The Run (2 page)

“It’s the kind of job you could keep for the rest of your career,” she said.

“It is.”

“But you don’t want to spend the rest of your career in the Senate, do you?”

“You know I love the Senate.”

“Will, you’ve been awfully closemouthed about this, but I know damned well you want to be president.”

“One of these days, sure,” Will replied.

“You mean after Joe has served for eight years?”

“I’d only be fifty-seven. Why not? I might even appoint you director of Central Intelligence.”

“Yeah, sure,” she said. “The world would fall on you.”

“If Jack Kennedy could appoint Bobby attorney general, why couldn’t I appoint my wife to be head of the CIA?”

“Well, it’s a nice thought, anyway,” she said.

“Listen, here’s a thought; Joe’s going to owe me after the election, and if I’m not going to ask him for a cabinet job, I could ask him to appoint you DCI.”

“Would you really do that?”

“Let’s just say that I know the candidate well and have the highest confidence in her. It’s not as though you’re not supremely well qualified.”

“Mmmmm. I like the sound of it.”

“Of course, I’d want my back scratched
a lot
if I pull this off, and I mean that in the literal, not the figurative sense.”

“I’ll start growing my nails now.” She laughed.

“Promises, promises.”

“I think about it sometimes,” she said.

“Scratching my back? Less thought, more action!”

“No, I mean your being president.”

“And what do you think when you think about it?”

“Mostly about what a huge pain in the ass being first lady would be.”

“Oh, it might have its up side—weekends at Camp David, travel on Air Force One, that sort of thing.”

“I’d have to make a lot of speeches, and you know how I hate doing that.”

“Well, how about this? If Joe has already appointed you DCI, I could reappoint you. Then I could
hire
a first lady.”

“Just run an ad, you mean?”

“Why not?”

“Well, I must admit, the idea of being appointed and then reappointed has its appeal, but the substitute wife doesn’t.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Will turned into the entrance
of the little airport at College Park, which had been founded by the Wright Brothers and was located on the grounds of the University of Maryland. He drove down the taxiway to where his airplane was tied down, got out of the car, and unlocked the cabin door. The airplane was new, a Piper Malibu-Mirage, a six-seat, pressurized single-engine aircraft, loaded with the latest equipment. Will had traded his elderly Cessna for it a couple of months before, and it made trips back to Georgia a lot faster and more comfortable.

He climbed in and lowered the rear seat backs, then stowed the luggage Kate handed him. She drove the Suburban back to the little office and parked it there.

Will had nearly finished his preflight inspection when Kate returned. She started to say something, but her voice was drowned out by the noise of a large helicopter setting down on the grass nearby. Will recognized it immediately.

So did Kate. “I thought the president had already gone home to California for Christmas,” she said.

“I thought so, too,” Will said.

The airstair door of the helicopter was lowered, but the engines were kept running. A young Marine officer in a crisp uniform left the craft and came jogging toward where Will and Kate stood.

He ran up to them and saluted smartly. “Senator, Mrs. Lee.”

“Good morning, Lieutenant,” Will said.

“The vice president and Mrs. Adams would be honored if you would join them for breakfast at Camp David,” the officer said.

Will and Kate looked at each other. “We were just about to take off for Georgia,” Will said.

“The vice president instructed me to
insist
,” the Marine replied. “We’ll have you back here before
noon, and our people will get you an expedited clearance to Georgia.”

“We’ll need to change clothes,” Will said. There was no telling who might be there.

“That won’t be necessary, sir; it will be just the two of you and Vice President and Mrs. Adams.”

Will looked at Kate and shrugged. She shrugged back. He locked up the Mirage and followed the Marine back to the idling helicopter. A moment later they had taken off and were headed northwest across the Maryland landscape.

Kate leaned over and spoke into Will’s ear. “You have any idea what this is all about?”

Will shook his head. “Not a clue,” he said.

2

As they approached Camp David, it began to snow, and they could see nothing from the helicopter except whiteness. Kate squeezed Will’s hand.

“I don’t like this,” she said. “How are they going to land?”

“Don’t worry, they’ll get us in safely.”

He was right. At around five hundred feet they could see the interstate highway, then a deep forest, and then the big chopper alit gently on the pad. Will had been to Camp David only once before, in summer, and the contrast was startling. The trees were bereft of leaves, and the summer golf-cart transportation had been replaced by a Secret Service Ford Expedition. It had not been snowing long, but already a broom machine was sweeping the roads and paths ahead of them. They drove past a number of buildings, then stopped before a large structure of timber and stone.

“This is Aspen Lodge,” Will said, as they got out of the car. “It’s the president’s residence here.” A Secret
Service agent escorted them up the path to the door, on which hung the seal of the vice president. He opened the door for them and ushered them in. Past the foyer they emerged into a large, luxuriously furnished living room, with deep sofas and chairs scattered artfully about. The walls were hung with fine paintings, mostly American landscapes, chosen by the president and first lady from the collection of the National Gallery of Art.

“Vice President and Mrs. Adams will be with you shortly,” the agent said, then left them alone in the room.

A Filipino butler entered. “Good morning, Senator, Mrs. Lee,” he said. “May I get you some refreshment?”

“A V-8, please,” Kate replied.

“Orange juice,” Will said.

The man disappeared and returned with the juices. They stood in front of the huge fireplace and warmed their backsides while they waited.

“This is quite a place,” Kate said. “No wonder presidents love it so much.”

“If you were first lady, it would be yours,” Will whispered.

“It’s too early in the game to start tempting me, Will; there’s plenty of time for that.”

“Tempting you has always been one of my chief pleasures,” Will said.

“I wonder what’s keeping Joe and Sue?”

“They’re entitled.”

As if on cue, the vice president and his wife entered the room from a rear hallway. “Will!” Adams said, ignoring the outstretched hand and embracing him. “It’s good to see you!”

The women, who were less well acquainted than their husbands, touched cheeks and exchanged pleasantries.

“Have you had breakfast?” the vice president asked.

“Not really,” Will replied.

“Neither have we.” Adams nodded at the waiter. “Tell Carlos what you’d like.”

“An egg white omelet, dry toast, and coffee,” Kate said.

“Scrambled eggs and smoked salmon, home fries, English muffin, and more orange juice,” Will said, ignoring a sharp glance from his wife. “Coffee later.”

The Adamses ordered, then joined Will and Kate before the fire. “I love this place in winter,” Adams said, “and the president was kind enough to offer us the lodge. Where is Peter? I thought he’d be with you.”

“It’s his dad’s turn to have him for Christmas,” Kate said of her son. “He’s going to Boston.”

“And how old is he now?”

“Sixteen. A sophomore at Choate, his father’s school.”

“I know you’re proud of him.”

“I certainly am. He’s doing very well in school; sports, too. Where are your children, Mr. Vice President?”

“It’s Joe and Sue, please,” Adams said. “They’re already at my folks’ place in Florida. We’re flying down to join them this afternoon.”

“How was New York?” Will asked. The vice president’s trip had been in the news—he’d made some speeches while his wife Christmas shopped.

“Just lovely this time of the year,” Adams replied. “We got to the theater a couple of times. It was almost a vacation.”

“Have you got your shopping all done, Kate?” Sue Adams asked.

“I’m relieved to say I have,” Kate replied. “We sent
Peter’s gifts to Boston earlier in the week, and I found a very nice lump of coal for my husband.”

The Adamses laughed, then the food arrived, and everyone dug in, keeping up an animated conversation. Will knew Joe Adams very well—Adams had been the first senator to befriend him as an equal, when Will had arrived on the Hill as a senator, instead of as a senatorial aide, and he had known him through committee work before that. While their conversation was the chat of good friends, Will thought he caught something strained in Adams’s behavior, and in his wife’s, too.

Finally, the dishes were cleared away, and a pot of coffee was set on the table. Sue Adams poured for everyone, then sat down. There was a moment of complete silence, then the butler came back.

“Would you and your guests like anything else at all, Mr. Vice President?” he asked.

“Thank you, Carlos, no. Would you tell the Secret Service man at the door and your own staff that we don’t wish to be disturbed for a while?”

“Of course, Mr. Vice President.” Carlos bowed and left the room.

The silence came back. Will waited for someone to break it.

Joe Adams finally did. “Will, Kate,” he said, “we’ve asked you up here to give you some news personally.” He paused and cleared his throat. Sue Adams stared out a window at the snow.

He’s not going to run,
Will thought.
Is he insane? The office is his for the taking. Has he had an affair? A stroke? What the hell is going on?

“First of all, I want you to know that this room is not bugged, and our conversation is not being recorded. I had the Secret Service double-check that earlier today. What I’m about to tell you and Kate I in
tend to tell
only
you and Kate—you, Will, because, more than anyone else besides Sue, you have a right to know. You’re as close a friend as I have, and you’ve put more into my presidential effort than anyone else. Kate, I want you to know, because I don’t want Will to have to keep this from you. I know that I don’t even have to ask you both to keep this in the strictest confidence.”

Will and Kate nodded. The atmosphere in the room had become somber. Sue Adams got up and went to the window, turning her back to them. She produced a tissue and dabbed at her face.

“Our trip to New York wasn’t just for speeches, the theater, and shopping,” Joe Adams said. “There was another reason.”

Oh, God,
Will thought.
I don’t know what this is, but I know I’m going to hate it.

Joe Adams took out a handkerchief, blew his nose, returned the handkerchief to his pocket, then continued.

3

The vice president took a sip of his coffee and began to speak. “The week before last I had my annual physical at Walter Reed Hospital. It went beautifully, and I got a clean bill of health. Ironically, it was the first time I can remember when everything—weight, cholesterol, blood pressure, the works—was right on the money.” He took another sip of his coffee. “But I wasn’t entirely frank with the staff at Walter Reed.”

Will shifted uncomfortably in his seat. If his friend had a clean bill of health from Walter Reed, what the hell could be the matter?

“There was something they didn’t pick up on at the hospital,” Joe Adams said, “something they wouldn’t have detected unless they had been looking for and tested for it specifically. I’d had some symptoms that only Sue and I knew about; that’s why we arranged the New York trip. My old college roommate is now one of the two or three top neurologists in the country, and he put together a very thorough series of tests, some of
them quite new. Those things that had to be accomplished at a hospital were done in the middle of the night, and under an assumed name, with a minimum of trusted staff present. The other tests were conducted in a suite at the Waldorf Towers, adjacent to our own quarters. The results of all this testing, by the top experts in the field, were conclusive.” He looked at Kate, then back at Will. “I’m in the early stages of Alzheimer’s disease.”

Will had been holding his breath; he let it out in a rush. “Joe…” he began.

Adams held up a hand. “Please; let me tell you everything. I know your first question will be, shouldn’t I get a second opinion. My testing encompassed
three
opinions, independently arrived at. They were all in complete agreement. I have it; it’s going to get worse; and, unless I get lucky and have a coronary, I’m eventually going to die from it.”

Sue Adams returned from the window and took her seat. Her eyes were red.

Kate put her hand on Sue’s.

“Joe and I have a hard road ahead of us,” Sue Adams said, “and we’re going to need your help.”

Adams continued. “Your next question is going to be, I know, will I resign? The answer is no, and I’ll tell you why. I talked with the president yesterday, before he left for California, and I told him I was thinking of resigning my office in order to pursue my presidential campaign full-time. He neither encouraged nor discouraged that action. As you know, he hasn’t made any promise to support my candidacy. We weren’t the best of friends or the closest of colleagues before we were elected—he picked me as his running mate for purely pragmatic reasons—and we’ve disagreed as often as we’ve agreed on issues. So I asked him, frankly, who he would appoint as my successor if I resigned.”

Given what he had heard so far, Will was very anxious to hear the president’s answer to this question.

“To my surprise,” Adams continued, “the president told me he had anticipated my thoughts about resigning. He knew that not being vice president would allow me to disagree with his policies more often. As a result, he said he had given a lot of consideration to whom he might appoint. I half expected him to ask for my recommendation, and I was going to recommend you, Will.”