“I can step outside, sir,” he offered, not wanting to be in the way if there was confidential business to be discussed.
“No, Jack, it might interest you to sit in on this little conversation.” He looked at the two aides. “We’re about to enter my reelection campaign, and I thought Jack might be involved in some way, as yet to be determined.”
“The more the merrier,” said Clougherty.
“Plenty of room for Jack, Mr. President.”
“Good, then Jack will be spending more time in the White House than in Miami while we slog our way through what’s sure to be a nasty campaign. It’ll be good to have some family up here fighting with me.”
“Too bad Rafael can’t be up here as well,” said Clougherty, referring to Jack’s younger brother.
“I could get him up here, but he doesn’t want to be seen as pulling rank and getting special treatment. It causes low morale among his Coast Guard colleagues.”
“I see it all the time in Miami,” said Jack. “He gets harassed by people and the media all the time because his dad’s the President.”
“All right, so let’s get into some particulars about the campaign. I want Jack to be an integral part of the whole organization.”
* * *
CHAPTER 28
A few days later, Governor Mowbray addressed a wildly enthusiastic crowd of elderly voters in Century Village, a retirement complex just west of Deerfield Beach, long a bastion of Democratic Party support in Florida.
“What Senator Dumaine and I bring to this campaign is nothing less than a ‘New Beginning,’ a vision for America that is not bound by the constraints of the Beltway mentality in Washington that chokes American enterprise, that reduces the American worker and entrepreneur to working for Washington—we want Washington to work for America!”
Standing next to Mowbray like a best man at a wedding was Senator Dumaine, applauding on cue.
They were at an outdoor amphitheatre where concerts were held. The crowds had been too large to accommodate any indoor facility at Century Village, and, the weather being cooperative, the event was moved outside.
Mowbray introduced Dumaine, and when he moved forward, the large crowd applauded even louder than they had when Mowbray began his speech.
“It’s important to remember what the other side wants to do,” Dumaine began softly. Then he raised his voice. “The unspoken agenda St. Clair has kept from voters in his first term is his desire to increase insurance premiums for seniors, lower Social Security benefits, and increase the cost of prescription drugs.”
A chorus of “Boo”s echoed down the manicured slopes of the amphitheatre as Dumaine stood back and smiled at Bianca, who offered him a thin-lipped canned smile. She noticed when he shifted his gaze, just for a split second, to the applauding Tim Harcourt standing off to the side.
“These policies have been kept secret during President St. Clair’s first term for one reason and one reason only: he knew that if he pursued this perilous path, he’d lose reelection!”
More shouts of indignation from the seniors.
“But if this man is reelected to a second term, he’ll be a lame duck President who can do anything he wants!”
And so it went for another twenty minutes.
After the speeches were over, the candidates and their entourage trekked to a waiting line of Chevy Suburbans.
As Dumaine went to his vehicle, Tim came up to him just as he was giving an arm to Bianca, helping her up into the SUV.
“Excuse me, Senator,” he said.
Dumaine turned around.
“Yes, Tim?”
“Governor Mowbray asked if you’d mind riding with him to the airport.”
“Sure thing,” said Dumaine, turning to Bianca. “I’ll catch you at the plane, dear.”
“Right,” said Bianca as Phil Thuris came up.
“Change of plan?”
“Mowbray wants me to ride with him to the airport.”
“Great,” said Thuris. He noticed as Dumaine and Tim both turned to go to Mowbray’s vehicle. “If there’s room, I’ll ride with you,” Thuris added quickly.
Neither Bianca nor Phil missed the almost imperceptible eye contact Bill made with Tim.
Tim moved to one of the SUVs behind Bianca’s that carried staff, while Thuris and Dumaine headed over to Mowbray’s car and hopped in.
“Ah, great. Settle in, guys,” said Henry Westmoreland.
Mowbray lowered his window to wave to the elderly people who had gathered two and three deep along the roadway to see him off. He waved and smiled at them and they waved and smiled back.
“But for the grace of God, I could be one of those oldsters.” There was a noticeable silence in the car.
Finally, the long row of SUVs snaked its way out of Century Village and hit the Interstate.
As the motorcade drove down I-95 heading for Palm Beach International Airport, Mowbray settled back with a satisfying sigh.
“I really like that ‘New Beginning’ tagline in your speech, Governor,” said Dumaine.
“Yes, we’re going to be using that as a central theme,” said Westmoreland.
“Very good,” said Thuris.
Mowbray nodded toward Westmoreland.
“Tell them what we’ve been talking about, Henry,” said Mowbray.
“We’re going to be emphasizing you, Bill, as the debates get closer. You’re young, energetic, and you bring a lot of freshness to the campaign.”
“Why, thanks, Henry,” said Dumaine. “But don’t you think I’m just as much a part of the ‘Beltway Mentality’ as anybody else in Washington?”
“Well, that might be true in reality, but we’ve done a slew of focus groups, right Phil?”
“Yep, with a lot of different angles covered.”
“And they tell us the people don’t see you that way. It’s not their perception.”
Mowbray jumped in.
“Maybe it’s because I’ve got white hair and you don’t.”
Everybody laughed, but everybody knew it was true.
“Sure, you’re older, Doug,” Dumaine said, “but the people love you. Our focus groups told us that during the campaign for the nomination.”
“That’s true,” said Phil.
“Then we’re a good balance, Bill, you and me,” said Mowbray.
“I couldn’t put it any simpler myself,” said Dumaine with a genuine smile. He really liked Mowbray. Not Mowbray the politician, but Mowbray the person.
And he felt it deep down in his gut: they were going to win this campaign and he would definitely be the next Vice President of the United States.
The two campaign managers started in discussing some recent polls, and the conversation drifted away from Dumaine for a few minutes, so he put on a glazed smile, and nodded every so often so they’d think he was actually listening to them rattle on, while in a parallel track of his brain he thought down the road past a victory in November to his Big Problem.
Specifically, to the Big Problem of his relationship with Tim.
How the hell do I deal with that? he asked himself. Since the whole affair began, he’d forced himself not to think about all the million-and-one ramifications if he and Tim were discovered.
Another wrinkle had to do with the fact that Bianca and Phil didn’t know he knew about them. And that they had no idea he knew that they knew about him and Tim.
Westmoreland looked his way, so he snapped out of his reverie and locked back into the conversation.
* * *
CHAPTER 29
In the NBC newsroom that night, Brian Williams and Leon Pomfret were on the air in an “analysis segment,” watching video of Mowbray’s speech that afternoon.
“What Senator Dumaine and I bring to this campaign is nothing less than a ‘New Beginning,’ a vision for America that is not bound by the constraints of the Beltway mentality in Washington that chokes American enterprise, that reduces the American worker and entrepreneur to working for Washington—we wa
nt Washington to work for America!”
The clip ended and Brian looked at Leon.
“So, Leon, are the Democrats looking at a ‘New Beginning’?”
Leon smiled that smug little paternalistic smile news analysts use to indicate they’re so much smarter than all the candidates combined.
“Well, Brian, it’s the catchphrase they are planning to use throughout the campaign. I got this from a source deep inside the Mowbray campaign.”
“As the race moves toward the great debates that, for the first time since Presidential debates started, will feature candidates for President as well as candidates for Vice President, the gloves are coming off in this campaign. President St. Clair lashed out at Governor Mowbray and Senator Dumaine in a campaign stop in Los Angeles this afternoon. Here’s a piece of what the President had to say.”
They both turned to the monitor and President St. Clair’s handsome face with its deep year-round Florida tan, filled the screen, his flowing white hair slightly tousled by the stiff breeze at LAX. Air Force One loomed regally behind him, a visual and not very subtle source of unlimited power.
“I don’t think the American people are fooled for one minute by the blatant attempt by the Democrats to pretend that they’re ‘outsiders.’ As Governor of Pennsylvania, Doug Mowbray has presided over an administration that increased taxes three times. Senator Dumaine—and, ladies and gentlemen, let’s not make the mistake of forgetting that he’s still a U.S. senator—has voted consistently to increase the welfare rolls, for increased foreign aid—all of which we have opposed adamantly. I’m proud of my record in my first four years as President, I’m proud that we’ve drawn a line in the sand on taxes, opposed increased foreign aid, fought against more lenient trade terms with Japan, and opposed the sale of nuclear supplies by Russia to the Iranians and others. But we’ve been able to do these things with tact, discretion and by working through diplomatic channels to halt such sales. This is a policy that Senator Dumaine thinks is too soft. Election year grandstanding will not win the Democrats the White House this year. And I’m counting on the American people to be the ultimate judge in November.”
The President smiled as a big cheer went up from the supportive crowd gathered to hear him.
The camera jumped to NBC’s Gabrielle Mercade, her back to the crowd as President St. Clair left the platform and moved toward Air Force One.
“The President is fighting in the trenches right now, Brian, and he’s calling people by name. There’s no question that the President’s camp is worried, that Senator Dumaine is helping the Democratic ticket rise in the polls, and the blunt truth is they’re running scared.”
“Are they trying to slow down Mowbray and Dumaine going into the debates?”
“No question, Brian.”
Pomfret jumped in.
“Absolutely no question. The Republicans have got to take the steam off the Democratic locomotive, because the polls indicate very clearly that the train is humming along just fine.”
“Thanks, Gabrielle, and Leon, for your insight.” Williams turned to the camera. “Senator Dumaine appeared on Sunday’s Meet the Press, and one of the subjects that drew a lot of attention is the sale of Russian nuclear secrets and supplies to the Iranians, as well as other countries that were satellites of the former Soviet Union.”
Williams looked off camera as the video rolled.
“My position on that is very clear,” Dumaine said from the set of Meet the Press.
“Some would say that’s an extreme position, Senator,” said the host.
“Listen, I’ve got two little girls, Jennifer and Allison. I don’t want them growing up in a world where they have to worry about nuclear bombs coming to us from irrational dictators from Third World countries like Iran or Venezuela. There are a lot of fathers in the United States that feel the same way I do. How do you feel about it?”
Dumaine’s forthright manner took host David Gregory by surprise and he hesitated. He cleared his throat before resuming.
“The President is making you out to be an extremist on this issue.”
“Don’t talk to me about extremism when it comes to murderers in these rogue countries. They have an agenda to rip this country apart with terrorism, and I can’t think of any American who’s against stopping that agenda.”
“Whatever it takes?” Gregory said, leaning in.
Dumaine sat back satisfied.
“Yes. Whatever it takes.”
The video ended, the camera shifted back to Brian Williams.
“Let me bring back Leon Pomfret, to get his opinion.”
The director in the control booth touched a button that threw up a two-shot of Brian and Leon.
“Well, let’s look at this in very blunt terms. The Democrats, led obviously by the enormous charisma of Senator Dumaine, are leading in the polls. Is this the time to dwell on the sale of nuclear supplies to Iran or North Korea or Venezuela?”
“So you’re saying, ‘Why endanger your lead at this point in the campaign?’”
“Exactly,” Leon agreed. “They’re ahead. To stay ahead, they can’t be throwing a lot of curve balls out there.”
Brian smiled, anticipating his witticism.
“So instead of a ‘New Beginning,’ it could be the ‘Beginning of the End.’”
Leon laughed obligingly.
“That’s certainly one way to put it, Brian.”
* * *
CHAPTER 30
A few days later, Dumaine, Bianca and Thuris were in an SUV bumping along a country road on their way to Alabama’s biggest statewide fair where they’d join in a huge campaign BBQ where Bill was expected to address this very issue the press had locked onto.
“‘Whatever it takes’ is becoming a hot button issue in the campaign,” Bianca worried out loud.
“‘Whatever it takes’ to win,” Thuris laughed.
“I still think you’re being too strong on the nuclear weapons issue,” Bianca said.
“Hey, it’s my policy. St. Clair’s just taking advantage of it.”
“It goes back to that speech—where was it, Hartford?”
“I think so,” said Thuris. “Or Detroit.”
“The media’s picked up on it and St. Clair won’t let it go,” said Dumaine, “but I think it’s a pretty safe issue.”
It’s one of those window-dressing issues,” said Thuris. “It won’t come to a head for years, but it sounds good to talk about it now.”
“Any American President would respond strongly when the chips are down.”
“You’re right, Bianca, but all we have to do now is talk about it, not act. I think we’re ahead on this one,” said Dumaine.
“Right,” agreed Thuris.
“I think so. It can’t hurt us. And it’ll backfire on St. Clair,” said Dumaine.
The SUV came to a lumbering halt, and dirt from the road swirled up around the black vehicle.
Tim Harcourt snapped open the door on Bianca’s side of the SUV and offered his hand to help her out. She took it, and gave him a tepid smile in return.
“Thanks, Tim. Where the hell are we?”
“About thirty miles outside Birmingham.”
Dumaine and Thuris got down out of the SUV.
Tim followed Dumaine as he moved forward to greet the crowd, many of whom had already seen the convoy pull up and got a bead on the candidate and were heading toward him, like moths to Lady Gaga’s flame.
Dumaine noticed the crowd moving toward him as well. He’d been closely observing crowds like this all his adult life. A smile crept up the sides of his mouth.
He gave his sunglasses to Tim. A candidate never wore sunglasses at a campaign event because the voters couldn’t see his eyes. Dumaine knew how much the voters—women more than men, by the way—looked into your eyes. Loved looking into your eyes. Demanded to look into your eyes. The thousands of times they’d seen you on TV were different from the one—and probably the only—time they’d ever see you in person. And for all
those times they’d seen you on TV, not once did you look them in the eye personally, one-on-one. Here was their chance and they weren’t going to miss it.
Scenes with crowds like this were like those at the Today Show where the people gathered outside, lining up behind the barricades to see Matt Lauer or Ann Curry or Al Roker or Natalie Morales. Sure, they’d seen these “stars” hundreds, even thousands of times, but not up close. Not one-on-one. That promise of immediacy was the lure of a “personal appearance,” whether you were a rock star or a politician.
Dumaine reached over his shoulder, not even looking, knowing that Tim would slip a Magic Marker into his hand so he could begin signing autographs.
As soon as Bianca got her feet on the ground, she was instantly aware of the overpowering smells of this rural shindig: the BBQ sauce, the chicken sizzling on the grills, the hot dogs and hamburgers filling the air with the smell of grease, the corn on the cob with butter oozing down the sides of each ear dropping into the fire and hissing, the cow manure, the freshly baled hay. Horses neighed. Cows mooed. A fine blue sky was a like a glorious canopy over the picture-perfect political scene out of a Norman Rockwell painting. She wanted to skulk back into the SUV and take a Valium, sinking into some safe hole till it was all over.
The Running Mate (A Jack Houston St. Clair Thriller) Page 11