The Run (5 page)

“This is a funny place these days,” he said, looking around. “It was closed some years back, then parts of it were reopened for various populations. It’s still more than three-quarters empty.”

Kate said nothing.

“Millie remarried, you know.”

“I heard.”

“Pete Warburton, one of the old crowd. After so many years, she didn’t know anybody that wasn’t Company.”

“I suppose not.” She wished he’d get on with it, but he had the upper hand, and she couldn’t rush him too much.

“I’m seventy-one, you know,” Rawls continued. “I
gave Millie pretty much everything, but I hung on to an old family place in Maine, at Dark Harbor, on the island of Islesboro. Do you know it?”

“I visited you and Millie there, once.”

Rawls chuckled. “I’d forgotten. An old school chum of mine rents it for me, keeps a roof on it and the garden weeded. Puts what little profit there is in the bank for me. I still have some savings; I pleaded guilty so I wouldn’t have to spend it on lawyers. I’d like to spend the rest of my years in Dark Harbor, winter and summer. I always loved the Maine winter.”

“Would anybody speak to you?” she asked.

“A few people would,” he replied. “Fewer each year.”

“It sounds as though you have a plan to get out of here.”

“Just the beginning of one,” he said. “I want a presidential pardon. That’s where you come in.”

“Ed, be realistic; the Agency would oppose a pardon, and they wouldn’t let me do anything to further one.”

“I know about Joe Adams,” Rawls said.

“What are you talking about, Ed?” This was why she had come, to ask this question.

“I know he’s ill.”

Kate was stunned. She and Will had only found out about it the day before; how could a federal prisoner know it even sooner? The postmark on Ed’s letter was three days old. “Ed…”

“You wouldn’t be here if you and Will didn’t know about it, would you? It was all I had to get you here. It’s all I have, period.”

“Ed, what do you want of me?”

“This is how I see it playing out,” Rawls said. “Adams drops out of the race, Will runs, Will gets
elected.” He turned and looked at her. “Will pardons me.”

“Do you
really
think you can blackmail Will through me?”

Rawls shook his head vehemently. “I don’t want to
blackmail
him; I want to
help
him. I think Will’s a good man and a fine senator; I want to see him be president. I can help put him there.”

“Ed, you’re delusional.”

“One Republican politician already knows about Joe,” he said.

Kate could not prevent a sharp intake of breath.

“Exactly. He’s holding his peace, at the moment, but he may decide to move. Let’s say he’s having a little tussle with his conscience.”

“How the hell could you possibly know all this?”

Rawls chuckled. “Everybody thinks when you’re in prison, you’re out of it. I know a guy in here who’s built a substantial fortune in the stock market from a laptop in his cell; I know another one who knows about fixed horse races, who makes big bets. I know guys with cell phones in their pockets. There are all kinds of people in here, Kate; they’re smart, they’re bored, and they’re on the make, just like people on the outside. Just like me.”

“What are you proposing, Ed?”

“I can tip you early to some events, possibly even influence them. I may even be able to prevent this Republican politician from revealing what he’s learned about Joe Adams.”

“I can’t be a party to this, Ed,” Kate said, “and neither can Will. I’m not going to trade you my influence with my husband for your help; I’m just not.”

Rawls smiled. “I didn’t expect you to, Kate. You don’t have to be a party to anything. I’m going to do
whatever I can to help Will get elected, and if he is elected, and if I helped get him there, then all I want from you is a word in his ear when he’s in office.”

Kate started to speak, but he held up a hand.

“You don’t have to make me any promises; I’ll rely on your sense of fairness and your good heart. You and I have no deals—I’m not proposing any. Will’s conscience will be clear, and so will yours.”

Kate stood up. “I have to go, Ed. As far as I’m concerned, this conversation never took place. We just chatted for a few minutes. I’ll send in my report, and I won’t mention the pardon business.”

Rawls stood up, too. “That’s fine. You’ll hear from me from time to time—untraceable messages, nothing that could possibly get you into trouble. I’ll use a code name: Jonah.” He grinned. “In the belly of the beast.”

Kate held up a hand. “Don’t, Ed, please don’t.”

“And when it’s all over, I know you’ll do the right thing.”

“How do I get out of here?”

Rawls walked to the door through which Kate had entered and rapped on it sharply. A moment later, Assistant Warden Hill opened it and beckoned for Kate to follow him.

Kate didn’t say good-bye to Rawls, didn’t even look back.

She ran the meeting over and over in her mind as she drove back to Delano. She could fudge her report on the meeting; Ed’s second letter would help with that. Somebody would interview her about it; she could handle that part. What she couldn’t handle was Ed Rawls. He was smart as a whip and as skilled in intelligence work as any man alive. He would do what he was going to do, and she couldn’t stop him. Even if she called the warden and had him locked
down until after the election, he would find a way. But how much did he know? He had said that Joe Adams was “ill,” but did he know the nature of the illness?

She would not tell Will any of this. That she could not do.

7

Will left the farm and drove into Delano, to his and his father’s law office. The firm of Lee & Lee had been central to the family’s life since Billy had founded it after his return from World War II. It provided a business center for the family and outside income from cases, local and statewide, which had helped the Lees build a comfortable life. Now the firm was called Lee, Lee & Robertson, to include their partner of recent years, Tim Robertson, who, since Billy’s virtual retirement and Will’s election to the Senate, had essentially run the firm.

Will was stopped half a dozen times between his parking place and the front door of the little office building they had erected years before. Everyone in town knew him, of course, and he knew practically everyone. Small talk of families and friends was exchanged, and, finally, he made it into the building. His office was neat and dusted, and a stack of mail and telephone messages was waiting for him. He went
through it quickly. Apart from a personal letter or two from old friends, most of it was requests for constituent services. He stuffed those into a large envelope and marked it for forwarding to his Atlanta constituency office, then turned to the phone messages, answering a couple and scribbling notes for Tim Robertson or his secretary to answer the others. The last message in the pile gave him pause. It read, “Charlene Joiner would like to speak with you urgently,” and the return number was in the 310 area code.

Will stared at the message, and a flood of memories came back. He remembered defending her boyfriend, one Larry Eugene Moody, against charges of rape and murder in a trial that fell in the middle of his first campaign for the Senate; he remembered losing the trial; and, most of all, he remembered a hot summer’s afternoon spent, naked, with the beautiful Charlene in the little lake beside his cottage and in his bed. He and Kate had not yet been married, or even engaged, and they had been estranged at the moment when Charlene turned up at the cottage. He remembered the flurry that the brief affair had caused in his campaign, and how it had probably worked out to his benefit in the election. But most of all, he remembered Charlene, naked, uninhibited, and imaginative. He felt a married man’s guilt for the stirring that came with the memory.

After a moment’s thought, he dialed the number.

“Hello?” she said after the fourth ring. Her voice was sleepy, husky.

“Charlene? It’s Will Lee.”

“Will? How are you?” She was suddenly wide-awake.

“I’m very well. I’m sorry to call so early; I forgot about the time difference between here and L.A.”

“It’s all right; I’ve got a ten o’clock call today; I’d have to get up anyway.”

“I saw one of your movies on TV not long ago—the one about the singer.”

“
Country Blues
? Oh, yeah; I got a nomination for that.”

“I thought you were terrific; I’m glad about the way your career has worked out.”

“Thank you, Will; that’s nice to hear.”

“You’re living in L.A. all the time, then?”

“In Malibu; that’s where I am now. Keep the number, so if you’re out here, maybe we can get together.”

Will didn’t want to reply to that. “What are you doing next?”

“I’ve just signed to do a film with Vance Calder next summer,” she said.

“Movie stars don’t get any bigger than that,” he said.

“It’s a wonderful script; my agent thinks it’s going to do a lot for me. I’ll be doing an English accent, if you can believe that.”

“I think you can do anything you want to.” He stopped talking; it was time to find out why she had called.

“Ah, Will,” she said, somewhat hesitantly, “the reason I called is about Larry Moody.”

The mention of the name soured Will’s stomach. “What about him?” he asked cautiously.

“I’m going to finance an appeal for Larry; I’d hoped you might represent him again.”

Will resisted the temptation to respond with anger. “Charlene, I’ve been in the Senate for nine years now; I don’t try cases anymore, and I was never an appeals lawyer.”

“I just thought that since you originally represented him, you might consider it.”

“The only conceivable grounds for appeal I can think of is that he was inadequately represented by his
lawyer, and you can hardly expect me to argue that before an appeals court.”

“Oh, well, I just wish you would represent him.”

“I’m afraid I can’t.”

“Can you recommend somebody?”

“I’m sorry, but I’m so outside the loop on appeals of criminal cases that I couldn’t even do that. Do you have an L.A. attorney?”

“Yes, but he’s an entertainment lawyer.”

“He’ll have some networking connection with a good appeals man. Talk to him and get him to research it for you.”

“All right, I’ll do that.”

“Charlene, hasn’t Larry already been through the appeals process?”

“Yes, but he wants to try again. He’s looking at the electric chair, you know, and sooner rather than later.”

“I know.” He was silent again.

“Well, I won’t keep you, Will. I really would love to see you, though; it’s lovely out here in Malibu, the beach and all.” She paused. “We’d be discreet, of course,” she breathed.

“Thanks, Charlene, but I rarely get to L.A. I’ll look forward to the new film with Vance Calder, though. What’s the title?”

“It’s called
Spin
; it’s a political thriller.”

“I can’t wait. You take care of yourself, now.”

“You too, Will. And I hope you’ll call.”

“Bye.” He hung up, and he was sweating a little. His phone buzzed, and he picked it up. “Yes?”

“Tom Black is on the line for you,” Betty, the office manager said. “Will you speak to him?”

“Yes,” Will said, but he paused a moment before pushing the button. Tom Black was the political consultant who had run both of Will’s Senate campaigns. When he was ready to announce for the presidency,
Tom would be the first person he would call, but he wasn’t ready for that yet. He wondered why Tom would be calling at this time, when they hadn’t spoken for months. He pressed the button. “Tom?”

“Will, how are you?”

“I’m extremely well; and you?”

“Just great. And Kate?”

“She’s wonderful; what are you up to?”

“Oh, I’m just getting some ducks in a row for next year,” Tom said. “I’m afraid Joe Adams’s candidacy has squelched a lot of others. Nobody wants to oppose him for the nomination, and that’s not good for my business.”

“You’ll stay busy, Tom; I’m sure you’ve already got half a dozen congressional and Senate candidates lined up.” Black’s business was big now.

“Oh, we’ll be well represented next fall, I guess. I wish you were running.”

“One of these days,” Will replied. He was on thin ice here, and he wanted to head off any direct questions from Tom.

“Will,” Tom said, “I’m trying to set my house in order for 2000, and I want to ask you a question.”

Will winced. How could he head this off? “As long as you don’t expect an honest answer,” he said. Would Tom get that?

He got it. “Let’s make this a purely hypothetical question,” he said.

“Okay, hypothetical is all right, I suppose.”

“Okay, here it is: Will, if Joe Adams, for some hypothetical reason, decided to pull out of the race, would you, hypothetically, consider a run?”

Will phrased his answer as slowly and carefully as he could. “Well, hypothetically speaking, if Joe were, hypothetically, out of it, I might consider a purely hypothetical run. You understand, don’t you, Tom, that
right now, my first obligation is to Joe, and that I would never oppose him? That, apart from my friendship with Joe, I would be cutting my own throat in the party if I opposed him?”

“I understand that completely, Will, and I agree with you. You certainly should not oppose Joe.”

“I’m glad you grasp that, Tom.”

“One more question, then I’ll let you off the hook.”

“A hypothetical question?”

“Absolutely.”

“Shoot.”

“If you should make this hypothetical run, would you want me in on it?”

“Hypothetically? You bet your ass, I would.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

“Who else would put up with me?”

Tom laughed. He seemed about to say something, then stopped.

“You have a great holiday, Tom,” Will said.

“Sure, Will; you too. We’ll talk again after New Year’s?”

“I’m sure we will, Tom. Good-bye.” He hung up.

Tom Black knew something, Will was sure of that. But what did he know? And who else knew?