The Run

by Stuart Woods

  “Any ideas?” Harv asked.

  “The senator and Efton are debating three times,” Zeke said. “I reckon the last one is the most important, and it’s an event the senator wouldn’t miss for anything. It’s a week before the election.”

  “Where?”

  Zeke permitted himself a small smile. “At Ford’s Theatre.”

  Everybody burst out laughing.

  “I love it!” Harv shouted, and everybody laughed again.

  Finally, they quieted down. “How you want to do this?” Harv asked.

  “I want to shoot him,” Zeke replied. “From somewhere in the theater.”

  “It has a certain poetry about it.”

  “How you going to penetrate?” a man asked.

  “I don’t think the maintenance-worker thing will work again after L.A.,” Zeke said. “I’ve thought about this, and I need an identity that’s unlikely to be questioned at all. Anybody got any ideas?”

  “Catholic priest?” somebody suggested.

  “I don’t think I know enough about being Catholic to fool anybody I got into a conversation with.”

  Harv leaned back in his chair. “So what do you know about?” he asked.

  “Electrical, carpentry, construction, that’s about it.”

  “You know about army,” Harv said. “We all do.”

  “Good point,” Zeke said. “Maybe I could move around in uniform without getting questioned too closely.”

  Harv turned to the youngest man in the group. “Benny, you’re our hacker. Have you ever broken into a Pentagon computer?”

  Benny nodded. “Yeah, but you can’t do it repeatedly, and you have to do it from a remote location, not from home. The chances are too good of being backtracked.”

  “How about if you checked into a motel with a computer. Could you do it from somewhere like that?”

  “What sort of files?”

  “Personnel. I reckon we need an identity for Zeke that’s so good it could only be real.”

  “I’ll have a shot at it,” Benny said.

  “What do you need?”

  “Nothing I haven’t already got. I’ll take a laptop, a modem, and a printer.”

  “You’ll need an anonymous car with plates that can’t be traced back to us.”

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “What will I be looking for?”

  “We need a real army officer who’s serving in the D.C. area—Virginia, Maryland, the Pentagon, maybe. He ought to be about Zeke’s age, and it wouldn’t hurt if they shared a general physical description. We’ll need his jacket, basically, his personnel file.”

  “Okay, I’ll have a shot at that. How soon?”

  “As soon as possible; can you start today?”

  “Sure. I’ll steal a car this afternoon.”

  “Nah, too risky; buy one, something very ordinary.”

  “Okay.”

  Zeke spoke up. “Harv, you were a sergeant major; what else am I going to need?”

  “An ID card,” Harv replied. “I know a guy who can make you one. Then you’ll need orders that will give you some freedom of movement, if you’re questioned. I can cut those on my own computer; nothing to it.”

  “What about uniforms?” Zeke asked.

  “Once we get you the ID card, you can walk onto any army base in the country, go to the PX, and buy whatever you want. We can pick up some insignia and ribbons at a gun show.”

  “What sort of rank?”

  “Light colonel, maybe bird colonel. High enough that nobody will give you a hard time, but not a general; too many of them know each other. There’s lots of colonels in the D.C. area. We’ll put a chicken on your shoulder.”

  “I never got past buck sergeant,” Zeke said. “Chicken colonel might be nice.”

  “You need any weapons?”

  Zeke shook his head. “I’ve still got the Czech sniper rifle, and I’ll load some special ammo, something that’ll take his head off.”

  “Good. Okay, let’s get to work on this.”

  Zeke was out back, working with the log splitter. He enjoyed the effort, and the growing pile of logs was a satisfying sight. Danny stacked them against the house as they came out of the splitter. When they were done, Zeke sat down on a bench and looked out across the mountains. It was a wonderful view.

  Danny came and sat down beside him. “Daddy, I know I’m not supposed to ask about it, but I get the feeling you’re leaving again soon.”

  “That’s right, son,” Zeke said. “And it’s for your own good and your mother’s and your sisters’ good that you don’t know too much.”

  “That’s okay; I understand.”

  This is a good moment for it, Zeke thought. “Listen, son, there’s a real good chance I won’t be coming back from this one.”

  “Is it as dangerous as that?” Danny asked.

  Zeke nodded. “I’m afraid there just isn’t any other way to do it. I’m going to have to put myself on the line for this one.”

  “If you don’t come back, will we know what happened?”

  “Yeah, I expect you will. I don’t think they’ll be able to trace me back here, though; I don’t think you’ll be bothered.”

  “What do you want me to do, if you don’t come back?”

  “Run the place, take care of your mother and your sisters. You can always go to Harv for advice.”

  Danny nodded. “What about the movement? You’ve never let me have anything to do with that.”

  “You’re not old enough to be of much use yet, Danny. It’ll be all you can do to manage the place. After the girls are grown, it might be different. I’ll tell Harv how I feel about this; he’ll respect my wishes.”

  “Daddy, I was thinking I might like to go to college.”

  “What for?” Zeke asked sharply. “Haven’t I taught you everything you need to know?”

  “Sure, Daddy, but, you know, I thought it might be good to improve my mind. Later on, I’d like to travel some, see the world. I even thought about the navy.”

  “Let me tell you something, boy,” Zeke said. “This country around here is all you need to know about. As long as you can run this place and take care of your family, you’ll be a man, and college won’t make you any better. Neither will the navy.” Danny nodded, but Zeke wasn’t sure he’d made a dent in that hard head. The boy had an independent streak.

  “Okay, Daddy,” Danny said, rising from the bench. “Whatever you say. You know I’ll take care of the family and the place.”

  Zeke stood up. “Good man,” he said, clapping the boy on the back. Zeke watched as he walked toward the barn. Jesus, he thought, I’d sure like to be around to see how he turns out.

  56

  Will stared out the window of the Boeing at the mid-western landscape and reflected on the past weeks. The United States Senate had met two days after the president’s funeral and confirmed Joe Adams’s nomination of Senator James A. Browner as vice president. A week later, the Republican National Convention had nominated Representative Howard Efton as its presidential candidate and Governor Robert Mallon of Arizona as its candidate for vice president. As a result of the attempt on Will’s life, the security at the Republican convention was unprecedented, and Will’s Secret Service detachment had tripled in size. Now there were four agents attendant on his person at all times, while others worked the crowds and did advance planning for the campaign. This had cramped Will’s campaign’s ability to make spontaneous changes in his schedule, and, in spite of the best efforts of the Secret Service, Will was beginning to find the agents’ constant presence oppressive. Kate was being driven to and from work by agents, as well.

  Now Will convened a meeting of his traveling staff around the conference table in the big jet. Moss Mallet, the campaign’s pollster, had joined them at Kansas City, and they were bound for Chicago and the campaign’s second debate. Tim Coleman and Kitty Conroy sat down.

  “I’m dying to hear this, Moss,” Tim said.

  “Me, too,” Will chip
ped in.

  “Okay,” Moss said, “here it is: Bottom line, we’re in some trouble.”

  “Be specific,” Will said.

  “Specifically, although we’re only a point or two behind, nationally, we’ve got the potential of a sizable deficit in electoral votes. Efton could win the popular vote very narrowly and still drub us in the electoral college.”

  “Where are the big electoral deficits?” Will asked.

  “Illinois and California. We’ve got to win them both, or lose the election. It’s as simple as that.”

  “Thank God the debate is in Chicago,” Kitty said. “If you do well there, that could be a big, big help. Remember how the first debate helped us in the South.”

  “Yeah,” Will replied, “and I’m beginning to wish the third debate were in California.”

  “That would be nice,” Moss said. “I don’t suppose we could arrange that.”

  “Not a chance,” Kitty replied. “We’re committed to the League of Women Voters for the Washington debate, and so is Efton. It’s been hard enough to pin him down to these debates, without starting to ask for changes now.”

  The phone on the conference table rang, and Tim picked it up. “It’s Sam Meriwether,” he said, handing the phone to Will.

  Will took the phone. “And how’s my campaign director?” he asked. “Happy as a clam, I hope.”

  “Not exactly,” Meriwether said. His voice was a little scratchy on the airphone.

  “What’s up?”

  “Two things: First, Larry Eugene Moody’s appeal has been rejected by the Supreme Court. He’s scheduled to die on the Saturday night before the Tuesday election.”

  “And how do you think that’s going to hurt us?” Will asked.

  “I don’t know that it’s going to; it’s just a distraction. The last debate is the night before the execution, and Efton is bound to try to use it against you in some way.”

  “Eft is a big supporter of the death penalty,” Will replied. “He can’t use this against me without coming off as a hypocrite.”

  “He’s bound to harp on your competence at the trial,” Sam said. “You’d better be ready for that.”

  “All right, we’ll be ready for it. You said two things; what else is happening?”

  “Eft has backed out of the Chicago debate.”

  “What?”

  “He says he’s too busy campaigning.”

  “Well, that’s pretty lame. I’ll give him hell about it.”

  “I think his people are prepared for that, or they wouldn’t have pulled him out of the debate.”

  “Well, shit!” Will said. “Anything else?”

  “Nope; I wish I had some good news.”

  “See you later, Sam.” Will hung up the phone.

  “What?” Tim asked.

  “Eft has backed out of the Chicago debate.”

  Sounds of anger and outrage.

  “I’ll call a press conference at the airport,” Kitty said. “We’ll blow him out of the water.”

  “I think he’s ready for that,” Will said. “I guess we did too well in the Atlanta debate.”

  “He’s scared,” Kitty said.

  “No,” Moss interjected, “he’s smart. He’s obviously run the numbers and concluded that he’ll lose fewer votes by pulling out than by debating you and seeming to lose.”

  “I think you’re right,” Will said, “and I think Eft is right, too.”

  “If that’s the case, what’s to prevent him from backing out of the Washington debate?” Tim asked.

  Nobody spoke.

  “Do you really think he’d risk doing that?” Kitty asked nobody in particular.

  “He would,” Moss said, “if his numbers supported the decision.”

  “We can’t let him get out of the Washington debate,” Kitty said. “We need that one bad.”

  “I have to agree,” Moss said, “but we can’t force him to appear.”

  Kitty suddenly brightened. “Maybe we can. Maybe we can force him to appear in Chicago, too.”

  “You going to put a gun to his head?” Moss asked.

  “In a manner of speaking. Let’s just go on with the Chicago debate.”

  Tim spoke up. “You mean have the senator debate an empty chair? That’s kind of hollow, isn’t it?”

  “No, I mean a real debate—well, nearly real.”

  “You mean debate a substitute? Hire an actor to play Eft?”

  “No, I mean have Eft play Eft.”

  “What are you talking about, Kitty?” Will asked.

  “I mean, we go right ahead as planned. We show up at the hall, and we rent a really big TV set and put it on the stage with you. Then we put together a series of Eft’s statements during the campaign, and play them back as his part of the debate. Then you answer them.”

  Will’s eyebrows went up. “Debate a TV set?”

  “It’ll get a lot of play,” Kitty said, “and, of course, you’d have the advantage of knowing what Eft is going to say.”

  “The networks would never give us the time for a one-sided debate,” Will said, “and I don’t want to see Eft’s clips in advance, not that that would change their minds.”

  “Then we’ll buy it,” Kitty said, “and quick, since the networks already have it scheduled. And, if we can make this work against Eft, he won’t dare back out of the Washington debate.”

  “I think it’s a brilliant idea,” Moss said. “It has the additional advantage of making Eft look like a fool for backing out.”

  “Have we got the money to buy the time?” Will asked Tim.

  “We’d have to cancel a lot of other television time,” Tim replied. “Unless you and Sam can raise a lot more money in a hurry. And it only makes sense to buy one network, not all three. All the others will pick up excerpts for their newscasts.”

  “How much airtime do we have to buy?” Will asked.

  “They’ve scheduled ninety minutes,” Kitty said, “but let’s buy only thirty. I don’t think anybody would sit still for an hour and a half to watch you debate a TV set, but they would for half an hour.”

  “The debate is scheduled for the day after tomorrow,” Will pointed out. “Have you got enough time to assemble the tape clips of Eft?”

  “It’ll be tight, but we can do it.”

  “Call Tom Black and get him on it, too,” Will said. “Get him to Chicago, if necessary.”

  Kitty picked up the phone and started dialing.

  “Was that all Sam had to say?” Tim asked.

  “Well, no,” Will replied. “Larry Moody is going to die in the electric chair three days before the election. The Supreme Court turned down his appeal.”

  “Oh, shit,” Tim said.

  “We need to think about how this can hurt us,” Will said. “I’m not really sure that it will. Sam thinks Eft will try to find a way to use it against me in the Washington debate.”

  “We’ll be ready for that,” Tim said. “But there’s something else I’m not sure we can be ready for.”

  “What’s that?” Will asked.

  “Charlene Joiner,” Tim said.

  “I hadn’t thought about Charlene,” Will admitted. “What do you think she’ll do?”

  “God only knows, but you know how hot she is to save Moody’s life. I have a feeling it could be noisy. I’m not sure how we can plan for that.”

  “Neither am I,” Will said.

  57

  Zeke Tennant was driving north through Virginia toward Washington when flashing lights popped on in his rearview mirror. He pulled the Ford Taurus over to the shoulder of the interstate and watched in his side mirror as a state trooper approached.

  Zeke took a couple of deep breaths and lowered the window. His weapons were in the trunk; he’d have to handle this with his hands, if it came to that. “Morning,” he said.

  “Good morning, Colonel,” the trooper replied, seeing the eagles on the collar of Zeke’s starched and pressed camouflage fatigues. “Can I see your license, registrati
on, and proof of insurance, please?”

  “Sure,” Zeke replied. He dug his license out of a pocket and reached into the glove compartment for the other documents. He handed them over. “Mind if I get out?” he asked. “I’d like to stretch my legs.” He couldn’t handle the man while sitting in the car.

  The trooper looked at him carefully, then at his license. “Go ahead, Colonel.”

  Zeke opened the door, got out, and made a show of stretching.

  “Come back here and take a look at something,” the trooper said, beckoning him toward the rear of the car.

  Zeke followed him.

  The trooper pointed at the place where the license plate should be. “See the problem?”

  Zeke grimaced. “Damn dealer,” he said. “I only bought the car this morning.”

  “Maybe the plate is in the trunk,” the trooper said. “Shall we take a look?”

  The sniper’s rifle was in the trunk, and Zeke had no intention of opening it. “Sure; let me get the keys,” he said, walking back toward the driver’s door. He was about to kick back at the trooper when he saw a brown envelope lying on the backseat. “This must be it,” he said. He opened the door, retrieved the envelope, and took out the plate. “I thought they had put it on the car.”

  “You’d better put it on now,” the trooper said.

  “I don’t have any tools; I’ll stop at the next service station and get it done.” He wanted to get away from this guy before he was recognized.

  “I’ve got a screwdriver in the car,” the trooper said. “Just a minute.” He walked back to his patrol car, got in, and began looking for something then he picked up a microphone and began speaking into it.

  Zeke walked slowly toward the patrol car; he’d move as the trooper got out. Then a hand came out of the car with a screwdriver in it.

  “Here you go,” he said. “Be with you in a minute; I’ve got a radio call.”

  He’s recognized me, Zeke thought as he walked toward the rear of his car. He knelt and began removing the screws from the empty license-plate frame. In a moment, he had the plate attached, and as he rose, the trooper approached. Zeke was ready for the fight.