I went to Congress. And this makes a big difference when you consider issues like the Russians selling off their nuclear secrets and supplies to people like the Iranians and the North Koreans—people we don’t want to have such weapons.”
“What’s the campaign like for the rest of the family? Do you girls make many campaign appearances?”
“Mostly with our mother,” said Allison.
Matt turned to Jennifer.
“And how do you like campaigning for your dad to be President?”
“I want to move to the White House.”
Everybody laughed—even the crew.
“Have you ever been to the White House?
“No.”
“What do you like about the White House?”
“It’s big!”
Again, the crew couldn’t help laughing. Even Bianca cracked a smile. She was so good at this that it didn’t seem the least bit forced.
“But she wants to change it?” Allison jumped in.
“How?”
Jennifer didn’t need any encouragement to offer her idea:
“I want to paint it blue!”
Lauer knew even the home audience would be laughing now—what he knew beforehand would be a good segment was developing into an excellent segment. But enough of the kids; he had to give a minute to Bianca or risk her wrath later in the campaign when NBC needed access for more interviews.
“Let me turn to you, Bianca. What’s it like being the wife of a guy campaigning for the Democratic Presidential nomination?”
Bianca offered a world-weary smile. She was playing for empathy from women in the audience.
“Tiring.”
More titters from the crew. Maybe it was the way she said it, thought Matt.
“Do you get tired of listening to the same speech over and over again?”
A typical question. And Bianca had a typical answer.
“Not when the issues are so important. When Bill and I were first married, I knew what his ultimate goal was—the Presidency. We both went into public life with our eyes open. The lack of privacy, the always-inquiring media—these are difficult things to deal with—having your every thought or action second-guessed, with people always trying to find some sinister ulterior motive for everything you do—that sort of thing saps the energy, distracts you. But you have to keep the higher goal in mind, and keep remembering that there are issues that we’re here to deal with, and that knowledge gives you the strength to go on. But it’s not easy.”
A minute more and they’d gone to a Quaker Oats commercial and Bill and Bianca were in a far corner of the studio preparing to leave.
“I’ll take the girls out to the car,” said Bill.
“All right, girls,” said Phil Thuris, “give your Mommy a kiss.”
“That’s right, give Mommy a kiss,” said Bianca, leaning down to kiss the girls and give them a hug.
Dumaine took each of the girls by one hand and went with them through the stage door and out to a car waiting to whisk them back to their “normal” life.
Tim was out there waiting.
Phil moved to one side and chatted with a security guard.
“Hi, girls!” Tim said, chipper as ever.
“Hi, Tim,” said Jennifer.
“We’ve gotta get you girls back to summer camp,” said Tim, picking up Allison and taking Jennifer by the hand.
Dumaine kissed both girls on the cheek.
“Mommy and I will be back home in a couple of days, girls. I love you.”
“I love you, too, Daddy,” said Jennifer.
”Me, too!” said Allison.
“Now, go along with Tim and we’ll see you soon.”
Phil was smiling as he watched the candidate with his two young daughters. And as he gave Tim’s arm a squeeze and then patted him on the shoulder.
Even though there were a thousand spectators watching them all (people came down to the Today Show to hang around outside hoping to be singled out by Al Roker during his weather segment to appear on national TV), Phil didn’t like the way Bill smiled at Tim. Not because they were in front of a thousand people. Just the way he smiled at him. It looked like some kind of secret smile. The kind of smile he sometimes caught himself giving Bianca.
Tim turned and walked to the waiting SUV manned by a security detail that would take the girls to the airport where they’d fly back to Wellfleet.
Dumaine walked back into the studio to get Bianca.
“Well, that’s over,” she said, a little wearily.
“It went very well, don’t you think?”
“Yeah.”
“But we’re definitely ready for a short rest at home.”
* * *
CHAPTER 11
It was unusually warm in Massachusetts this summer. The days were blazing hot and at night—when it reliably cooled off most years—it was torpid, humid, unsettling.
But being on their estate at Hawk’s Landing overlooking the oyster beds off Mill Hill Island in Loagy Bay where Dumaine’s ancestors had worked would be a rejuvenating hiatus from the rigors of the campaign trail, Dumaine was sure, and he was glad finally to get a couple of days off with no official engagements.
The first morning back, Tim woke Bill up before dawn and they went out for their usual morning jog, down to the beach fronting the Bay where it was still dark when they got there.
It was the lowest ebb of the tide, and the intense salty smell of the wet sand and air struck them both.
After the first two miles, they stopped.
“The Secret Service is coming in soon.”
Bill was breathing hard.
“That’s what Phil told me a couple of days ago,” said Bill, leaning against a huge boulder.
“Yeah,” said Tim.
“I better stay in the background. It’s better.”
Dumaine sat down on a rock. Tim came and sat next to him. Sea gulls squawked as they flitted in zigzag patterns above them. The water broke in evenly spaced waves as a moderate wind blew steadily from the east.
“Why can’t you move up to a better job?”
“Bill, I’m your Body Man, not a policy geek.”
“So?”
“So, don’t get arrogant about all this. We’re playing with fuckin’ fire, man,” Tim said, pursing his lips.
Bill smiled and leaned over to kiss him.
“All right, all right. Tell me more about the Secret Service. How long do you think we can hold out? I don’t want ’em till we have to have ’em, get it?”
“Bill, it’s gotta happen sometime,” said Tim.
“When are we ever gonna be together? We only get a few minutes really alone.”
“We have to make the best of it,” said Tim.
Bill took a deep breath and they both got up and started walking down the beach.
“You’ve got to start prepping for the debates with Mowbray,” said Tim, changing the subject.
“I know—we start on that tomorrow, right?”
“No, day after. Have you noticed anything strange about Bianca?”
“Not out of the ordinary. What kind of woman isn’t strange that’s married to a guy running for President?”
“Mamie Eisenhower? Dollie Madison?”
They both stopped walking and laughed, Bill throwing his left hand onto Tim’s shoulder and then holding it till the laughter subsided. He looked up and down the beach. He could see a solitary stroller a half mile away, walking in the other direction. He pulled Tim close and kissed him.
“Mamie was normal—hey, wasn’t Ike sleeping around with that female driver of his in the War?”
“That’s right. She wrote a book.”
“Are you gonna write a book?” Bill smiled.
Tim winked.
“Not till I know how it ends.”
“Who else was normal—for wives?”
“I always liked Betty Ford,” said Tim.
“Me, too. She had a drinking problem. And pills.”
“So did Pat Nixon.
“But Betty admitted it.”
“And did something about it.”
The Running Mate (A Jack Houston St. Clair Thriller) Page 4