The Run (27 page)

“So what happened?” his mother asked.

“I think I can best explain that by reading a letter George gave me,” Will replied. He read the letter aloud.

“That’s unbelievable,” Billy Lee said when Will had
finished. “Not the deal he’s offering you, but that he would put it in writing. I’ve never heard of a politician doing such a thing.”

Will handed him the letter. “Signed, sealed, and delivered. What do you think I should do?”

“While you were gone I talked with Thad Morrison,” he said. Morrison was the governor of California. “He’s been getting calls from his delegates about Castle Point.”

“Oh?”

“Kiel has, apparently, promised them that, if they change their votes, and he’s elected, he’ll keep Castle Point open.”

“He as much as admitted it to me tonight. What do you think it’s going to cost us?”

“Thad thinks at least eight delegates, maybe one or two more, will change their vote on the first ballot tomorrow evening.”

“And Kiel needs, what—fourteen votes to win the nomination?”

“That’s right,” Tim Coleman said, “and if eight or ten California delegates change their votes, it won’t take much of a snowball effect to give him the nomination on that ballot.”

“So, what we’ve got here is a carrot and a stick,” Will said. He held up the letter. “Carrot.”

“And the stick is the loss of the California delegates,” Tim said.

Kate spoke up. “Why don’t you fight it to the finish? What have you got to lose? Kiel will still want you for vice president.”

Will shook his head. “George made it clear that the offer is good only if I drop out before the balloting.”

“He’s bluffing,” Billy said.

“Of course he is,” Patricia Lee said.

“Trouble is,” Kitty said, “we can’t be sure.”

“That’s what a bluff is all about,” Billy replied.

“The California delegation is caucusing at noon tomorrow,” Tim said. “We’ve got until then to decide.”

“I told George I’d give him an answer tomorrow morning.”

“Morning ends at noon,” Tim pointed out.

“Oh,” Kate said, “Sue Adams called; she said that Joe wants to meet with you tomorrow at ten.”

“Where?”

“He’s at the Roosevelt, downtown.”

“Okay, let’s all sleep on this,” Will said. “And I’d like to talk to Joe about it, too.” He stood up. “Good night, everybody.”

Kate fell asleep immediately; it took Will longer. His last thought before drifting off was that he would accept George Kiel’s offer.

48

They all sat down to breakfast at eight o’clock. Will dismissed the room-service waiter and served everybody himself. “All right,” he said as he sat down, “I want an opinion from each of you. Kitty, you first.”

“Kiel has us boxed,” she said. “It’s a big stick, and a big carrot, too. Take it.”

“Tim?”

“Looking at it in terms of the general election, I think you could beat Efton, but it would be very close. I think that with you and Kiel on the same ticket, the odds are better. Accept.”

“Mother?”

“Screw George Kiel. Go for the nomination.” She said it quietly but emphatically.

“Dad?”

“I’d like to see you president before I die,” Billy said, “but I guess I’ve got another four years in me. It’s a great offer; take it.”

“Kate?”

“Everybody’s right, it’s a great offer,” she said. “Sorry, Patricia, but it is the smart move. The downside is, we’re in the goldfish bowl for twelve years, instead of eight, assuming all your dreams come true. It’s got to be your decision, Will, but I’m with you either way.”

Will squeezed her hand. “Thanks, love.”

“I’ve got to call Thad Morrison first thing,” Billy said. “What do you want me to tell him?”

“I want to hear from Joe Adams before I decide,” Will said. “Tell him I’ll call him before the caucus.”

Will was admitted to the presidential suite at the old Roosevelt Hotel at 10
A.M
. sharp. Joe and Sue Adams were reading the papers and having coffee. They both stood up to greet him.

“I’m glad to see you, Joe,” Will said, accepting some coffee and an armchair. “How have you been?” He thought Adams looked well—rosy-cheeked, maybe a little heavier than when he had last seen him.

Adams shrugged. “At least as well as can be expected,” he said, “maybe better.”

Sue spoke up. “We’re limiting Joe’s activities this week as much as we can. He’s agreed to introduce the nominee, whoever he is, on the last night.”

Will nodded. “I’ve got to make a big decision this morning, Joe, and I’d like your advice.”

“I think I can guess what the decision is,” Adams said. “George has made you an offer?”

Will handed him Kiel’s letter, and watched as the vice president read it.

Adams’s eyebrows went up. “A better offer than I had expected,” he said. “An excellent offer, in fact, and I think it’s significant that he gave it to you in writing. It gives you a considerable weapon if he should change his mind about a second term after a taste of
power. I think you could actually hold him to his promise. I suppose he’ll withdraw the offer if you continue to run.”

That’s right,” Will said. “The consensus among my people, except for my mother, is that I should accept. But I want your opinion, Joe.”

“I think it’s a great offer,” Adams said, “but don’t you think you’ve got a shot at the nomination? Why do you want to quit?”

“I don’t want to, but it looks as though we’re going to lose eight to ten of the California delegation. George has told them he’ll keep the Castle Point base open, even if the commission recommends closing it.”

Adams furrowed his brow. “I thought George was firm on accepting the commission’s recommendation,” he said.

“The California delegation is caucusing at noon.”

“I can see how this might put George over the top,” Sue Adams said.

“When do you have to give George an answer?” Adams asked.

“This morning. I’m about out of time.”

Adams nodded. “Will, would you excuse me for a few minutes? I’d like to make a couple of calls in the bedroom. Sue, will you keep Will entertained?”

“Of course,” Sue replied, pouring Will another cup of coffee.

Adams left the room.

“How is he, really?” Will asked.

“He’s doing all right,” Sue said. “And while he’s making those calls, there’s something he’s asked me to talk to you about.”

“Sure, what’s up?”

“The president is dying,” Sue said. “The first lady is making a decision soon about whether to take him off the ventilator. If they do that, his doctors’ best guess is
that he can’t last more than a few days, maybe a few hours.”

“I’m sorry to hear it,” Will said.

“The question then arises, what should Joe do about the vice presidency? I know Joe promised you that, if the president died, he would appoint you vice president, and he’s willing to keep that promise.”

“I see,” Will said.

“The question is, do you still want it? There’s a lot to consider.”

“There certainly is,” Will agreed.

First of all, there’s the question of the nomination. If you go for it and don’t get it, then as VP, you’re just another lame duck, and you’re out of the Senate. That doesn’t make any sense. Then, if you accept George Kiel’s offer, it would be very strange for him to be running for president with the vice president as his running mate. Finally, if you get the nomination and Joe appoints you, he thinks we’re unlikely to get Senate confirmation. The Republicans are not going to want to give you a weapon of status to use against Efton. They might have accepted you six months ago, but not with so little time left before the election.”

“So what you’re saying is that, under any circumstances, Joe’s appointing me would not be a good idea.”

“That’s about it,” she said.

“But if Joe doesn’t appoint somebody, then Efton is in line for the presidency, if anything should happen to Joe.”

“Yes, but Joe has the option of appointing a more benign Democrat, somebody the Republicans wouldn’t see as a threat.”

“Does he have somebody in mind?”

“He’s thinking of Jim Browner.”

Browner was the senior Democratic senator, a man in his early eighties.

“Jim’s not running for reelection, anyway. He’s had five terms, and it would be an opportunity for him to render a final service to his country.”

“I think that’s a splendid idea,” Will said.

Joe Adams returned to the living room and sat down. “Did you and Sue talk about the vice presidency?”

“Yes, Joe,” Will replied, “and I agree it’s best you don’t appoint me. I think Jim Browner is a fine choice.”

“Good,” Adams said. “Now, you’ve asked for my advice; here it is: I think you should turn down George Kiel’s offer and continue your campaign for the nomination.”

Will was taken aback. “May I ask your reasons?”

“I can’t tell you my reasons, Will, but that’s my advice, and I feel strongly about it.” Adams looked at his watch. “Good God, I’ve got another appointment in about one minute, and I have to put on a tie.” He stood up and held out his hand. “It’s good to see you, Will.”

Will shook his hand and kissed Sue; then he left the suite and returned to his car. He looked at his watch: 10:30. “Let’s go back to the Bel Air,” he told the driver.

He sat at his suite’s dining table again, the same group around him, and told them about his meeting with Joe and Sue Adams.

“I have to admit, I’m astonished,” Billy Lee said. “I thought Joe would tell you to accept Kiel’s offer.”

“Frankly, so did I,” Will said. “But he was strong in his recommendation that I continue to go for the nomination.”

“I wonder who he telephoned when he left you,” Tim Coleman said.

“I wonder, too,” Will said.

“So what’s it going to be, Senator?” Kitty asked.

Will got up and retrieved an envelope from his briefcase. He took George Kiel’s letter from his pocket and wrote something on it, then he put it into the envelope, sealed it, wrote “Personal and Confidential” on it, and handed it to Kitty. “Send somebody over to the Beverly Hills Hotel with this,” he said. “Then get me Governor Morrison on the telephone.”

“You’re still in it, then?” his mother asked.

“I’m still in it.”

49

Will waited for the governor of California to come on the line. It was ten minutes before noon, and the California delegation to the convention was about to meet in caucus.

“Hello, Will?” Governor Morrison said.

“Thad, how are you?”

“Rushed. We’re about to meet.”

“I wanted to talk to you personally before you caucus,” Will said. “It’s about the Castle Point naval base.”

“I hope you’ve found a way to change your position, Will,” Morrison said. “George Kiel has.”

“I know; he told me.”

“So, what’s it going to be? I’ve got to go into that meeting and tell my delegates where you stand.”

“I can’t change my position, Thad. I’ve taken a public position on accepting the commission’s findings, and I’ve done it for the right reasons. I want you to tell your people for me that it’s my belief that we’ll
never get the defense budget under control if we’re going to allow political interference of this kind, and I won’t be a party to it.”

“George doesn’t seem to have a problem with it.”

“Thad, let me put a couple of questions to you.”

“Shoot, but be quick.”

“First of all, are your delegates going to support a candidate who makes a political promise to accept the commission’s findings, then reverses his position for self-serving reasons?”

“That’s a legitimate question; I’ll put it to the delegates.”

“One more: If George is willing to reverse himself now to get your delegates’ votes, what’s to prevent him from reversing himself again after the election?”

Morrison was briefly silent. “I’ll put that question to them, too,” he said finally.

“That’s all I’ve got to say, Thad. Do your delegates understand that the nomination may be riding on how they vote on this?”

“If they don’t, I’ll explain it to them.”

“Will you call me back and let me know how they vote?”

“I can’t do that, Will; this is a closed caucus, and the results are not to be revealed until the vote tonight.”

“Thanks for listening, Thad.”

“Good luck, Will.” He hung up.

Will replaced the receiver and turned to the group in the living room of his suite. “Well, that’s it; it’s all I can do.”

“What did Morrison say?” Kitty asked.

“Just that he’d put my views to the delegates.”

Tim Coleman spoke up. “I’ve been doing the math,” he said. “If we lose eight or ten votes from California, it doesn’t have to cause a snowball, not if we
do our work in the other delegations. If we can change a few votes our way, we can hold for at least another ballot.”

“We can’t go on coming in second,” Will said. “I think that, after this ballot, we’ll have trouble holding delegates from all over the country. If we lose this one, even by a few votes, we’re done.”

Patricia Lee spoke up. “Will, why don’t we talk about who your choice for vice president is going to be when you win?”

Everybody burst out laughing.

“That’s my ma,” Will said.

Across town, Zeke went into an electronics shop and began buying. He bought a telephone voice-mail system that was compatible with the Lucent equipment being used for the convention podium, a number of other parts, and some Lucent labels.

Back in his room, he unscrewed the top of the voice-mail box and, using the wiring diagram that had come with the unit, traced the printed circuits for various functions. When he had all the functions traced, he soldered a thin wire to a circuit, then attached the other end to a flashlight bulb. Using the system’s built-in recorder, he recorded a list of voice-mail options. Finally, he connected the voice-mail system to Rosa’s phone line and, using his cell phone, called the number.

“Welcome to the podium of the Democratic convention,” his own voice said. “Please choose from one of the following three options: If you wish to be connected to the podium, press one; if you wish to hang up, press two; and if you wish to set off an explosive charge that will blow the podium and anyone near it to eternity, press three.”