Lethal Trajectories (55 page)

Wellington grabbed the letters and scanned them briefly with a scowl on his face before saying, “I don’t buy this crap, but you hold the cards. What would you have me do, Myron?” His voice dripped with sarcasm.

“For openers, I’d have you tone down your rhetoric a few notches. You’ve been pounding on the McCarty administration since he took office, and in case you haven’t noticed, the president’s approval ratings have shot up to the high eighties. When you go against this sea-change in public thinking, you alienate the listeners, and they, in turn, get honked off at the sponsors who make your diatribes possible. You put a nail in your coffin every time you blast away at them, and we end up feeling the backlash in the form of lost sponsors and affiliate stations.”

“I don’t know if I can do that, Manny.”

“Your call, Wellington, but just know your contract is up in two months and there’s no way we’ll renew it with you if you don’t get your show turned around. That’s my message to you, and I wanted you to hear it direct from me.” Before Wellington could respond, O’Neil and his party of two left without saying another word.

Wellington returned to his office to prepare for his afternoon show, but it was impossible.
He walked out on me and didn’t even give me a chance to respond. No one does that to Wellington Crane and gets away with it.
Replacing his preparation time with an all-out assault on his three-quarter-full vodka bottle, he worked himself into a self-righteous rage that had to be sated. What better place to do it than before his audience of fifteen million devoted fans?

Wellington stumbled into his broadcast studio and did something he had never done before: he went on the air dead drunk. Then he launched an attack on Manny O’Neil and all of his detractors that none would soon forget. Manny O’Neil, for one, had a long memory.

Tom Collingsworth jittered with anxiety as he walked over to Senate Majority Leader Fred Anders’s office.
He never invites me in for a visit unless it’s to give me bad news. I sure wish Hugo was here,
he thought as he entered Anders’s office suite. It didn’t help his nerves to be kept waiting for fifteen minutes before being ushered in to meet Anders.

“Tom,” said Anders quietly. “Sit down. There’s something we’ve got to talk about.”

“This sounds serious, Fred. What’s it all about?” asked Collingsworth, a political sixth sense telling him he was in deep trouble.

“Yes, I’m afraid it’s very serious, Tom. I won’t mince words with you. You’ve been a thorn in your party’s side ever since you first got here, and since hooking up with Wellington Crane you’ve repeatedly embarrassed us with your groundless attacks. There are at least seven of our party’s senators up for a tough reelection, and you’ve put them all in a bad spot. Every time you open your big mouth they get hurt. It’s guilt by association, and since they’re in the same party as you, they must also be bad guys, right? That’s how some people think, anyway. Your recent opposition to the White House on their joint energy and environmental proposal with China in the UN went totally against our party’s position of support. And as chair of the Foreign Relations Committee, your voice gets heard, not your fellow senators'. Are you getting my drift, Tom?”

“Yes, I do, Fred,” Collingsworth replied, thinking now that this meeting would involve nothing more than a slap on the wrist. “But I don’t think I can turn the other way and shirk my duties.”

“That’s about what I thought you would say, Tom, and that’s why I’m asking for your resignation as chairman of the Foreign Relations Committee, and I want it on my desk by the end of the day.”

“That’s impossible, Fred.” Collingsworth indignantly replied. “I’ve got a tough primary fight in my state, and this move would ruin any chances I have of winning. I’ll maybe consider it after I win the primary, but I can’t do it before then.”

“You don’t seem to understand, Tom. This is not a request, and it’s not negotiable,” Anders said flatly.

“It’s not my fault that our weak-kneed colleagues won’t stand up for the truth!” Collingsworth shouted, his legendary temper now triggered. “Good grief, man! The war is over and we’re still rationing oil. You can’t oust me on the grounds we differ in opinion, and you know it. What are you going to do about it if I refuse?”

“I was hoping not to play this card, Tom, but you leave me no choice. We have some pretty incriminating evidence that you’ve violated a number of campaign financing rules. We think it’s enough for a federal indictment, but even if it isn’t, it’s enough to make sure you never win another election in your state. You are a pariah in this Senate, and I could easily get a simple majority to censure you. I’m sure I could also get the two-thirds vote I need to get you expelled. Do you still want to challenge me, Tom?”

“This is blackmail, Fred. You can’t do this to me,” Collingsworth pleaded.

“You’ve given me no choice, Tom. You are probably the most despised senator in these chambers since Joe McCarthy, and I don’t expect anyone would come to your aid. And speaking of blackmail, what do you call the club you and Wellington Crane held over the head of anyone in our party who opposed your Pax-Americana drivel?”

Shattered, Collingsworth started to sob uncontrollably. “What would you have me do, Fred?” he choked out. “What alternative committees would you put me on?”

“At this point, I don’t know,” said Anders with disgust. “No one wants anything to do with you, and I’d have to pull some serious strings to get any committee chair to even take you. Here’s what I do know: I want your resignation as chairman by the end of the day, and in return, I’ll say that I reluctantly accepted your resignation and I’ll try to find a committee assignment for you. If it’s not on my desk, well, let’s just say there’s no room for negotiation.”

Collingsworth left the majority leader’s office a broken man. Many thoughts went through his mind, including the idea of ending it all.

Hugo Bromfield smiled as he turned on the Sunday news shows, a shot of media adrenaline to energize him for the rest of the week. His sharp eyes now focused on issues germane to his new boss, Stanley Perkins, a liberal freshman senator from Wyoming. Though a far cry from Tom Collingsworth in terms of position and ideology, he had Collingsworth’s same ruthless ambition.
What else could you want?
Hugo mused.

A realist, Hugo knew he had taken some hits from his relationship with Collingsworth, but he was a survivor. Not married to any particular ideology, he could reengineer himself to fit whatever dogma or set of circumstances he faced.

Watching the vice president and senate majority leader talk about the new energy and environmental proposal in the UN on one of the news shows, he saw an opportunity for his new boss to put a stake in the ground in the clean energy arena. More importantly, it was a way to curry favor with the Senate leadership and perhaps even reopen some doors at the White House.

He was particularly amused to later watch Senator Fred Anders mournfully acknowledge Tom Collingsworth’s resignation of his chairmanship while noting that there was no mention of any new committee assignment for him.
What a loser,
he thought.
I’m just glad I put an end to that dysfunctional relationship with Collingswoth while everyone else was preoccupied with our victory in Saudi Arabia. I’m a survivor,
he thought with satisfaction,
and it’s only a matter of time before I’m once again the power broker they all fear.

T
he first family was about to embark on their first vacation in over a year. They boarded the shiny new Boeing 747-800 aircraft along with fifty-two California National Guard soldiers returning home via Andrews Air Force Base. The jet became
Air Force One
the moment the president set foot in it.

In the spirit of shared sacrifice, Clayton McCarty used the “pride of the fleet” sparingly. Though it was a new-generation, fuel-efficient jet, it was difficult for Americans to not see it as a sign of opulence and privilege amidst the gas-rationing austerity they endured. Clayton had vowed to use smaller aircraft whenever possible and to carry service members or other precious cargo whenever he used the big jet. It was a thrill of a lifetime for the returning soldiers, and it assuaged the president’s frugal mindset.

Upon boarding, Melissa and Amy immediately scrambled for the bedroom of the presidential suite while Maggie, Jack, and the president walked back to the aft section to personally greet and thank the soldiers for their efforts in Saudi Arabia. Shortly before takeoff, Clayton and Jack strapped on their seat belts in the suite’s office, and Maggie joined the kids in the bedroom. Moments later, the magnificent new
Air Force One
lifted off the ground for the cross-country flight to San Francisco International Airport.

“Well, Jackson,” said the president with a light heart, “I’m really looking forward to this vacation. How about you?”

“I can’t wait. I’ll be visiting some old friends and haunts in Palo Alto while you, Mags, and the kids visit her mom. The Stanford Business School has even asked me to say a few words to a general audience, and I’ve agreed to do so. Oh, by the way, good news: Wang Peng called right before we left and said he’d be able to join us at Simon Devitney’s place in Carmel.”

“That’s great. Mags can use the vacation from me, and it’ll be great to get together without a world crisis as an agenda. Will Simon be able to join us? I haven’t seen him since I became president.”

“He’ll be there for one night, but you know Simon. He hasn’t changed since his Stanford days, and he’ll be flying off to Tokyo for some business deal the day after we get there. He told us to leave his house in good shape when we leave.” They both laughed, and the reminder sparked a few stories of Simon’s college antics.

Just then, Melissa and Amy came running out of the bedroom. “Daddy, Daddy!” they shouted, “Can we go back and say hello to the soldiers? Mom’s taking a nap but said it’s okay with her if it’s okay with you. Can we, Daddy?”

“I think that would be just fine, girls, but don’t forget our rule about addressing each person as
mister
or
ma’am
before talking to them. Can you remember that?”

“Yes, Daddy,” they said. They each gave him a kiss and then ran out the door.

“They’re great kids, Clayton, and I’m proud to be their uncle,” Jack said as he moved toward the refrigerator for a cold beer. He handed one to Clayton, and they sat back to enjoy a relaxing flight.

“Looking at you and the girls, I’m reminded of the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question in Washington these days: will Clayton McCarty seek a second term in office? Do you still feel the same way about it, Clayton, even though you’re enjoying a record high rating?”

“Nothing’s changed, Jack. I still feel the same. I’m in this for one term only. When you shoot for two terms, you tend to play it safer in the first term so as to not offend certain constituencies or party leaders. I’m an Independent, so I don’t need to placate either party. But I’d have to do it if I were to run for a second term, and I’m not interested in that game.”

“That’s about what I thought you’d say. I’m getting dozens of requests for you to speak on behalf of candidates for the midterm elections. Are you prepared to free up a little time for that?”

“Not much, Jack. I’d like to stay above it and just concentrate on my job. If there’s someone who’s really special—particularly an Independent candidate—I’d consider helping out. I would’ve campaigned against Tom Collingsworth, but I see he was beaten in the Republican primary in his state. Good riddance, I might add.”

Just then
Air Force One
hit a pocket of turbulence and the “fasten seat belt” sign went on. Clayton brushed pretzel particles off his lap, and they continued their talk.

“It’s interesting,” Jack observed, “how the congressional delegates from both parties are currying your support, given your popularity rating. It sure works in our favor.”

“It does, and it prevents either party from ganging up on us. I’m going to remain quiet about not running again because I don’t want them to think and act like I’m a lame duck. But no, I’m not going to seek reelection.”

Just then, the girls barged through the door again, Melissa shouting, “Daddy, look! One of the soldiers gave me a candy bar. Can we eat it before dinner?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe you better go ask the boss. If it’s okay with Mom, it’s okay with me.” With that, his little sweethearts made a beeline for the bedroom.

“On another note, the Energy and Environmental Protocol you and Lin Cheng presented to the UN is gaining a real head of steam. I’m surprised, actually; the OPEC countries have all but signed on to it, and Russia and Brazil appear to be on board. By October, I suspect we’ll have the international vote we need to codify it into a formal international treaty by January of next year.”

“I’d have to agree with you on that,” Clayton responded with a slight note of reservation in his voice, “but I’ll feel better after Congress has formally ratified the protocol. I believe they will, but I’ve learned to take nothing for granted.”

“Do you see a problem that I don’t?” Jack asked.

“No. It’s just part of human nature, I guess. If you look back at the events leading to the war, you could almost see the American people getting revved up and willing to make sacrifices as the oil embargo worsened. In a sense, they lived for a cause greater than themselves, and they were really at their best. When the war ended, their euphoria and high expectations were gradually worn down by the grim realities of the new world. It’s going to take them a while to come to their own truth that our energy, climate-change, and economic problems—the perfect storm, so to speak—will still be with us, long after the war ended. In the meantime, Congress will reflect this overriding mood of uncertainty and demagogues like Wellington Crane will have a field day capitalizing on everyone’s misery.”