He paused a moment between calls, listening as the two speechwriters in the next room prepped the senator for the performance of her life. The one that could carry her to victory. Tonight, Katherine Karlson would broadcast an offering of hope and compromise. Her audience was at the epicenter of the violence––the people of Iran, Iraq, and Afghanistan.
Lawton grinned at the seeming simplicity of his intricate stroke of genius. In the next few days, Karlson would stand alone as the sole candidate who understood the strained emotions and intricate details of the Middle East conflict. But as crucial as the message appeared, it was not the primary objective. The plan’s true brilliance was not in the message itself but in what lay concealed. This entire choreographed show was Gene Lawton’s Trojan Horse.
This would be the defining moment in the senator’s campaign. It also eliminated a potentially insurmountable obstacle that could have destroyed her. Lawton had used that information and accomplished the impossible, proving once again that he had no equal among his peers. He would be seen as the brains and power behind Katherine Karlson, the man who won her the presidency. Once he accomplished that, he could write his own ticket. There was no limit to his opportunities as White House Chief of Staff. Political favors and the tide of contributions and gifts would roll in behind him like a tsunami.
Months from now, Gene Lawton would be one of the most powerful men in DC and well on his way to amassing his personal fortune. He envisioned an enormous wave again but this time saw himself riding its crest on a surfboard that bore the likeness of Karlson. True enough, he wouldn’t be in this position today without the good senator. She had risen from a fading glimmer town actress to become a mighty political force to be reckoned with. Without his guidance, though, she would never have made it this far, this fast. Instead, she would have been flipped and tossed aimlessly with no direction, like a rudderless rowboat at the mercy of an angry sea.
Katherine owed him more than she would ever acknowledge. For now, at least, knowing that her success also guaranteed his own would be enough. He enjoyed their affair and understood it would never amount to anything more than the occasional interlude between the sheets. She would not leave her husband. Lawton himself had fallen out of love with his own wife long ago but would not leave her, either.
The intimate moments with Karlson would soon be ending. The relationship would return to that of two professionals. He made a mental note to bed her at least a few more times before the election. After that, memories of their lovemaking would have to suffice. And they were abundant and intense. He thought of her warm skin as he kissed her neck. Feeling her firm breasts in his hands. Her tongue meeting his, her body responding to every move as he slid deeper inside her. He closed his eyes and could feel her tense and quiver beneath him as she climaxed. Her soft and gentle moans keeping rhythm to his body thrusts.
The image shattered as the senator’s voice, shrill and agitated, cut through the silence. She entered the room with one of her speechwriters in tow.
“I told you how many times already? There is nothing memorable in any of this! Honestly, Jenn, you write better lines for actors than for the people they’re supposed to portray!”
“Senator, I’ve written some excellent points that will make people take notice. Look on page…”
“Let me stop you there. I don’t see any JFK zingers, and that’s what we’re talking about here, hon. I need that big line that the voters will be repeating years after this election. And I need more than one. I need greatness. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Please, go write something historical, for God’s sake. We’re up against the clock, and you haven’t given me shit!”
Karlson marched over to a liquor cabinet and pulled out a tumbler and bottle of Scotch. Her hand shook as she poured out four fingers of liquid courage.
Lawton observed from a distance, reading Karlson’s body language. Waiting to be sure she had exhausted her thoughts. He knew from experience that she was not open to input if she still had something to say. Her mannerisms told him she was nervous and testy, balancing on the brink of something much worse. This had all the earmarkings of previous episodes where she had completely lost control and required hours of consolation. He did not have that kind of time and needed to douse the flames before they burned out of control. It’s what he did, and he did it better than anyone.
The first step was getting the senator back into her comfort zone. Next to her beauty, confidence was her most powerful attribute. She needed to believe that the words she spoke would be historic. Lawton recalled one of JFK’s most notable quotes, ‘Ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country.’ Even these memorable words were not original and rumored to have been borrowed from Kennedy’s former headmaster.
The primary function of a modern-day statesman was to read someone else’s words convincingly from a teleprompter. It was the speech writer’s responsibility to create those phrases and slogans that would be remembered long after the public had forgotten that few of the promises ever came to fruition.
Lawton jumped into action. “Jennifer, this is one of those moments when you shouldn’t be so concerned with plagiarizing other speeches. You know all of the great ones by heart. Just do a little cut and paste. Stick a few good lines together and connect them with your own words. I really need you to pen two memorable quotes before the end of the day. Can you do that?”
Jennifer was accustomed to writing under pressure. She also prided herself on originality. It’s what made her so valuable when writing scripts for the Capitol Beat show. She paused to consider the irony of the situation. She exercised more discretion when creating dialogue for fictitious characters than this. Although troubled by the thought, she also saw a twisted humor. She nodded to Lawton. “I’ll see what I can do.” She grabbed her laptop and headed for a secluded corner. “Some of the things I hear,” she muttered, shaking her head. “Who would believe I didn’t make that up?”
15
Jordan was impressed, but Amy was absolutely flipping out over this band. ‘Protocol 4’ was far better than Jordan had anticipated. Then again, she had seen enough of other dismal, screaming, head-banging bands in the past that her expectations were low. This was a pleasant surprise. There was melody, there was great rhythm, and they were tight!
Jordan didn’t know much about drums. Even so, she could tell that Ethan’s driving beat was a big part of them sounding like a band rather than just four individuals. She watched them watching him and could tell where the music was going by the subtle acknowledgments between them. They moved and played as one. Something you rarely saw in any band, let alone a ‘B’ band in a ‘B’ bar. She watched, felt, listened, and enjoyed what she knew was a rare moment.
Upon finishing their last song, the stage crew began hauling amplifiers and drums away to make room for the headline act. Jordan watched as Ethan oversaw the dismantling of his drum kit before he disappeared backstage. She had looked forward to talking with him again but figured Ethan and Cody were probably amongst the throes of adoring groupies by now.
She leaned over to Amy and shouted over the pulsing intermission music. “I don’t think they’re coming back out.”
Amy started to respond, then grinned. “Look behind you,” she said.
Ethan was ordering a drink at the bar. He looked over to Jordan and motioned for her to wait. Grabbing his drink, he came over and slid into the chair beside her. “You made it! I didn’t know if your mother would let you come to this club without a military escort.”
Jordan looked perplexed. Did he know more about her identity than he had let on?
Ethan gave a sly smile. “You know, you looked so familiar to me that I did a quick lookup online and found a picture of you and your family. I guess I’m that much more impressed that your opinions are still your own. Your mother is a very persuasive woman.”
Jordan’s smile faded as an internal alarm sounded. Her eyes instinctively scanned the room for threats.
Ethan picked up on her apprehension. “Hey, I didn’t tell anyone, not even Cody. Please, stay awhile.” He reached over to take her hand. “I didn’t tell you I knew who you were to frighten you or blow your cover.” He leaned in closer, his lips touching her ear. “I told you because I wanted to be truthful.”
The admission didn’t help.
“Ethan, I had a nice time talking with you, but I’ve been in situations where people wanted to get next to me because of who I am.”
Ethan looked at her a moment, then chuckled. “I’d like to get next to you despite who you are. I can’t tell you the last time I had a stimulating conversation with a woman. It’s just weird that it happens with someone who should be at the opposite end of the political spectrum. We found more common ground in a half-hour than, than. . .look, if you’d rather go somewhere else, we can do that, but I’m asking you, please, spend some time with me...”
The look in his eyes and tone of voice told Jordan that either he was a brilliant liar, or she had stumbled upon someone truly sincere and worth getting to know. This wasn’t the way she had envisioned meeting Mr. Right but decided it was worth pursuing.
“I know of a little speakeasy not far from here,” she said. “Now that you know my little secret, you’ll understand that I have to watch where I go. I don’t know how safe it is for me to be here much longer.”
Ethan nodded with a mischievous grin. “That sounds great,” he said, “and we can leave whenever you want. But I think you’re safer here than you realize. I counted three of your guardians already.”
Jordan watched as Ethan pointed toward two agents. One stood near the stage, and another was sitting not far from them at the bar. Even though they were in plain clothes, she could tell by their mannerisms that they didn’t belong here. Surprised, a little embarrassed, and downright impressed with Ethan’s observational skills, Jordan said, “They’re not with me, you know. I had no idea. So, where is the third? I don’t. . .wait, okay, that was too easy. And I didn’t see that before? ”
The last secret service agent was the most obvious, dressed in a suit and talking into his shirt cuff. You wouldn’t notice him standing to the side of the main entrance unless you walked in and turned around. Standing in plain sight, he had become near invisible.
“So,” asked Ethan, “would you like to go?”
“You know, I’d kind of like to hear a bit of the next band first. We’re already here, and mother sent the marines to guard me. I think we should relax, have another drink and catch their set.” She smiled and nestled into her chair. For once, the sight of her security detail was putting her at ease instead of pissing her off.
Ethan pulled his chair closer to hers and said, “That sounds like a well-thought-out, logical plan of action.” He clinked his bottle against hers and flagged a waitress.
16
At 3:00 pm on the dot, Gene Lawton heard the outer office door opening, followed by footsteps and muffled voices. He entered the reception area and made introductions with the three visitors. They walked together to the senator’s office. Karlson would be joining them shortly, he explained, and they should feel free to set up their equipment.
Lawton sensed their excitement as they unpacked and assembled tripods, cameras, microphones, and lights. He imagined how much more energized they would be when they took the bait. He offered refreshments, which they all politely declined. The plan relied on this group dropping their inhibitions and letting curiosity dictate their actions. He excused himself to allow them time to get comfortable and examine their surroundings.
Karlson stood in the adjoining room as he walked in and pulled the door behind him. She smiled giddily. “Are we ready?”
“Give them a few more minutes, then we’ll make a noisy entrance. Matthew, is everything good for you?”
Matt Grunberg, Senator Karlson’s chief of security, poked his head out from the closet-sized networking room. “Yes, sir, we’re ready to go here.”
Karlson’s eyes twinkled with admiration. “I’m still amazed you were able to make all of this happen so quickly, Gene. I wouldn’t know where to begin to bring all of this together.”
Lawton smiled back. “It was no cakewalk. I’ll admit to being dumbfounded when this landed in our lap. The biggest task was figuring how to turn a detriment into an asset. Speaking of which, Ms. Karlson, you are on!”
He pushed open the connecting door into the senator’s office, then held up a finger for Karlson to wait as he went through. She took a moment to smooth out her flattering gray Ann Klein business suit.
“Lady and gentlemen,” Lawton announced, “may I present the senator from the great state of California, Katherine Karlson.”
He moved aside to allow Karlson to seize the attention of the three people gathered around her desk. A tall, stunning woman with waist-length jet black hair stood, smiled, and held out her hand. Hers was a face sculpted by the masters. Her eyes were deep, bottomless black pools, her makeup highlighting her natural beauty. She was dressed in a simple yet stunning navy pantsuit with a beige button-down blouse that accentuated her lean, shapely form.
Lawton stepped forward and began introducing the visitors. “Senator Karlson, may I present Deeba Gohar, from Al Jazeera television. The sound and lighting equipment tech is Maaz Nubeer to your left, and the camera operator is Kasheef Sahir.”
Deeba took Karlson’s hand and gave it a firm shake. “I am grateful you have agreed to an interview with us, Madam Senator.”
“The pleasure is all mine, Deeba,” Karlson exclaimed. “Our countries have so much in common, yet such monumental misunderstandings. I hope we can shed some light on a few of them today.”
“That is my wish as well,” the beautiful reporter replied. Her voice was silky smooth with only the slightest hint of an accent. “The best way to inform the people of the region that you do not support this terrible war is by explaining it directly to them yourself. I believe that after this interview is broadcast, millions of Muslims across the world will stand beside you in your quest for the American presidency.”
Karlson fought to maintain her composure. Yes, this was going to work, and yes, this would bring her three steps closer to a lock on the highest office in the land. “I feel exactly the same way,” she replied. “Now, if you are ready, we can begin. I thought I would sit at my desk during the interview. Will that work for you and the crew?”
“Yes, of course,” answered Deeba. “Kasheef will film from over my shoulder. We will edit in some additional second camera shots of me asking the questions after we finish. Maaz, would you set the lights, please?”
The engineer nodded and switched on a pair of flood lamps mounted to large silver umbrella-shaped reflectors. The room lit brightly. He adjusted the reflectors until the senator and reporter were both bathed in a warm glow of soft, bounced light.
“Very good,” nodded Deeba, “now let us begin.” She looked to Kaseef to see that he had the cameras rolling. He nodded and gave a thumbs up.
“In four, three, two. . .this is Deeba Gohar with Al Jazeera television, the voice of the Middle East. Today, I have the honor of speaking with the distinguished Senator of California, Katherine Karlson. Ms. Karlson is a candidate for the United States’ presidency and a strong supporter of the Muslim people. Good afternoon, senator, and thank you for taking the time to address some of the issues that are critically important to our people.”
Karlson straightened in her chair, feeling the magnitude of the moment, presidential and powerful, but at the same time like a little girl who had finally gotten a pony. She suppressed the urge to beam from ear to ear, keeping her emotions in check, channeling them appropriately for the part she portrayed. She was the brilliant actress once again. Her rehearsed smile was the picture of sincerity.
“Thank you, Deeba, and thanks to your film crew for joining us this afterno
on. I believe in the unity of our people. My promise to you and everyone watching is that when I become president of this great nation, I will always remember that the price of greatness is responsibility.”
Jennifer Griffon smiled as she listened from the conference room. “Didn’t waste any time throwing that one out there,” she said quietly, referring to the Winston Churchill quote she had pilfered for the senator.
Karlson felt the entire interview going her way. The questions being asked, although not reviewed beforehand as was the custom, were being tossed like slow-pitch softballs. No surprises, nothing to catch her off guard or make her look bad. It was clear that Deeba and her crew were pleased to have a new ally in the United States Senate. They were presenting Karlson to their audience as the new hope of Islam.
She finished answering a question concerning a bill she co-sponsored that would give full government benefits to all immigrants when Lawton came from the next room and whispered something in her ear. The expression on her face changed to one of concern, and she turned to Deeba. “The President has asked to speak with me immediately. I’m sorry, but you will have to excuse me for a few moments.”
Deeba nodded her understanding as the senator rose and walked with Lawton back the way he had come. They passed through the outer door and pulled it shut.
Karlson hurried over to the security room where Matt Grunburg sat. “Have they seen the documents yet?” she asked, not attempting to mask her excitement.
“They haven’t made a move for them yet, but I think the cameraman noticed them as soon as you left the room.”
ENEMY WITHIN THE GATES Page 8