by Stuart Woods
“Well, yes. He’s a normal kid, and I want him to stay that way, but I don’t want him getting busted for smoking pot, or anything like that.”
“I think that’s a reasonable request”—she laughed—“and I think he’ll think so, too.”
“I’ll need to talk about this with my folks, of course,” Will said.
Kate laughed. “You think they’re going to discourage you? It’s their dream come true!”
“Well, yes.”
“Who else should you talk to?”
“I wish Ben Carr were still alive; I’d sure like to talk to him.”
“Who else?”
“Tom Black, of course; I’d want him to run the advertising and to advise, in general. I’ll want Kitty Conroy and Tim Coleman on board right away.” Conroy was the chief of his Senate staff, and Coleman, his press secretary.
“You need a top politician to be campaign manager,” Kate said. “Maybe another senator, to do for you what you were going to do for Joe Adams.”
“I’ll have to think about that,” Will replied. “Nobody jumps to mind, and a third of them will be running for reelection.”
“Thank God you don’t have to make that decision—whether to run for president or for reelection to the Senate. At least, if you lose, you’ll still be in the Senate.”
“There is that.”
“All in all, Senator, I’d say you were in pretty good shape.”
“Sure, all I have to do is beat a big field in the primaries and a Republican in November and, along the way, raise sixty or seventy million dollars.”
“Oops, forgot about that.”
“I’m not president yet. Of course, in the event that I actually get elected, the problem of your role is going to be a thorny one.”
“Will, I cannot be Nancy Reagan or Rosalyn Carter or Eleanor Roosevelt.”
“I understand that, but even if you stay at the Agency, there’ll be a lot of times when you’ll have to be at the White House—interviews, events, state dinners, and receptions—and probably some foreign travel.”
“I know the situation is different now than when we talked this morning,” she said, “but do you really think that, if you were president, you could appoint me head of Central Intelligence?”
“I think a better thing would be for me to appoint a group to evaluate candidates and make a recommendation. If you were among the recommended, it would be a lot easier to appoint you. Certainly, there’s no precedent for a first lady holding down a top government job. Not even Bobby Kennedy’s appointment as attorney general was as sensitive as that. Can we leave it that I’ll do the very best I can?”
“I suppose we’ll have to leave it that way.”
“At worst, you could stay in your present job. And anyway, if I’m not elected, you have no guarantee of ever having the top job. The fact that you’re my wife would probably weigh against you with almost any president, certainly with a Republican.”
“You mean, my best shot is having my husband in the White House?”
Will laughed. “You said that; I didn’t.”
“All right, I’ll accept that: Nepotism is my best hope. But how am I going to hold down a full-time job at the Agency and still attend all these state dinners and receptions?”
“Listen, I’d have to hold down a job as president, while attending them.”
“Touché,” she said.
5
They were met at the Warm Springs airport by Henry, the African-American retainer and factotum who had served the Lee family for decades. Will shook Henry’s hand, inquired after his health and that of his wife, Marie, and got a satisfactory reply. Henry looked little older than he had ten years before.
Henry dropped them at Will’s lakeside cottage and drove on to the main house. Will and Kate showered and rested a while, then walked up to the main house for dinner. The house, a brick-and-granite Georgian structure, had been copied from Will’s mother’s family home in County Cork, Ireland, and Patricia Lee had acted as the general contractor, supervising every detail of the building. It was fifty years old, and had a patina of maturity about it, wearing its age well.
Henry brought them drinks in the library, and a moment later Billy and Patricia Lee entered. Patricia was nearly eighty and her husband five years older, but they both looked remarkably well, Will thought whenever he saw them. Billy had had two heart attacks during the past twenty years and walked with a cane, but he was pink-faced and healthy-looking. There was an exchange of embraces and kisses, more drinks were brought, and they settled in to catch up.
“We were so sorry Peter couldn’t be with us,” Patricia said, “but we know it’s his father’s turn. How is the boy?”
“Thriving,” Kate replied.
“Will he come back to us this summer?”
“For at least a month,” Kate said. “I’m not sure there are enough girls in Delano to suit him.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Patricia replied, smiling.
Will’s father spoke up. “How come you were so late, Will? We were expecting you for lunch.”
“I’m sorry about that, Dad,” Will replied, “but we were diverted before we could take off. The vice president invited us to Camp David for brunch.”
Billy cocked his head. “That’s a little odd, isn’t it, right at the beginning of the Christmas holiday?”
Will and Kate exchanged a glance, which was not lost on Billy Lee.
“What’s up?” Billy asked.
“I can’t tell you all of it,” Will said, “and what I do tell you can’t go any farther.”
“Shoot.”
“It looks as though Joe won’t run for president.”
Everybody in the room sat stock-still for a long moment.
“He’s ill, then,” Billy said with finality.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t need to. Heart? Cancer?”
“Nothing like that. I can’t tell you more at the moment.”
Billy nodded. “Then you’ll be running.” It wasn’t a question.
“Very likely. I haven’t made a final decision.”
“What decision? There’s no decision to make. If Joe Adams is out, you have to be in.”
Will didn’t quarrel with his father. “I haven’t decided when to announce. Joe wants me to come out the first of the year.”
“He’s right; time is short. Who else knows about this?”
“Just Joe and Sue.”
“That’s what he told you, anyway. Joe’s a pretty sly politician.”
“I believe him,” Will said.
“Believe him, if you like, but don’t act on that belief.”
“You’re not getting cynical on me, are you, Dad?”
“Just realistic.”
It wasn’t bad advice, Will knew. He nodded.
“We’ll have a lot to talk about over this holiday,” Billy said.
“Let’s not rush it, Dad.”
“At my age, I have to rush everything. I wouldn’t want to kick off next month without having given you the benefit of my wisdom.”
“Well, you’ve never denied me that.” Will laughed.
His mother laughed with him. “It’s been pretty good wisdom, hasn’t it?”
“It has.”
“I still know a few people around the country who could help,” Billy said. “Of course, there are fewer of them than there used to be.”
“I’m going to need all the help I can get,” Will said.
Billy nodded. “Just be careful what you have to give for it.”
Henry came in to call them to dinner.
For the first time he could remember, sex did not render Will unconscious. He and Kate made love in their usual slow, caring way, and soon Kate was snoring softly and Will was staring at the ceiling. He got out of bed as quietly as he could, went to the kitchen, and poured himself a glass of milk. He took it into the living room and sat in his leather recliner.
Normally, decisions came easily
to Will; he had an orderly mind, and he organized and considered alternatives quickly. But this situation resisted resolution. Try as he might, he could not arrange the problem in a way that suggested a course of action. There were too many variables—Joe Adams’s illness, its current state and its rate of progression; the president’s preferences with regard to the Democratic nomination; other potential candidates; his own loyalty to Joe. If Joe had simply resigned and gone home to Florida, it would be easier, but he wasn’t going to do that. He was going to hang on to what power he had, Will thought, for as long as he could. What would he, himself, do in the same situation? Maybe the same thing. He could hardly urge Joe to get out and make way for him.
He sat for a good two hours thinking about all this before he got sleepy. Finally, he crawled into bed beside his sleeping wife and drifted off. Sleeping on it would help, he knew. And when he woke up, he had made a decision.
They brought muffins and coffee to the bed and propped themselves up, watching the Today show.
“Why do they allow all those people in the street to make such fools of themselves?” Kate asked.
“Careful,” Will replied. “Those people are voters.”
“I’ve never understood why Americans go nuts in front of a TV camera,” she said, shaking her head. “And even less, why a television network would inflict them on us.”
“I’m not going to do it,” Will said suddenly.
Kate turned and stared at him wide-eyed. “You’re not going to run?”
The phone rang.
Kate looked at the bedside clock. “It’s not seven-thirty yet; your parents would never call this early.”
Will picked up the phone. “Hello?”
“Senator Lee?”
“Yes.”
“This is the White House operator. Will you speak to the vice president?”
“Of course.”
There was a click. “Hello, Will?”
“Good morning, Joe.”
“I hope I’m not calling too early.”
“No; I was about to call you.”
“I wanted to have your views on our conversation of yesterday, after you’d slept on it.”
“Joe, I understand what you’re doing and why you’re doing it. In your place, I might very well do the same thing.”
“Is there a ‘but’ at the end of that sentence?”
“There is.”
“Give me your best advice, Will.”
“I’ll try, Joe, but you have to consider that my advice may be colored by my own interests.”
“I doubt it, but I’ll take that into account.”
“Joe, I think you should wait until after the holidays, then resign.” There was a long silence before Adams spoke, and when he did, Will caught a hint of hurt in his voice.
“Give me your reasons,” he said.
“Whatever the state of your illness and its progression, the public perception of it is one of decline and delusion. You couldn’t continue in office if the country knew, and I don’t think you should keep this from the country.”
“Are you worried about how I might behave if I continue in office?”
“No, I think you and Sue together could figure out if you got to the point where you couldn’t make good decisions. But you can’t predict accurately if or when that might happen. There’s also the danger of this getting out.”
“I believe I have it contained,” Adams said.
“Still, there are a number of people who know, and if there were a leak, you wouldn’t be able to control the situation.”
“That’s possible but not likely.”
“Joe, I tell you this as your friend and admirer: The only way you can control this situation is to announce it and resign. If you don’t, control will eventually pass to someone else, perhaps not someone of your choosing. If you leave office, you can still have influence. People will judge you by the quality of your reasoning and your statements. If you keep this quiet, and it becomes known, then doubt will be cast on your every action and utterance during the time it was a secret. You must see that.”
“I certainly see that as a possibility. It’s a question of how much risk I’m willing to assume.”
“I suppose it is,” Will replied. “But I wouldn’t be your friend if I didn’t tell you exactly how I felt.”
“I thank you for your advice, Will, and for your honesty and candor,” the vice president said. “I’ll be in touch. Merry Christmas to you and your family.”
“And Merry Christmas to you and yours, Joe.”
The line went dead. Will turned to Kate. “I’m not going to announce while he’s still a candidate; people would think I’m crazy if I did. And when Joe finally did pull out, they’d think that he and I had somehow colluded to get me the nomination, and they’d be right. They’d think I was using Joe’s illness to my own advantage.”
“That’s not true; you’d never do that.”
“The appearance would be there.” Will sighed. “I wish I didn’t know about this; I wish Joe hadn’t called us up there and told us. I’d rather have found out at the same time as everybody else.”
“In my business,” Kate said, “there’s no such thing as too much information. At the very least, Joe has given you time to think and plan. That’s a great gift.”
“It’s one I’d rather not have.”
“Nevertheless, you’re stuck with it.”
6
By midmorning they were up and dressed and had stopped talking about Joe Adams. There didn’t seem to be anything else to say. Will was trying to read a novel, a pleasure denied him except when he was at home in Georgia, and Kate was rummaging through the Atlanta Constitution, looking for international news. There was a knock on the door, and Henry entered.
“Morning, Senator, Mrs. Lee,” he said, handing them each packages. Will’s office was already sending him papers to read, and Kate got a daily pouch from the Agency that was, somehow, hand-delivered each morning, even when they were in Delano.
Will noticed that Kate also got an ordinary letter through the U.S. mail, which surprised him, since she never got any mail there, except from Peter. The letter was not on the stationery that they had given the boy. She went through the pouch first, then made a call to her office on the secure line that the CIA had provided, leaving Will wondering about the letter. Finally, she opened it, read it more than once, returned it to its envelope, and put the envelope in her purse.
Kate looked at her watch. “I need to take the car,” she said. “I’ll be gone for several hours.”
“What?” Will asked, surprised. Kate never went off on her own when they were in Georgia.
“It’s business,” she said.
That ended the discussion. They had long ago agreed that Kate would not discuss her work. “Sure,” he said. “What time will you be back?”
In plenty of time for dinner,” she said. “Probably in time for a long walk, if you’re up to it.” She was always at him about his lack of exercise.
“I’ll borrow Dad’s cane,” Will said.
She pecked him on the cheek, took the car keys, and left the house.
Will tried not to be curious about Kate’s work, but she had never had business in rural Georgia before, and he couldn’t help wondering about it.
After Kate had gotten onto the interstate and headed north toward Atlanta, she took out the letter and read it again. It was written in a hand she had not seen for many years.
Dear Kate,
I know about J.A.’s problem. It is most important that you and I meet without delay. You can come anonymously anytime between eleven and two, weekdays. Any other time, you’ll have to show some official ID. This is important to Will’s future.
E.R.
Kate felt sick to her stomach.
Atlanta Federal Penitentiary was on the map and easy to find. She found a visitor’s parking space, went to the main gate, and made her request. After half an hour’s wait she was taken into the main building, down a s
eries of corridors and to a small room, divided by a heavy wire mesh, with a door at each end. After another ten minutes a man in a suit arrived.
“My name is Hill,” he said. “I’m an assistant warden. May I see some identification?”
Kate showed him her D.C. driver’s license.
He handed it back to her. “You’re going to have to do better than that.”
She gave him her Agency ID. “I don’t want an official record of this visit,” she said.
“It will have to be entered in his record,” Hill replied, “but I doubt if anyone will ever look at it.”
She nodded. “Is the room wired?”
The man shrugged. “Would you rather see him outside? It’s pretty cold.”
“Yes, I don’t mind.”
“Do you have any problem with not being physically separated from him?”
“No.”
“Please wait.” The man left, then returned five minutes later. “Follow me.” He led her to a door that opened into a small courtyard that had been planted as a garden, now dormant in winter. Ed Rawls stood up from a teak bench; he was wearing civilian clothes and a warm jacket.
“Hello, Kate,” he said, opening his arms wide.
Kate ignored the gesture. “Hello, Ed,” she said. “You’re looking well. Prison must agree with you.”
“I’ve lost a few pounds, I guess. Please, come sit down.” He beckoned her to the bench.
It was the only place in the courtyard to sit, so she joined him.
“Did he make you show Company ID?”
“Yes. You knew he would. That means I’ll have to write a report on this meeting.”
Rawls nodded. “Can I have the letter back? That way, you won’t have to turn it in.” He handed her another letter. “This one reads better, I think.”
Kate glanced at it. It was a more conventional note, saying that he missed seeing her and wanted to apologize in person. She removed his original note from its envelope, handed it to him, then replaced it with the second letter. “All right, Ed, what is it?” She had not seen him for twelve years, not since he had pleaded to a single charge of espionage and been sentenced to life without the possibility of parole. She had been entirely responsible for putting him in prison. Once, they had been friends, confidants; he had been her mentor in the Agency. After the passage of so much time, she felt no anger toward him anymore, but she was determined to be cold and businesslike.