America the Beautiful

by Laura Hayden

  “This is getting to be a habit. It’s really that bad?”

  “I don’t know.” Kate looked at her watch. “I think she might be innocent, but the situation surely isn’t. Not if what Talbot was threatening is true. I’m about to fly out, so I’ll be out of pocket for a while. Let me know as soon as you have something.”

  “Gotcha. Awaiting your text. Have a safe trip.”

  Kate disconnected and relayed in text a very brief version of the information Nick had given her. After she finished, she walked over to the counter at her gate and bought an upgrade to first class.

  If she was going to spend the next several hours alone with her conscience, she at least wanted to have a comfortable seat while she wrestled with it.

  It was a very long trip.

  Six hours later, Kate landed at Sea-Tac lamentably sober despite the liquid refreshments the flight attendant had tried to serve her. She’d had a single glass of wine with her dinner and failed to lose herself in the not-so-funny comedy movie that played on her personal video console. When she got to the baggage claim area, she found an eager young campaign volunteer waiting for her.

  She never quite got his name—Chad or Tad or Vlad—but by the time she arrived at the hotel, she knew all about Chad/Tad/Vlad’s sloppy roommate, adorable cat, ungrateful brother, scatterbrained sister, and clueless parents. In some ways, his constant chatter was a relief, dulling the persistent ache of her overwhelming disillusionment.

  Was this what politics was? A clash of titans over privilege and decadence? Backroom threats and underhanded manipulation of your opponent? What about all her dreams of politics as a catalyst for change for the better?

  The trip wasn’t over a moment too soon.

  When Kate reached the hotel, she checked in, left an “I’ll talk to you in the morning” message for Emily, and hung the Do Not Disturb sign on her door. Settling back into a fortress of pillows she built against the headboard, Kate opened her laptop and checked her e-mail. When she saw no report from Lee, she debated calling, but her body screamed that it was after midnight on the East Coast and it was high time she got some sleep.

  Although exhausted in mind, body, and spirit, Kate slept only for fitful half hours at a time. She kept waking up, her body shaking almost uncontrollably as her mind insisted on rehashing the phone conversation with Charles Talbot over and over again. It was as if she needed to experience all the delayed emotions she’d sidestepped earlier—fear, panic, shock, disgust, anxiety, and an almost perfect sense of being in the presence of destiny, of finding a moment where she was an instrument of God’s will. Had she imagined that? used it to justify bringing Talbot down?

  What did it all mean?

  She was a frail mortal. It was likely she’d never get the answers to those questions.

  Dear Jesus, be with me and be my strength. I need you now.

  Finally she slept, but she woke long before dawn. Rather than deal with more constantly interrupted sleep, she got up, made a pot of coffee, and waited for 5 a.m. to roll around. At 5:01, she called District Discreet.

  Lee sounded almost breathless. “G’morning. I got your message. I’m still tracing back the ownership of the various companies involved in the highway construction. Right now, about a third of the contractors involved seem to have at least one Benton hiding in the woodwork. Another third probably paid a kickback to a Benton-owned firm. Who knows about the remaining third? It’s going to take time to unravel the sub-subcontractors from the subcontractors. I’m having to wait for many of those records.”

  “My source said it required a rather large bribe to a Bahamian official for one offshore account.”

  Lee laughed. “That’s because someone must have been in too much of a hurry to go through government channels. Or maybe they read too many spy thrillers. The rules changed in 2002. If you ask the right questions with the right appearance of authority, you can get Bahamian banking records. It just takes a little time.

  “I didn’t know that. Evidently Talbot didn’t either. He reportedly dropped a bundle to get them.”

  “Good—he’s got less money to spend on political attack ads. Guy’s a piece of work. Anyway, I’ve managed to get a large number of construction inspection reports from both the Virginia and Maryland departments of transportation. Lucky for you I have a cousin who’s retired from the West Virginia highway department. He’s going to help review them with me, and yeah, he’ll keep his mouth shut.”

  “Good.”

  “But so far in just scanning them, I’ve found no overt complaints of slipshod work, inferior materials, or anything like that. In fact, the whole project seems to have come in early, under budget, and according to my cousin, it’s considered a model highway construction project.”

  Kate padded over and poured a second cup from the miniature coffeemaker. “It doesn’t matter if they lined the roads with gold. Taking any kickback is a violation of the Virginia Public Procurement Act. Then add to that the ethics of the governor’s family owning a piece of most of the companies used on the project.”

  “Yeah, I don’t think you could write that one off to coincidence. It’d turn voters to Talbot in droves. But it’s not like leaving your girlfriend to die. I’ll get back to work unless there’s anything else.”

  “Thanks, Lee.”

  The woman hesitated before she spoke again. “I have to admit—working for you is always interesting. You know it’s our policy not to ask questions, but this is one time I really wish I could ask you a thing or two.”

  “And I wish I could answer them. Maybe later.”

  “Gotcha.”

  After she hung up, Kate sat on the bed. She was too caffeinated to go back to sleep and too tired to be of much use to anyone. Her only recourse was to sweat some of the caffeine from her system. She dressed in shorts and a T-shirt and consulted the hotel directory for the gym location as she pulled on her running shoes.

  No one was there, which was how Kate preferred it. With her iPod blasting something loud and fast, she got down to the serious business of exercise. She’d run almost two miles when she heard a raised voice.

  “Well, look what the cat dragged in.” Emily stood in the doorway next to a Secret Service agent Kate didn’t recognize.

  “Hey.”

  Emily stepped up on the machine next to her and turned it on. “You don’t call. You don’t write,” she said in mock complaint.

  “Did too. I got in late last night, so I left you a message.”

  “Late night, early morning. It’s a grind, isn’t it? Don’t worry. Just twenty-nine more days of this and then we can relax.”

  Kate kept her pace steady, wishing she could do the same with her quickening heartbeat. “I don’t think we should consider the presidency a more relaxing position. It’s more like a four-year final to the campaign season’s midterm.”

  “Sheesh. You’re in a mood today.” Emily turned up the speed of her machine, effectively ending their conversation. Rather than get caught in the “I’m running faster than you” contest, Kate kept plodding along at the same rate. Even when Emily inched her speed up twice as if to bait her, Kate kept her pace.

  At six miles, Kate started a slowdown, cool-off process. In response, Emily kicked her machine into overdrive and did a scaldingly fast final mile before ending her exercise.

  “You ought to cool down,” Kate advised.

  Emily mopped the sweat from her face. “Aha! She speaks! So what bee got in your bonnet, oh great campaign manager?”

  “I’m just tired. That’s all.” She didn’t want to talk for fear of blurting out something she shouldn’t. But silence would only exacerbate the situation. “It’s been a long eighteen months. We hit the road in an hour. I’ll meet you in the lobby.” Kate picked up her towel, shook it out good in hopes of dislodging any errant notes of doom or danger, then slung it around her neck.

  “Wait up.” Emily rushed forward to fall into step with Kate. “I’ve seen tired and I’ve seen angry and this
looks a lot more like angry.”

  “Later, Emily. This isn’t about you. At least, not exactly.”

  “But I want—”

  “Not now.”

  It was probably the first time Kate had raised her voice to Emily since their campaign efforts started three years ago. Or maybe longer than that.

  But in any case, it felt almost . . . good. What had happened to her in that airport construction area? Had it really changed her so deeply? Lord, what are you doing to me? But whatever had happened to her, Kate’s words stopped Emily and her friend backed down.

  “Uh . . . well . . . okay. I’ll see you downstairs in an hour.”

  “Fine.” After she spoke, Kate wondered if she was enjoying Emily’s discomfort a bit too much. Rather than make amends, Kate simply left the room, trying not to notice the slightest hint of a smile on the face of the Secret Service agent who stood just inside the door and had overheard the entire interchange.

  Once upstairs in her hotel room, she showered and got ready for the first of four meetings for the day. With any luck, she could minimize her contact with Emily and pay more attention to managing the appearances.

  She needed time alone to internalize what had happened to her. Whatever it was, it felt like she’d turned into a new and different person. Was this what it felt like when the Lord worked through a person? Or was the strain of campaigning for so long finally driving her mad?

  Lord, do you want to weigh in on this for me?

  Something deep inside her was changed. It was like she’d found a new level of meaning in her life, and it left her off-balance until she could adjust to it.

  Emily had felt it too.

  And it had shocked the breath right out of her.

  Kate couldn’t help but smile.

  The morning started with another “Donuts to Democracy: Breakfast with the Candidate” meeting at a large tech firm in downtown Seattle. Kate remained in the background there and left early to coordinate the next stop.

  Open-air locations required high-level security coordination, and you couldn’t get more open-air than a downtown farmers market. It was photo op rather than a speech. There, as with most other produce-related stops, Emily would be expected to pay respect to the local crops. Every locale meant another homegrown specialty, and Emily had to admire, taste, and enjoy them all in public, whether she actually liked beets, butternut squash, or homemade scuppernong preserves. In this case, Emily lucked out and munched happily on an apple as she toured the produce stands.

  While Emily noshed and networked, Kate managed to get away long enough to call Nick.

  “’Lo?” he slurred.

  “Nick? That you?”

  He made a vaguely positive grunt, sounding as if he was either still drunk or nursing a grand mal hangover. She supposed these might be the times that tried a man’s sobriety.

  “Have you been drinking?” she said softly.

  “No.” It was a quick but decisive denial.

  “You really need to call your sponsor.”

  “You should trust me.” His voice grew clearer. “Really trust me after last night.” Nick groaned. “I haven’t been drinking. I was mugged.”

  Alarm spread through Kate like wildfire. “Oh no! Are you okay? What happened?”

  “Nothing much, actually. Two guys jumped me in the parking garage at my apartment. The folks who live next door pulled in right behind me and scared the guys off. But not before I managed to smash their beer bottle with my head and their bat with my knee.”

  “Did you call the police?”

  He laughed, then groaned. “Of course not. The reason they used a beer bottle was so I’d be stinking of booze when I tried to make a report. It would have played right into Chuck’s hands.”

  “You think he’s behind it?”

  “You bet I do. I don’t have any proof, but the timing sure stinks. When he gets mad, he gets vindictive. It’s one of the reasons I quit. Been there, done that. Remind you of someone you know?”

  She ignored his gibe. “You need to leave D.C.”

  “I’m ahead of you there. My bags are packed and I’m booked on a flight to Baton Rouge tonight. But I’m actually going by train instead and taking the Crescent to New Orleans. When the going gets tough, the tough get the heck out of Dodge City. Chuck may think he has connections everywhere, but I know more cops and crooks in Louisiana than he ever will. I figure I’ll be able to use both groups to protect me.”

  “The good ol’ boy network?”

  “The Cajun equivalent.” Nick paused. “But nothing’s changed. Thanks to you, Emily’s political career is safe. You’ve short-circuited his plans. I don’t know what he’ll try next, but you have a pretty powerful trump card to stop him.”

  “So I don’t have to worry about a press conference?”

  “Nope. And he’s none too happy about that. Ergo, the attack. Take his unhappiness out on my hide.”

  “Good. I mean . . . bad.” Kate faltered for the right words. “I mean . . . I’m so sorry all this has happened.” Although she wanted to thank Nick for sticking his neck out, she was still a bit wobbly after the emotional train wreck of their last meeting. At least she’d managed to salvage the basic tenet that she’d kept sacred for twenty years in politics. No manufactured scandals or clever tricks. Only the truth used honorably. A smart offense didn’t need dirty tricks, and an effective defense was not afraid to dig hard and dig deep and use what they found in retaliation only.

  She’d lived that core belief last night.

  Nick hadn’t asked her to violate her principles. As far as that went, Emily hadn’t asked her to either.

  Whatever Kate had done, she’d done entirely on her own.

  She started again. “Nick, I really want to thank you for—”

  “Whatever you do, don’t thank me,” he said, interrupting her. “Forgive me instead.”

  “For what?”

  “For going to work for him in the first place. We both know I did it just to get at Emily. For that, I am truly sorry. If anything, I should thank you.”

  “Whatever for? Getting you beat up?”

  “Nah. That was Chuck’s doing. And the more I think about it, the more I think it was Chuck’s doing that I got shot.”

  “I think so too. That’s part of the reason I took him on last night. . . . That FBI guy—how did you meet him?”

  “Chuck introduced me.”

  “After that, how well did you get to know Agent Trainor?”

  “Not well enough. I did think it was odd that none of what he told us ever came out in the press.” Nick’s accent deepened as realization evidently dawned. “Son of a gun . . . it must have all been a setup. All that hush-hush stuff was to keep either of us from pursuing more information. As long as we both thought the FBI was investigating, we didn’t need to do anything more. What if Chuck set me up from the beginning as the victim and Emily as the fall guy? He knew I’d be the first one to believe Emily sent Gilroy. I’m so stupid.”

  “If you were stupid, then I was too,” Kate offered.

  “No, you weren’t. You said to his face that you thought it was a load of bull. I’m just not cut out for this, am I? Good thing I’m headed back to Loo’siana,” he said, his natural accent thickening like the Mississippi mud. “It’s better to dance wid’ the devil you know. . . .” He sounded totally deflated. “Well, thanks anyway for believing me—believing in me. Trust me, I’ll remember that. I gotta go. As they say, Laissez les bon temps roulez.” Nick paused. “Uh, Kate? Is it okay if I keep in touch?”

  Her heartbeat quickened for a moment. Was it? “Sure, Nick. I’d like that.”

  “Thanks. Bye.”

  She pocketed her phone. His new revelations should have left her with a bigger, better sense of resolution on two fronts. But she’d already made a mistake by accepting the obvious explanation.

  Kate looked up to see Emily reach the end of the row of produce stands, signifying the end of the appearance. After signaling the tr
ansportation captain, Kate inserted herself into Emily’s conversation with a serious man who appeared to be grilling her about farm subsidies.

  “I remember when your father said—”

  Kate physically stepped into the conversation, bestowing her best smile on the man. “I’m so terribly sorry to interrupt, but I’m afraid Ms. Benton has another engagement. It’s a school, and we don’t want to hold up the students’ schedule because we’re late. I’m sure you understand.”

  The man did. Emily wrenched free from what was probably an uncomfortable conversation about her father, moved toward the exit, and climbed into the limo. They headed off to the next activity, a town hall meeting held in a suburban high school.

  With Emily having no children of her own, it meant they’d had to promote the relationship she had with her large extended family of cousins. Emily’s cousin Steve Tremont lived in the area and had readily agreed to trot out the next generation of Tremonts for a photo op. Even better, his eldest daughter, Brittany, age fourteen, looked more like a Benton than the rest of his children. She bore a strong familial resemblance to Emily.

  At the girl’s school, the two of them laughed like old friends as they posed, mirroring each other’s stance and expression, looking more like mother and daughter than the real pair. Kate couldn’t help but believe it would sway those voters who remained on the fence, wondering if a female presidential candidate who was single and had no offspring could possibly understand the needs of the family structure and their values.

  They’d probably be amazed to learn this was only the second time Emily had ever met the girl. The child was another Benton politician in the making, judging by her willingness to play along as if she’d known Emily for years. Of course, it’d taken the incentive of a new laptop to charm her into compliance so that Brittany became Emily’s new closest young cousin—charming, personable, and cooperative.

  The last event of the day was with an independent filmmaker who was finishing his pro-Benton documentary. At least it was purported to be pro-Benton. Kate held a healthy amount of skepticism because she knew that filmmakers wanting this kind of access to a presidential candidate often presented themselves as sympathetic, when underneath it all, they were like sharks, showing only their fins above the water while they trolled for scandal and corruption.