The Run (26 page)

Will stood up. “Everybody shut up and listen to Dad,” he said.

Billy looked around, then continued. “I make it that Kiel is twelve to fourteen delegates short, and we’re about thirty-five short. What we have to do this evening is to make sure we don’t lose even a single delegate on the first ballot. If we can do that, then we’ll have a better shot on the second ballot, I
think
. It’s important that, after the first ballot, we pick up some delegates, even if it’s only half a dozen. I want instructions to go out to our people on the floor to tell our delegates to hold fast, and not expect to walk away with this thing. If we can get through two ballots tonight without losing, and maybe pick up a few votes, then we’ll have a real shot at winning tomorrow night. Now you’ve all got your lists of people to call. Will and I will be calling the delegation chairmen on the floor, shoring them up, and I want each of you to make sure that every one of our delegates with a personal phone gets at least one phone call on the floor. It’ll make ’em feel good. Now go to it!”

Most of the campaign workers left for a meeting room in the hotel where a phone bank had been set up. Each of them had a list of names and numbers to contact.

“Will,” Billy said, “what worries me most is California. They’ll hold on the first ballot, because they’ll have to, but on the second ballot, we’re going to lose some people.”

“Because of the Castle Point naval base?”

“That’s right. I’ve heard from some friends that Kiel’s people have been promising some of the California delegates that, if he’s elected, he won’t close the base.”

“But he’s already committed to following the commission’s recommendation on Castle Point, just as I have.”

“Right, and we have to hammer that home with every California delegate. When they call the roll, California is the fifth state to be called, and the first big state. If there are significant defections, it could start a snowball effect for Kiel. But if we can hold, it may give a lot of other delegates some backbone. So you and I are going to personally contact every California delegate we can.”

“Let’s get started,” Will said. By tradition, he couldn’t appear at the convention until after the balloting, so he began working the phones.

Zeke was under the convention platform with two Secret Service agents. It was the third set of agents he’d given the tour, and this pair was being very meticulous. He went through every under-platform installation, working from a detailed set of drawings, pointing out the wiring plans for lighting, sound system, TelePrompTers, and telephones.

The agents knew what they were doing, Zeke realized. These guys were technically oriented, and they understood everything pointed out to them.

“How many telephone lines?” an agent asked.

“Six to the podium,” Zeke said. “Another six to the rest of the platform and the green rooms. It’s a Lucent Partner Plus office system, with a max of twenty-four extensions, and they’re all in use.”

An agent popped the cover on the main phone panel and went through it, line by line and extension by extension.

“It’s been checked and rechecked by the people who installed it,” Zeke said. “It’s working perfectly.”

The agent nodded. “I just wanted to be sure there was nothing in the box but telephone wiring.”

The man had given Zeke an idea. He’d planned to detonate with a timing device, but now he realized that these people might very well spot that. The telephone system offered a more elegant solution.

Above their heads, a roar went up from the crowd.

“Sounds like they’ve finished the balloting,” an agent said.

Will sat with his father before the big-screen TV in the living room of his suite, a list of delegates before them. The last of the big states, Texas, was polling its delegation for the second ballot.

“If we can get past Texas without losing too many delegates, we can hold our own,” Billy said. “But not much better than that.”

The television commentators were having a field day; they had not seen a race this close for many a convention.

The Texas vote was announced by the delegation chairman, to a roar from the whole convention.

“We’re alive,” Billy said, “but there are still fifty delegates from other, smaller states to go.”

They held Utah and Vermont, then lost two Virginia delegates. Washington, West Virginia, and Wisconsin came in as expected.

“We have a net loss of one delegate,” Billy said. “It’s not much, but it scares the hell out of me.”

Only Wyoming was left to vote, with only three delegates, all of whom had voted for Kiel on the first ballot. They were sitting together in the front row.

“Mr. Chairman,” the delegation leader boomed into the microphone, “before announcing our vote, I request a poll of the delegation!”

The crowd erupted into wild laughter and applause.

“The delegation will be polled,” the chairman said. “The clerk will call the roll.”

“Mr. Weston,” the clerk said.

“Mr. Chairman,” Weston said, “I wish to cast my vote for the next president of the United States, Senator Will Lee of Georgia!”

“That’s one,” Will said. “I hadn’t expected that.”

“Your mother has been on the phone with Governor Tobias, talking cattle.” Will’s mother had been the cattle farmer in the family.

“Ms. Evans,” the clerk called.

A woman stood up. “I cast my vote for Senator Will Lee!” she shrieked.

“Mr. Tobias,” the clerk called.

The governor stood. “Mr. Chairman, Wyoming is unanimous for Senator Will Lee!”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Will said.

“We’ve got a net gain of two,” Billy cackled. “I wish it was six, but it’ll have to do.”

They went through the delegate count again, to be sure they had missed no votes, then Kate came across the room with a cordless phone, her hand over the receiver. “Will, George Kiel is on the phone,” she said.

Will looked at his father.

“I guess you know what this is about,” Billy said. “You’d better talk to him.”

Will took the phone. “Hello, George,” he said.

“Will, we have to talk.”

“Go ahead.”

“No, I want us to meet; I’ve got a bungalow at the Beverly Hills Hotel. Will you come over here?”

Will didn’t like the idea of talking on Kiel’s turf, and he hesitated.

“Will, we
have
to talk; there’s something you don’t know.”

“All right, George, but it will have to be alone—nobody else at all. Agreed?”

“Agreed.” Kiel gave him the bungalow number. “Your Secret Service people will know the back way in. Nobody will see you.”

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” Will said, then hung up the phone. He looked around the room. “Now I have to decide whether I can stand being vice president,” he said.

“You could do worse, Will,” his father said.

“I know it,” Will replied. “I knew it might come to this, but now I’ve got to decide before I get to the Beverly Hills Hotel.”

“You’ve already heard what all of us think, Will,” his father said. “Do whatever you feel is right, and we’ll be with you.”

“Kate?”

“Whatever you want is good enough for me,” she replied.

Will stood up and got into his jacket. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he said.

47

The Secret Service car drove up Sunset Boulevard, past the Beverly Hills Hotel, then made a left and drove uphill for a couple of hundred yards. A guard at a nearly hidden gate looked at the agent driver’s ID, then opened the gate. A moment later, the car glided to a stop before a cottage that was nearly buried in a jungle of California landscaping.

Will got out of the car, walked to the door, and rang the bell. George Kiel opened the door. “Wait here,” Will said to the agent. He walked inside, and Kiel closed the door behind him.

Evening, Will,” Kiel said, offering his hand. Kiel was a big man, six-two or -three, and heavy. He was dressed in a suit, and he took off his jacket and tossed it on a chair. “Can I get you a drink? I’m having one.”

“Bourbon on the rocks,” Will replied.

Kiel motioned to a chair before the fireplace, where a gas log was cheerfully pretending to burn. “Have a seat.”

Will sat down; Kiel brought the drinks and sat down, too.

“You know, Howard Hughes used to live in this cottage.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, and I expect a lot of starlets were sampled right here.”

Will didn’t respond to that.

“How’s your week going?” Kiel asked.

“Actually, it’s going pretty well, after the balloting this evening,” Will replied.

Kiel chuckled. “Tobias did a one-eighty on me,” he said. “How’d you do that?”

“I sicced my mother on him,” Will replied, sipping lightly at his drink. He was going to need a clear head for this.

“I may as well warn you, Will, I’m going to pick up a substantial number of California votes tomorrow night.”

“By promising to keep Castle Point open?”

Kiel shrugged.

“George, if you break your commitment to follow the commission’s recommendations, why will those folks believe you won’t break your new commitment to them?”

“Just think of it as politics, Will.”

“It’s bad politics, George.”

Kiel ignored that. “Will, I want to compliment you on the way you’ve run your campaign. You’ve done it in a principled manner, and I admire that. In a way, I’m sorry to see you fall short.”

“So far, you’ve fallen short yourself, George; remember, we gained delegates on the second ballot.”

“So you did,” Kiel admitted. “All two of them.”

“We expect to win on the fourth ballot,” Will said. This was a bluff, and Will thought Kiel probably knew
it, but he was surprised to see a flicker of doubt flash across the man’s face.

Kiel took a deep breath. “It won’t get to a fourth ballot; my people tell me we’ll win on the first ballot tomorrow night.”

Now it was Will’s turn to wonder if Kiel was bluffing. Did he know something Will didn’t? He’d said something like that on the phone. “If you do, George, I’ll be the first to support you. I’ll turn over what’s left of my war chest, after our bills are paid, and I’ll campaign for you actively.
If
you win the nomination.”

“That’s very generous, Will; it’s what I’d expect from you.”

Will decided to keep his mouth shut and let Kiel do the rest of the talking.

“Will,” Kiel said finally, “I want you to run on the ticket with me in the second spot.”

Will took a breath to speak, but Kiel held up a hand.

“Don’t turn me down yet,” he said. “You haven’t heard everything I have to say.”

Will nodded.

“I’ll make you the most powerful vice president in history,” Kiel said. “I’ll put you in charge of all domestic policy, including economic policy. You know my interest in foreign affairs. There’ll be a domestic policy advisor on staff, as usual, but he’ll report to you.”

Will was stunned; he hadn’t expected this. “That’s very…” He couldn’t think of a word.

“Unprecedented,” Kiel said.

“It certainly is.”

“Well?”

Will’s mind was thrashing through the gears; he needed time. “George, you said on the phone that there was something I didn’t know. What is that?”

Kiel got up slowly and went to the chair where he had thrown his jacket. He reached into an inside pocket, withdrew a single sheet of paper, read it quickly, then put it back into the pocket. He fumbled through the jacket and came up with another piece of paper, then came back to his seat. “Will, if you’ll run on the ticket with me and we’re elected, I won’t run for reelection after my first term. I’ll give you my word on that.”

Will was stunned anew. “George…”

“Listen, I don’t want this to go any further, but my health isn’t all it should be. I don’t think I could manage eight years, maybe not even four.”

George,” Will said, “I hope you’re not promising to die in office.”

Kiel burst out laughing, and Will laughed with him.

“Christ, I hope not.”

“And what happens, three and a half years down the pike, when your doctor tells you you’re fine, and it’s okay to run again?”

Kiel looked at the paper in his hand, then gave it to Will. “Put that in your pocket,” he said.

Will read the letter:

Dear Will,

Confirming our conversation of tonight, I want you to know that it is my firm intention, should I be elected president, not to run for a second term. Should you decide to be my running mate this year, and if we are elected, I will put you in charge of all domestic and economic policy, reporting directly to me, and near the end of my first term, I will announce my intention not to seek reelection and enthusiastically endorse you to succeed me as president.

I do this because of my high personal regard
for you and your abilities, and I hope you will accept the vice-presidential slot on my ticket.

With warmest regards,

It was on Kiel’s personal stationery, signed and dated.

Will was flabbergasted. Kiel’s offer was certainly unprecedented, and to put this sort of political promise in writing was unheard of. “George, I’m very flattered to be asked to run with you.”

“Then do it, Will. We’ll make a great team.”

“I need to talk with Kate about this,” Will replied. “Can I sleep on it and give you an answer in the morning?” He handed the letter back to Kiel.

“Keep it,” Kiel said. “Show it to Kate, and to your folks, too; I know you rely on their advice.” He cleared his throat. “One thing: This offer is predicated on your withdrawal before the balloting tomorrow evening. If you decide to fight until the end, then we’re in a different ball game. Understood?”

Will stood up. “Understood. I’ll be in touch in the morning.” He shook Kiel’s hand and made his exit.

On the way back to the Bel Air, Will read and reread the letter. It seemed airtight. What an offer! Under these circumstances, being vice president was extremely attractive. He couldn’t wait to show the letter to his family.

Nobody had gone to bed. Kate, his father and mother, Kitty Conroy, and Tim Coleman were all there.