Free Fall (58 page)

"You didn't think? Foreign investment is flooding out of the country.

The dollar took the worst one-day drop in history. You may remember that it wasn't strong to start with. The American people have spent the last three years being beaten down by the economy. Confidence in the government is at an all-time low and the front-runner in the presidential election dropped out at the last minute. The country was hanging on by a thread, Mark.

Did it ever occur to you that maybe, just maybe, it wasn't the time to pull out the scissors?"

"They shot you, Tommy. What was I supposed to do? Let them walk?

It wasn't even Hallorin, it was Taylor. They're all "

"Taylor? Of course it was Taylor! Let me guess: you walked into his office, showed him the duplicate file and demanded that he expose him self and point a finger at Hallorin? Then what? He said he would, right?

Said that he'd been wrong to let his own personal problems get in the way of America's bridge to the goddamn future."

"Well, yeah. I figured he had no choice..." Beamon stuttered, amazed at how truly stupid it sounded when his friend said it out loud.

"Well," Sherman continued.

"That was a sublime piece of maneuvering wasn't it? Do you want to know the real reason why I didn't come directly to you on this? Why you, with all that brainpower, never made it past middle management?"

The fact was, he really didn't. But the question seemed to be rhetorical.

"Because giving you any real power would be like giving a child matches.

The real world is one big compromise. Mark. That's how you improve the big picture: compromise. Have you ever once stepped back to take a look at the big picture?"

God, he wanted a cigarette.

"I thought you were dying, Tom. I "

"Mark, you may have done more damage to America than any single person in history. Without the confidence of the rest of the world, this is just an oversized, English-speaking country."

Beamon finally held up his hands.

"Okay, Tommy, enough. Your point is made. I screwed up. But I should have goddamn well never been put in this position I'm not a fucking politician. I find people, remember?

That's it the big picture is your thing. But you fell apart, didn't you?

You left me twisting in the wind."

As always, Sherman's face remained completely impassive, but when he spoke again, his voice had lost some of its angry resonance.

"Touche."

"Maybe we can still bring him down," Beamon said.

"I don't have much, but maybe we can find a way to use it against Hallorin..."

Sherman shook his head as Darby came over and pushed some pillows up behind him. He grabbed her hand briefly in thanks before she retreated to her corner again.

"You're hopeless, Mark. You still haven't thought through the impact of what you've done, have you?" He slid his glasses fully onto his nose again and picked up his newspaper.

"There's only one man who can save the country now."

It was the third time in a month that Beamon had found himself standing in David Hallorin's office--but this time was different. The uncertainty and vague sense of dread was still there, of course, but there was also relief. The sense of uneasy peace that came from knowing that this wasn't his show. He was just silent backup now.

Physically, Tom Sherman still looked like death. He followed Beamon in, walking with difficulty toward one of the high-backed chairs in front of Hallorin's desk, and sat with such painful slowness that Beamon had to force himself not to reach out and help.

The scene playing out in front of him would have been funny under different circumstances. Tom Sherman's pale, drawn face and weak body looked so small and pathetic when compared with Hallorin's carefully tanned skin and six and a half feet of solid mass. The senator's advantage was more apparent than real, though, and Beamon could see caution work its way into the mask he always wore. It seemed impossible, but the next president of the United States was afraid of the broken little man in front of him. And Tom Sherman knew it.

With his friend sagging safely in a chair, Beamon stepped back and tried to disappear into the wall like the loyal political aides he'd seen at the Vericomm hearings. He wasn't quite as smooth, but it seemed to work--Hallorin had already forgotten he was there.

Roland Peck, though, didn't have his boss's gift for dismissal. He'd managed to keep his seat, but his head was jerking from side to side, eyes flashing with an undecipherable flood of emotions. Every few seconds his gaze would dart in Beamon's direction and each time he looked strangely startled.

Beamon edged a little closer to Peck, unable to predict what the man would do in this situation. When he had closed the distance between them to a few feet, he stopped and returned his attention to Hallorin, who hadn't uttered a sound since they arrived. In fact, as near as Beamon could tell, he hadn't even moved. Hallorin was carefully appraising his opponent, taking in his obvious physical weakness. Beamon had thought that it was a mistake for Sherman not to try to hide his physical condition, but now he saw it a clear message was being sent.

Sherman's position was so strong he didn't need to bother.

"We have you, David," Sherman said, breaking the silence in the office.

Hallorin bristled, probably less at the content of the sentence than at the purposefully disrespectful use of his first name.

"What do you have, Tom?" The condescension in his tone was well practiced, but didn't carry any real confidence.

"All I see in front of me is a worn-out old man who doesn't realize his time is over. This isn't your America anymore. It's moved on and left you behind." Hallorin glanced for a moment in Beamon's direction and gave a short laugh. While Beamon looked healthier than his friend, he was still obviously a battered mass of half-healed injuries.

"And what's that supposed to be? A bargain basement piece of muscle?"

Beamon ignored the insult and concentrated on his peripheral vision.

Peck had leaned forward in his chair in a single, quick motion, obviously wanting to be closer to his mentor but not courageous enough to stand.

The desperate smile on his face looked like it was held in place by fish hooks.

Tom Sherman seemed completely immune to the charisma and forcefulness that had worked both for and against Hallorin during the campaign His face was characteristically passive as he reached down and opened the briefcase on the floor next to him a motion that must have been intensely painful for him. He laid the handful of papers he dug out on Hallorin's desk.

"What are they?"

Sherman didn't answer and the two men just stared at one another.

Finally, Hallorin acquiesced and reached for them in as casual a motion as he could muster.

It had taken Beamon three days to collect the documents that Hallorin now had in front of him. Though time-consuming, the task had been surprisingly simple as Sherman had told him it would be. It seemed that the philosophy Hallorin espoused at their last meeting had been right on: once you resigned yourself to the fact that powerful political figures were motivated solely by personal gain, it was a simple matter to predict their actions.

Beamon had visited Robert Taylor first. The man had shouted, cursed, insulted, and denied, but in the end it had been nothing but a meaning less and strangely pathetic display. Between the dead professional killer in Tom Sherman's yard and the fact that the only man he wanted to hurt more than Mark Beamon was David Hallorin, he no longer had many options. If Taylor signed the affidavit stating that David Hallorin had used Prodigy to coerce him into dropping from the race, the investigation into Sherman's shooting would stay with the Manassas police. If he refused, Beamon had assured him that it would become the target of an overzealous FBI Interpol investigation.

Surprisingly, the others had been just as easy. Convincing the men who had been exposed by the Prodigy file to sign similar affidavits had, at first, seemed unlikely. As it turned out, though, truth in the political arena was inexorably intertwined with self-interest. In the end, they'd had nothing to lose and everything to gain. Beamon had not-so-subtly hinted that it was Hallorin who had released the file, and his plan was to use the power of the Oval Office to keep their pain alive and to use it to strengthen his position. If they did sign, Beamon had given assurances that Tom Sherman would do everything in his considerable power to see that David Hallorin was completely hamstrung.

The White House would take on a conciliatory tone.

Hallorin's tan seemed to turn into a burn as his face brightened and the pace at which he leafed through the affidavits increased. Finally, he slammed them down on the table and jumped to his feet.

"These are lies!

You think you can discredit me, coerce me with this? The American people have made their decision. They have elected me!"

"They aren't all lies," Sherman said calmly.

"But most are. Politics is about perception, not truth, David. I shouldn't have to tell you that you based your entire campaign on the principle."

The sound of crumpling paper was surprisingly loud as Hallorin balled his fists on the desk, sucking the photocopied affidavits into his large hands. Beamon took a half a step forward, thinking that Sherman might be in physical danger, but his friend just smiled.

"Tiny little men," Hallorin said in a loud voice that sounded oddly hollow. The power and control that he always seemed to exude was falling away from him quicker than Beamon would have imagined possible.

"They would do anything to save their insignificant positions. These are the liars and weaklings who destroyed this country! The American people chose me to lead them. Me! You have no right!"

Beamon suddenly saw the real danger of David Hallorin. It wasn't his lack of compassion or stripped-down utilitarian philosophy; it wasn't his all-encompassing ego. The truth was, he was a card-carrying nutcase he really believed his own legend.

"I have no right?" Sherman said.

"You involved me in this when you used Prodigy. Now, I'm going to do what I have to do to see that things are set right."

Hallorin stared down at the pale, huddled man in front of him.

"I've ... No. I worked my entire life for this ... I will not let you "

"Sit down and be quiet, David. "

"What? What did you say to me?"

Beamon could hear the anger creeping into his friend's voice, but knew that no one else would be able to.

"I said sit down and shut up."

Hallorin remained frozen for a moment and then slowly sunk into his chair. That final shift in power was more than Roland Peck could take.

He jumped out of his seat and lunged forward.

"You son of a bitch! You can't " Beamon had been watching the little man's agitation level increase throughout the meeting and was ready for his little outburst. He shot his good hand out and caught Peck by the hair before he could cover more that a few feet. A sound somewhere between a squeal and a wail escaped Peck as his feet went out from under him and Beamon dragged him back to his chair.

Neither Hallorin nor Sherman seemed to notice the brief struggle.

Hallorin exercised one last burst of energy and focused his concrete stare directly at Sherman. Beamon saw a trace of amusement cross his friend's face, and obviously Hallorin did too. He slumped back in his chair, looking suddenly exhausted.

"Maybe I'll just take my chances." "No, you won't," Sherman said.

"You're no different than the others.

You'll take whatever I give you."

Beamon got ready to physically intercede again, thinking that Sherman may have overplayed his hand. Hallorin remained motionless, though, and waited to hear what was to come next.

"As much as it pains me to do it, I'm offering you the presidency,"

Sherman said after a long silence. He looked down at the affidavits strewn across the floor.

"Uncluttered by any of this. The country needs the illusion of a stable, responsible, hand at the helm and you've been very effective at creating that illusion."

Hallorin's head rose a bit, but he didn't meet Sherman's eye.

"You'll name me chief of staff. You'll do nothing without my approval.

Nothing. And you won't run for reelection at the end of your term."

"No!" Peck screamed. This time Beamon had to shove him to the floor and pin an arm behind his back to keep him under control.

"David! No!

We can fight this I can fight this. You're a great man. You can't "

"Shut up," Hallorin said.

Peck's words caught in his throat, and an expression of deep pain and betrayal crossed his face as Beamon hauled him to his feet and slammed him back in his chair again. Peck strained forward, searching futilely for a moment of eye contact with Hallorin. He looked so desperate that Beamon found himself almost feeling sorry for the man.

Sherman didn't wait for an answer to his proposal. He stood and started for the door, leaving the copies of the affidavits Beamon had collected strewn across Hallorin's office.