ALL IN: Race for the White House (35 page)

The Secret Service insisted that I arrive early ahead of the crowds.
 

“Lexi, when am I going to see you?”

“Jack, I thought you’d be sick of me after spending so much time covering you in Maine.”

“No, I’m not kidding. We miss you around here.”

“The network has the producers combing through all the film we have of you guys trying to put together a story on Lisa. The News Department wants the piece ready to air on Sunday. I’ll be with you guys on Wednesday to cover the Washington Caucus.”
 

“We’re sending Griffin to Washington State and Wyoming. Lisa’s master plan had us skipping some of the Beauty Contests and heading straight to Georgia for Super Tuesday. We’re not veering from that schedule, you should join us there.”

“Well, it really doesn’t matter now you have the nomination sewn up.”
 

“Now we focus on Barker and the general. It’s a bonus for us that Anne will be going to all the places we hadn’t initially planned.”
 

“Do you like her, Jack?”

“Anne Griffin?”

“Let’s put it this way, she’s useful.”
 

“But you wouldn’t go so far… as to say you like her, even a little bit?”

“Lexi, let’s say I’m glad she’s on our side, especially now. I could grow to like what she can do, but don’t think I’d ever look forward to spending time with her.”
 

“Well, I’m glad you miss me, even though I don’t know if I believe you.”

“Lexi, Lisa’s passing has left us devastated. I feel a sense of dread, and I blame myself. Do you get it that she is dead because of me?”

“Jack, you can’t do that. You loved Lisa, you would never have done anything to hurt her.”

“But still she’s dead.”
 

“I know it’s awful, Jack, but you have to press on for the good of the country.”

“It haunts me, though, Lexi.”
 

“Lisa’s death?”

“I haven’t really processed it fully yet. I’m talking about the service.”

The funeral had been a disaster. The crowds had become so large that the family’s limo couldn’t get near St Johns Church. It took thirty minutes for the cops to get Lisa’s mother to the mall across the street. Close enough to be carried. Her grief was so encompassing, she was unable to take the steps under her own power. Lisa’s Stepfather and a Captain of the Washington Police carried her to the front to spend one final moment with her baby.

My goodbye had been earlier. Bob Sheppard told me the most dangerous area I could be in was outside the church. The AFL-CIO Building next door would make it easy for anyone to take a shot at me. Unfortunately, he said it in front of Sarah. So, even though I had wanted to be a pallbearer for my sweet Lisa, I would be forced to stay inside when she was carried to the hearse for the final ride to the cemetery. My body broke into an uncontrollable sweat as Lisa’s mother placed her hands over the all-white coffin, rubbing it slowly, helplessly agonizing over loss so great yet so senseless. She was standing there in tears and drenched through her clothes. It had started pouring sideways a half-hour before the service, so she along with everyone else who entered was soaking wet. I heard her sobbing behind the thin black veil she was wearing as I walked up and put my hands on her shoulders to try to comfort her.
 

She whispered so softly, “Lisa loved you…”

I couldn’t find words to answer, but gently helped her back to her seat.
 

Lisa’s favorite church song “Hallelujah” was playing with the heavy smell of incense filling the air. She was always so happy when she heard her songs. Her favorite flowers were baby’s breath, her favorite poem, “Citizen of the World”, by Joyce Kilmer.

I walked up the podium and cried telling everyone that the words I would speak today were the most difficult of my life.
 

“The Eulogy you gave was beautiful, Jack. When you read the letter Lisa wrote to you, I balled. There wasn’t a dry eye when you said she was your little angel and that you loved her.”
 

Police had found a letter in Sandy’s apartment that Lisa had started writing. She hadn’t finished it, I’d imagine Steve had arrived and she put it down half done. The church was full beyond standing room spilling into the street as I read aloud the last words anyone would ever hear from my precious innocent friend. I read to the packed room, “Dear, Jack, words cannot express how grateful I am to you for caring. You have shown me that, even at his busiest time, a man can show me kindness and loving attention. You have helped me to put my best foot forward and inspired me to take action in an area that I had given up on. But, Jack, it has been so worth it, for the first time in my life I feel pure joy and it is wonderful.” Then I read the final sentence not knowing the effect it would have on Lisa’s mom. “Jack, you told me I was beautiful and when I didn’t believe… you shared your heart with me and…”

“Lisa never finished that sentence.”

“I know, Jack.”

“It breaks my heart, Lexi.”

Lexi spoke softly, “Jack, I’ll see you in Georgia then. Please remember to tell Daphne and Bob to let me on the bus.”
 

Bill Mitchell decided to have his son cremated, he would carry his ashes to Nepal and have them brought to the summit and laid to rest.

He knew that’s what Steve would have liked.

We had a press conference, which lasted only a few minutes on the day we heard the horrible news. I gave a brief statement saying what we knew. Lisa Pennington, our longtime friend and senior staff member, and Steve Mitchell, son of another senior staff member, were found dead in the Washington apartment of my assistant, Sandy Collins. The press fired out questions about why the two were together in the apartment. I said they were friends helping another friend with her dog while she was away. I wasn’t going to fan the flames.
 

Questions about motive, was Big Oil involved, and was this an attempt to derail our goal of producing American energy. I answered, if that was the case, the killings would only strengthen our resolve and national attention would be focused on the issue. I concluded the five-minute session with the words, “We are all devastated by the events, and please know that we have lost two people we dearly loved today.” When I got back on the bus, I told Daphne I wanted no interviews for a while.
 

Everyone we had ever met called to offer condolences and to wish us well. The TV was on for a diversion.
 

The president called. I answered and put him on speaker so Bud could hear, “Hello Gil, I’m with Bud.”

“Hello, Mr. President.”
 

“Jack, Bud, I wanted to call you myself and tell you how sorry I am. Nobody wants to see something like this. I’m going to issue a statement and inform the country that the vice president will be heading a full investigation. We are going to get these bastards.”
 

“Thank you, Gil.”

“Do you need anything, Jack?”
 

I told the president, “We’re worried about the rest of the staff in our Washington offices and family members.”

“Say no more, I’ll call the director and have extra crew assigned to make sure your people are safe.”

“We appreciate your help, Gil.”
 

“Jack, I know you’d do the same for me.”

In one gesture of goodwill, Barker was easing our intense anxiety during the aftermath.

“Jack, I will do everything I can to find those responsible and bring them to justice. The eyes of the world are on this.”
 

We spoke for a few more minutes and Gil Barker ended with a statement, “You can’t screw with a national election and get away with it.”

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

It was two days before Super Tuesday and I was about to go on stage to deliver a speech in Atlanta at the Georgia Dome when Bud and I got the call from Tip. It was our first big break into what had really happened that night.
 

Daphne was with us and we were standing off stage when the call came in to Bud’s Cell. Bud seeing that it was Tip put him on speaker.

“Hey, Tip, Jack is about to go on camera, can this wait? Bud asked.
 

I had told Bud to answer Tip’s calls immediately and interrupt me with any news, even if I was speaking to a crowd. I was in anguish waiting for anything Tip might find out about the tragedy.
 

“Bud, is Jack there?” Tip asked from the other end of the line.
 

“He’s getting ready to speak to a full house at the Dome, can’t this wait?”

“No, Jack’s going to want to hear this.”

I grabbed the phone, “Tip, it’s Jack. Have you found anything?”

“Jack, Bud’s right. We shouldn’t get into this right now, but know there is news.”
 

“News… Tip, have you found the killer?”

Beyond the stage curtain, the audience was chanting Canon... Canon... in a deafening roar—seventy-five thousand strong. There were no pop stars to open the show and no celebrities. The double murder of our staff members had brought record numbers out.

I think that life is so hard sometimes that people are drawn to witness other’s pain, in hopes that it might relieve some of their own. I felt that the real reason the crowds were so large is that people found it cathartic to hear about the loss. No one would ever admit it, but the tragic end of something so precious by comparison makes their life seem bearable. People were watching on television and coming to our events to experience emotion in the telling and relief that it hadn’t happened to them. It was almost sick, but we still had to deliver our message. I hated it, but we had no choice. Lisa would have wanted us to carry on. At least, that’s how I rationalized it. I turned and looked directly into Daphne’s eyes and told her firmly.

“Daphne, go out and tell the people that there has been a delay and I will be arriving shortly.”
 

Daphne was stunning as she blithely stepped into the night and the glow of the stage lights to greet the crowd. In an all-black mini over pink platform heels, she walked out as though she hadn’t a care in the world… I turned toward the phone.
 

“Tip, Listen to me, the fucking audience is here to get a fix, tell me now.”

In the background with Daphne speaking, “Jack Canon is on his way to the stadium and we expect he will be arriving in…”

I focused so entirely on what Tip was saying that I could no longer hear her.
 

“Jack, I went to see the pawn shop guy and bugged his place. I told him I was with the FBI investigating the sale of the murder weapon.”
 

“What did you get, Tip?”

“Well, I asked him about the gun and he started giving me this bullshit story, way to thought out for a guy like that. I wanted to drop him right there, but I knew that if I did, he wouldn’t lead us to the killers. So I spread the word through some local stoolies that he had given up the whole story. Then I waited and watched the shop. Jack, within a couple of days two thugs show up and go inside, one puts the closed sign out like he knows exactly what he doing and then pulls the blinds. I’m listening as they abuse this guy accusing him of giving up some local hood I’ve never heard of. I’m making notes thinking I’m getting a great lead when out of the blue I hear this. Let me play it for you, Jack. It would be better if you heard it for yourself.”

“Tip, why don’t you tell?”

Before I could finish, Tip played the tape.

“You don’t know who you’re screwin’ with asshole…”
Then I heard the first guy mutter under his breath to the other,
“Tommy ain’t gonna like this…,”
and two shots are fired from a gun with a silencer.

I couldn’t believe my ears, “Tip, Tommy
Santoro
?”

“It has to be, Jack.”

“What would he have to gain from hurting us... he’s got dealings with Gene?”

“That’s what I thought, so for the last few days I’ve been going over all the tapes I’d made from Gene’s since Lisa and Steve. Our only link to Tommy is through Gene; I wanted to hear something more to be sure it was Santoro.”
 

“Oh my God, Tip...”

“Jack, brace yourself… it’s the president
…
I’ve got him saying to Gene, ‘get
Tommy to take care of this.’”
 

“Take care of what, Tip. That could mean anything. They must be into all kinds of shit.”

“Wait, Jack. Listen.”

Tip played the words that chilled me to my core.

“Gene, you botched this, and you turned this fuckin’ guy into a national hero in the process.” Then, with the dispassion as though he were ordering lunch he said,
“Clean up your mess.”
 

Bud was silent as Daphne was making her way over to us. In what had been only seconds, long enough for her to walk out and deliver a message, we had heard something so unbelievable that it strained our minds.
 

“Bud, the president?”

Tip was still on speaker, “Jack, I’m heading back to Georgia to be with you. I’ve got hundreds of hours of tape since the fundraiser that I haven’t listened to.”

“Okay, get here as soon as you can. We’ll help you with it. What about Bill?”

“I couldn’t tell him, Jack.”

“Bring him with you; I’ll have Bud send the jet.”

Daphne had made it within earshot as I said to Bud, “I can’t go out there and speak.”

“Jack, we can’t tell seventy thousand people to go home, get out there and make it real quick, but get out there, you gotta do this.”
 

“Fucking president.” I walked headlong onto the stage.

The last thing I remember hearing is Daphne asking Bud what I meant. I know I spoke for thirty or so minutes and incited the crowd to a near riot railing on everything that was wrong with this country and how we were going to set it right.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

I couldn’t remember for the life of me what I said at the Georgia Dome, but apparently the press was hungry for more. There were at least forty news crews set up outside our bus the next morning, but all I cared about was seeing Tip.