No Rules

by Ridge King

  “I’ll tell you why shortly.” He snapped up a menu. “What’re you havin’, Mr. Ambassador?” asked Perryman pleasantly.

  “I rather favor the duck a l’orange, myself,” said Ellsworth.

  “Me, too, then, sir,” said Perryman, slapping closed the menu.

  “Let me get to the point of my call this morning, Lamar,” said Ellsworth, leaning over to him.

  “Kindly do,” smiled Perryman.

  “I think you had more on your mind yesterday at Camp David than you let us hear when you said there must be some way to dispose of Mr. Hawkins and replace him with Mr. Crampton. We’re both desirous of having St. Clair replace the President and I hoped you might be willing to discuss your ideas in greater detail.”

  Perryman was more than willing to confide in the British ambassador. They were close, as each had been in Washington for many years. And Ellsworth was as deeply involved in the Keystone matter as he was. He saw no harm in it.

  “I am willing to discuss my ideas, sir; in fact, I have just come from the President.”

  “Indeed?” said Ellsworth with unchecked interest.

  “Yes, sir. And this is what I told him,” Perryman began.

  After several minutes, the ambassador sat back a trifle disappointed.

  “Do you really think that will work?” he asked with obvious skepticism.

  “I’m not sure. But it’s about the only thing left for us to do, don’t you think?”

  “I suppose so,” agreed Ellsworth as their food was placed before them. “I realize that all you suggest is quite legal,” said Ellsworth when the waiter left, “but do you think it could possibly work out?”

  “Can’t say, sir,” said Perryman, carving into his duck. “I just don’t see any other course to follow. We can’t hang him up and skin him like a rabbit,” he said, inserting a forkful of fowl into his mouth. “This is more of a cherry-orange sauce, don’t you think, Harold?”

  “No, we can’t hang him up and skin him like a rabbit,” said Ellsworth with some disappointment, tasting his duck. “Yes, I think there is a bit more cherry than there might be.”

  After lunch, Ellsworth met in secret with Ambassador Kornilevski and told him what Perryman had revealed.

  “It’s impossible, Ambassador,” Kornilevski spit out, “utterly, totally impossible.”

  “I don’t think it will work, either. But if Perryman met with Norwalk, we must suppose the President will seriously consider it.”

  “The problem with these Americans is that they will only go so far,” said the Russian, standing up behind his desk and leaning over it towards his colleague.

  “Well, they can be ruthless enough when they want to be. Perhaps the current cast of characters is a trifle timid.”

  Kornilevski came from behind his desk and paced up and down the room, pounding one clenched fist into the other palm, his lips tight and tense.

  “But something must be done to see that this man does not stand in our way!” shouted Kornilevski with passion, turning on Ellsworth.

  “Calm yourself, sir. We won’t make any progress if we lose our heads.”

  “If we lose this election because of this one man, my lord, consider what the world will lose!”

  “I’m sure,” said Ellsworth, regarding the Russian with apprehension and dismay. “If only there was something we could do without their knowledge….”

  Kornilevski crossed his arms over his massive chest and drummed his foot on the carpet. Finally he walked behind his desk and sat down facing the Englishman, who was shaking his head sadly, looking down at the floor.

  “We must think of something, Lord Ellsworth. You’ve met this man, this Hawkins. Tell me what he’s like.”

  Ellsworth shrugged slightly.

  “Oh, I don’t know. He’s a very likable chap—young, handsome, but not too awfully impulsive. Quite level headed, if you ask me. I think he’s a man of conviction.”

  “Could you speak to him? We must decide on some course. See him, I urge you. See him in private. Let no one know.”

  “All right, I’ll see what I can do.”

  “We must make some decision. If the Democrats will force the Congress to adjourn for a Christmas holiday, we haven’t much time.”

  “No,” agreed Ellsworth soberly, “not much time at all.”

  * * *

  Jesse Epstein came over to Thurston’s apartment that afternoon. Together, they went over the state delegations, figuring and re-figuring possible outcomes, papers strewn out on the study floor as they sat in the middle of them with their legs crossed, pens in hand.

  “We’ve done it and re-done it and done it again,” said Epstein finally. “No matter how you figure it, you can’t say who it’ll come down to. Kellerman of Nevada, a Republican; Fulton of Oklahoma; these Republicans and hell, they haven’t caucused so who can tell?”

  “You’re right, Jess. But what about this Hawkins? I’ve met him once or twice but never really sat down with him. Is he still holding for us?”

  “Far as we know he is. I haven’t heard anything over the grapevine.”

  Thurston frowned and took up a fresh list of the crucial members.

  “If you cross out the ones who’ve been cold to me recently,” he began. He drew lines through names. “Let’s see, Fulton hasn’t spoken to me but once and he used to brag about supporting me like he was rubbing salt in Jeffrey Norwalk’s face. Kellerman saw me coming down a hallway and turned around and went the other way. Ernest Rylsky left town recently and somebody told me he’d been nervous for a few days but nobody knew what was on his mind. Aaron Macklin has been acting strange, too.” He crossed through several other names. “If you consider that these men were approached and brought over to St. Clair, Slanetti’s getting pretty close to the magic number of twenty-six, and just about the only name left on the list we can say anything about one way or the other is Matt Hawkins of Wyoming. Curious, don’t you think?” He looked at Epstein, who shrugged.

  “I guess so, but you’re not going on much.”

  Thurston drove his pen into the carpet like a knife.

  “Shit! If there was just some way I could talk to these men!”

  “You can only approach them indirectly.”

  “There won’t be time when the new House convenes, not the way the timetable goes.”

  “After they certify the electoral votes, they go into immediate session, right?” asked Epstein.

  “Yeah. They don’t even take a break, but call for a vote right away. If there’s no winner on the first ballot, Lamar told me they’ll break for a hour and then vote again. Outsiders won’t be allowed in to lobby the members on the floor.”

  “Like some kind of Papal Enclave, right?”

  “Yeah, but no white or black smoke.”

  “Call Matt Hawkins.”

  “I will. I might meet with him tomorrow night for a while. It couldn’t hurt to pay a little attention to him. Maybe he’s been approached on something but’s afraid like all others.”

  “Why wouldn’t he be?”

  Thurston narrowed is eyes and looked at his manager.

  “I don’t know. He’s young. He’s new. They’re different.”

  “You’re no old man.”

  “But I’ve been around this town too long. He hasn’t.”

  “You ought to be spending time with people like Fulton—somebody with some swing.”

  “If this thing ever boiled down to some individual—like a single member delegation like Hawkins—Fulton may not be as important as we think he is.”

  “Still…” said Epstein, conscious of the value of time.

  “I know. I’ll meet with the others, too.”

  “They’ll be surprised when Niles moves to adjourn. That’ll help us a little.”

  “I know. That’s a big plus in our favor. As long as Slanetti doesn’t know about the early recess, he won’t be able to adjust his timetable and maybe we can screw him to the wall. Only Niles, me, you, Stan and Lamar kno
w about it.”

  “So we’re safe.”

  “Yep.”

  Chapter 11

  THE CALL

  There was nothing for Matt to do the next morning when he went to his suite in the HOB. He’d let the staff off and everybody had returned to Wyoming for a Christmas break. He was the only one there besides a temp manning the phones.

  The only call that came through, however, was from Jack Houston St. Clair asking him to lunch. They arranged to meet back at the hotel.

  As he was leaving his office, Senator Bill Dumaine of Massachusetts came down the hallway with two aides trailing behind.

  “Congressman-elect Hawkins? How are you?” said the senator, extending his hand.

  “Very good, Senator. And yourself?”

  Matt couldn’t hide the pleasure he felt in being recognized by a high-profile senator like Dumaine.

  “Just wanted to pass by and say Merry Christmas to you and your wife, Sue.”

  “Thanks, Senator. Same to you and, uh, your wife…”

  “Bianca,” Dumaine prompted with a seemingly genuine smile.

  Matt couldn’t believe how slick the guy was. Even knew his wife’s name.

  Dumaine was off as quickly as he’d appeared. Matt watched as Dumaine went into the suite next to his to extend holiday greetings to another Democrat in the House.

  The man was “building memories.” No one would ever forget that he did this if he ever rose to become a Presidential contender, and by every measure, he was working hard to give the appearance that he was a comer. Matt wondered if he had the kind of raw desire that a guy like Dumaine had.

  He got back to the Hilton. It was deadly quiet. He called Sue back home.

  “How’s your mom?”

  “She’s getting a little better, but I was thinking maybe I’d hop down there Christmas Eve, spend a couple of days with you and then come back.”

  The muscles in his stomach tightened.

  “You probably ought to stay there, sweetie. I’d hate for you to be down here and something happen back there.”

  “I know. I’d feel guilty as hell.”

  “Tell you what! Let me see what I can do to move a couple of things around and maybe I’ll come back home to be with you.”

  “But don’t they need you there?”

  “They do, but let me make a few calls and check things out.”

  By giving her the hope he might return home, he could keep her from thinking about coming to Washington. At the last minute, he’d find some reason to remain in Washington, freeing up the time to squeeze away to Miami with Patricia on Jack’s plane. By then the flights would be a nightmare and it wouldn’t be worth the trouble to come for a short visit.

  “Someone’s at the door,” Matt said when he heard the bell ring. “Take care, Sue. I love you. Best to your mom.’”

  He went over and let Jack in. He suddenly realized he was starving.

  “Hey, Jack.”

  “Matt.”

  They shook hands.

  “Your bags packed for Miami?”

  “Jack, I’m all packed and ready to go. Never been to Miami before.”

  “You’ll love it.”

  Just then, Matt’s cell rang.

  “Hello, Matt? This is Fred Thurston.”

  “Why, hello, Senator,” said Matt, happy to hear his candidate’s voice. “Good to hear from you,” he smiled as he glanced at Jack, who smiled sheepishly.

  “I want to apologize for not having met with you in private yet. I appreciate your support very much, you know that, but as you can probably understand, I’ve been very busy with others who haven’t quite seen their way to supporting me.”

  “I’ll bet you have,” said Matt seriously, thinking of the Republican effort and wondering if Thurston’s persuasive tactics were equal to the opposition.

  “Is it possible for me to meet you tonight?”

  “Of course, Senator, I’d be happy to see you. Where?”

  “Could you come out to my place about seven?”

  “Be glad to. Give me the address.” Thurston did.

  “Tell me, Matt, have you been having any problems since you’ve been in Washington?” Thurston wanted to choose his words carefully. “Have you had any flack of any kind? Maybe there’s something I can help you with.”

  “Oh, I’ve had a little here and there. Nothing I haven’t been able to handle. I’m still on your side, Fred.” Again, a look at Jack.

  “I appreciate that, Matt.” Thurston decided it wouldn’t benefit him continuing the conversation any longer. “Okay then, see you at seven.”

  “Right. ’Bye.”

  Thurston discerned no weakness in Hawkins’s position and was sorry after making the call that he bothered giving him time later. He didn’t feel he could afford to waste time on those who were sure to support him.

  Matt was surprised by Thurston’s call. He’d felt ignored by his party since coming to Washington. Things were looking up.

  Personally, he was eager to meet Thurston in private to see what he was like when he was out of the limelight. Matt was young enough and ambitious enough to have Presidential aspirations himself, dreams he didn’t weigh one way or the other. He just had them.

  “I didn’t see any need to tell him that Jack Houston St. Clair was standing next to me when he called.”

  “Naw. Poor guy’d probably be on the way over here right now to get you as far away from me as he could.”

  They both laughed.

  “Wait’ll he hears about Miami,” said Matt.

  “Yeah,” said Jack, laughing harder. “He’ll probably want to come along to chaperone you, and Sue,” Jack said, adding “Sue” almost as an afterthought.

  Matt stopped laughing and got serious.

  “Yeah, Jack. I really don’t think Sue’s going to be able to make the trip.”

  “No?” Jack asked, furrowing his brow and doing his best to sound surprised and disappointed. Based on what he saw when Matt followed Patricia into the greenhouse at Horizon, this is exactly what Jack expected to happen.

  “Her mother’s really sick. She’s afraid to leave her alone.”

  “But you’ll be able to make it, right?” Jack asked, knowing wild horses couldn’t keep Matt Hawkins away from Patricia Vaughan.

  “Unless, uh, something comes up, sure.”

  “Good. Now let’s go get some lunch.”

  “Sure.” Matt’s phone rang. “Let me just get this.”

  “Matthew Hawkins, please, the White House calling.”

  Matt felt a growl come from his stomach. He knew it was a hunger pang, but he felt a sudden nausea come over him.

  “Uh...”

  “Is this Mr. Hawkins?”

  “Yes... Is this some kind of prank?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Well, who the hell wants to talk to me from the White House?”

  He shot a suspicious look at Jack, who shook his head and held out his hands and shrugged as if he didn’t know anything about this.

  “The President,” came the measured response from a White House operator who had heard the same reaction before.

  Matt’s mind went numb at the sound of the words: THE PRESIDENT. His eyes glazed over and he stared straight ahead, almost unaware what was happening, what he was hearing.

  “The President?” he mumbled.

  “Yes, sir. Please hold while I connect you.”

  Matt stood still, holding out the phone and looking at it in his hand as if he’d never seen one before, frowning, suddenly overcome with a case of nervousness mixed with his hunger. His head floated with a numbness, like a smoker’s first cigarette in the morning. He looked at Jack.

  “It’s Norwalk. What the fuck does he want?”

  “Hell if I know, Matt. I’m serious.”

  “Matt Hawkins?”

  “Yes, uh, yes, this is he,” he replied, suddenly coming to. He knew that husky voice.

  “This is President Norwalk, Matt. I’m sorry to ask yo
u on such short notice, but would it be possible for you to come see me?”

  “See you, sir, I mean, Mr. President?”

  “Yes.”

  “Uh, when should I come?”

  “As soon as you can. Right now if you can.”

  “Right now?”

  “Yes, Matt,” said Norwalk a little impatiently. “If you can.”

  “Oh, yes, sir, I can come now.”

  “I’m not interrupting you, am I?” asked Norwalk.

  “No, Mr. President, I’m just here with Jack Houston St. Clair. He’s been trying to—”

  “Trying to get you to vote for his dad, right?”

  “Yes, Mr. President. Even invited me to lunch.”

  “Well, Jack knows the best places in Washington. You could do worse than have lunch with him. Tell him I’ve got his dad sitting outside my office this very minute. In fact, why don’t you just bring Jack along with you?”

  “All right, Mr. President, I will.”

  “Good, I’ll expect you in fifteen minutes.”

  Matt’s mind was in a whirl.

  “At the White House, Mr. President?”

  “Yes, Matt, at the White House. That’s where I have my office,” said Norwalk indulgently, quickly adding: “I can send a car.”

  “No, sir. We’ll just take a taxi.”

  “Very good. I’ll expect you.”

  He rang off.

  Matt put the cell away.

  “And you’re saying you don’t know anything about this, Jack?”

  “Swear to God,” said Jack, holding up one arm like a Boy Scout.

  “He says your dad is sitting right outside the Oval Office.”

  “I don’t know anything about that, either,” said Jack.

  Matt gave him a skeptical look.

  “He wants me to bring you over with me.”

  “Fine. But did he say what he wanted?”

  “Don’t you think that’s pretty obvious?”

  “Yeah, he’s gonna lean on you somehow, I guess.”

  “Should I go?”

  “You told him you were coming.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And you’re gonna have to face the music eventually.”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “Then let’s go see what the old man has on his scheming little mind,” said Jack. “And then we’ll go get that lunch. I know some great places.”