JACK CANON’S AMERICAN DESTINY

BY GREG SANDORA

DEDICATION:

This book is dedicated to my mother, Sylvia Sandora, whose passing ignited the passion in me to begin writing this book. And to my father, Joseph Sandora, who died five and a half months later, almost to the day I finished. I hope they love it.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS:

To my beautiful wife of 28 years, Kathy, whose first edit helped to shape the story and bring the characters to life. Her patience, dedication and selfless sacrifice helped make my dream of writing this book possible.

CHAPTER ONE

I’ll never forget the look on my dad's face. We were stopped at a checkpoint by dangerous looking men in military uniforms. Soldiers hollering back and forth waiving weapons, searching through our things, taking anything they wanted. One guerilla was approached by an emaciated little boy with skin so thin it strained to cover his veins. Crying out, eyes bulging from hollow sockets, the child’s spindly arms grasped for the soldier’s leg. The helpless act was answered with the butt end of a rifle, sending the child violently to the ground. Semi convulsing, blood gushing from his head, the boy curled up in a tiny brown ball and went to sleep. At least that's what my mom told me.

That scene played over and over in my head growing up. It made me sad, but mostly furious, that life could be so unfair. Our family missionary trip to Africa meant to teach us love, compassion and understanding had burned a fire in my belly so intense it stayed with me throughout my life. Even at the tender age of ten, I knew someday I’d change this cruel and unjust world. That was forty years ago.

A long recession has brought desperate times. Many in the working middle class are unemployed or have fallen below the poverty line, millions have lost their homes. People lucky enough to have jobs are doing triple the load, working every day with a lump in their throat, feeling disposable, fearing they’re next. In a sick twist, Big Business and Big Banks got bailed out, but the government screwed the people. Honest Americans are feeling anxiety, shame and hopelessness as suicides, domestic violence, and homicides are climbing to an all time high.

Oh yeah, there are still plenty of guys buying Ferrari's, but the disparity between rich and poor has become obscene. The wealthy have become fatter, picking off the laboring carcass of a foreclosed middle class. The underlying greed is unconscionable.

I’m the Senior Democratic Senator from Kentucky. My name is John Canon; people call me Jack. Though my once brown hair has turned a little gray, I can’t complain, having served nearly three terms in the most powerful city on earth. I’ve gotten a bit softer around the middle, but I’ve learned good clothes can hide it. The biggest eye opener of my political career so far: an unsuccessful bid for the Presidency. It was a major shock to find out--what it’s really going to take--to fulfill my destiny:

TO SOMEDAY HAVE THE POWER, TO DEDICATE THE HIGHEST OFFICE IN THE LAND, TO MAKE THINGS RIGHT. THIS TIME I’M ALL IN.

Sandy Collins, my assistant, sticks her head in, peeking around the door, "Morning Jack, how you doing?”

“I’m alright, just working on some lines for my stump speech.” Sandy’s my right hand and more importantly my best friend. It only makes sense though, even at eight years old my best friend was a little girl, I just loved holding her hand.

Men are hard-wired to want women like Sandy. She’s a drop-dead knockout. She likes her high heels, which put her about five-nine, and wears her blonde hair straight, pulling it into a ponytail at least part of the day. Her only negative, she’s a bit naïve for someone turning thirty-seven.

“Jack, did you want me to do all your Christmas shopping again this year?” Sandy had great taste in gifts. She put a lot of thought into her choices, usually hitting a home run with my family, especially the kids. It’s like she was tuned in to what my girls would want.

Ignoring her question, “Listen to this,” speaking my notes as I’m writing, “this country is being run by elitists who could care less about ordinary Americans.”

I’d actually written, couldn’t give one sweet shit, but adjusted it for a broader audience.

“The system is badly broken, the wealthiest Americans have profited unfairly, taking advantage of an increasingly helpless public.”

Bud, my campaign manager, chief of staff, and close friend for the past 15 years, enters the office listening, mid-sentence.

“Devastated by the economy, the rich have gamed the system, bought everything up on the cheap. Greed threatens our way of life.”

Sandy commented, “It sounds so bleak Jack.”

“Jack, I’ve arranged for the transfers.”

Bud was being careful with Sandy in the room. He’d gotten me elected to the senate, but despite several tries going all the way back to McGovern he’d never won a presidential campaign.

“Bud, just say it straight, if we can’t trust Sandy we’re done already.”

“Alright Jack.” Bud turned to Sandy, “We got our asses handed to us the first time around cause Jack here didn’t want to break the law. This time I’m funneling huge donations into Super Pac’s that we’ll control. ”

“Bud, Sandy’s in the thick of this with us. Honey, you know we aren’t supposed to be getting the money for them. Let alone this crazy kind of money. If anyone finds out we’re all going to jail.”

Sandy said, “Give me some credit boys, I get it. Besides you’re only doing what everybody else does already.”

Bud cautioned, "Never before to this degree. When the Republicans are coming after us we’re gonna need every dime to fight off the attack.”

Politics is a tricky game and, lucky for me, Bud was an expert player. I’m excited to have a guy like him with only one thing left to prove. This was to be Bud’s last time out of the gate. His doctors told him his heart wasn’t up to handling the stress of another major campaign. He was willing to put it all on the line, because he believed in me, but deep down in my heart I knew that more than life itself, Bud Singer wanted to go out with the win.

Bud spent a lot of time on the cocktail circuit and at charity events rubbing elbows with the rich and famous, lining up contributions. He looked in Sandy’s direction, trying to engage her directly, “The Country my father knew was built on cheap energy. Families of the fifties could live well on one income. We took weekend joy rides in the country - in big heavy gas guzzlers, just for the fun of it.” He looked over at me then back to Sandy.

“Remember the station wagons Jack? People moved to the suburbs in droves. Our factories were busy making all kinds of products – Made in America was the sign of Quality. We were a nation of producers, not just consumers. That’s all changed now. This country is going to the dogs.”

Sandy wasn’t even faking interest in Bud today, she told me once he reminded her of a sinister figure, a shorter version of Orson Wells in a suit. Even when Bud worked at it, he never seemed to hold her attention for very long.

“Jack, I was serious before, do you want me to get started on your presents? I was in Macy’s the other day listening to Christmas music; it’s getting to be that time of year again.”

Sandy was making every effort to get my undivided attention; she stood right in front of me, bent over my laptop and looked chin out straight into my eyes, “Jack the store’s been decorated since Halloween.”

“We’ve still got over a month” – then I thought for a second.

“Yeah, maybe you could pick up a couple of gifts for the kids and help me with a few ideas for Kathy’s and I’ll go get those, myself.”

“Great Jack, I’ll put together a tentative list and we’ll go over it when you can focus.”

Sandy turned and did an exaggerated one-foot-crossing-the-other walk, accentuating her hip movements as she left the room. If she wasn’t getting my attention in the room, she was determined to get it going out.

Bud shook his head, “She’s a tease.”

“She’s right Bud, you don’t give her much credit, remember she graduated cum laude from Boston.”

“In journalism, for Pete’s sakes Jack, get real.”

“You just don’t like reporters.”

“No really, don’t you think it’s odd that in all the years you’ve known Sandy she’s never had a boyfriend. Hell, I don’t ever remember her having a date.”

“What are you getting at?”

“She’s a beautiful woman Jack, where I come from there’s a line around the block for a girl like that.”

“Well for one thing she never stops working, you know sometimes she’s texting me late into the evening.”

“She should put herself out there, get married.”

“I’ve begged her to take some time off but she never does.”

“What a waste.”

Bud was right, Sandy didn’t have much of a personal life; it was my fault, I had her managing both the Campaign Administrative Staff and the Senate Office.

“I never thought I’d say this, but we may be working the girl too hard, Jack.”

“I’ve taken her out a couple of times after work for Martinis.”

“Does she ever mention her personal life?"

“Not really, we talk mostly about work and me being president. She really wants it for me.”

Sandy usually accompanies me on business trips to help me stay organized. She’s a kindred spirit and knows first hand the difficulties of being a Senator.

“Jack, running for president can rip you apart if you are not ready. I just hope she understands that we’re in a dogfight, any misstep in this arena and they’ll eat us alive. You know how I worry.”

“Relax she knows we’ll do whatever it takes to win.”

“But can she keep it to herself?”

“Yeah, Bud, she’ll never betray my trust. Listen to this,” my reading glasses were hanging on my nose, “our mission is to take America back for the people.” I continued reading aloud.

“Big oil is causing the American Dream to fade away. Regular, hard-working, middle class families have lost their homes. The Government bailed out the banks but didn’t do a damn thing to help the people. We have become a nation of service providers, importing nearly everything we use. America is like a locomotive, once powerful, that has left the tracks, on a collision course with economic disaster.”

Bud said, “I like that line; it’s got powerful imagery. You didn’t really answer me though. Do you think she really gets it?”

“Bud, I think that little walk shook you up.”

“Why, do I seem fixated?”

“You can’t stop talking about her! Listen, we had a heart to heart a long time ago and I told her the game is rigged. To make a difference in this world, we’ve got to get our hands dirty, really dirty. Bud, I promise you she’s with us all the way to the White House.”

“Okay, I hope you’re right. I don’t want to see her on 60 minutes some night spilling her guts out about you.”

I wedged my feet on top of the desk, leaned back in my chair, and continued typing notes and reading them aloud; the thoughts were coming. “Recession President Gillard Barker, third year in office with nothing, no, scratch that… with little going right.”

Bud said, “Barker still thinks he can be re-elected. The power of the Presidency has to be intoxicating; it’s blinding him to reality.”

Barker said in an interview, ‘The Democrats’ dismal four years left such a bad taste with voters, it would take two Republican terms to wash it out.’

As Bud was walking toward the door, he chided, “I still think he’s a cocky bastard.”

I answered, “It happens, Bud. Look at Carter.”

Neither of us wanted to admit it, but many leaders in our own Party were afraid the president was right.

CHAPTER TWO

Time flies, it hardly seems possible that just three months ago, Bud and I were summoned to the Washington Offices of Henry Baines Truscott, the head of the Democratic National Committee. We were happy; Bud thought we were getting the call. Before the meeting, we imagined all the possibilities of being officially endorsed by the party. It was the feather in our cap that could propel us forward. It would sure make things a lot easier lining up the party faithful[AMR1] .

“They want you to run,” Bud whispered just before we were ushered into the corner office of the Chairman. “They’re making the right move; they know you’ll bring a lot of votes in on your coattails.” It was rare to see Bud this excited. There was a spring in his step; he literally beamed with anticipation.

Henry Truscott was a tall, impish man of Scotch – Irish decent. He was young looking at forty-five, but the new Chairman of the DNC had a weak looking build. His most imposing feature was his shoe polish black hair worn slicked back over his high forehead. Henry had eager looking eyes exaggerated through the amplification of thick lens-end black rimmed glasses. He was driven to gain political power as a substitute for his lack of physical prowess. Everyone who knew him recognized at least that.

“Gentlemen,” Henry beckoned us to a large antique conference table.

Speaking through his trademark toothy grin, “Jack, so glad you could make it.” He said, extending his hand forward.

“Bud, it’s always good to see you. Have a seat,” motioning to the large high back leather chairs positioned evenly around the dark oak table, “of course you know the speaker.”

The Chairman was joined by the former Speaker of the House, Herb Farley, a white-haired three hundred pound bear of a man with a triple chin and double stomach. The speaker held out his meaty paw to shake our hands. I didn’t know the speaker personally; we’d met casually at a few Washington parties, but our paths didn’t cross too often. I did know he wasn’t to be trusted; his reputation as an opportunist preceded him. But, that could be said of most the Hill. After all, who wasn’t looking out for their own ass in this town?

“Jack, I’m a fan of your work in the Senate,” he boomed. The speaker’s forehead was damp with perspiration around the edges of his hairline. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe it.

“Thank you, Mr. Speaker,” I was guarded, but always friendly.

“Call me Herb, please, Jack.”

Henry asked, “Can I get you guys anything… coffee, something stronger?”

“Nothing for me,” Bud answered a little too quickly.

I shook my head, “I’m all set. Had a cup this morning.” The truth is, I never drank more than one cup in the morning and it was way too early for hard liquor.

The speaker engaged us in a few minutes of small talk before Bud, with his typical impatience, asked, “So fellas you didn’t bring us down here for girl talk. What did you have in mind?”

I was running my hands along the old wood, pretending to admire the table, my ears perked for the response. I figured I’d let Bud do most of the talking. After all, he knew these guys better than I did; he’d spent the last forty years working for the party.

Henry started, “We know you’re preparing for a run at the White House.”

“We haven’t announced,” Bud was being coy.

They knew we’d been approaching donors for some time now, that we’d arranged for office space and already hired some staff. Despite our best efforts to keep our plans low-key, when we’re all asking some of the same people for money - word gets around.

“I’ll get right to the point. The thing is, Jack, we brought you here today to ask that you sit this one out.” My heart sank. I looked over at Bud and saw a very surprised look on his face. Almost shock. I thought what the fuck?

The words hung in the air. I turned and looked behind me as if to say, who the hell are you guys talking to?

This fat piece of shit and his bug-eyed greaser sidekick can’t be talking to me. Don’t they know I’m gonna be the next president?

Bud was readying himself for a response when Henry quickly added, “If you’ll be patient, the DNC will get behind you the next time around; believe me you will have our full support and resources.”

Bud fired out, “That’s a load of crap, Henry…who the hell are you guys clearing the field for?” Bud had a mean temper and his ire was up. You couldn’t blame him for bristling—he was being ‘jilted at the altar’ by the party he loved.

I worried about his heart.

The speaker wiped his sweaty brow again, then lowered his head and rested his bulky chin on his chest. “Bud, try to have some perspective here; you’ve always been a good party man.  If your guy runs against Griffin, we fragment the party and all lose to Barker. That’s why we need you to step aside...just for now. If Jack runs, nobody wins; it’s that simple.”

I said, “Griffin?” I could hardly believe my ears. They were giving the nod to Anne Griffin, the Governor of Texas.

“No way. You’re joking right?”

Henry kept on talking, “If you guys play ball next time, you’ll be the guy. You have my word on that."

I didn’t want to say anything in anger I would regret later, so I just kept shaking my head no to everything Henry said. What a total asshole!

“I’m starting to see the picture a little clearer here,” Bud was flip in laying out their strategy, “Jack is a fifty-three year old popular three term senator with leading man good looks - and you want him to wait until he’s possibly sixty-one years old for that old witch Anne Griffin. What did the Texas Tornado offer you guys?”

“Bud, bottom line is…we think Jack’s ideas are just too ambitious and would be better served in a future race. Right now, we’ve got a safer bet. We know we can get the money from Big Oil to elect Griffin and defeat Barker. Bud, be realistic. Jack will be very viable when his time comes. We can almost guarantee the Presidency if you’ll wait your turn,” Henry was pleading.

Bud countered back quickly, “I’m judging by the fact you neglected to mention the VP Spot, the Speaker here gets that as part of the deal. Bud raised his voice another notch, indignant at the outrage, “Otherwise, Herb, why would you lend yourself to this meeting?” He looked directly at the Speaker for a reaction.

When we were alone, I told Bud I was proud of him; he’d told Truscott and Farley to shove it up their collective asses. Bud couldn’t play politics half way.

He shared his thoughts with me, “We had nothing to gain in there Jack. Their minds were already made up. I just hope I scared the crap out of them."

Bud stood up at the end of the meeting and pounded his index and middle figure into the desk, mashing them to make his point. Red faced, brow furrowed, the rest of his bald head glowing flush.

His last words had been, “In six months you’ll be crawling to Jack Canon for a handout. You’ve got one shot; undo this mess.”

Henry looked at me, disappointed, “It’s done, Jack. I’m sorry."

Bud’s anger made the ride back to the office seem longer than it should have. The conversation consisted of us rehashing the meeting.

“You may forgive those clowns Jack, but I won’t. Griffin loses to Barker in the overall.  This is your time. [AMR2] You can win!”

“I don’t believe those two a - holes speak for the party, Bud.”

Bud shook his head, “You’re damned right they’re full of shit. Fuckin’ Farley for VP; he was called out on Ethics!”

I said, “Bud, you can’t blame Farley; he’s playing his only shot to be VP. He could never win the top spot with his tarnished record and Pillsbury Dough Boy looks.”

Several years before, the Speaker was ordered to pay three hundred thousand for campaign finance violations. Griffin was his only ticket.

Bud often joked, but there’s always truth in comedy, “Politics is a dirty business, you wipe away the surface layer but you never get to the clean. You just end up revealing the real filth beneath.”

Bud naturally had a fire in his belly, but after that meeting, he went to work with a vengeance like I’d never seen before. I was almost glad we’d been called out by the DNC.

CHAPTER THREE

Change is seldom easy, but moving into our new offices the final year of the campaign was anything but hard. Sandy decorated our campaign offices with style, comfortable furnishings, light- colored woods, and plenty of glass. She said her taste was as big as my pocketbook, and lucky for us, friends of the campaign had donated plenty of cash to do the job right.

Sandy popped her head around the door. Dressed in a black skirt and form-fitting zebra print blouse, she carefully positioned the toe end of her black stilettos toward the floor to keep the door from closing. I could just see the faint line between her toes as her foot was flexed.

We had a tight spring closer installed right after one of my senior staff accidentally left the door ajar. There are a lot of sensitive issues discussed in here we would never want the rest of the office to know.

“Jack, you’ve got senior staff in 20 minutes.” Sandy’s voice had an almost musical quality. She rarely spoke to me in anything but the most dulcet tones, a trait which matched her pleasing personality.

“Hey, Sandy,” I jumped up from my seat and moved quickly towards her.

“Come with me; I want to show you something.”

“What’s going on, Jack? You seem excited.”

I didn’t answer - instead I led her gently by the arm toward the seventh floor elevator. We passed several staff members busy working at their desks, each calling out like dominoes, one after the other, “Hey Jack.” I smiled and gave thumbs up as Sandy and I hurried past.

“Damn, the elevator’s busy; let’s take the stairs.”

“Do we have enough time, Jack?” Sounding concerned as we turned the corner.

Ignoring the question, I pushed open the door and started down the steps. Sandy had one hand gripping the cold metal railing and her other digging into my arm for support, luckily she had short nails. A couple of years ago, I mentioned I didn’t like the plastic ones she was wearing. The next day she came into the office, plopped both hands down on my desk, and said, "I cut my nails, Jack!"

It was hard for her to move fast in high heels with her skirt fitted snug just above the knee. She managed by holding tight to my arm, scuffing along, taking quick small steps.

“I’m parked on the third floor of the parking garage. Keep going; it’s only one more floor.”

“Jack, I’m out of breath,” Sandy said as I pushed open the door to P3.

We entered a large open area to see a shiny sports car parked alone.

"It’s my new car; you like it?”

“What is it?”

“It’s a car,” Teasing, knowing what she meant.

“I know it’s a car, what kind is it? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Don’t feel bad. I didn’t know either; I had to look it up. It’s French made, a Bugatti. The guy that delivered it said it’s one of a kind.”

Sitting before us was a machine that pushed the envelope to unreal. Lines so amazing it seemed to be in motion just standing still. The Bugatti Veyron is basically a street legal racecar. Exciting as all hell to drive. I never dreamed I'd own an automobile that could hit a top speed over 250 miles per hour. Truth is, before last night I didn’t even know I wanted one.

My version was custom painted black metallic with shiny chrome over dazzling wheel rims in a wave pattern over the single door. The porcelain moldings formed a body impossible to duplicate with steel alone. The styling was accentuated by a triple round grill that gave the car personality and elevated the handcrafted masterpiece to a work of art. To say this car was rare was an understatement; I’d seen only one similar car and that was in a magazine. The Bugatti was hot, a real head turner, all eyes were on it as I drove to the office this morning.

Sandy said, "It’s beautiful, Jack When did you get it?"

“They just dropped it off last night.” I ran around the car and opened the passenger side door for her.

“Sandy, get in. Let’s go for a spin around the block; we’ve got time.” She tried to enter, first sideways then lowering herself gracefully as far as she could. Instead, she ended up plopping down, practically falling into the very low seat. She crossed her legs, trying to get situated and buckled in. The seats were so steeply angled, they looked like twin toboggans racing downhill. Watching Sandy try to get comfortable, I thought cars like these are not made for long drives or tight skirts.

Sandy warned, “I hope you’re gonna take it easy, Jack?”

“Engine on,” I spoke. The car was outfitted with prototype voice activated control. The engine obeyed, immediately humming to a start. The understated throatiness of the exhaust stood in quiet contrast to all the glass packs out there trying to Sound Street tough. All the gauges lit blue and the dials went to the hilt before settling down. The windows looked like mirrors from the outside and the interior cabin was nearly sound proof.

“Hear that purr?” I revved up the 16 cylinder 1000 horsepower engine, flooring the accelerator several times, burying the tach.

“Look at this thing Sandy - it doesn’t red line until 12,000 rpm!”

Sandy was admiring the leather wrapped interior, running her hands over the dash settling on the round vent of the chrome airstream.

“We won’t need the air conditioner today,” I joked.

“You think? – It’s like 40 degrees outside; I should’ve brought a sweater. You hurried me out so fast I didn’t have time to think. ”

I told her, “You won't need it in here; the cabin heats up in seconds.” The car must have been equipped with some type of radiant heat system.

I flipped the dial and we were warm almost immediately.

Sandy said, “I wonder how they do that; I freeze waiting for my car to heat up. You know, Jack, I never thought I'd say this about a car, but this one is sexy… I guess some guys need this sort of thing.”

I sank back into the driver’s seat richly upholstered in a diamond patchwork of raised blond leather. The headrests had the Bugatti Logo richly embroidered to adorn the center. Everything in the cockpit was chrome or leather trimmed with a fragrant new car smell.

It’s always amused me that people are willing to pay many times the intrinsic value of an item just to obtain the status of a brand. This was not one of those times. We were seated in an example of excellence, worth every penny of the $1.6 million price tag. It wouldn’t have mattered what they called it.

“Reverse,” I eased off the brake. My left hand barely guiding the wheel, I backed the car from its lone parking spot.

When I arrived this morning, the first and second floors of the garage were nearly filled with cars so I took the third level to have it all to myself. I knew I was gonna take at least one person for a ride today!

“Drive,” I said, and with both hands on the wheel at ten and two, I asked Sandy, “Are you ready?” Before she could answer, I pressed my foot down on the pedal. The tires spun, smoking for a second on the slick cement floor. I smelled the hint of burning rubber as we laid our first 10-foot strip.

We were off!

“Hold on, Sandy,” I warned as we slowed quickly to negotiate the first turn.

“Please be careful,” Sandy pleaded as we tore through it. The thick rear of the car fishtailing, tires screeching, turn by turn we made it to the ground level. We tested the acceleration, racing full throttle the entire length of the floor. I hit the brakes hard, skidding right through the exit booth. The attendant raised the traffic arm just in time.

Ceramic Brake Pads, built to withstand enormous heat, allowed the car to stop faster than it accelerated. Sixty to zero in a mere 2.3 seconds…on this stop, I could’ve used another tenth of a second for Sandy’s sake.

“Oh my God, Jack, you almost hit the bar. You’re the last guy on earth that should own a car that goes this fast.”

“Oh Honey, I knew we weren’t gonna hit the bar. This car was made for this type of handling.”

I really did know it as fact. In practice this morning, me and the kid worked it out. I slipped him a twenty.

“You think that was fast, you haven’t seen nothing yet!”

“No, I really have,” Sandy grabbed tight to the armrests.

Looking only to my left I hit the gas and we flew out into the street.

“Jack, are you sure…?”

I answered by putting the pedal to the floor, “We’ll just take her around the block.”

We could feel only mild vibration as we tested the claim of zero to sixty in 2.5 seconds. We were momentarily pinned back in our seats.

“Wow!” I said. Driving as fast as I could, barely stopping at one corner before speeding up to the next, each time announcing to Sandy how fast we’d gotten up to.

“She just kept saying “You’re gonna get us killed.”

“The last run was our best, Sandy, sixty-eight!” I told her, proud of myself. When we got back to our starting point, we turned into the garage. I stopped briefly, thanked the attendant and grabbed a ticket.

Sandy said, “Pleeease, Jack, can we just take it easy now?”

The cockpit was relatively quiet, even with all the commotion we created. Tires screeching, rear end fishtailing, burning rubber all the way to the third level.

On the way up, I told Sandy, “It sounds worse than it is!”

“Off!” One final command and the powerful machine instantly fell into motionless repose.

“Jack! Driving with you feels like sitting in a rocket sled perched on a banana peel. I feel like I just lifted off in the space shuttle. You’re impossible! Really, Jack, you try sitting in the death seat with someone driving like that! I nearly put my foot through the floor trying to stop the car myself.” Sandy threatened with a look like she’d never get in my car again. This time I think she meant it.

“We have to take the elevator. This skirt is too tight for me to climb stairs.” I was laughing, exhilarated as we hurried towards the exit. Sandy was trying her best to keep up, one hand on my shoulder the other on my arm for balance. I pushed the button and showed her my watch, “See we made it.”

“Jack, we’ve only made it to the elevator,” she said slightly exaggerated,  out of breath[AMR3] . She was shaking a bit. I grabbed her by the shoulders and looked down deep into her eyes.

“Don’t worry, I sent everyone a text before we left to hold off for 20 minutes. I just wanted to take you for a ride and have some fun. Wasn’t that an awesome adrenaline rush?”

“I just didn’t want them to blame me for making you late.” Sandy’s eyes were a little watery. She grabbed a tissue out of her purse and dabbed them dry.

“It wouldn’t have been your fault. Don’t cry Honey; I’m sorry you’re upset.”

“I’m not crying. Sometimes you’re a little wild Jack, really! When did you even decide to buy that car? Usually you have me check around…”

I cut her off, “It was a gift. Somebody Bud’s been working with, they just dropped it off.”

She cocked her head to the side and, wide-eyed, looked at my face, “Who would just give you that?”

I explained, “One of our key supporters in the East. I’m anxious to meet him. He’s throwing us a big fundraiser the night of the New Hampshire Primary in Upstate New York. Bud’s working out the details. I want you to come with us; it’ll be fun. Maybe you’ll meet some rich guy that drives his Benz like a little old lady.”

“Very funny, Jack. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with driving the speed limit. The way you drive, you’re gonna get somebody killed. Why did he give you the car though?”

“He wants to be sure that when I’m president, I’ll take his call. The car is his way of introducing himself. I’m not about to keep it. I’m gonna auction it off for charity after the election.”

“That’s some introduction, Jack. They sure know your weakness. I wish someone would give me a car.”

“Sandy, the super rich are drawn to power like moths to a flame.”

“Do you know what this means?” Sandy looked into my eyes, “You're going all the way!”

I reached to her shoulders, “Sandy, we're goin’ all the way!”

“Jack, I can't wait until you expose these people.”

I started daydreaming about my speech... The wealthy want the status quo to continue, hoarding trillions... they move in a world that few people get a chance to see. We’ll get a big taste of that up in New York; that’s one of the reasons I wanted Sandy to come. She’s never seen this before. I wanted her to see this unbelievable wealth first hand.

Most Americans have no idea that the richest 1% control 50% of the income. The system is so broken. We have thirty-eight million kids who go to bed hungry every night while the wealthy in this country can’t figure out where to park their extra Mercedes.

“Jack... have you heard anything I said?” She knew I was deep in thought and hadn't heard a word.

“Sandy, my parents have friends who would be embarrassed to stay too long in their winter homes for fear the neighbors would think they’d lost their minds or gone senile. All while millions of Americans are homeless. It’s messed up.”

“It’s awful, Jack The rich are so selfish they only care about themselves!”

“Well I’ll tell ya one thing, nobody has ever done anything about it.”

“The only thing I worry about, Jack: if you speak out against them, how are you going to get big donations for the campaign?”

“It’ll be like taking candy from a baby. It’s human nature. Every billionaire thinks he’s the exception and we’re not talking about him. You won’t believe how fast the donations roll in.”

“Jack, you know what I've never understood?”

“What, Honey?”

“What don’t they have with all that money?”

“Peace of mind…they worry about what they might lose. You’ll see. They get jittery when administrations change and they’ll pay huge money to the frontrunners. For insurance, they have access to whoever wins the Presidency. You watch.”

“Jack?”

“Yeah?”

“Next time I drive.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Bud joined me back in the office. I pulled up my speech notes and started typing.

“Bud when the Democrats were in the White House, they shot themselves in the foot. They made promises to cut spending they just couldn’t keep.”

Bud added, “The Dems were so desperate to bring in revenue, they alienated the wealthiest Americans. You can’t threaten new taxes and not expect depatriation of capital. Companies couldn’t pull up stakes fast enough and they took the jobs with them. The Democrats gave Barker the Presidency and what did we get for it? A lousy work bill and a few infrastructure projects.”

“Yeah, but it cost three trillion dollars and got us a Moody’s downgrade. Barker stinks of failure. Should I say that in my speeches though?”

“No, but I like it. We can have our surrogates leak it to the press. Republicans don’t want to get anywhere near him on the dais.”

“Who could blame them? His job approval ratings are tanking. I predict they lose record seats in the house and at least three seats in the Senate. What do you think, Bud?”

“Other than you getting the Presidency, I don’t give a rat’s ass. Once you’re in office we’ll bypass Congress and go directly to the people.”

“Bud, we gotta be prepared to debate this guy. He’s a slippery bastard.”

“You’re right about that! Hey, Jack, can I change the subject for a minute? I want to ask you something.”

“Sure, what’s goin’ on?”

“Well, last night I went to Barney’s, right? You know, the tavern near my house?”

“Yeah, your hangout, you’ve mentioned it once or twice.”

“Well, since my divorce I’ve been stopping there. I hate to go home to an empty house.”

“Bud, you’ve been divorced for seven years.”

“Well I guess I’ve been stopping by a lot. They know me pretty well over there, but that’s not what I wanted to tell you. It’s about this woman I met last night.”

“This is new. Did you pick someone up?”

“No, she just comes out of nowhere and plunks down on the bar-stool next to me. She says, ‘Hey, aren’t you Bud Singer?’ This kinda stuff never happens to me.”

“Was she pretty, Bud? Did you like her?”

“Oh my God, Jack, she was stunning. Strawberry blonde hair, green eyes, nice curves, sultry voice, the whole package. Here’s the rub though.”

“What could possibly be wrong with that?”

“She’s a reporter for the Washington Post.”

“Did she have long hair?”

“Did you hear me, Jack, the Washington Fuckin’ Post? Now I’m sitting there with this beautiful woman thinking she’s probably coming on to me for a story.”

“So what, you’re so tight-lipped she’d never get anything. What did you do?”

“Well, she was so nice I just stayed around talking to her. It was fun. Believe me, I liked the attention; it’s been a while. Next thing I know it’s after midnight and we’ve been sitting there for like three hours. That’s not what I wanted to ask you though.”

“You met a nice woman, you had fun, she’s a reporter so…”

“She bit me, Jack, right on the cheek, when we went to say goodbye. What does that even mean? I’ve been out of the dating scene for a while, but what’s that about.”

I bit my tongue and reached down to push the intercom button for Sandy.

“Do you need me Jack?”

Bud groaned, “Oh no, don’t get her involved.”

“Honey, could you step in here a minute? We need a woman’s opinion.”

“Of course, Jack, be right in.”

“Thanks, Jack, this is going to be embarrassing!”

“We need her help. I don’t know whether the lady was hungry and wanted to eat you or…”

Sandy walked in completing my sentence, “Who wanted to eat you? If people only knew what you guys talk about in here.”

“A women bit Bud,” I let myself burst out laughing.

“Bit him? Where, Jack?”

“On the cheek, Bud asked me what that means. It was too good not to call you in.”

“I hope you got her number,” Sandy laughed.

“Well, we exchanged business cards earlier in the evening. No, really Sandy, you’ve heard it now. What’s it mean when a woman a guy barely knows bites him on the cheek?”

“Honey, you’ve been out of the game too long. She likes you, Bud! Is that so hard to believe? ”

“Oh well, that explains it.”

“There’s more?”

“Yeah, when we went to say good night she gave me hug and an ass grab. Then she pushed herself into me really tight to feel my reaction.”

“Who is this woman?” Sandy’s curiosity was piqued.

“Her name is Jacqueline O’Neill.”

“You’re kidding. I’ve read her stuff in the Post; she’s well- known. Bud, I’m impressed.”

“I know, Sandy, but do you think she likes me or just trying to get close enough to get a story?”

“I think she likes you, Casanova. She wouldn’t have bit you if she didn’t. She might have sought you out for a story, but then she realized you’re a serious, responsible guy and somebody she’s interested in. The fact you're gonna be Chief of Staff helps, believe me. She probably figured she’d spell it out for you. I’d call her.”

“What do you think, Jack?”

“Are you kidding? I can’t wait to meet her. I hope she bites me, too!”

Bud’s phone was buzzing. He said, excusing himself, “Jack, it’s about the fundraiser in New York. I gotta take this.”

“Go get em, talk to ya later.” Bud nodded yes and left the room.

“Do you want me to stick around for a while, Jack?”

“No, Honey, you’ve got things to do. How ‘bout that Bud? Wild stuff, huh?”

“I didn’t want to burst his bubble, Jack, but I think she probably wants a story, or she’s trying to get to you, or both.”

“Thanks for holdin’ that in; you would have crushed the guy.”

“I’m just sayin, you watch.”

“Bud can take care of himself. Let’s talk later.”

Sandy gave me a look and started for the door, “Okay Jack, you know where to find me.”

I continued where I left off typing. Barker made a serious misstep with Iran. I’ll harp on that point.

The public is far less forgiving when times are bad. They would’ve run Clinton out of town in this economy. Hillary ended up doing good, though. Somebody’s gotta tell America the stimulus can’t work if we buy everything overseas and borrow to do it.

Turning around in my chair, I put my feet up on the windowsill. The view from my corner office was amazing, but even with all this glass the view from the Oval would be better.

CHAPTER FIVE

We had a team of agricultural scientists that said it’s possible with our land and climate. Big Oil and greedy politicians had blocked the United States from doing it for years.

Our job was to convince the American People.

People are deathly afraid of change. Ideas have a life cycle. Early adopters jump on the bandwagon right away, eager to try the latest thing. Next, you have the show me types; they’re a little afraid to try anything new. They’re worried when they go to the pump there’ll be no gas. Third, there are the late adopters. After most people are convinced, then they’ll buy in. Last, you have the - that’ll never happen types. They’re quick to say it will never work. They wait until an idea is in common practice, then they go around telling everybody they thought of it years ago.

Bud liked to educate prospective big dollar supporters, “The first cars ran on bio fuel; back in 1880, cars were made to run on peanut oil. Hell, Henry Ford made the 1908 Model T to run on Corn Ethanol; he even had his own plant to produce it. This is nothing new, fellas. It’s been around for years! It’s easier than makin’ moonshine!”

Well what’s old is new again. Bio Energy had been hard to get across to the voters. Folks didn’t seem to get how it would create jobs. For this election, our message was honed to American Energy Works; we would link it with a new slogan - We Can.

Bio Energy sounds like something you flush.

I know people want a president, not a chemist. Focus group testing showed anything we tried sounds better after the words 'We Can'. I’d say the sexy stuff and leave the science to the talking heads.

America had done so well with corn technology, farmers had tripled the bushel yield per acre a decade ago. If American ingenuity could send a man to the moon, we could do the same for our homegrown fuel.

We’d all heard stories of guys working in their garages, who chanced upon a breakthrough technology, only to have it bought out by some oil company. Or worse - tales the inventor were quieted by the government in some conspiracy. That’s all science fiction.

We were holding a workable plan, the key feature being the planting of Jatropha, a hardy grass-like plant that grew in almost any soil. We would convince farmers to grow it and chemists would turn it into Bio Fuel. I preferred Jatropha to other feedstocks like soybeans because it couldn’t double as food.

I figured, why give people a reason to debate? Our experts laid the country out in a grid showing, by planting, just the available farmland of Kentucky; we could accomplish nearly half our national goal. Imagine what we could grow if we spread it around to all fifty states. The message had resonated so well in my home state, I’d won a third term.

Bud was telling donors, ‘It just makes good old-fashioned common sense!’

H. Bud Singer was in charge of the campaign and, in addition to fundraising, he was chiefly responsible for reshaping the message. I needed Bud because he could do and say things other men couldn’t or wouldn’t. Besides Bud, three other rising stars rounded out our core team, each in charge of a segment of the campaign.

Once we announced, we expected a flood of volunteers in addition to more paid staff. Our offices would be buzzing with enthusiasm and the aspirations of youth seeking a place to make their mark in the world. I had an uncanny knack for turning talented people into true believers.

Bud and I spent hours going over speech notes. Ideas didn’t come cheap; especially the kind that could lift us out of recession and pay our debt to China without going to war. We always ended believing the surest way to National Security and prosperity for America was to produce lots of cheap energy. Top economists calculated, for every one percent of energy produced on our soil, we would lower the import cost of oil by 3% and create a quarter million jobs. Our goal is to produce twenty percent of the energy we use and cause the price of world crude to plummet.

What’s scaring the Saudis is they knew it was possible; even their own scientists were telling them so. At least all the data we are continually sharing with them brought them to this conclusion. We have them so worried, the whole Middle East would be planted if they could grow anything in the desert. America has millions of acres of available farmland, a willing workforce, and people who can’t pay their oil bills nearly freezing to death in the Northeast. If ever there was a time for a message to resonate, this was it.

I met Bud Singer at Brown where I majored in economics. Bud was a Political Science undergrad, eventually getting a degree in law. He loved the strategy of politics and started working on congressional campaigns right out of law school. Later he headed a prestigious lobbying group, leaving it only to help me win the election to the senate. Bud was stocky and bald and stubborn, continuing to chain smoke even after having a couple of heart attacks.

Bud would say to big money donors – ‘We’ll have cheap energy like we had back in the 50’s and 60’s, so cheap the multi nationals fall all over themselves to bring production back to America.’ Privately he had a more ingenious plan. ‘We’ve got to make it economical to manufacture here again. Once we lure the Corporations back and get them hooked, we force them through taxes to keep the money and jobs here. Bud was right: politicians had made a crucial error rewarding American Corporations for sending jobs overseas, searching for cheap labor and short-term profits.’

Bud and I agreed that the richest Americans didn’t care where they made the money; they had quadrupled their wealth over the longest recession in history. Once we change the Energy Dynamic, the big players will all rush in for a piece of the action.

A trillion dollars worth of wealth would pour back into this country. We would appeal to their massive egos and call them patriotic - after all, they live here, anyway.

This time was nothing like our first presidential campaign, when our offices were housed makeshift in an old mattress store. One thing the first loss brought me was better positioning in the senate. In the most striking example of ‘it’s not what you know but who you know,’ greater name recognition had secured me a coveted position with the Armed Services Committee.

Our new headquarters were courtesy of our friends at TenStar, a Major Defense Contractor who wanted to get to know me better. They “rented” us the space, renovated to suit, and agreed to accept delayed payment over ten years.

Bud liked the idea, ‘That’s making the paper walk backwards, Jack!’

In addition to providing office space, TenStar would make the campaign an unsecured loan of five million dollars and provide the use of a corporate jet. Privately, the agreement was more complicated, involving several components. Provided Bud would sit on their Board and appear at Corporate Events, the lease debt would be considered settled. The caveat attached to the five million was after I left office I would speak at their annual meetings. Open-ended access was an assumed, but unspoken, part of the deal.

All in all, we considered that fair for us at this juncture, as we get closer, the arrangements will get better.

Sandy called on the speakerphone, “Brenner’s on the line. Can you take it, Jack?”

“Sure, Honey.”

Joe Brenner, CEO of TenStar, personally arranged for the space. TenStar made major weapons systems including a prototype fighter - code name, Phantom, that could enter Earth’s Orbit and fire weapons from space. Sort of an X-35 meets the space shuttle. The problem was, Brenner and his counterparts were the guys who lobbied Congress to shut down the U.S. Shuttle Program.

I picked up the phone, “How the hell are you, Joe,” mirroring his usual style and tone.

Joe fired back, “I’m well, Jack, just calling to see how you boys are settling in.”

“We’re doing fine.”

“How’s the donor money flowing in?”

“Don’t worry, Joe, you got us cheap.”

He chuckled, “We’ll see, Jack. You’ve still got to do well in New Hampshire and you’re not that well-known in the Northeast.”

“Thanks for the heads up, you son of a bitch! If Bud ever decides to leave politics, I’ll know who to call.”

Joe laughed, “I don’t think I’m ready for that. I’ve got all I can handle right here, but Jack, you let me know if you need anything.”

“Thanks, Joe, we’ll have a drink together in the White House, and seriously, I appreciate your support. We’ll talk soon.”

I could count on that, since the Phantom’s projected price tag was estimated at eleven billion per copy.

“Hey, Jack, I heard you were headed out of the country. Anyone I know?”

Joe was always snooping.

I laughed, “If I told you I’d have to kill you, so you’re better off.”

Joe’s laugh sounded forced. We said goodbye.

Sandy tilted her head in, blonde hair hanging down to the doorknob.

Still smiling, I thought she mistook my grin for a reaction to the plunging sweater blouse she was wearing.

Girlishly, “Senior Staff is ready when you are, Jack.”

I figured I’d just go with it to make up for semi-ignoring her before.

“Hey step in here a second.”

“Why, Jack, you need something,” flirting.

“I didn’t get the chance to tell you before; you look fantastic! Is that a new outfit?”

Sounding like a spoiled twenty, “Yes, do you suddenly like it? I didn’t think you noticed me, running through the building to look at your stupid car.”

“Well, I’m noticing now. You look gorgeous. Wow, Honey!”

“Well, better late than never, I guess…Thanks, Jack.”

Her look and the way she practically bounced out of the room told me she was happier.

I was sitting at my desk when Bud arrived, taking his usual seat on one of the sofas.

My office was shaped like an L. Our gathering area consisted of two black leather couches, a couple of wing back chairs, and my desk, all in a tight-knit square.

Bud asked, “How’s everything going today?”

Looking over my reading glasses, “Good, have you finalized the distribution points for the large donations?”

Bud answered, “Everything is set to go. The pump is primed, all we need is the cash.”

“You’re the wizard, Bud, great work.”

Bud had been working for months setting up Super Pac’s that would be controlled by us. The Committees could spend as they wished and collect vast contributions without burdensome regulations. Advertising on television is expensive, even on the local level. Regardless of cost, it’s critical to catch voters in that semiconscious state.

TV helps instill a positive and familiar ‘I know that guy’ kinda feeling. I don’t believe an election could be won without it. To be ingrained, our message has to be playing over and over. I still remember ads I haven’t seen since I was a kid.

The bottom line is - in order for us to make the financial commitments necessary to influence the election we have to set up these channels. I was confident Bud would handle our finances in a way that would still allow us to accept Federal Matching Funds. The people he placed in charge of the Super Pacs would be handsomely rewarded with opportunities, either in the White House, or with corporations that supported us. The system’s crazy; we had no choice but to work the gray areas if we want to win.

Next into the office was Robert “Tip” Thornton, after him, my best buddy, Bill Mitchell, and finally Lisa Pennington. The hit squad, we liked to call it.

This group, along with Sandy, was our inner circle.

We had an understanding of total candor - no subject was off-limits. We liked thinking out loud, knowing everything would stay with us. Secondary staff was on a need to know basis.

Bill was first to speak, holding up his thumb and fore finger an inch apart, “I’m this close to finalizing the trip to see the Saudis.”

We were priming the Crown Prince to be a keystone contributor. We would need a quarter billion to win this thing and we were banking on him to give us a big piece of that.

I said to the group, “If I can get twenty from them, we could get some of the others to pony up. Everybody likes to follow the big dog.”

Bill said, "They’re going to want some heavy assurances that you’ll stall the home still, [AMR4] Jack. Are you prepared to lie to these guys?”

“The truth would be really quaint right now, Bill. Listen, they’ve been selling us high-priced tar for years, sucking the life out of our economy. I don’t care what I have to say at this point! If we’re gonna do this thing and bring America back, we’ve got to hold our noses and do it. If any of you have a problem with this, try focusing on the ordinary Americans who are suffering. We need to tip the scales back in their favor!”

Bud added, “If any of you think there’s any other way to win, speak up now, because it’s now or never. Once we go over there, we’re in it up to our eyeballs!”

Lisa piped back, “I agree with Jack, I’m sick of seeing Americans losing their homes! This is our chance to finally have the power to do something about it.”

“Power isn’t given, it must be seized,” I asserted, “We’ve got to pull the rug out from under these guys, before they catch a whiff of what’s coming.”

Tip was a man of few words and had one quirk: he refused to ever repeat himself. When he spoke, we all piped down for fear of missing even a single word. It was always interesting. An ex-Navy Seal, he was in charge of security for the campaign. I trusted him with my life. Decorated for Valor in Iraq, he was recruited with a sub-agency of the NSA. Tip and company had been dropped into hotspots all over Afghanistan to hunt for snipers. The agency believes ‘it takes one to hunt one’ and chose candidates based on natural ability, recruiting secretly out of the military. His group eliminated targets considered security threats to the United States. Nicknamed King Cobra, Tip commanded an elite squad outfitted with sophisticated survival gear, capable of encampment behind enemy lines for days at a time. Tip saved lives by surgically removing the enemy’s instruments of death. The existence of the team was never made public. [LM5]

The operations were off the grid. Even as a member of the Armed Services Committee, I hadn’t heard about them.

Tip finally spoke, “Jack they’ll have to double up on your secret service protection once you’re in office, at least until things die down. There’s gonna be some really bad people wanting you dead.”

“Thanks for that rosy outlook, Mary Sunshine. I’ll sleep better now!”

That broke some of the tension and we all had a good but brief laugh. Bill was first to bring us back to reality, “Once the bubble bursts, there’ll be upheaval as the oil countries scurry to try and maintain revenue levels. None of those spoiled bastards wants to tighten his belt. Once the Saudis drop the price of a barrel, the whole Middle East, Venezuela, Mexico, all the producing nations will follow suit, dumping oil all over the world. The day of the cartel is over, people. When things finally stabilize, they’ll be coming to us for the handout. We can finally break their backs. They’ll be slow to react, unprepared, and will never know what hit em.”

Bud was giddy, “It’s perfect; Big Oil has no answer for America producing twenty percent of its own energy, just the threat of it and oil drops like a stone."

I said, "This isn’t just for us. We have to teach the rest of the world to grow their own fuel, too. We can’t allow any relief from the downward pressure.”

Bill added, “This is going to sound good on the stump!”

Bud piped back, “It’s great stuff, what people are longing to hear.”

Tip cautioned, “I hate to be a kill joy but where does Iran fit into a weakened Middle East?”

“Tip’s right. The stakes couldn’t be higher. Barker’s letting Iran get the bomb; think about that for a second.” I continued, “It’s not gonna stop us, but we should have an answer to that question.”

Tip added, “The Arabs will be at each other’s throats. There’s sure to be unrest in the neighborhood. Jack will have to deal with that!”

“Expect upheaval; we’ll have to be ready if the Soviets, the Chinese, the North Koreans, or anyone else tries to screw with us,” Bud added.

“Listen, day one, I’m gonna meet with the Joint Chiefs and let them know it’s not business as usual, the party’s over. They’re not going to have free rein to run multi-year wars when one bullet will get rid of the problem!”

“Okay boys, I’ve got to change the subject, let’s win first. Listen to what I’ve worked up.” Lisa started, “I’ve been working up the scenario we spoke about.” Lisa was Bud's protégé; he liked working with her because she had the highest IQ of anyone we knew. An expert in statistics, she had a bachelor’s in math from NYU and a master’s in Poli-Sci from Harvard. Lisa wasn’t a beauty like Sandy; she wore the long sides of her brown bob pinned back and dressed too conservatively. She used scant makeup over otherwise pretty brown eyes and gave off an aura she’d given up trying to embellish the outer package. People who didn’t know her would've called her plain. But oh, if you knew her… she disarmed with other amazing qualities. Lisa was thoughtful like a scholar but as shy and timid as a schoolgirl. Her kindness and honesty so real, she was a joy to be around. I loved her for it. Professionally, she was a political mastermind. As an analyst, she could tell you, off the top of her head, the number of impressions needed and the cost per person reached for each state. Even more impressive, Lisa was a strategist who could teach--what it takes to win. That’s not saying there weren’t a bunch of really convincing people in this town bragging they could that, too. The difference was, she’d be right.

In Washington, there’s no shortage of self-proclaimed experts shooting their mouths off to make a buck.

Bud Singer was of that ilk - he could talk the bark off a tree! The difference was that Bud could deliver the goods. In the land of the dollar bill, where money is power, he could go out and get it for ya. Best of all he made it look easy. We were fortunate to have the best of both, the strategist and the dealmaker.

Lisa continued to lay out a Primary Strategy we all thought was a breakthrough.

“Jack, we skip Iowa and let the neophytes eat each other up out there. We go into New Hampshire with a big push, emphasizing your energy ideas. We tell the press only--we’re exploring our options.”

“Sounds good, Lisa,” I nodded.

“We maintain an above the fray posture until you make the formal announcement. We’ll have our attorneys walk in and register you just before the deadline.”

Bill perked up, “I agree with Lisa; there’s nobody worth fighting with early on. Once a front-runner emerges, the rest of them will attack and bust him up.”

Lisa quickly added, “Or her.”

I half joked, “Most of that pack would eat their own young, but we can’t count on anyone else bringing the pain. We’ll have to supply it! Bud will arrange some serious counter ads. Did I say most would eat their young? I meant all.”

Bud said, “They won’t suspect we’re behind the negative ads if we’re not up there.”

Bud turned to Tip, “Have your guys been getting enough dirt for us to use after Iowa, if we decide to skip it?”

Tip did all the heavy lifting, the dirty work we called it when he wasn’t in the room. He was expert at handling details the rest of the crew, while they didn’t particularly mind knowing about, didn’t have the stomach for.

“Yeah Tip, even if we don’t go to Iowa we’ll still have to provide some help to cut the front-runners down to size,” Bill said.

"If we don’t, odds are this strategy won’t work,” Lisa continued, “If we let anyone come into New Hampshire as a clear favorite it will be harder for us to gain national attention. That's a risk we can't afford.”

Tip said, “Don’t worry, I’ll handle it. We’ll have something ready to go, guaranteed.”

Tip had contacts within the agency and confided, once in always in. I know of several times, after technically leaving, he was called back in for assignments. He was on a true sabbatical now, working security for the campaign.

Tip said, “You can’t get where these guys are and not be hiding something. Besides, most of the crew hitting Iowa, we don’t have to worry about anyway.”

Lisa projected her plan onto the screen, “We hit the top twenty-five states considering electoral votes only. We plaster New Hampshire so hard - the governors will only feel safe betting on us. We’ve got so much tape of Jack in New Hampshire - voters will think he’s all over the state. Most people only see the candidates on television, anyway.” Adding, “Everyone wants to pick the winner, the press will be begging for us up there.”

Bill agreed, “New Hampshire is the Big Story. We’ll shovel so much dirt on the Iowan group it will look like they’re half dead, or hopefully they’ll all just kill each other.”

“I like it--we go after the majority of the delegates, straight through to the convention.” Bud added.

Lisa was confident, “It’s for real, Jack. As long as we don’t make the formal announcement too early, we’ll have time to get your message out, before anyone spends money to come after us. We should get a pass through the Holidays.”

“Great, no debates until New Hampshire. In the meantime, we take our message on Energy for America directly to the voters. I think it will help in New Hampshire if we have a summer home in Maine and love their state. I’ll win them over with stories of all the non-political visits we've made. Just make sure there’s nothing on the tape dating it.”

Lisa shaking her head, “Jack, come on, it’s not like we’re gonna use film of you holding an old paper!”

Bud added, “Really, Lisa, as long as I’ve been around, I’ve seen stuff like that slip through.”

Bill joked, “And that's been a while!”

“You’re as old as I am,” Bud answered.

Bill nodded, “Bud, tell us again how you used to break it to McGovern when he was wrong.”

Bud answered, “We called in the consultants to do it... nobody else dared!”

Lisa asked, “Didn't that waste a lot of time?”

“Of course it did, but it wasn't just McGovern, it's every damn politician I've worked for!”

“What about me, Bud?”

Bud said, “We'll get Sandy to tell you.”

We all laughed, everyone knew Bud had no problem telling it like it is.

“The tape will be good, Bud,” Lisa assured.

“Good--Listen, we've got the organization to hit up party members headed for the convention. We’ll lean all over the congressional reps, promising campaign stops and money to those who'll support us now.”

I couldn't help myself, “What did Bush senior call it? Quid pro quo!” Everybody laughed again.

My jokes were getting funnier. Anyway, this should be easier once the governors were on board.

CHAPTER SIX

Sandy announced on the intercom, “Bill it’s the Saudis on one, would you like to take it in there?”

Bill answered, “That’s probably Omar. In here is good, everyone should hear this.”

“Hi, you’ve got Bill Mitchell.”

A voice on the other end of the line said, “Please hold for Mr. Omar Al Harbia.”

Bill told us, “Omar is the Crown Prince’s cousin. He’s in charge of all the social engagements for the Royal Family.”

A very friendly voice came on the line, oscillating in high- pitched broken English.

“Bill, glad to catch you. I wanted to express the most pleasant news - his Royal Highness is expecting your party’s arrival on Thursday the 11th in Dubai. If the date is agreeable, His Majesty will meet with you to discuss matters of mutual concern. Provided all is acceptable, I will arrange transportation and accommodations.”

I nodded to Bill, it sounded good.

Bill answered, “I’m sorry, Omar, the 11th won’t work. The Senator has official duties in Washington as head of the Armed Services Committee.” Looking at his blackberry, “Can you make it the 19th, that way he can be back in the United States for Thanksgiving?”

The voice on the phone paused, the noise was muffled, but it sounded like several people chattering back and forth…

“Good call, Bill.” I was so happy to get the okay from the Saudis I’d forgotten my senate obligations. I knew the prince would never send a jet if they didn’t plan to contribute.

“Very well, it’s all set. We will send our secretary to your office with the details and itinerary.”

Bud motioned to Bill, pointing at his watch, like they had discussed something earlier.

Bill said, “Omar, make sure they send the jet in the middle of the night; we don’t want anyone to see it.”

The voice lowered, “Very well.”

Later in the day, an emissary delivered a small token of the Prince’s appreciation for our agreement to visit. The gift was a pair of solid gold bookends, each weighing about a pound apiece. The itinerary was printed on fine parchment, the edges dipped in gold and wrapped in a leather outer cover emblazoned with the Royal Seal. The writing stated that a Royal Jet would be dispatched to pick us up and transport our party to Dubai. We’d spend the evening enjoying the top floor of the Royal Family’s 6-Star Hotel, and then be taken by armored limousine to the palace in the morning. We were offered to return by the route of our choice. Signed by the Prince who has many fine palaces he will make available to you, Omar[AMR6] .

Bill said, “Jack, we gotta roll our sleeves up and get to work on this Jatropha thing. We need to get the buzz going so the Saudis believe we could actually get the votes to get it done.”

I said, “Fine, write something up. We can shop around for some early support on the hill.”

Lisa said, “We don’t really want it to go anywhere for now, but we’ll have our people hand deliver it around.”

Bill said, “Yeah, so nobody else tries to steal it, get signed receipts to create a record we thought of the whole thing!”

Tip added, “Jack, after you’re elected, we’ll ram it down the Republicans’ throats.”

Lisa mentioned, “Our guys will be falling all over themselves to get on the bandwagon once you’re president.”

Bill threatened, “Any Dem who goes against us will be run out of town.”

“Bill, don’t be a hothead. We never want to make enemies with members of our own party. We can always persuade with a private meeting in the Oval; they’ll respond to that,” I advised.

Bud counseled, “We’ll get enough of em, you’ll see, we’ll have more votes than we need to make this happen. Jack’s right, I’ve only been in the Oval Office a few times, but the air of power in there is like no other place; it’s life changing.”

Lisa added, “Jack’s right, if there’s a few who want to do their own thing, we’ll just let them die on the vine and we won’t campaign for them.”

Bud said, “Try rot on the vine, no one will screw with us. Bill, just concentrate on New Hampshire and the fund-raising for now; we need some serious gold to win up there.”

Lisa said, "You aren’t kidding; the ads we have lined up are going to cost us about 15 million, just for New Hampshire!”

“That has to be some kind of record,” I said.

Bud added, “The ads will save us from Jack having to do too much meet and greet with the locals. I know you hate that. We are going to play the tape of you in New Hampshire over a much tighter message. We’re gonna need some good press right off the bat, as well.”

“Thanks, Bud,” I was grateful not to have to be running around too early.

Bud asked, “Jack, do you think we could send Kathy and the girls up there for a little vacation? We can get some of our friends in the press to cover the trip.”

Everybody in the room agreed with me - Kathy, my wife, just 50, was the perfect media darling. Known for her beautiful blond hair, she dressed fashionably, was well spoken, and best of all she was a team player. Kathy believed in my plans for the country from the very beginning. She thought being first lady would allow her to do the charity work she’d always dreamed of. My daughters are bright and cheerful and look great alongside their mother in photos. The younger, Bethany, at 10 is a petite brunette with blue eyes. She’s easy-going and smart and looks more like me.

The oldest, Martha, at fifteen is a five foot four-inch blond with green eyes, favoring her mother. She gets more beautiful with each passing day, but she’s becoming a bit of a handful. Thank God for Kathy, because I could never handle her alone.

I said, “The press can’t make too much out of a little shopping trip. It’s a good idea Kathy is practically a celebrity in New Hampshire; they love her up there. I’ll ask her to do it for me.”

“Do you think she’ll do it?” Bill asked.

“Let me think... shopping, the jet, time with the girls, yeah I think she will, Bud, load up the debit card!”

Bud said, “Jack, you should do a speech on your Energy Plan for America while the girls and Kathy are in New Hampshire. You know, since we’re gonna be shopping it, we don’t want anybody else trying to take any credit for our main card.”

Lisa said, “We don’t want to do the speech in Iowa; that just puts Jack in the fray.”

“Bud, what do you think about Kentucky? I’d be on friendly territory.”

Bud thought for a moment, “I like it. You being on home turf for the first run of this, we’d be able to get the kinks out.”

“How about Georgetown College?” Lisa asked.

Georgetown was just 13 miles north of my residence, in Lexington, Kentucky, and the home of Kathy’s Alma Mater, the University of Kentucky.

Lisa cautioned, “We need to have Jack look like an outsider somehow, or at least a maverick.”

Bud said, “Good thought, let’s do this thing Carter style and only invite a few of the local press. Make it look like the national media isn’t interested.”

“That’s good stuff Bud, Carter somehow managed to package himself as an everyman peanut farmer from Plains instead of a Nuclear Physicist who happened to be the Governor of Georgia.”

Bill said, “Yeah, let’s copy from his playbook. He had this great story about how he started out campaigning and only a couple reporters showed up for his first press conference. He went on to win the damned thing!”

I said, “Stories sell, if we can tell a good story, people will remember it to the grave. Carter had a great story.”

Bill said, “Great, we’ll do the speech on Energy in the afternoon and then fly over to Dubai that night, you’ll be back at the ranch for Thanksgiving.”

Everyone was nodding approval and looking my way.

“Let’s go with it. Are we good, guys?” That’s everyone’s queue to wrap it up.

As everyone filed out, Sandy came in.

“Are you okay, Jack, do you need anything?”

”Did you tape the game for me?”

“Of course. Don’t I always?”

“I’ll watch it then. Is there anything to drink in the fridge?”

“All your favorites. What are you in the mood for?”

“Maybe a cold one, no it’s a little early. Is my Red Bull in there?”

“Of course.”

I walked around the corner to the couch and sat down.

The L-shaped area of the office was my oasis; Sandy called it the club. When we were in Starbucks, I might have mentioned once or twice, I liked the worn out chairs and the relaxed atmosphere. Sandy decked this private nook out with a big screen TV, a beat up chocolate leather couch, a couple of matching club chairs, and a coffee table to park our feet. She threw some big soft pillows around and a couple of end tables so we’d have places to set our drinks.

Sandy hid our relaxation area behind a floor to ceiling bookcase. Then, she tied the two sections together by adding some glass shelves displaying model jets. A hand carved cherry bar was the only part visible from the office. Sandy said, ‘to get this area right, I spent more time on it than the rest of the 7th floor combined,’ but it’s because she wanted it to be perfect.

”Sandy, come here a minute. We haven’t had a chance to just sit and talk for a while.” She came over and sat close enough I could smell her perfume.

“What is it, Jack?”

“That’s a nice scent; what is it?”

“Oh you noticed. It’s Clive Christian; I got it at Neiman Marcus. I just thought I needed to treat myself.”

Taking off one of her gold hoop earrings she laid her head sideways, on the couch back cushion, “I thought of you when I picked it out.”

“Sandy, it’s going to get crazy around here.”

“That’s nothing new, Jack. That’s part of your charm; it’s always a Three Ring Circus around you.”

Sandy turned to look up at me, her big eyes enhanced by a smoky eye shadow, "Jack, I feel like I don’t belong anywhere but with you.”

I felt guilty - she was so perfect, so deserving of love. “This can’t be everything you had planned for your life, what did you want? I mean when you were younger?”

Sandy looked straight into my eyes and without her saying a word, I imagined what she was thinking. If our lips so much as grazed a passing touch, would that ignite a fire of passion that would have us tearing at each other’s clothes?

She looked away and spoke in a whisper, “People who love us as friends would never forgive us as lovers.”

“Sandy, you know I need you to keep an eye on the Senate staff when I’m on the road.”

"You can always count on me, but don’t think it’s not going to cost you. I’m still going to tease you every time you’re back in town!”

I laughed and Sandy shot me a look, like… “You just wait mister!”

“Tell me honestly, Jack. On the road, have you ever had any close calls?”

I took a deep breath. “I was weak many years ago and might have fooled around a bit, but never a relationship. None of the women had any substance. That’s why I need you so much; you understand. Be my friend; look out for me. We’re a team and we care for each other.”

Sandy emboldened, “How can you be so strong, Jack, aren’t you ever tempted, I mean with us?”

“Sandy, you’re beautiful and talented and I love everything you are to me, but I think of my wife and my girls and pray not to be.”

No longer able to contain her feelings, teary eyed, “Can you imagine? I love my work because you’re here and I get to be with you...”

I leaned to her and spoke into her hair, “I promise you’ll find someone. We’ll always be best friends. I’ll always care for you.”

We just sat there for five minutes. Then breaking the silence, Sandy asked, “Jack, do you remember the day we first met?”

“Sure I do…close your eyes… imagine this girl pops in through the door of a rented store front, our eyes met and my heart stopped… I remember she reminded me of Marilyn Monroe the way she looked in the early years in soft focus. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her.”

Sandy moved towards me and gently rested her head on my chest, “That was me, Jack.”

“Yes and I remember a black and white pencil skirt and a white blouse. I thought, ‘this girl must have her own personal designer creating clothes just for her.’”

Sandy never tanned and her soft white cleavage overflowed whatever she wore. It wasn’t a stretch to tell her a designer could be so inspired.

There was a knock on the office door, the door opened slightly. Tip was calling in through the opening, “Jack, may I have a word?”

“Sure Tip, come on in.” Tip walked into the office, came around the corner and took a seat in the chair nearest the couch where I was sitting. Sandy adjusted herself, quickly moving her head to my shoulder.

“Jack, I didn’t realize you were busy, I apologize, this subject matter may not be something…”

I said, “Tip anything you need to say can be said in front of Sandy.”

“He’s right, Tip,” Sandy said, “Jack could pull his gun from the wall safe and blow your brains out right in front of me. I’d stuff your dead corpse into a sack and clean up the mess. Jack is my life and I’m alone in this world without him.”

Tip said, “I like that about you. But really, Jack, what I’m going to say is sensitive.”

“You can say it Tip,” I said, insisting.

Tip asked, “Alright, would you like me to bug the plane, the hotel, the palace - when we go over to Dubai. It would give us valuable Intel in case any other candidate tries to use Oil money against you.”

I asked, “Don’t they sweep for bugs every day like we do here?”

“I’m sure they do, for the garden variety listening devices. What I’m suggesting is using chewing gum.”

Tip knew he had caught our attention. “What, Tip?” I said.

“I would use a random pulse device hidden inside chewed gum. I would leave chewing gum with the listening device stuck into corners, under tables, seats, the car, the plane, anywhere they might take us. The bug listens but only downloads data after receiving our signal; it’s nearly undetectable. After a few days or weeks, if we’re lucky, a cleaning person will find the gum scrape it off and throw it away. A month or so after we’re gone, we send for the data just one time. We get our download, and the evidence is in the trash without any way to trace it back to us. It’s super high-tech; the signal and download only take a few seconds. The kicker is, once the bug sends its data, it releases a drop of acid that destroys the inside. If anyone was able to pick up and trace the two-second transmission, all they’d find is some crunchy rotten tasting gum - in a dump somewhere.

“Tip, you’re going to be in charge of security when I’m president! Use the bugs, but it stays between the three of us. Handle it yourself.”

"Tip," I asked changing the subject, "Why didn’t Barker go after the drone that fell into Iranian hands? Does he know something that caused him to make that decision? Because he’s not an idiot.”

Tip said, “The drones have no computer on board, at least not the kind you’re used to; there’s just a transmitter-receiver that processes commands. All the software is back at Yucca Mountain. If the drone loses contact, it’s flown around by an autopilot, only a little more advanced than an expensive model plane. It turns for friendly territory until either it runs out of fuel or gains signal back. If the module loses contact with base for too long, or if it is tampered with, it burns itself up.”

“So, Barker was never worried at all, Tip?”

“He really had no need to be, the stealth skin is already available to the Chinese and the Russians. It really isn’t all that hard to come by if you’re a country that wants it bad enough. Barker just asked for it back, but he embarrassed America.”

I said, “He should've shown strength with a surgical strike to blow the thing up. That's the type of decisive action Americans respect. Instead, I think he showed weakness dealing with the Iranians.”

“You’re right, Jack, perception is nine-tenths of the law.”

Sandy added, “People don’t know what’s really going on and we’re not able to tell them.”

“Speaking of perception,” moving my finger back and forth between Sandy and myself.

“This isn’t what you might think, Tip. We’re really close friends and I rely on her for…”

Tip interjected, “Jack, everybody has friends. Speaking only for myself, I would walk through fire for you. Don’t feel you ever have to worry about me.”

Sandy's eyes widened as she explained, “Jack has a vulnerable quality women love.”

Tip stood up slowly, shaking his head, he motioned to excuse himself and left, closing the door quietly behind him.

Sandy laid her head back down on my chest, “Wow Jack, he has the sensitivity of a mole rat. I’m going to have a heart to heart with Lisa and ask her to keep a close eye out for you. Too many women will try to throw themselves at you.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Kathy and I stayed up late talking about the plans; she had great ideas and I loved how she thought quickly on her feet. All these years, she was always my closest confidant. My favorite place was at home with her. We always laughed and loved our time together. Kathy was also a very good mother. 'Jack,' she’d say, ‘I’ll take the girls out of school a few days before break and bring their tutors along, so they don’t miss any studies.' I could lose track of the kids sometimes, but Kathy made sure they had everything they needed, even when I forgot. She was like my mom in that way.

During the evening I explained, “Our message needs a side story about lackluster press to play along with it, the basic idea on its own isn’t that exciting.”

Kathy said, “I’ll play it to the hilt up there. Think of it Jack, reporters ask why the girls and I are in New Hampshire? I’ll tell them we summer in Maine and we’re here doing a little Christmas shopping. When they get to the real question, ‘Mrs. Canon, is your husband running?’ I’ll give them this,” Kathy gave her best Jackie Kennedy impression, “Oh, I don’t know if my husband is running. I wouldn’t mind, I think the country needs him.” We laughed.

“Honey, we’re going to run the press around in circles. We only want one major there and maybe a couple of locals. We’ve decided to tell the press the speech is in Lexington at the William T. Young Library, on the campus of the University of Kentucky. Meanwhile, we’ll be on the front steps of Georgetown College, 25 minutes away.”

Kathy said, still doing Jackie, “Jack, how wonderful! Right in front of those beautiful white pillars, perfect.”

“Honey, I love it when you do that! When the press finally catches up with us, we’ll give out the complete speech and all the details of our energy plan to take back and tell their editors they got it.”

“That’s good, Jack. Some things should be read and not said; the details of that energy plan are pretty dull.”

“The sizzle will be the story I’ll tell about how nobody in the press showed up to cover us.”

“The public will be incensed.”

“Carter did it! Imagine, a couple local reporters meet with common man Jimmy, in the rain, on little Main Street in Iowa. Honey, nobody gave the guy enough credit, he was a genius.”

Kathy said, “Remember the malaise thing? It was poetry Jack, he put on a sweater and blamed the American people and we believed him.”

“You’re right the country felt depressed just watching the guy. He told us if we’d been more positive, interest rates wouldn’t have been eighteen percent!”

Kathy laughed, “You’re mother called today and asked us to Thanksgiving at the ranch. I told her we’d love to come, but to have your dad call you to be sure about your schedule.”

“How do you feel about that? Are you up for it, or would you rather just stay here in Alexandria?”

“We should go down to Kentucky for Thanksgiving, but when your dad calls you, you have to tell him we’d like to have it over at our place. It will show better for the press. Your dad will understand. Your parent’s ranch will make you look too elitist and out of touch.”

I thought about what she was saying, the colonel’s ranch had 22 large windows stacked 11 per floor and eight white pillars each two feet thick across the front. My father made no apologies for living well. The main house was over 9,000 square feet with barns and out buildings sitting in perfect white brilliance, behind a twenty acre manicured lawn. He’d built a half-mile long, tree and four-post fence lined drive leading up to the house. She was definitely right - his over the top consumption was as conspicuous as though he had billions, not millions.

Kathy continued, “Anyway, our place is much cozier.”

I said, “That’s one of things I love about you, you’re always right. We can’t be filmed anywhere near that place until after the election.”

“Jack have you been working on your stump speech?” Kathy asked sounding really tired.

“Yep, we’ve got a team of good writers working on it, so far it’s pretty good. We meet to work on it every morning. Want to hear the first line?”

Kathy said, “Sure Jack.”

“Americans are called to freedom,” I spoke it like an orator. Punchy and tired she giggled. Then, turning to her side closing her eyes, “I love it Jack.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

I must have been exhausted because it was the first night in a long time I slept completely through the night. In the morning, my cell phone rang. I always kept it on the nightstand under my lamp beside the bed.

Still groggy, I wanted whoever was calling to know they had woken me the hell up, “Hel…lo.”

The voice on the other end had obviously been up for hours. Sounding like he’d had too much coffee, “Jack, your mother and I would like you and the girls to come down to the ranch for Thanksgiving. How about it, son?”

My father, Theodore James Canon, nicknamed the Colonel, not because of any military service, it was just a fond name his friends called him. Partly in fun, he lived in Kentucky and partly because he owned five thousand acres there. The colonel was 84 years old and had beginning Alzheimer’s, though only close family knew it, and had been bound for the last few years to wheelchair. Suffering from severe arthritis, he could stand only briefly, sometimes in stabbing pain.

Other than the chair, the Colonel looked great for a man his age. He had thick white hair, a neatly trimmed mustache, shiny blue eyes, and always a happy smile. His big worn and nicotine stained teeth only added to his charm. My dad had nothing to complain about. He married his high school sweetheart, Mabel Warren, made a fortune in business, and now in retirement, raised prized thoroughbred racehorses.

My mother, Mabel Warren could trace her roots back to the Mayflower, the Colonel loved that fact, and Mom was a proud member of the Daughters of the Revolution. Mom grew up in Boothbay Harbor, Maine, along the seacoast; it was there she met Dad. Three years younger than the Colonel, they met at a dance put on by her church when she was only a freshman in high school. Mabel was a beautiful woman still, healthy and strong. She was so proud to be the mother of the Senator from Kentucky.

Theodore Canon had been a bit of a handful for his parents. To keep him out of trouble, the family bought a can company in Portland, Maine. Dad began canning precooked meat at the suggestion of a military man who visited his office to ask if he could help Uncle Sam with the war effort. Always having a keen business sense, once the supply chain was locked, he raised prices every chance he could, factoring in renovations and new equipment. Cost-plus, the military called it, made my father rich.

A Portland attorney worked it all out so everything was basically legal. Once the factory was at its peak, Dad realizing the war was waning, sold out to Northern Can Company. When the war ended, Northern closed the factory, blaming lackluster sales. By that time, my dad was long gone and had purchased the start of what would be his ranch in Kentucky, the Bluegrass State, where I was born.

No one ever blamed him for the factory closing. When our family owned the can company it was humming along - the military contract being a cost-plus deal, made Dad look like a hero to the locals. When the military contract ended, the people of Portland blamed Northern for bad management. The press was relentless in its criticisms of the company. The empty shell sits there today, across from South Portland, and the oil tanks along the Fore River. Water has crept in and caused the bricks to crumble around the edges; the buildings are no longer safe or usable for anything.

My official address for voting purposes is Kentucky. Kathy and I own a beautiful white southern colonial with four thick white pillars spaced across an open front porch with a glossy gray floor. The Colonel built us the place at the southeast corner of his ranch. Kathy flies down to decorate the house to the nines for Christmas - to the delight of friendly local media who are eager to film the once a year happy story. It’s the highlight of a reporter’s career to land an invitation to this event.

The grounds, the lights, the holiday spreads, Kathy lays everything out so beautifully. Kentuckians just adore her. She makes gift bags for everyone who visits and writes personal thank you notes. She makes a point to stay in touch with reporters who do a favorable story. Christmas and holidays are really the only time the girls ever stay in Kentucky - after all, they were both born in Alexandria Virginia, which is where we call home.

We live just a few miles from Pentagon City where Joe Brenner set us up in the new campaign headquarters. The girls spend most the year in school in Alexandria, but we try to get up to Maine for summers at Sebago Lake.

It’s relaxing up there. I can put on a pair of sunglasses and Boston Red Sox baseball cap and go anywhere in the Portland Area, unrecognized. I fly right into the Portland Jetport, then take a car I keep there and head to the lake to be with Kathy and the girls.

I love to drive fast up Route 302, a holdover from my time as an A-10 Warthog pilot with the Air Guard. I remember one time in particular, I was stopped by the Maine State Police for reckless driving. The trooper told me he clocked me at over 115 miles per hour in a 55.

The officer took a slow walk up to the car, “Sir, license and registration.”

I answered, “Sure.”

In as condescending a tone as I’ve ever heard, “Did you realize you were driving over one hundred miles per hour?”

“Sorry, just tryin' to get home to see the kids.”

“Give me the keys from the ignition, you won’t be going anywhere but jail tonight. Don’t get any bright ideas either, I have backup on the way. Believe me, you don’t want the trouble.”

He was right about that, I was tired and just wanted to get home. I reached into the glove box then handed him my license, registration, and keys.

I said, “You’re right, officer, I don’t want any trouble with the Windham Police.”

He corrected me, “State Police,” and mumbled something taking my keys and paperwork back to the squad car. Moments later, returning to my window rather quickly, he gave me my paperwork and keys, speaking apologetically.

“Oh Senator Canon, I am so sorry for my mistake. I really hope you can realize I didn’t know it was you. It’s very late and dark and I didn’t recognize the car. My sergeant wants me to be sure to tell you - in the future - he would personally like to arrange escort if you need it, or happen to be in a hurry, and also he would like to apologize on behalf…”

I cut him off, “Listen son, I understand you’re only doing your job, and a good job at that. It’s my fault I can’t seem to keep this lead foot off the gas, not yours. Tell your sergeant I said everything is okay, and to forget it and I mean that, to forget it.”

Sounding relieved, “Thank you, sir. It’s an honor to meet you, and I'm sorry for the circumstances. By the way, my sergeant told me you were probably running for president.”

“We’ll see son, have a good night.”

I hit the pedal all the way to the floor and tore off in the black 63 corvette, the only year Chevy made it with the split rear window. I had dropped the 350 and replaced it with the faster 409 engine. I burned a lot of rubber leaving only a cloud of smoke. I passed three more cruisers, blue lights flashing, still on their way to the scene, hitting 110 as I passed through Raymond. One trooper even started to turn around, siren blaring, but then his lights turned off and all was quiet.

By then it was three o’clock in the morning and the roads were empty except for the cops I passed. I respect the police and would never cause a working man any problems. The trooper was just a regular guy trying to make a living and support a family. I’m all about helping these guys fight against the big money that makes their lives so hard.

Nothing like the Colonel, he had a cop’s legs broken once to keep him from showing up in court. Mom was coming home from a party one night when she was young. After dropping off a few girlfriends, she was picked up for drunk driving. The cops who brought her back to the station were a bit rough with her. The Colonel was so pissed he hired some Portland thugs to rough up the cop who arrested her - just enough to scare him into skipping court, dismissing the case against Mom. The men the Colonel hired went too far and broke both the cop’s legs. He never made it to court. Lucky for me no one ever traced the incident to the Colonel. If that kind of thing ever got out it could cause a lot of trouble. The Colonel had a few other skeletons, mostly land grabbing, but nothing that ever stuck.

CHAPTER NINE

I learned to fly with the Indiana Air Guard. In ’75 after graduation, I spent the summer traveling through Europe with nothing but a backpack. It was the same summer I decided all I wanted to do was fly fighter jets.

The A-10 is the ultimate machine, with a cruising range of 800 miles and a top speed of 420 miles an hour; I couldn’t wait to get in one and fly it. The first time I ever saw one, I was nearing the Indiana Guard base for a flight physical. The sound was deafening as the jet, the military calls the tank killer, flew from what looked to me to be  20 feet off the ground straight up to 5000 feet in a few seconds. The thrust from the engine looked like the burning end of a lit flare, as the jet headed straight for the sky.

The plane was equipped with a fuselage built to withstand 23 mm gunfire, an autopilot for close to ground missions, and night vision goggles, so it could be flown in the dark.

There were a lot of kids my age wanting to fly for the guard that day. I managed to pass the flight physical with flying colors. The doctor even commented to his assistant that I was a physical specimen. He only found one problem he needed to tell me about, I was partially colorblind, something to do with blue, gray, and green. I’d never noticed my impairment before, since in real life I rarely pick out numbers from closely colored dots. I guess the military has their reasons, but I always thought I could see all the colors in the rainbow.

I guess the doctor must have sensed my disappointment because what he said next surprised me. He told me he would put me through if I really wanted, but I’d be on my own after that. He wanted to be sure I knew, if I failed again, I’d be on ground patrol. Taking me aside, he said, “Listen kid, some guys like you memorize the test, you could try that. It’s up to you, if you want to chance it.”

I said, “I do, sir.” Then I got the bright idea to find Base Commander’s office and march in to introduce myself. I figured meeting the guy couldn’t hurt my chances. The base commander was an important looking guy in his fifties. From a seated position behind a steel-gray desk, he looked up at me for only a second - motioning me to speak before continuing with his work.

He must have liked what I had to say because when I finished he jumped up to shake my hand, “Son you’re the only one who had the gumption to come up here and find me today. I like your chutzpah, the guard needs the type of guy who takes the bull by the horns to fly one of these things. Have you ever been in an A-10 Warthog, son?”

I didn’t want to spoil my chances, but I told the truth. “No, sir.” I never forgot what that gravelly voice said next, “Well son, if you want to stick around for a while, I’ll see that you get up in one today. If after that, you’re still as gun ho about this as you are now, then I guess we’ve got our new pilot.”

That day, all on my own, I made something big happen in my life. The same afternoon, I was introduced to a captain by the name of Bill Mitchell. In what I later realized was only a routine ride, with a face full of my own vomit, I made a fast friend for life. Bill was the Squadron Commander, strong and confident. He took me under his wing and showed me the ropes. We had so much fun in the guard together. Bill was good-looking - I knew it from the way women gawked at him. Not the usual way girls do, when they don’t want to get caught. I’m talking about a ‘stop what they’re doing, I don’t even care if he see’s me’ type of stare. I wasn’t jealous, though, ‘cause after, they’d look at me and smile, too. I felt cool just being with him.

I met Kathy on a warm fall day in 1977. Bill and I had driven up to Georgetown from Lexington to go to the State Agricultural Fair. The pulling was my favorite, I loved to watch the oxen and draft horses work the loads. As a trainer in college, I modeled my own workouts after the methods I observed watching the contestants with their animals. “See how they do that,” I told Bill.

“Do what?” Bill asked.

“See how they work the animals to fatigue, and then when their energy starts to drain, they give them a short rest?” Digging into the dirt for traction, coats glistening with sweat the animals gave it their all. The arena filled with the sound of animals breathing heavy and snorting as they caught their breath.

Bill answered, “You mean sort of working in spurts and then taking it easy?”

“Not exactly, see how each pull gets shorter and the rest gets longer? The last pull is an all out effort to total fatigue.”

Bill replied over the applause, “Well I never really gave it that much thought. You’re always analyzing everything.”

By the end of the day, I was feeling the chill as the sun completely disappeared. I had left my jacket in the truck. It was so warm at noon when we got to the fair, I didn’t think I’d need it. The only light was coming from the carnival midway and some strings the organizers had strung up along the walkways.

I asked Bill, “Hey, want to grab a slice of pizza and a coke and head back to the…”

I never finished the thought ‘cause that’s when I saw her.

The most beautiful girl I’d ever seen was walking toward me wearing this pair of green knickers. Kathy got in line. I couldn’t believe my good luck. I quickly took the next place behind her. I stood there transfixed, looking at this beautiful blonde. I noticed her hair was a little wet making her natural curls bounce as she moved. She had great legs, what I could see of them. I remember staring down at my sneakers, pawing at the mix of trampled grass and sawdust, as if that would help me get the nerve to say something. I was fidgeting a little to keep warm, worrying she might get her order and just walk away.

Just then fate and luck merged, Kathy turned around, and in the sweetest carefree voice said, “Oh, please go before me, I haven’t made up my mind yet.”

“That’s when I blurted out in my half shivered voice, arms crossed against my body, “Your hair’s wet.”

She smiled, “Yeah, I was walking by the water flume ride and some kid sprayed me, I must look gross.”

“I blurted, you don’t look gross at all your hair looks great wet.” I couldn’t believe I was hearing myself say the following and it’s still embarrassing 27 years later, “I fly jets for the Indiana Guard.”

Her answer, without missing a beat, “You do, do ya?”

I gathered myself and called out as she was walking away, “Hey, what’s your name?”

She smiled the most beautiful smile back at me, “Kathy Winn,” she called back.

I watched her every motion as she walked away before being swallowed up by the crowd.

Just then, Bill with pizza in hand said, “Jack, I got us both a slice. I could see you were busy, you ready?” Just then, I realized I was getting colder by the minute. I grabbed the slice he held out and headed quickly for the truck. We could both move pretty fast, but the trade-off was the faster we ran the colder I got. I settled for a very quick walk, legs straight out like a speed walker.

We hurried into the parking lot and headed for the truck. I didn’t pay attention to the barker sitting high up in a perch joking with us as we passed. Once I saw the truck, I broke into a run with Bill just a split second behind me. By the time I sat in the driver’s seat, it was so cold it sucked the remaining heat right out of me. Teeth chattering, I started the car. I turned the temperature dial to red but waited while the truck warmed up, being careful not to turn the fan on until I knew it would blow some hot air.

Bill said, “We shouldn’t have had those icy drinks.”

I responded, teeth chattering, “Ya think?”

Once the air was warm, I turned it up full blast and slowly returned to my preferred temperature –warm. I put the truck in reverse and got into the long line of cars waiting to leave. “Bill, that girl I met was an angel.” He said, “I saw, did you ask her out?”

“No,” I answered, “But I’ll tell you, I wish she was…my girlfriend.”

Then, I changed the subject, feeling bad that I hadn’t taken the chance.

“Bill, are you going up tomorrow? I need four more hours of flight time this month.”

I remember Bill telling me he had his hours. Then he told me he was going to ask his girlfriend Melissa to marry him at the fireworks the next night. He said she made him tingle and vowed he’d never look at other women if she said yes.

Melissa was originally from Waterville, Maine. I loved her mid coast accent; it was adorable. Even though we moved when I was young, talking to her felt like home. Her brown eyes sparkled with love when she looked at Bill.

That night, thinking of Kathy Winn, I pulled out of the State Fair, hit the gas, and headed for home. Trying to get her out of my mind, I cranked up the AM Radio of my old Chevy Step side. We listened to Hank Williams all the way back to Lexington and sang the choruses at the top of our lungs.

I took my hours the following afternoon, which was also the day I probably pulled the craziest stunt ever in that jet. I always fooled around, doing loops and rolls, pushing it once I got out of eyeshot from base. But what I did this day was fool hardy and could have landed me in the brig.

It was a beautiful partly cloudy day when I got the okay from the tower to take off. The sun was just barely peaking through beautiful white powder puffs, the kind I always loved to fly through.

I’d close my eyes and pull the throttle all the way back and push the speed to the max, then with my back pressed four G’s against the seat, I’d open my eyes in the middle of the bright white mist. In the complete whiteout, I’d pull the stick back and go straight up toward the sun.

That wasn’t the crazy part. For some reason on this flight, I got the bright idea to fly from our base in Indiana all the way to Lexington, Kentucky to my mom and dad’s ranch. I knew I’d have to push hard to get there and back in my allotted time. You don’t take a 9 million dollar jet out for a joy ride and get back late.

To fly down to the ranch, I would have to press the envelope the whole way and fly away from the homes. Those A-10’s are really loud, not so much when they’re coming at ya, but after they go by, and I didn’t want some overly concerned citizen to call the base wondering what was going on. So I flew high, the full forty thousand foot ceiling, as fast as I could go, and then on to Lexington. My plan was just to see if I could make it there and back, but once I got close, I dipped down to under one thousand feet. When I flew by the ranch, I brought it down really low—so low I could see my parents sitting on the front porch looking up.

The A-10 was designed to come up on tanks from near ground level and eat em up with rapid-fire canons. The technology was so good a pilot could hug the ground, unseen, come up over a hill and fly right at a tank, do business and then fly nearly straight up a mile high out of harms way in seconds.

What I did after seeing my parents watching was purely on impulse and something I’ve never even mentioned to Bill. After a Fly By, I quickly turned it around and landed on the dirt road along the far side of the ranch. I turned toward the house and taxied all the way up to the front yard.

My mom nearly fainted and all I could hear my dad saying was, “Do you have a screw loose, son? Are you crazy? Has the Indiana Guard made a terrible mistake giving you the keys to that thing?”

“They don’t have keys, Dad,” I said, jumping down off the wing. Those cockpits are pretty high up—about ten feet in the air.

“Dad, Mom, I wanted to see you both, but I do have to get back. Dad, will you grab your stepladder from the garage? It’s too high for me to climb back up.”

My dad could still move pretty fast in those days, and all he wanted was me to ‘Get that plane back to the barn,’ I think he said.

I climbed up onto the wing, slid the canopy closed and hit the ignition. I remember Mom and Dad running back to the porch, Dad carrying the ladder. I taxied down to the end of the dirt road - then full-out throttle up, light from half empty tanks, barely made it off before the road was gone - scraping through some trees on the way out.

CHAPTER TEN

“Jack it’s your brother on the phone,” Kathy said, shaking her head.

“What’s he sound like?” I asked. She was holding the receiver against her side so he wouldn’t hear. Kathy usually didn’t put me on the phone when Roger called. She’d listen for a while and tell him I’d call him back. This wasn’t one of those times. Kathy handed me the phone with an ‘I don’t know’ look.

I’m the younger of two sons. I have an older brother named Roger. You know how some things in retrospect seem better than they actually were? The good times look great and the bad times seem to fade off or you forget.

We all went to the bus station that June day - my brother had just graduated from high school. Roger grabbed us all together for a big hug saying, “Don’t worry Momma, I’m going to go kick some commie ass and then I’ll be back to help Daddy with the ranch.” Mom told Roger not to talk like that, as she fixed herself. His big toothy smile reminded me of our dad - Roger looked just like him. Before the military, Roger enjoyed his life. He loved the ranch, anything to do with that place. He'd bring his girlfriends up to the hayloft in the barn. I remember the girls used to giggle a lot. He loved to ride horses and especially motorcycles. He'd leave a cloud of dust, riding fast down the long dirt road in the back of the house on an old Indian he bought off a guy in town. I was his kid brother, six years younger. To me, Roger had the whole world on a string.

What I most remember about Roger was that he was so kind to me.

“Roger,” I said as I put the receiver to my ear.

“You no good piece of dog shit,” Roger was slurring his words again. “You ain’t a war hero, just a pretty boy who lands planes in the backyard to scare his friggin mother half to death!”

“Roger,” trying to make some sense of his rant, “you've gotta get some help.”

My brother was a liability to the campaign, to my parents, to anyone who was unlucky enough to be near him. It started the summer Uncle Sam took him from us. That happy-go-lucky kid that hugged us when he left fell back into our arms with a hurt time couldn’t dull when he returned.

My father tried so hard to bring Roger back to the way he was, but he just wasn’t able to.

We all piled into the car and drove to the bus station, excited to pick up Roger. It had been two months since he was wounded in action, and the Army was sending him home. I couldn’t wait to see him.

Mom said, “We’ll give Roger his old room and he can go to college. Oh, Ted, it’s going to be so wonderful to have our son home.”

The news of Roger, hurt in a hospital thousands of miles from home, almost killed our mother; she couldn’t sleep more than a few hours a night and watched the news every chance she got, as if that would bring him home faster. She hollered, cried, sat on the porch, and smoked. She even called our minister to ask the point to all of it.

The truth was, the war was dragging on and more and more young men, mostly from poor families, were being sent halfway across the world to fight. Despite many arguments with Mom, our dad refused to arrange for a deferment, so two weeks after his Senior Prom, Roger packed his bags and went to war. Mom never quite forgave the Colonel.

More people were protesting at home and demonstrating against Vietnam. The 60’s counterculture and the peace movement were a reaction to the outrage society had over the war. How dare a group of rich old white men send poor young boys to fight a war in a land they didn’t know, against people they never heard of, for reasons they didn’t understand?!

Time itself proved the Communist system couldn’t work.

When we got Roger home from the bus station, we continued our reunion on the front porch. Mom poured us lemonade and we all sat staring out into the yard. It was late September, and the leaves had turned and were abounding in a mosaic of colors.

Roger recounted the horror of his days in Vietnam.

Sobbing, “I've been to hell Momma, I’ve been where angels fear to tread.”

Mom held him tight rubbing his head, “Sometimes people need time to get better.”

Roger told us he’d first been assigned to a mid-range gun squad. His days consisted of loading high-powered canons firing into enemy encampments. He could hear the longer-range projectiles flying overhead all day with shorter range up front. He hated it, especially the talk that villages had been shelled. When the army asked him to work on helicopters, he jumped at the chance. It wasn’t until early evening when we felt a chill that moved our conversation into the front parlor that Roger told us of the ordeal of how he'd been wounded in action.

He began, “That morning started like every other. Each squad prepares their Huey, going through a checklist to load and prepare for the day’s mission.”

“First fuel and ammunition are loaded, small bombs are strapped on, then me and my buddies load in and belt up. Our pilot got the command to go and the engine began its whirring sound... the blades making that familiar rhythmic humming thud.”

“Our mission was to fly into enemy territory and empty as many rounds as we could. The enemy sits high in the trees so we spray them with as much metal as we can fire. The noise is deafening as the guns vibrate in our hands. When the end of the barrel glows red-hot, we have to let it cool down for about thirty seconds before firing again.” Roger paused and made eye contact with each of us then continued.

“The idea is to keep the firing steady, but not let the gun get so hot it jams. You get a feel for the length of time you can fire and coordinate your cool downs by listening to the other guns.”

“With the four guns, we try to make continuous fire. The problem with Huey’s is they’re big and slow and the enemy can see and hear us coming. It's a challenge to maintain your nerve; guys freak out all the time over there. I tried not to think we were firing thousands of deadly rounds at human beings. I pretended I was just target practicing back at the ranch. I imagined my bullets never hit anyone that didn’t deserve it. I mean, they were firing back at us, I kept that gun hot to stay alive.” On that thought, Roger rocked back and balanced on two legs of his chair with his feet on the coffee table. I was surprised Mom allowed that.

“It was hard to fall asleep at night. We didn’t know who we were firing at, and they didn’t know us; we had traveled so far to get to this place. I'd lay awake thinking why are we doing this?”

“From the chopper it looked like the villages below were inhabited by the poorest people in the world. What had they done to bring the wrath of the most powerful nation on earth down on their heads?”

Roger looked at each of us shaking his head, “Thou shalt not kill, except when Uncle Sam says so. When I was lying in the hospital I felt like I deserved the pain for what I did, for being part of the war.”

Mom told Roger, “God forgives soldiers who have fought for their country. He has the most amazing love and forgives us what we are forced to do. I don’t know why they sent you there, but I do know the Good Lord has brought you back to us, which is our blessing. We need to be thankful.”

I smelled a whiff of Mom's famous apple pan doughty baking in the stove. She had popped it in the oven to make Roger feel a little more at home. My mouth was watering at the thought of tasting the caramel glazed crust Mom made from her own secret recipe.

Mom excused herself to fetch us all a slice. When she returned, she was carrying a tray with four slices of warm pie and a pitcher of her fresh squeezed lemonade.

Roger began telling us what happened the day he was wounded. We all sat spellbound listening as he recounted the horrible events.

“We had just finished a run through De Nang province in central Viet Nam. Flying back to base, five or six Huey’s in formation, when our ammo got low. It was just a typical afternoon - a bunch of kids firing machine guns strapped into a killing machine, heading back to reload.”

Roger continued, “Out of nowhere we took heavy fire. I felt three quick stabs like hornet stings go into my leg. I heard the deafening whirl of the copter's engine as it began to slow; the pilot was yelling into the radio as we fell out of the sky. The cabin smelled of burning grease, the kind Daddy uses on his tractors, and black smoke was billowing all around me. I must have passed out for a second cause all I remember is spinning and hitting the ground hard.

“A minute later, two of our Huey’s circled back around to empty their guns into the long grass and trees up the rise from where we were.

“I remember thinking these guys can’t have much ammo left.

“One of the choppers got hit and disappeared in a swirl of black smoke crashing just over the rise. I turned my torso, wrenching my body to look but I couldn’t see it. All I saw was a fireball climb into the sky... then a second later, I heard the deafening sound of my buddy’s helicopter exploding. My mind was numb from fear but I imagined them burning.

“Just then, the other Huey came around and landed about a hundred yards back from us. I could hear the rapid fire of their guns returning fire just over our heads into the rise. Our guys were making an all-out effort to keep the Cong from coming on us. Then the guns were silent.”

“They must have run out of ammo 'cause everything got real quiet. I could hear my own heart thudding in my chest and with every beat, my leg pulsed with searing pain. My wounds were gushing and I realized I was drenched in blood and sweat. I called out, then I heard one of my buddies cry out ‘mama’. Or maybe it was me.”

“I was thinking of you, mama.” Roger looked over at the woman who had given us the warmth and comfort of the purest love we'd ever known.

“I wanted you!” Roger was speaking as though he and Mom were the only ones in the room.

Our mother, teary eyed, moved close to Roger and gave his forehead one of her gentle kisses - the kind she used to give tucking us in at night. Just over Roger’s head with her eyes fixed directly on her husband’s my mother shot a look of defiance that said ‘my boy’s not going back.’

Dad had been quiet but nodded back to her and said to Roger, “It sounds like you had a hell of a wreck son, what happened to the other guys?”

“I was the only one they dragged out of there alive, Daddy. The pilot and all the rest were dead. The crew from the second Huey made their way to me, loaded me on a gurney, and dragged me, low under the bullets whizzing over their heads, back to the chopper. I remember feeling such a relief; the last thing I heard was the whirling of the blades as the engine was starting up. I passed out and woke up in a field hospital behind the lines. The doctors saved my leg but those three shots sent me home.”

Dad said, “We're damn proud to have you back.”

“Daddy,” Roger said, “All I could think about, lying in that hospital bed, was how brave those guys were to come back. Low on ammo, that first chopper fired into the hill to keep the Cong from taking me. Bravery that got them killed.”

In a moment of clarity, Roger asked, “Why are we letting guys fight on the ground when we have those jets that can do so much damage and then get the hell out of there?”

We all shook our heads. At 16 years old, I didn’t have the words to answer. We sat late into the night listening to the crickets through partially opened parlor windows, curtains whisping lightly from the mild breeze, our only light glowing from candles flickering on the windowsills.

Looking back now, I realize the army sent us back damaged goods, and there had been nobody to complain to really. We all wanted to believe the illusion, that Roger had returned to us, but he never really let himself come back. For years, Mom and Dad tried to fix Roger. They’d take him to see doctors and specialists and we’d get our hopes up, only to have our dreams dashed on the rocks after the eventual meltdown, Mom usually hysterical, Dad bailing their son out of a jam. The colonel had a lot of friends and influence and, over the years, he set Roger up in various jobs and business ventures. Things would get close to normal for a while but would eventually turn bad.

The time Roger met Evelyn was different. She was special, I thought if anyone could bring him back from the war in his head she could. Evelyn was a sweet girl with shoulder length hair, kind brown eyes, a cute little laugh, and a great big smile. I remember her hair was a shade of red that looked almost fluorescent when the bright sun hit it.

She was a dancer in town, and Mom started off calling her ‘Bimbi’ behind her back. I don’t think Mom realized how good that girl was for Roger. She quit dancing soon after they met and Roger moved out of the house and into her apartment. Evelyn was fun to be around; she would jump on my back, hug me really tight, and say ‘give me a horseback ride little brother’. I’d carry her as long as I could, and when I’d get tired, we’d flip onto the couch.

I could see why Roger loved her. She was beautiful and kind. When she was around us, we were more fun. I couldn’t wait for her to come by and I’d walk around the house hoping out loud that she'd visit. Evelyn was always the first to laugh and if I didn’t get her jokes, she would jump on my lap and tickle me until I did.

Mom eventually came around saying, “Evelyn's good for Roger, a little crazy, but she's got a big heart.”

“She's a little wild but marrying her would be the best thing for him,” Dad would always answer.

I was plain in love with her. I thought it would be great to have her as a permanent part of the family. I remember thinking she must love her kids an awful lot to have tattoos of them, one on each arm. Only a good mom would do that. Evelyn became a best friend to me and even set me up with some of her younger friends. We kept it secret so we didn’t upset my mother.

Mom planned the wedding for the spring - it was really quick, with Roger being back only 7 months. We all had our hopes up so high! Dad built Roger a beautiful home on the far end of the ranch, with a small barn big enough for the ponies he bought for the kids.

“Nana Mabel,” the kids would call out when they visited us, riding the miniature Shetlands named Mustang and the Red Baron. Mother quickly fell in love with the children.

One morning, a few months after the wedding, I came down for breakfast and saw Mom crying by the stove. She told me Evelyn had gone. Taking very few things, she stole away with her kids in the middle of the night - something about Roger nearly drinking himself to death. It wasn’t Evelyn’s fault and we all knew it.

Dad sent some men to find her anyway to ask what happened. They didn’t have the heart to bring her back.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The next morning was my sixteenth birthday and I half awoke to the sound of an angry cricket trying to finish his nighttime song. The sun had made its first attempt to peer in, but was not yet strong enough to bathe the room in light, and the early birds had taken up the chorus. I pulled the sheets around and rearranged my pillow for the last few minutes of heaven before I had to get up. Roger was finally back and I could really relax.

I must have dozed off because when I awoke the room was awash in light and the kitchen radio was playing. Mom had turned it up fairly loud and was humming along while cooking our breakfast. It sounded like she was back to her old self. Her usually pleasant way had hardened when Roger was away. It was nice to hear her happy.

I smelled fresh brewed coffee, bacon, and Mom's scones baking in the stove. Mom was glad to have her boy home and safe. I was thankful to be waking up in the softest bed in the world, and thinking about how lucky the four of us were to be back together again. I like the time between five and seven in the morning best to lay in bed and daydream. I got dressed and made my way downstairs.

“Morning, Mom.”

“Are you going to have some breakfast with your brother?”

“Where’s Dad?” I asked.

“Oh he’s already out starting the men on their chores. Jack, Honey, after breakfast, your father would like your help in the barn.”

When I turned sixteen the ranch was around a thousand acres. It had a long dirt road that spanned half the length of the place, about a hundred feet from the back of the barn. Every late spring, once the mud season was over, Dad would get out his big John Deere tractor and drag the road. He'd add a fresh gravel mix of small stones and clay to flatten it out and remove any potholes that developed over the winter. Everything on the ranch was well cared for and Dad took pride in keeping things up.

The setting was especially picturesque; the main driveway to the house was lined with hundred-year-old oaks and behind the trees was a white wooden fence. There was always a lot of work to do on the ranch, and Dad had two hired hands to help out.

I made my way out to the barn - it had bright white freshly painted clapboards in the front and two large heavy black wooden doors. The sides of the barn were shaker shingles stained gray. The side closest to the house had three large windows usually left open to give the horses air.

When I opened the door, I saw my dad holding a cloth in his hand shining a 1968 Chevy step side. The truck was beautiful, a deep red color with the grill painted out to match the body. It had white wall tires on white steel rims, and a small block V-8 and short bed he knew I liked.

“Happy Birthday, son,” Dad called out. Everyone was smiling. I looked behind me and saw my mom and brother Roger back by the open door.

Dad half joked, “Now you can help with some of the hauling around here!” My mom put her arm around me.

I told her, “I have two presents, a beautiful truck and Roger home.”

Mom leaned closer to me and whispered in her sweet familiar voice just to me, “Happy Birthday Jack, this is a wonderful day.”

The truck was truly a surprise - in all the excitement of having my brother back, I hadn’t even remembered it was my birthday.

“Happy Birthday Jack,” Sandy’s voice called out as she entered briskly into the office. “I got you a little something.”

She placed a small package on the front of my desk saying, “Senior Staff in five minutes.”

“Hey, Sandy, have Bill bring Tom in if he can find him; I have a few thoughts for the stump speech.”

Tom Gardener reported to Bill and was a key member of his support staff. Tom was our lead speechwriter and we called him in whenever we had ideas. He was from Alabama and graduated from Auburn University. In his late 30’s, he’d gotten his masters in history from Brown and had been a lecturer there. He was sharp, articulate, and had authored a book on political history for college students. He was the guy you didn’t want to match wits with because he was so quick. You had to know Tom to understand his quirky sense of humor. He was the guy in the office who sent off-color emails and remembered every word of the TV shows he’d watched as a kid. The first time Bill introduced me to Tom he warned, ‘the guy’s a little weird, Jack, but his text reads like oration’.

After everyone was settled, I spoke, “Tom, can you work something up with this, ‘Can you be full if another man is hungry, can you be safe if your homeland is in danger, what are we if we can’t be free?’” Tom shook his head and snickered, “Sounds a little over the top, Jack, sort of Martin Luther King channeling you.”

Tom was dead on; I pictured King speaking those words on the National Mall when I wrote them.

“How bout if I tone it down a little and make it a little more Jack Canon?”

“Okay, Tom, good call; nobody knows how to write me better than you!” I said laughing.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Everything in nature follows a form shaped like a bell curve, the consultant told us. After interviewing dozens of firms, we hired Patch and Patch, a media consultant group whose specialty was helping companies with major product launches. The group was famous in corporate circles for the introduction of My Basket, a personal life management system that intuitively kept a person organized. My Basket collected and stored everything the user did by cell phone - through verbal and keystroke commands and by following every click on other keyboards programmed in by the user. The software listened to phone conversations, followed emails, and based on a compilation of all the data, continually searched the internet to help with anticipated needs. It was amazing and if I had thought of it, we wouldn’t need the Saudis’ money to win the election.

The only problem with the Patch group is they looked a little too smart and young and that was annoying.

The consultants had been talking for a while when I zoned back in to hear. “You follow, for example, at an entrance to a supermarket, you’ll see that folks will park concentrated toward the entrance pushing out like a bell in the center and tapering off at the sides. If there are two entrances, like with two stores at a mall, there will be two distinct bell curves.”

“Broccoli, trees, cauliflower, everything follows this natural tendency. Whole plants follow the curve rising up to a gradual peak, then taper off with each individual stock or section following the trend down to the smallest leaf. We at Patch feel campaigns can follow this curve as well, and we believe that allowing us to time your advertising would maximize its effectiveness.”

It made sense, I remember Kathy saying to me while we were rushing to get into Disney World, ‘head for the end there’s less people.’ I also remembered something else about that trip - a guy I barely knew saw us, screamed from a hundred feet away, and approached me as if we were best friends. People love the familiar, the further a person is away from home the happier they are to see a familiar face.

I stopped daydreaming and rejoined the conversation. “Isn’t this just 'follow the herd' mentality? When I was younger and Kathy and I would be on trips alone together, for fun I used to step off the curb before the walk signal, New York, Vegas, anywhere there were lots of people, you’d be surprised how many would just begin walking.”

Lisa said, “Great, Jack, did you get anyone killed?”

“I don’t do it anymore... but I’m making the point - people tend to follow the bandwagon.”

The consultant said, “You’re right, they do and to the extent these graphs show, the number of people who jump off the curb early with you will quickly peak and just as fast fall off if they discover there's danger. Our research shows the quicker the rise, the faster the fall. The research we’ve done indicates the Canon campaign should….”

The meeting went on into the morning, with intermediate staff being brought in at various times to hear how the consultant would fine tune individual components.

The session was finishing up when the consultant told us, “We’ve taken a look at data on your media coverage and we've put together a proposal. Did you realize your highest positive numbers are when you’re with your wife and girls at home in Kentucky?”

Our group listened and studied the graphs as Patch and Patch covered data on everything right down to what I should be wearing. No pin stripes—makes you look too slick. No red, they said—too aggressive.

The recommendation was for me to wear blue ties with angled stripes for debates, a white shirt – no tie with a jacket on factory floors. They told me a man of the people shouldn't over dress.

Bud said, “Well, thank you, people, this has been informative,” and he started to end the meeting, not finishing when one of the consultants added, “We didn’t know if we should bring this up, but.”

“Go ahead,” Bud said. “What is it?”

“Well, when Mr. Canon speaks about women in any capacity…” I, and everyone else in the room, had known what she was getting at—in the first run, I had a gaffe in one of the debates when the question was asked whether a Canon Cabinet would include women in key positions. I answered simply the truth—I thought women worked a lot harder than men did, but it had been my experience men are better figureheads. Then I had tried to make a joke – ‘If England had a king instead of a queen, they wouldn’t appear so weak on the world stage’…well you can imagine how we got roasted on that one.

The consultant continued," Had we been managing that situation we would have steered the coverage toward a very fast rise and equally quick fall, remember the Starr Jones wedding disaster?"

“So,” I said, “You would have us slowly begin our message raising the intensity over time, through a peak just before the election and then who cares after that.”

“Exactly!” The consultant said, “It’s all intensity, Senator. Each facet of your message is treated as a piece of the whole and given time to build. To help with fund-raising, we have set a donation area on My Basket that should do really well.”

“Call me Jack,” I said, “I have a feeling we are going to be calling you guys a lot over the next twelve months.”

Everyone cracked up.

“It’s a wrap then,” Bill said, “leave the data and we’ll pour through it and be in touch with any questions.” The last thing I said was directed to Lisa specifically and the group in general, “Hey Lisa, have your people look over this stuff and see how we can use it to fit in with your overall strategy.”

As she was gathering her things Lisa said, “Will do Jack.”

“Lisa I’ve had a lot of consultants walk through here thinking they have the answer. If they had the total formula, they’d be president and wouldn’t be coming in here peddling to us. We have to let some of the ideas breathe a little.”

“What about the My Basket fund-raising button,” Lisa asked?

“I want you to go ahead with that and push the ads in New Hampshire; I have a good feeling about their research. Work with Bud and get his input on both.”

“Got it, Jack.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Thanksgiving Day came and we had invited Bill and his son Steve to join us at our home in Kentucky.

I bent down to put the leash on our little one-year-old cocker spaniel, Sophie Mae, who was looking my way and standing by the front door. Speaking in a childlike tone I said, “Sophie’s got her leash - wanna go outside like a big girl?”

Kathy had draped the dog’s leash on her back. Sophie was well trained to go to the door when she needed to go out. Kathy worked with her as a puppy - taking her out every two hours - even in the middle of the night. We loved that dog.

As I fastened Sophie’s leash, Bill said, “I'll join you Jack.”

We stepped out onto the porch, standing on its shiny gray boards before walking towards the yard. Sophie energetically bounced down the three steps, pulling to the end of her leash.

“What a good girl... so smart.” I said in a playful tone reserved just for her.

Bill and I moved toward the open yard of blue grass mowed twice for the occasion, to a stone patio area on the side of the house. The area had seating for eight and a fire pit in the center - we split our outdoor time between the patio and the nearby screened-porch, enjoying many nights just listening to the crickets chirping while talking about our plans for the White House.

I attached Sophie’s leash to a hook I had placed in the ground a year ago when we bought her - then sat on one of the patio chairs. Bill was pulling up one of the ottomans to rest his feet. Kathy decorated the outdoor patio with fabric to coordinate with and flow out from the house. Everything was beautiful for the occasion.

Our people had invited the usual press to show up on queue, and as an added bonus - leaked to the national press – that we would be announcing sometime over the Thanksgiving Holiday.

Bill said, “Are you up for this Jack?”

I pushed my hand to my eyes thumb on the left eye three fingers on the right eye and squeezed, rubbing then dropping my hand back to the armrest and rolling my neck for a crack.

“We have to be,” I said. My bottom two fingers scratching my forehead, “We can't let this country continue on this path. Ready or not, here we go!”

“You know, Jack, I’ve been thinking... I wanted to get this out there before you announce tomorrow. Believe me no one else would say this to you.”

I interrupted, “Bill, don’t finish. There’s something you don’t know, and you'll be the first person outside my immediate family, for Pete sakes, even the kids don’t know this, Bill—my dad’s got Alzheimer’s. I’m fifty-three; if we wait, what could very well be eight more years, even as VP, which we definitely could have bought, nobody would vote for me then. Imagine a picture of my dad with Alzheimer’s juxtaposed against my hand on the button, insinuating the disease runs in the family.”

Bill said, “I’m sorry, Jack, I didn’t know your dad was ill, he seems so vibrant lately.”

“This run has got him excited. He's looking forward to my being president - sometimes I think more than I am. This is my one shot to help folks who are hurting. Our message will resonate that Americans need to take back the production side of the market. To make this more than an empty campaign promise, we have to produce enough of our own energy to control the market. Just ten percent will drop the world price of oil and help everyone on the planet. Once we get to our goal of twenty percent, we'll have control of energy. There'll be a hole[AMR7]  in demand for Middle East Oil, forcing them to dump it anywhere they can. Bill, every person in this country should have a garden and grow this stuff; we're all in this together, like a victory garden in the war!”

Sophie came over to me and I bent over her, kissing her face, saying in the voice, “Sophie’s such a good girl; what a nice girl.”

Bill and I got up and walked back through the side entrance of the house.

I was singing, “I kissed a dog and I liked it.”

Martha called out disgusted, “You’re so weird-ah Dad!”

I called out, “Sophie - Martha such a good girl,” teasing her, adding her name to the dogs.

“Quiet, Dad-dah!” She contorted her face shaking her head, “Mom!”

Kathy chimed in gently, “Jack, you’re always teasing those girls. You really have to stop; sometimes they don’t get your humor.”

“Honey,” she said to Martha, “Daddy’s only kidding, he actually thinks that’s funny.”

“Well,” I said, “When you girls love me and give kisses and hugs whenever I want, I'll stop - until then, that’s how I feel about it.”

Martha said, “Dad we love you a lot but you’re our dad-dah.” I always kissed and hugged the girls tons when they were small.

I said, “I want it to be like it used to be when you were little.” I went over to Martha, gave her a big hug, and smothered her with kisses on the side of her head.

“Too much, Daddy,” Kathy was saying. That was the standing joke whenever I over did the love with the girls and Kathy.

“We love you, Dad, but you have to relax; I’m a grown up now and I’ll never be a little girl like that again.”

“Oh my God,” I said, “Sweetheart, if you only knew, you’ll always be my little girl. Honey you’re just a baby, and Bethany is like a little infant.” I said in her direction, using my Sophie voice.

Bethany called back, “I’m in fourth grade, Dad!” Saying it as if she were the leader of a small country.

I walked over to Bethany, who was sitting, and gave her a long hug, counting 20 kisses on the top of her head.

“Jack,” Kathy said. “Now you’ve got Sophie and you can pin her and she’ll never complain about it.” Kathy and the girls had done well the week before in New Hampshire and the press had eaten it up. Everything was primed for our announcement on Black Friday, the biggest shopping day of the year. The date was specially picked. If coverage was sub par, we could blame the media for paying too much attention to the trivial.

We would awake for the rest of our stay in Kentucky to the sound of helicopters overhead and a media circus, the likes of which I had never seen. We were set to announce at 10 a.m. I would stand on the front porch between the glossy white pillars, each one outfitted with a flag holder and American Flag for the event. The morning started off like any other; I awoke at 7 a.m., my usual time, walked downstairs, gave Kathy a kiss on her forehead, and walked over to pour a cup of coffee.

“Morning, Hon.” I poured some cream into my cup and took the first sip; there's nothing like the first cup of the day.

“Would you like any eggs?” I asked.

Kathy said, “A little, just some white for the protein.” She had been a vegetarian for years but now ate eggs and chicken. My routine was to make my breakfast and eggs for Kathy. I grabbed a carton from the fridge and started cracking, careful to keep the yokes from five of them, dropping one completely into the bowl. I took out a medium-sized frying pan, placed it on the right front burner, and turned the gas on medium, adding a small amount of margarine.

As I was frying up the eggs, I heard Kathy walk out onto the screen side-porch and then down the stairs into the yard, saying, “Sophie good girl - Sophie bum-bum, good girl, smart.”

I flipped the eggs hearing Kathy say, “Hey, Jack, come on out here.” She was cutting back some of the bushes that she kept in pots along the patio. I turned down the eggs to the lowest heat, and walked out onto the side porch through a sliding glass door, open from the unseasonably warm day we were having.

I hugged her from behind and pressed against her, wondering what she had called me out to the yard for, “What, Honey?”

She said, “Look in these pots, there’s little trees growing in them. What kind do you think they are? I think they’re apple trees.”

“Apple? Kathy, do you remember the time we took the girls to the Smithsonian? You and the girls ran through a breeze filled with apple blossoms and they stuck in your hair.”

She said, “Yes and you bought the girls their first roses, we have it on video.”

I said, "Neither of them knows it was your idea.”

Kathy said, “First roses mean more coming from their daddy.”

I said, “Let’s go inside and have our eggs.”

I remember that being one of the last normal mornings we’d have for a long time.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The trip to see the Saudis went well. Our group arrived at the airport just before midnight. We jumped out of the car and ascended the steps of a specially equipped Boeing 757 Cruise Liner outfitted with every imaginable luxury.

“Welcome aboard, Senator,” the Pilot said as Bill, Tip, Lisa and I boarded. Kathy and the girls were in New Hampshire and Bud had stayed behind to keep an eye on the office to get everything ready for our upcoming announcement.

Boarding, I counted seven smiling faces, two late-forties men, in pilot uniforms, another man dressed in a chef’s outfit, and four very  attractive women, all in their early thirties. The ladies were dressed in light blue blazers, matching mid-thigh skirts, crisp-white shirts, and coordinating blue and white heels. Too high to wear working on a plane, especially for such a long flight. I was glad they looked American, worried we might have spent the evening with attendants draped in black garb, covering everything but their eyes. Not much fun, I thought, just as a lovely young woman took my arm. “Senator, please allow me to show you to your seats.”

“Ladies first,” I said, motioning for Lisa to walk ahead of me. Bill and Tip followed. Turning to them, I said. Just low enough for them to hear, “You boys better behave yourselves.”

Bill muttered under his breath, “Why the hell did we bring Lisa, again? These girls are gorgeous.” Once we were seated, the pilot quickly got under way, taxiing to the end of the runway. We could all hear the tower’s instructions playing over the intercom. The pilot was communicating in English. Moments later, we got clearance and were off. I remember thinking, this jet must be light with just seven crew and four passengers. I felt pressure pushing me back into my seat when the pilot hit the throttle. Climbing much faster than any airliner I’d ever been on, he quickly took us up to thirty-five thousand feet.

He spoke to us on the still open intercom, letting us know if there was anything we needed, please let one of the crew know without delay. I sat back in the pale tan leather seat, sunk my arms into the armrests and adjusted myself, trying to get comfortable. Lisa said, “Hey, guys, look at this menu; it reminds me of a five-star restaurant, not an airliner.”

Tip joked, “When I fly I’m lucky to get an ounce of peanuts and a half-size glass of orange juice over a little ice.”

Bill said, tongue in cheek, "It’s going to be hard to get used to this.”

We each had an attendant offering us a menu. “Would you like anything to drink?” mine asked.

“Do you have Bud Light Lime?” I asked.

She answered, “I'm so sorry, we don’t, but we have Bud Light and I can add some lime, if you like.”

“Same difference,” I said. She disappeared through the galley door. The area was arranged sort of like a small living room, with our swivel chairs positioned at the four corners. Attached to the side of each was a table that turned with the chair. I noticed the exceptional quality of the wood, finely embossed, with the coat of arms of the Saudi Royal Family.

My attendant came back with the beer, “Sir, have you thought of anything you might like to eat?”

I said, “I don’t want to be rude, miss, what’s your name?”

She answered, “Tina.”

I said, “Well, Tina, I think I'll just drink this beer and then try to get some sleep. I'm usually in bed around ten o’clock and I’m feeling pretty tired.”

“Sir, enjoy your drink and when you’re ready please call me over. I’ll make your recliner into a bed so you can get comfortable and relax.”

“Okay, that sounds great. I thought I might have to sit up all night.”

“No,” she explained. “You’ll be able to lie down and go to sleep.” I finished the beer, and rolled my neck around, feeling the squishy back of the headrest against my head. I didn’t see any buttons along the armrests, where they normally would be and I wasn’t feeling any adjustments on the sides of the seat. Raising my chin, I motioned for Tina to come over.

I would’ve preferred to adjust the seat myself and save her the trouble. Tina came back with a half-size down pillow softly covered in a light fabric matching the seat. She handed it to me along with a light blanket; I’ve never felt material so soft. Making a mental note, I’d ask her where I could pick up a couple of these.

She pulled a small remote from her pocket and leaned over me, her long hair accidentally falling on my chest and face. I looked up through the tunnel of blonde loose curls as she was standing up.

“Oops, I’m sorry,” pulling a hair clip from her pocket, she gathered her hair, pinning it up.

Tina pressed a button and the chair started to recline, the armrests folded down, while simultaneously the sides of the lower chair began folding upward. Seconds later, I was lying down settling in for the night. I rocked my head from side to side a couple of times and shut my tired eyes, “Thanks.” The cabin lights were low.

Tina moved her lips to my ear, “If you need anything during the night, press this button.” She was careful, turning my hand over, opening  my fingers. Placing the small transmitter into my palm she gently closed them around it. Still holding my hand, she rubbed my forearm lightly and whispered, “Sweet dreams, Senator.”

I must have slept soundly because when I awoke the next morning, we’d already landed. Tina and I were alone; she told me we’d arrived in Dubai a couple of hours ago. Everyone else was already at the hotel owned by the Royal Family.

She said, “There’s a car waiting by the side of the plane whenever you’re ready.”

“Tina, it's unbelievable;  I’ve never slept on a plane before, let alone through a landing. Bill and Tip aren’t the quietest two guys around.”

As I was shaking my head, not believing I slept through all the commotion, Tina pressed her remote. The bed started toward the upright position.

“I must have been exhausted!” I got up from the recliner with Tina saying, “Please follow me to your car. Do you mind terribly if I hitch a ride with you? If you do, it’s okay, I understand.”

“No, I’d love to have the company.  Especially since the only people I know in Dubai decided to leave without waking me up!”

Tina said, “That was me, I didn’t want to wake you prematurely, I asked the others to please keep the plane quiet until you woke naturally. I figured as long as you were sleeping I should let you sleep.”

I remember thinking how considerate she was, “Lead the way Tina.”

She led me to the front of the plane, through the open door, down the steps to a black Hummer stretch.

“Wow, my girls would love this.”

Tina replied, “Ya think? How old are your girls?"

“Ten and Fifteen.”

“Oh, they must be beautiful.”

“They are,” I told her. Tina motioned okay to the driver who was standing about five feet from the rear door. A second man opened the door. Tina motioned, “Please,” for me to get in.

I said, “After you,” echoing her request. She carefully entered the car and took the seat facing rear. I entered and sat facing forward. She was beautiful; legs crossed, still wearing the medium blue flight attendants uniform from the night before, her hair pinned up.

I said, “It’s a good thing you took that seat, I can’t stand riding in a car facing backward.”

She laughed, “You’re kidding aren’t you?”

“What do ya mean?”

She replied, “Tim and Bill told me a little bit about you last night after you’d fallen asleep.”

She unpinned her hair, letting it fall, shaking her head slightly then combing through the loose curls with her fingers. “I hope you don’t mind, but I was curious about you.”

“No, I don’t mind.” I tried to be nonchalant, but curiosity piqued, I asked, “What else did they have to say?”

What I really wanted to ask was how many politicians had taken the same trip hat in hand. I wondered if she even had an inkling of why I was there. She must know or at least have an idea, I thought.

It could be the Saudis were being cautious, knowing we had an energy plan that could work. Maybe they contributed to other candidates, but wanted to size us up a little better on their home turf.

We had made a classic negotiating mistake, agreeing to come to their venue. No, I must be one of many who have taken this ride over the years. I remembered seeing pictures of past presidents holding hands with a Saudi Prince or the King and then explaining it away. All the while, accused of having selfish interests in Big Oil. I answered my own question.

None the wiser about the conversation I was having in my head, Tina continued, “Bill told me you’ve been friends for years and you were going to be president one day.”

“Your mouth to God’s ear,” looking directly into her eyes gently moving my glance to her forehead, then down and away, “I’m going to give it my best try.”

I continued looking away for a moment, waiting for her to speak, “Is everything alright?” She asked.

“Can I tell you something, Tina?” I reached over as I said it, “Please don’t take this the wrong way.”

I began removing her shoes, “It’s nothing, really. I just think you've been in those too long and I want you to relax.”

“Thanks, my feet are killing me.”

I stole a deep look into her luminous eyes, colored halfway between amber and chestnut.  Watching them grow in size, until there was nothing but clear-white showing around flecks of caramel. Tina's perfect facade started to crack. She turned her enchanting eyes away for a moment.

To break the silence, I asked. “Did Lisa say anything to you last night?”

“She did, as a matter of fact.” Tina sat forward, pressing her knees together, and then leaned towards me, pausing, once again starring straight into my eyes.

Nodding approvingly, “All she mentioned was you had great ideas and you were really kind. Oh, and one more thing, she hoped you’d change this world...” Tina added, musing, "I would like...”

I finished her sentence, “Me to change the world?”

“No, Jack. I would like for us to be friends.” I closed my eyes and relaxed my head back for the rest of the 15-minute ride to the hotel. “I’d like that Tina, being friends with you would be nice.”

When we arrived, I opened my eyes to Tina putting her shoes back on. She said, “It will just be a moment; we have to go through a security check point. We’ll enter through a private entrance on the side of the building. When we get inside there's a dedicated elevator. It will take you directly to the Penthouse on the top floor. Please walk ahead of me, Jack. They’d be very offended if you followed me in.”

Knowing what she meant. I said instead, “You have pretty feet.”

“Thanks,” she replied as we moved toward the open door. Tina waited for me to get out of the car and then we walked side by side to the private lobby. Just before we entered, she dropped back and bowed her head.

I was stunned by the extravagance. The enormous lobby was walled in white marble with golden veins running through it in all directions. The floor was made up of shiny white and gold-checkered tiles, each one about three feet across. They appeared much smaller compared to the scale of the entry, grand at about five thousand square feet.

Four giant crystal chandeliers, spaced evenly throughout the room, hung fifty feet above matching silk sculptured oriental rugs. Sitting areas were set at various spots around the room, each with tan kid glove leather chairs and matching footrests. Tina motioned to a man seated behind an ornate white stone desk. She walked just behind me toward the elevator, leading from behind. A neat trick I thought to myself as she swiped a card by the side of the elevator, where the call button would normally be, and the door opened immediately.

An attendant standing inside said in a very high-pitched voice, “Welcome!”

Tina took a last look into my eyes, “This is as far as I can go, Jack. See you on the trip back, okay?” The attendant whisked me up to the top; it was the speediest elevator I’d ever ridden. The door opened in the middle of a very large space which turned out to be the entire top floor. The view was incredible, 360 degrees of glass in every direction. He explained in a thick, rhythmic accent that trailed off at the end of his sentences, “Nobody can see you because this is the tallest building in Dubai. If it were available to the public, it would be considered a 7 star hotel.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

On the ride back to the United States, Tina told me about her life, all while sitting on the arm of my chair. She’d been through a nasty divorce and was recruited into her present employment while working a flight with United Airlines. She took the job because she needed the money to support her four-year old daughter, Hannah.

I told her people like the familiar and usually it takes three times for a person to feel comfortable enough to let her guard down, but that some people never do. On the first meeting it’s best not to try too hard. Better to make casual acquaintance and exchange basic information.

I finished, “By the third meeting, if you go about it right, people will tell you their life story.”

“How do you know this stuff, Jack?”

I said, “Everyone wears a mask to the world; people are not what they appear at face value. Women like you are rare... I don’t want to pass on this opportunity just because I might never see you again.”

I told her a story about the time Kathy and I drove to New York to see the Lion King. “It was summertime; we were visiting Maine. Kathy thought it would be fun to see it on Broadway, but when we got there, it was completely sold out.

“Believe it or not, we started out at the half price ticket place. You’ve seen the one in the middle of Times Square. I actually thought we might get lucky, but when we got close, I read, Show sold out! No Lion King.”

Tina nodded quickly, as if she couldn’t wait to hear the rest.

“I told Kathy, no problem, we’ll just walk down to the theatre and buy tickets. The guy working the counter said there was nothing available, but if we wait at Will Call, we might be able to get tickets last-minute. Some people don't show up to claim the seats held for them. He told us we should keep our place in line, because it was first come first served. After counting twelve people, I asked, “Are all these people here for the same thing?”

He said buoyantly, “Yes.”

I wondered if he thought we had a good chance to see the show. He answered, “This lobby fills up near show time but you’re here early enough. Usually fifteen or twenty people get the tickets released just before curtain.”

Tina seemed interested, “Kathy and I briefly talked it over, deciding to claim a place in line and wait it out. We were happy to take the chance to see the hottest show in town. The fact the tickets were nearly unavailable made it all the better.”

“Did you end up getting in, Jack?” Tina asked.

“Yeah, but we waited nearly six hours before we finally got the word. We had just enough time to run back to the hotel and change clothes before heading back. We were staying at the Omni just around the corner. Our car was parked, by way of a lift, literally on top of another car, so don’t think we had a ride. The point of the story is - the lobby became our home and the people in line became, hour by hour, more like friends. Everyone started out very dignified and sophisticated, as you’d expect at the theater.

Except for one couple we were all standing for the first hour, but by the third hour, we were sitting on the floor. The outside lobby had a high roof with rows of brightly lit, bare bulbs, open air to the street. Some of the people even started lying down. We were joking around and taking turns making food runs. After a while, we said right out loud, we really like these people. That’s when I got the idea I’m telling you about. If you spend enough time in close proximity to another person, it can speed up the three-time rule. That’s how this trip has been for you and me.”

Tina asked, “You mentioned the one couple, what was different about them?”

“Well, it was funny. They were older, and just ahead of us in line. They never sat down the whole six hours and didn’t say much. We felt bad; the poor lady had heels on. Standing for hours, we thought her feet must have been aching. The couple was cute and small of stature; the gentleman wore a hat and jacket. The woman had white hair, neat with a multi-colored kerchief over it, and a matching scarf draped around her neck.

“Starting about two hours before show time, every fifteen minutes or so, the ticket-guy would come bouncing out into the lobby,  announcing he had two more tickets for the next couple in line. It was getting close to show time and I asked him again if we’d be getting in.

“He answered, almost singing it as he turned away, ‘You probably will, but I’m making no promises.’

“Forty-five minutes before the show, the older couple started to leave the line. I thought—good, that’s two less in line. The old man looked disgusted, and said in broken English, ‘That’s enough for us, we see you all later.’ With that they walked out onto the busy sidewalk, turning right, towards Times Square. Thirty seconds later the ticket-guy comes bouncing out of the door, announcing in a tone I can only describe as overly theatric, ‘I have two more tickets!’

“That’s when Kathy said, ‘Oh my God, that poor older couple had been waiting all day and they just left.’

“She pleaded their case quickly, ‘Let me go get them.’

“Without waiting, she ran off in their direction, down the busy sidewalk, disappearing into the crowd. Three minutes later, she comes back with them. The excited older couple walked briskly up to the window to purchase their tickets.

“The crowd, now fifty people behind us, latecomers unaware they had only a slim chance to get in, erupted in applause, cheering the couple. Kathy was a hero. A rare breed, she didn’t care, because of her altruism, she may miss the show.”

“Jack, did you finally see the Lion King after all that?”

“Yeah, we ended up getting tickets about a half hour before show time. We had a blast eating pizza and scones our new friends brought to us as we lay on the floor. Everybody was laughing, getting punchier the longer the wait dragged on. Later that night, we saw our new friends from the lobby, greeting each other like we’d been friends for years.

“Tina, people respond to the familiar. I took the chance with you. I figured those heels must be killing you after being in them all night.”

“They were,” she said. Adjusting her legs to a crossed over position.

“Hey, Jack, a little birdie told me you were a fighter pilot.”

I looked over at Bill, who’d been listening to every word. “Speaking of little birdies, did have you ever heard the story of Eternity, Time, and Now?”

“No, I haven’t.” Tina said, rubbing my arm, “Tell me, please.”

“Well, a man goes to heaven, and says to God, ‘I have so many questions.’”

God says, “Ask the first.”

“What is eternity?”

God answers, “Your mind couldn’t comprehend it.”

“God, please …is there anyway you could help me to understand?”

God starts, “Imagine a hummingbird, the smallest you’ve ever seen, weighing less than half an ounce.” The man is now wide-eyed.

“Once every ten thousand years it arrives, hovers over the largest body of water on earth, and after looking around, drinks one tiny sip, then flies away. When every drop of water on earth is dry, one second in heaven will have passed. That my son is eternity.”

“Then what is time?” asks the man. God answers, “There is no time. You dreamed you left me, so I gently awakened you. So you wouldn’t be startled, I stirred you, gently, in the tiny slices you remember as time.”

The man can’t believe his ears, “Where are the others?” he asks. God says to him, “You are all one. Everything you dreamed was your own creation.”

“Then, what is now?” the man asks. God answers, “Be patient my son, you have eternity to find out.”

Tina laid her head down on my chest and pressed the button. We reclined about three-quarters of the way; she lifted her feet onto the chair and pressed them next to mine. After a few moments, she closed her eyes.

“Jack, I’m going to love being your friend.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

When I arrived home late Thanksgiving Eve, Kathy had already gone to bed. I went into the bedroom to let her know I was home. I walked over and kissed her hair, “You coming to bed,” she asked.

“I’m going to take a quick shower and then hit the sack.” Finishing my shower, I joined her in our king sized bed.

“I’m glad to be home, Honey… that’s an exhausting trip. I love you so much.” I told her, “My heart tingles when I’m near you. I can’t explain how it feels, but it’s like my whole body goes weak. Does that make any sense?”

Kathy said, “Love you - I’m so glad you’re home." The room was dark, with only the light from the moon gently illuminating the curtains as they wisped from a barely open window. We liked sleeping in the fresh air, especially this time of year.

“I’ve got so much to tell you about our trip to New Hampshire,” Kathy said.

I crawled into bed next to her and spooned, fitting my whole body along her curve.

“How was your trip to Dubai?” She asked.

“There is so much to tell, I’d better save it for another time. We got the money.”

“Oh Jack, that’s wonderful.”

“I’ll tell you all about it in the morning, but I want you to tell me about New Hampshire. Did you and the girls have fun?”

Kathy started, “After we opened the house, we spent most of our time in North Conway, Christmas shopping. I found an old 50’s style television and cabinet you’re going to love.”

Kathy knew I loved old televisions. She once snapped a picture of me sitting on the floor, in the middle of a mock 50’s living room at Mama’s Kitchen in Disney, watching an old TV set. It reminded me of my dad and how I used to be his remote control. Kathy’s heard my joke many times, “When I was a kid, we had just three channels. The problem, there was always something great on each one.” I finished, “There were no DVR’s; if you were watching one channel, you had to miss the other two shows. We had to wait till summer for the repeats.”

Kathy was nice and giggled. I finished with, “Now there are 400 channels and nothing on.”

“Why do you love to tell that so much, Jack?”

“Because on Sunday night, you had the choice of ‘Ed Sullivan’, ‘Lassie’, or ‘Gunsmoke’. You try to choose.”

Kathy changed the subject, “Jack, I bought an antique desk for the house in Maine I think you’ll like.”

I love vintage items. Kathy and I know the New Hampshire area well and take the girls there in summer. Sebago, Maine sits just 35 miles from North Conway, New Hampshire - a picturesque little hamlet near the White Mountains and Presidential Range.

I said, “Kathy remember when the girls were little we visited Story Land and Santa’s Village in Jackson, New Hampshire?”

Kathy said, “Yes, and Bethany climbed on a reindeer. Remember, I was trying to get a picture. She grabbed hold and ended up on top of the poor thing, trying to ride it.”

We took the girls biking at the foot of Mt Washington, and to the polar caves where we crawled through small openings in giant natural rock formations. I thought God must have had a hand in placing those boulders. We drove the full length of the Kangamangus Highway, a long winding road through the beautiful unspoiled National Park Land. I couldn’t wait to get back up there to start campaigning. Our family had traveled all over New Hampshire and we knew the place. It was practically our backyard, considering it our summer home.

“I’m looking forward to this, Honey.”

“Let’s get some rest now, Jack. We’ve got quite a day planned tomorrow.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

I woke up on Thanksgiving morning the year before the election to an empty bed. It was just 6 a.m. and Kathy had already gotten up. I could hear her downstairs working in the kitchen. I stayed in bed for a while, daydreaming about debating, I was killing it. Then as was my habit, just prior to getting up, I said my prayers.

That’s when I heard her calling, “Jack, get up. We have to get the bird in the oven.” Normally I dreaded preparing the never quite fully thawed bird, wrestling with the plastic thing that is somehow surgically stuck inside. I usually would say something like “Dirty Bird,” because Kathy knows I hate the possibility of salmonella. The news people do stories and harp about it just before Thanksgiving every year. The news media can always be counted on to say something negative, that’s a given. Today would be different. I was determined to turn the project into a Zen experience. I walked down the stairs and turned the corner and headed for the kitchen, “I want to help with the Turkey,” I said in a flat monotone.

Kathy, knowing when to take an opportunity said, “Okay sweetie, get the bird out of the fridge, gobble-gobble.”

I opened the fridge and pulled the bird out.

“Where do you want it, in the sink?”

“Jack,” she continued the instructions, “take the wrapper off and clean it, run some cold water through it and rinse it off, Honey.”

I wasn’t much of a cook and was happy to follow her lead. I pulled out the plastic piece; somehow it came out easier than usual and I placed the bird on a roasting pan. I remembered from last year to bend the wings back and under the bird, to make a stand. Kathy brought some butter over and, grabbing a piece in her hand, rubbed it all over the top and sides of the Turkey. She selected a temperature on the dial of 350 degrees and I placed the Twenty-five pounder in the oven.

“Alright, Jack, can you have cereal this morning. I don’t want to make more of a mess.” Referring to the mess I leave after cooking. “Let’s just have something easy, I’m having oatmeal would you like some?”

“No,” I said as I went to the pantry, grabbed a couple boxes of cereal, and mixed them in a bowl with milk. I sat down to eat at one of the bar stools at the center island.

“Jack, your mother told me she has hired a nurse for your father. I didn’t know how you would take the news so I saved it for the morning.” Kathy was right; everything seems easier to take in the daylight. Things that cause you to wake up at three o’clock in the morning worrying always seem simpler to deal with the next day.

I said, “I think that’s a good idea.”

Kathy agreed, “I think so too. Your mother said she needs the help. She doesn’t want to wait until she can’t handle him anymore; this way they can settle into a routine while he’s still able to get to know her for himself.”

“What time is everyone coming over?” I asked. I was really happy Mom would have help. I didn’t like the thought of her having to struggle as a lone caregiver, especially with Kathy and me traveling all over the country.

Kathy said, “We’re eating at one and I told your mom and dad to come over anytime.”

Once the guests arrived, we got down to the business at hand, pictures on the front porch with the press. We all assembled on the porch close to the front stairs between two white pillars, braving the cold without jackets. Standing on my left was Bill Mitchell and his 29-year-old son Steve.

Bill was divorced earlier this year and had invited his son.

Dad was propped up by my mom who stood directly in front. His nurse, Betty, quickly whisked the chair away from behind. Dad held his hands lovingly on Mom’s shoulders for support, forcing a pleasant smile through the hurt for the pictures. On my left was Kathy, next to her was Martha; they were nearly the same height now. Next was Bethany, who had worn her prettiest dress for the occasion. I put my hands on Bethany’s shoulders to mirror Dad. We all smiled and afterward disassembled with everyone filing back through the large red double doors leading into the house.

A federated news reporter called out, “Jack, when do you plan to announce your candidacy?”

The table was laid out beautifully.  Mama sent over her best dishes and an antique white lace tablecloth her mother handed down to her. The deep brown mahogany table showed through the thick lace, perfectly set with handsome white dishes adorned with 24-karat gold rims. The settings were finished with bright silverware arranged over folded white linen napkins. The bird sat directly across from the white fireplace mantel and glowing fire.

Just like a Better Living Magazine, the turkey sat in the center of the table, perfectly prepared with crisp brown skin and stuffing pouring out the front. Kathy followed grandma’s recipe of ground sirloin, mashed potato, celery and a few other ingredients. I’d watched her making it, and couldn’t wait to taste my childhood favorite. Among Kathy’s notable talents, I would always tell her she was the best cook in the world. I’d say to our friends, ‘Wait till you try her Italian, her meatballs are so good… you’ll weep and want your mother to hold you. If we weren’t in politics we could open a chain of Italian restaurants,’ I’d exclaim with excitement.

She’d always say, ‘Jack, the build up; nothing can live up to the fuss you make.’

I said grace, “Father, we are truly thankful for the blessings we are about to receive through Your bounty. We are grateful for all the good things You have given this family. Food for our bellies and a warm roof over our heads. We thank You for the wonderful and caring grandparents You have given the girls, and for our amazing friends, Amen.”

“Okay, let’s eat,” Bethany said, “I’m starving.” The meal was delicious and we took turns telling stories and asking the girls questions about school and their trip to New Hampshire. Bill’s son Steve was planning to scale Everest in the spring and spent a winter in the Maine woods in preparation.

I asked, “Steve, your dad told me you were living in the woods last winter, how did you manage in the freezing cold?”

Steve began explaining; he chose each word carefully and was not a young man to be rushed. Like his dad, he was tall and on the trim side, even though the two of them could eat more than the rest of us combined. I don’t know where they put it. Bill’s ex-Melissa used to say he had a hollow leg. Routinely he would order two steaks when we traveled.

Steve told us, “I only slept outside three or four days a week when working at the ski resort.” Steve taught advanced skiing at Sugarloaf Mountain in Rangeley Maine part of the week and commuted back the two and a half hours to Portland on his days off to stay with his girlfriend.

“How did you stay warm?” I asked, curious.

“I used hot water bottles I filled and microwaved before I left work. When I got to the tent I put them in my sleeping bag.”

He told us, “The sleeping bag is rated to 32 degrees.”

“You slept in a tent?”

“Yes, I made a couch and a bed out of snow, then placed a tarp over that and pitched the tent. It’s all about a mile in from the road next to a river which has frozen.”

“Why so far in?”

“Well, there I know no one will bother me or my things. On top of the tent is another tarp, I usually had to brush the snow away to get in. I followed the river to the campsite, that way I can always find it. The river is my guide path.”

“What about bears and wildlife?” I asked.

“Well the bears are in hibernation, but I’ve seen a lot of deer. There are wolves off in the distance, and every night I hear them hunting turkeys. The turkeys scream out… then all is quiet. The wolves know to kill only what they will eat.”

“I would freeze. I’m always good till the sun goes down and then I don’t know why, but my body doesn’t like that. What did you do with your car?”

“Oh, that,” he said. "A store owner lets me park it in his lot at night, near where the river and the road meet.”

He finished, “I thought if I couldn’t handle a few months of three nights a week outside in the Maine winter, I’d better not try Everest, but it was good and I made out fine.”

“That’s amazing, Steve.”

While Steve was telling us the story, as is usually the case, all wasn’t as perfect as pictures would have shown. During the telling of how he used hot water bottles, my father had an accident, and Mom gave a quick look and his nurse took him quickly away. Later on, when Kathy and I were alone with Mom, she told us she had to have the nurse because my dad would not cooperate with her. She told us about an episode where he’d become belligerent, knocked her down, pushing her away. Mom told us she was exhausted and really needed the help and there had been no other way to keep him home.

The next morning I awoke to the murmuring hum of people talking on the front lawn.

I turned over to Kathy and asked her if she heard.

“They’re getting set up for your announcement, Jack.”

‘Americans have watched as the land of our fathers has slowly been slipping away. Today I ask you to join me in taking back your country. Today I call you to action, the time for dreams is finished, the time for hope is gone, the time we must act is now.’

Like a radio finally tuned to the right station, the announcement message struck a chord, and while at that moment it was only a feeling, I knew we’d hit a nerve.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The Washington Correspondent for National Integrated Media, NIM Television News, interviewed me on Christmas Eve. This wasn’t just anybody; this was Alexa Green, respected reporter. We’d hand-picked her to come to Kentucky - timed for our yearly family Christmas gathering along with a few of Kathy’s usual local favorites.

We thought she’d be perfect. Alexa, was a rising star, well- respected for her tell all - tell it like it is style. Best of all our research had shown her to be fair and honest. We were right. She asked some tough questions, mostly about my brother Roger, Northern Can, and how my dad made his money. More importantly, she asked some great questions about our energy plan. I was pleased she spent a significant amount of the time on the subject.

After we were done with the interview, I told Alexa, “I want to show you something.” I invited her out to the patio to look at the stars.

“Are we off the record now?” I asked.

Alexa answered, “Of course Jack, and you can always count on my word when I give it. The microphones are off, but you gave a great interview along with some compelling material. I’m sure we’ve got a great piece; I think you’ll be happy.”

“I already am... this is just what I had hoped.”

“Hearing about your plan gives me hope for this country.”

My main worry was about Roger’s antics and how distracting they could be. I didn’t say it, instead I voiced, “Thanks, Alexa.” Then, flicking the lights, “I’ve got to have it pitch dark out here for better viewing.”

“Better viewing of what?” She quizzed. I gently took hold of her arm and led her down the partially lit stairs. I placed her free arm on the railing then carefully walked her down the stairs then onto the dark path to the patio. It was a clear sky but a slightly chilly Christmas Eve Night.

“Alexa, look up.”

“My God, I can’t believe my eyes,” she said.

“That’s what I thought my first time; isn’t it amazing? When there are no clouds and no light interference, you can see multiple levels of stars.”

I led her to the loveseat and turned her - gently guiding her back to sit - then I took the chair directly across from her.

She exclaimed, “I can see four layers, it looks like one complete universe laid out each on top of the other. It’s incredible Jack! Being from the city, I guess I’ve never seen a sky in complete darkness. I didn’t realize.”

In the background, our family’s favorite Christmas album was playing a dynamic version of Carol of the Bells, adding to the beauty of the moment. The sound was coming from outside speakers playing in unison with the inside of the house. Suddenly I was overcome.

I said, “Looking at the heavens and listening to this music makes me think of God and his incredible love.”

“That’s beautiful Jack.”

I could hear a chill in her voice, “Oh I’m sorry, you must be cold, I have some blankets for when we’re out here.”

“I’m a bit chilled, Jack,” she shivered. I opened the ottoman storage and grabbed one of the soft blankets. I moved over in front of her and firmly wrapped her in it.

“My mom used to wrap me up like this.” I rubbed the sides of her arms through the blanket for friction to generate heat, “Cozy now?”

“Yes, I feel much better now, Jack. Thanks.” I sat back next to her.

She continued in the dulcet tone of a woman not of a reporter, “You’re so much different than I ever would have imagined, it’s positively disarming Jack…I mean, seeing you with your family and even the way you interact with Sophie… well I just never would have thought.”

I moved a little closer and put my arm around her shoulder. She came willing, leaning into me.

“You’re not what I expected either, I have to be wary of reporters who are all about seeing only the negative.”

She turned her mouth up towards my face - close enough I could feel the warm breath in her words, “Please call me Lexi, Jack.” Saying that, she paused for a moment, “You have such a beautiful faith.”

“Lexi, I believe God gave us the night sky to show us proof he is near. What more obvious way would there be to show all generations for time immemorial. He’s placed a billion galaxies each with a billion stars on display every night for us to see, doesn’t it make you think?”

She said, "It’s breathtaking, thank you for showing me your big sky and for spending this time with me. I’m glad I had this chance to get to know you better.”

“Lexi, can I tell you a story someone told me?”

“Yes, Jack, I’d love that.”

“There was a very wealthy man who had inherited vast fortunes passed down through generations. The family lineage had gathered riches beyond the imagination. Over the years as the man aged, he became very arrogant and felt he deserved all his wealth and possessions. He felt privilege was his birthright and that he was entitled, even noble. He had many beautiful homes, traveled the world, and spared no expense as to his own comforts. He would sometimes pass by the poor on his way, but thought them pitiful and insignificant. He built walls around his property and took great care to protect the things he owned. He ate the finest foods, prepared by award-winning chefs he kept along with continual staff at each of his residences. He had been taught by his father to take generous care of his own family and lavished them with gifts. He treated each to the privilege he thought they, like himself, deserved. He didn’t pray and felt religion was for the weak and that he was sufficient of himself, after all hadn’t he everything the world could provide? Occasionally, to appease his wife or daughter he would give a token gift to the poor, but he never felt it would do any good and privately thought it foolish to waste on outsiders.”

“In old age, he became resentful thinking his own family ungrateful for the life he provided them. He continually complained about how unworthy they all were. Years before he had written off all but his own children. He would grumble that, without him to guard it, they would surely squander their inheritance and he was very bitter. One evening as was his custom, he had a bottle of the finest wine, costing more than a laborer's yearly salary, delivered to his library. He waited for a generous pour and then waived off his attendant. He clipped the end from an expensive cigar, lit the end, whiffed the sweet burning aroma and then drew from it his final breath.”

“Oh, Jack, that sounds terrible,” Lexi said, snuggling closer to me, still wrapped up, with my arm around her.

I continued, “All of the sudden, with no breath to breathe out, there was nothing. He looked but without eyes to see - he was in total darkness. He felt without a body to feel it was very cold. He heard no sound and could not taste or smell. His very soul, fading into oblivion, he felt lost, desperately alone in profound darkness, afraid. In utter despair, he cried out with no voice mentally screaming into the void, his whole life passing through his mind in an instant. He saw his mother and crying out in her memory the prayer she taught him as a child.

‘Jesus gentle shepherd hear me,’ and before he could finish the beginning Jesus scooped him up and carried him. He felt a relief and love he had never known.

The rich man awoke lying on the floor to his attendant who was trying to help him. ‘Oh my God, father, please forgive me,’ was all he could say. He told the person who had tried to revive him, now seeing him as a gentle brother, ‘I was lost in the most desperate place, what saved me was ….’ he carefully spoke the prayer, ‘Jesus gentle shepherd hear me, guide thy little lamb tonight, through the darkness be thou near me, keep me till the morning light.’

“Jack, it’s a wonderful story.”

“I tell it because I think even in our darkest hour if we call out to Jesus he will save us. It’s Christmas Eve Lexi, and the real celebration is - in addition to all God has given us, he sent his only son. I think human beings can do better.”

“Jack, do you think the rich are like in the story?”

“It’s complicated - we’re all guilty of this type of thinking. It’s human nature to consider one’s own needs first; throughout history there is plenty of proof. Armies have fought and millions have died just in the last 50 years defending selfish interests. We have to work within our broken system.”

Lexi asked, “How, Jack?”

“You can count on the wealthy in this country to act in self- interest. Once they know we’re dead serious, they’ll begin to make massive investments in energy production for fear of being left out. Workers will be needed, wages will be bid up, and land values will increase. Cheap energy will make it viable to produce here again. Higher employment and wages will increase demand and we’ll be back on the right track.”

“Jack, what if you’re not elected and we don’t do it?”

“Well, imagine continuing down the path we’re on. It only gets worse, we send our treasure away to buy oil and cheap junk overseas and squander our children’s future.”

“Jack, thanks for explaining this to me. I know what you’re really about now and I’m quite taken by you.”

I said, "I feel very close to you, too.”

“Jack, you said in our interview - you would be debating in Boston two weeks from tonight. It hadn’t crossed my mind to tell this before, but I am one of the moderators for the event. The league of Women Voters and NIM has sponsored three debates, and they’ve asked me to do them all. Jack…”

“I hadn’t felt this way before, but I’m telling you now, you’re right about this country, I want you to do well.”

“That’s off the record,” I joked.

“Way off,” Lexi clutched tight to me as we walked back up the walkway to the stairs then onto the porch. I flicked the light on. Lexi reached into her bag and gave me her personal cell number.

“If you ever want to talk, please call me, Jack.”

The next time I called her number was after the interview aired on the national news. Aired in pieces over several evenings; we were pleased with the editing.

Bud thought our own staff couldn’t have scripted it better. Lexi concentrated on the needs of the country, the problems of sending American jobs overseas, and the squandering of U.S. wealth on foreign oil, to the detriment of National Security.

She narrated over a backdrop of our home, beautifully decorated for Christmas. The two of us seated in chairs angled towards each other in front of the beautiful fireplace, lit with fire. We enjoyed three evenings of prime time news segments without a single negative. She was a lovely new friend. I called Lexi’s cell and left a message to thank her and to let her know I’d see her in Boston.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

It was the first Friday of the New Year and the entire staff was busy preparing for the upcoming debate scheduled for Sunday night. Our campaign headquarters main room was configured, the best we could, to mimic the setting of the debate. The long conference table was the podium, set up at one end of the pit usually housing the staff desks. The mock candidates stood behind it facing a small desk at the other end of the room. Sandy played the role of moderator all week, asking questions handed to her by staffers.

I was standing directly in the center of the long table. Bud was next to me playing the role of Anne Griffin, the two Term Governor of Texas. The Governor was leading the pack as the front-runner in Iowa. We picked Bud to play her because they shared a short stocky stature and while hidden well behind an affable exterior, both were capable of playing dirty.

Anne had very thin salt and pepper hair, mostly salt. She wore it curled with permanent, which didn’t do much to hide the fact. She had a very prominent double sack for a chin and wore too much red lipstick. Her booming voice trumpeted her goals for the country, which she counted off in speeches - we all knew them by rote: immigration reform with enhanced enforcement of the border, free college education for anyone who wanted it, and lessened regulation on gulf oil drilling.

Her message of keeping illegal immigrants out had an almost fanatical zeal with a public weary of the illusion jobs were being lost to some evil monster sneaking over the border by night. Her rhetoric was resonating with a public who believed keeping illegal immigrants out would save more jobs for America.

Her free college idea was popular with voters brought up to think college was an essential component of success, though I had never met a billionaire with a degree. The cost of education had been rising at twice the national average eclipsed only by health care costs, which were rising faster.

I agreed with Anne’s message - education would help create a more enlightened workforce, but not that employers would come running. Only reduced production costs would bring large-scale production back. Americans were already some of the best-educated people in the world. The Gulf Oil drilling was for the money, we knew where that came from.

Bill was acting the role of the Senator from Maine, Dr. Tim Green, an acquaintance turned casual friend of mine I’d worked with in the Congress.

Dr. Tim had a young boyish face and receding hairline, making his forehead look higher than normal. He wore prominent black framed glasses, was very soft-spoken, and his strong New England dialect belied his intelligence. The truth is, he had a vast knowledge of the environment. He’d completed his undergrad work in pulp and paper technology and after working a while with S. D. Warren, Paper Company in Westbrook Maine, decided to go back to school. Graduating from Oxford with a Doctorate in Economics, he had written his thesis on the Soviet Economy.

His main campaign theme was global warming. He claimed that by 2100, One hundred million people living in low-lying areas would be underwater, including all of Florida and many Island Nations as well.

Dr. Tim would easily have won the Presidency if it were based on an IQ test. Too bad for him we have to appeal to the lowest common denominator. Bill was picked to play him because they both chose their words carefully. To date he’d gained little traction with the voters.

Tip was acting out the role of Reverend Terry Williams, a Tennessee preacher and perennial contestant in the Democratic Primaries. The reverend was a media hound who sought publicity, interjecting himself into any scandal he could find. He was a holdover from the civil rights movement and traded in controversy. The reverend was loud of speech, abrasive and very quick to start an argument. It was out of character but Tip asked to be the reverend.

Lisa played the last of our cast - the well-known Bobby Dennis, a two-term congressman from New York. An actor turned politician, Bobby D was 59, had name recognition and was running on a uniform tax plan. His goal was to close loopholes and abolish the IRS. He planned to charge individuals 15% across the board. Corporations would pay 25%.

Sandy asked the question, “Senator Canon, you have been doubling up on your ads in New Hampshire playing a provocative anti-wealthy message. Your poll numbers are steadily rising. Was your strategy to skip Iowa and concentrate your efforts in New Hampshire, while the other candidates were busy elsewhere?”

“Our ads simply reflect the truth. We decided the only way we could fix America’s problems is to…”

Before I could answer, a staffer handed Sandy a note.

She interrupted, “Jack, Kathy needs you to call her.”

From her tone, I knew something must have happened. I thought Oh no… my dad, he had been feeling very poorly lately.

Mom had called earlier in the week to talk about an incident that happened in the main stairway of the house. Dad had an accident and didn’t want any help getting himself cleaned up. His Alzheimer’s caused him to be verbally abusive and he’d been complaining to Mom while rolling his wheelchair over to the stairs. He cannot climb them anymore so he started up the stairs seated. The pain in his knees only allowed him to ascend one-step at a time in a reverse type of crawl.

Mom had been pleading with him to let her help. Dad was very agitated and lashed his arm at her causing her leg to slip painfully through the railing. The scene continued for an hour and a half before his nurse, Elsa was scheduled to arrive.

Elsa finally arrived at the front door and rang the bell. Mom called out to her to come quickly, she used her key and pushed open the door. Seeing the scene, she forgot to shut the door and the chill from the December air rushed into the center hall stairway with her.

“Mr. Ted, please try to calm down,” Elsa was standing on the step directly in front of him, at the same time reaching to pull Mom’s arm to help her right herself.

Dad kicked Elsa hard in the stomach - she lost her balance and fell back missing a grab for the railing, tripping down four steps to the floor. She was bruised and pretty shook, but wasn’t seriously hurt.

Mom freed herself and left Dad on the stairs, tending to Elsa, she called the rescue. When the paramedics arrived, both women stubbornly refused to go get checked at the hospital. Meanwhile, Dad was still on the stairs very agitated, muttering about the lack of respect in his own house. Mom called Roger to come over to help.

Kathy answers the phone, “Jack I have been trying to get a hold of you!”

“I’m sorry, we had our cell phones off practicing for the debate on Sunday. What’s going on, is it Dad?”

“No, Jack, it’s your mother; she’s had a stroke and is in the hospital. Your dad is with Roger.”

“How bad is it; do they know?”

“I spoke with the doctor; he said the stroke was severe. They’ll know more in 24-hours.”

“Kathy I’ll call and have the plane ready. Can you meet me at Reagan in an hour, Honey?”

“Sure, I’ll throw a bag together for you and the girls and meet you there.”

Thankfully, the girls were on school vacation and would be able to join us. Mom must have been at the end of her rope trying to take care of Dad and keep her promise he would never have to leave the ranch and live in a home.

“Everyone, my mom has suffered a stroke and I’m going to Kentucky to be with her. Sandy can you call and have the jet ready, tell them it’s an emergency. We’ve gotta go.”

“I’m calling now, Jack.”

I grabbed my jacket and headed for the door, “Bud, I’ll call you from the plane.”

“Okay, Jack.”

The office was suddenly so quiet you could hear a pin drop. I focused my eyes straight ahead. I hadn’t noticed - our elevator door was Nickel colored with a thick black T across the front top to bottom. I headed straight for it without looking back; I pushed the button several times as if that would bring the car faster.

The office was just a 15-minute ride from Reagan depending on traffic. I figured I’d go to the hanger, wait on the plane and call the doctor. I didn’t want to wait even five more minutes in the office. Everything seemed like a distraction now. On the way to the airport, I tried to clear the clutter from my mind…

My thoughts turned to my amazing mother, a caring soul who always wanted to help. She had a special sensitivity toward others. I learned true compassion through her eyes. Now Mom, she didn’t mind spoiling us a little. Even finding the time and patience to explain things my dad would consider required only a yes or no. I was fortunate to grow up witnessing her gentle kindness first hand. Her encouragement has taken me a long way in life.

When I was young, my mother was inspired to volunteer our family to go on a missionary trip to Africa. Our church organized a group to help build a school at an orphanage.

Every night at the supper table, we talked about the trip and what we planned to do once we got there. What I remember most are the children’s smiles on the film shown every Sunday. It felt good to be one of the families preparing for the trip. People patted my dad on the back, shook my hand and told us we were doing something wonderful.

My dad was a tough-minded businessman who had owned a canning factory. He made a fortune selling rations to the military then sold the business. When I was young, my dad bought a large ranch, where he took up horseracing.

I marked each day off the calendar as we counted down for our trip.

We were too excited to sleep and awoke early the day of our mission. After a quick breakfast, we jumped into the car preloaded with our luggage and headed for the airport. We spent most of the day flying. My parents were tossing and turning trying to fall asleep, but I was exhilarated staring out at a sea of clouds.

When our Delta Yellow Bird arrived in Johannesburg, my parents were exhausted. Looking out I saw an old beat up bus that pulled up beside us. I felt pressure as the cabin door opened and heard movement below my feet. Our baggage was offloaded from the cargo bins and workers were setting it alongside a stairway rolled up to the cabin door.

Dad motioned to my brother and me to start moving our gear next to the bus. He was hollering out instructions nobody could hear over all the noise. Three men from our church stood idly by having a smoke while two wiry local guys quickly climbed onto the top of the bus. A double row of rusty steel bars served as a roof rack. Dad and some guy from the orphanage started handing trunks and suitcases up to them.

My brother and I ran happily back and forth lugging bags making a pile of them, some so heavy I had to drag them across the tarmac. The ground was so hot I could feel the heat through the soles of my sneakers. Mom walked beside Roger and me slathering sunscreen on our white faces and necks, I'd never felt sun so bright it could sting my skin. Bags strapped down and tied together, we boarded the rickety green bus. It, like everything else in Africa, seemed to be a rotten throw away from America limping along on its second life. The few kids sat three to a seat while the adults sat wherever they could. Some of the men made the best of it by standing up holding onto our seats. The dark green vinyl was ripped and frayed beyond repair -- chunks of cushion torn away, completely missing in sections.

The road was hard from drought making the ride bumpy along the pothole dotted route. The men who had been smoking and my dad were doing their best to balance. I could see dry dirt and gravel through light filled holes in the floor and a long dust cloud trailing us through the cracked back window. The airport had the last pavement we would see for a while.

Dad told someone the area was much worse than he'd expected. He said it looked war-torn as we passed through the villages. I could taste dust from two jeeps kicking it up as they escorted us on the one and a half hour journey through the countryside.

We were hot and uncomfortable. It was the thirstiest I had ever been in my life. My mouth felt dry and gritty; I tried to roll my tongue over my teeth and swallow hard to clear my throat. I expected to see lions and elephants since I heard they lived there too. We saw plenty of people but no animals. Everyone was disgusted and upset by what we saw. Tin roofed shacks passing for homes and dozens of thin children running after the bus as we passed. My brother and I plugged our noses from the strange stench cast over the villages.

It was the day my dad, holding my face tight to his chest, tried to shield my eyes from the most horrible sight. A cruel soldier, killing a helpless child, with the butt end of a rifle. I managed to peek through a space between his arms left open because he didn’t want to squeeze me too tight.

Just as Dad was about to jump out of the bus the young driver held him back by the shoulders. ‘You don’t want to go doing that man.’ He warned everyone to remain on the bus or risk being thrown into prison or worse. I remember him mumbling, 'you ain't gonna change Africa my friends.’ Then he spoke up, ‘the child was going to die anyway or he wouldn’t have approached these men.'

Dad told Mom if he’d brought his rifle he would have shot them all. Desperate with fear, she pleaded with him to be quiet. Later, I overheard him speaking low to one of the organizers that he would enjoy killing people who stole food from orphans. He said the U.S. should invade this hell hole and set things right; he might have gotten his wish had there been any oil there.

Once we got to the orphanage, things weren't so bad. When the headmaster came out to greet us, Dad launched into a tirade about what we had just seen and told her we needed to call the embassy or take some kind of action. She placed her hand into his and took him aside. The rest of us strained to hear what she could possibly say to calm a man who had just witnessed great inhumanity. Her voice was quiet almost faint as she stared up into my father’s eyes, shaking her head back and forth. Holding both his hands, she gently brought him into her world and calmed him down. He looked almost relaxed when she walked him back to the rest of the group.

Her name was Becca, she was a small lady with long brown hair and weathered skin. Her late fortyish eyes looked tired, but when she looked at me, I saw something different. Her gentle soul had a sparkle and I felt an immediate love for her, the kind I felt for my mother. She embraced each one of us with a soft long hug and blessed us for coming. After everyone was introduced, she showed us around the small three building compound. As we walked over the dry packed earth, Becca told us her story. She had come from the United States with a middle-aged couple from her church to help for one month. When they arrived, they found the orphanage in trouble and the children were running out of food and supplies. Becca was asked to stay just long enough for the husband and wife to go back to the United States and arrange for emergency aid. She never heard from the couple again, but other missionaries came. Becca fell in love with the children and ended up devoting her young life to them. She never married and the orphans became her family.

Becca gave us the best they had and we got plenty of rice, beans, and plantains to eat. There was water to drink, but nothing cold. The kids usually got at least breakfast and lunch even though we were told there was never any meat. Each child had a small space beside a triple bunk for a few clothes. There were a couple of toys and some coloring books and crayons, but not much else. The children kept everything well organized and took great pride in their things, nothing like our rooms back home with full toy boxes jam-packed with last year’s presents.

The military confiscated part of the food shipments headed for the orphanage and any meat sent. The missionaries did their best to fund raise in Europe and the United States to make sure basic needs were met. The people outside the orphanage were starving; at least the children living inside had something. The soldiers we saw were all fat, happy, and content to leave Becca and the orphans to themselves. They allowed the visits from outsiders as long as they first picked through anything the missionaries brought with them.

Our church volunteered to build a twenty by forty-foot structure from cinder block to serve as a school for about thirty children. The local strong-arm government kept a strict limit on the number of children allowed to live at the orphanage and threatened prison and hard labor for anyone who broke the law.

The day we arrived, the organizers warned us we probably wouldn't get everything accomplished that we planned. African pace and progress was slow and difficult for Westerners to understand. They cautioned us not to get discouraged and to keep in mind the main reason we were there - to let the kids know and the soldiers see - people cared. As much as we would like to finish the work, the probability was other missionaries would someday finish what we started.

My father was the type of guy who liked to jump right in and get everybody going; he wanted to roll up his sleeves and get the job done. I think he mainly wanted to burn off some steam by getting busy. We might have completed the school if he’d had his way. The problem was, half way through the project some of our supplies were confiscated. It was heart wrenching. We heard from the driver that the truck carrying framing wood, cement, and food was stopped at a checkpoint just miles from the orphanage. The military helped themselves to the contents we needed to even think of finishing the school. My dad was so disgusted he tried to reorganize our efforts toward planting a vegetable garden. The organizers told us water was too scarce; we'd be wasting our time. Water was available for drinking only. I'll never forget my father getting more frustrated by the day as he settled on patching roofs before the rainy season.

Outside the gates, kids would come around begging for food. I noticed one little boy who was just lying on the ground against the gate day after day. Even among the poor children, he was left alone. I wanted to be his friend and while he spoke only a few words of English - together we decided his name was Rico.

The boy was about ten like me but only half my weight due to starvation. His dry skin was shriveled from the sun and looked like burnt powder. Rico was so thin I could count all his ribs. I was afraid he was going to die so every morning I stuffed some of my breakfast into my pockets and went by the gate to feed him. The rusted black iron gates were locked with heavy chains so I had to pass food through to him. One afternoon I snuck into the kitchen and took a small clear bowl of something resembling cream of wheat. I hid it under my shirt and made my way out to where he was lying and placed it into his frail hands. He scooped the bland porridge up with his little fingers and ate it like the finest meal fit for a king. Many memories stayed with us about our trip. I remember getting off the bus trembling from fright, my parents were angry, feeling mislead about the danger. The adults were discussing the horror we just witnessed. My older brother, Roger, bending down and hugging me. Laying his head on my small shoulder, something he'd never done before.

Saying, “Don't worry Jackie, it'll be okay… you'll see. We'll be back home before you know it.” It was years later after Roger returned from Viet Nam he told me what that awful smell had been.

I don’t remember the drive over because the next thing I know I’m pulling into the area reserved for private aircraft.

The area for corporate and personal jets is separated from the public areas and the staff gets to know you pretty well there. I flashed my ID at the security guard and drove right to the door of hanger number 82. The large overhead door was already opened so I pulled in and parked. TenStar leased the large blue Quonset hut shaped hanger area. The building was about 75 feet wide by 120 feet long, just large enough to hold three corporate jets.

I’d been in this hanger only twice before, once when Joe Brenner brought me up for a get acquainted flight. I met the pilots, the flight and ground crews. It was fun when Captain Ben, a retired Navy Pilot, let me take the controls.

The second time was shortly after the first when I’d surprised Kathy with a flight to Boston. The Gulf Stream 450 is an awesome plane, able to fly Mach .80 and cruise over 4000 nautical miles without refueling. Jets of this type usually hold up to 19 passengers although ours was configured more luxuriously and held just 12. This plane had been for Joe’s personal use prior to it being loaned to us and it had every conceivable creature comfort. What this jet lost in seats it gained in a galley kitchen and long couch that folded into a queen size bed. There were coordinating tables and six oval curtain covered windows on each side of the fuselage.

The crew had gotten Sandy’s call and was preparing the Gulf Stream, the only jet in the hanger when I arrived. One of the guys greeted me and motioned towards the stairs, “Pilots on his way sir should be here in fifteen minutes to a half.”

“Thanks,” I said ascending the stairway. Entering the plane, I felt lucky it was warm inside - my jacket was no match for the cold and howling wind of a Washington January. Deciding on a seat, I moved to the lone couch up in front, pushed aside a couple accent pillows and sat down.

The seating consisted of glove soft cream-colored leather with warm tan accents. I couldn’t help thinking - here I was on this beautiful jet while my mother lay in a hospital bed. God only knows what my dad was thinking if he could even grasp the gravity of the situation. Kathy had sent me a text with the number to Dr. Shapiro who was the physician attending to Mom.

I dialed the number and heard Dr. Shapiro answer, “Senator Canon?”

“Yes?”

“I saw your name come up on the phone, how are you sir?”

“Doctor, how is my mom?”

“Well she’s had a massive stoke that has partially paralyzed her left side. The stroke must have happened in the middle of the night because she was found in the morning by her nurse, Elsa.”

Thank God for Elsa, I thought, she knows my mother’s habits well enough to know she would have been up and about well before she arrived and went right in to check on her.

“Dr. is she going to live; will she recover?”

“It’s difficult to say to what degree she will regain mobility, but only time will tell. Due to the stroke occurring in her sleep, she did not receive immediate attention. The hours with her lying there unattended allowed the damage to go unabated. Sometimes severity can be reduced if medications are administered within minutes of an incident.”

“Dr. I’m at the airport waiting for my family, as soon as they arrive we will be flying down there to be with her.”

“Senator, we have a nurse sitting with her and I am monitoring her condition. Rest assured she is receiving the best of care. I do think she will survive this, although I don’t know what quality of life will return.”

I felt guilty… had there been around the clock care for Dad she may have been discovered earlier. I tried to rationalize… they could have all been sleeping anyway including the nurse.

The whole situation is very difficult when dealing with an ill person and especially hard on the caregiver. If Mom is able to recover enough to ever go back home, I knew we would have to have someone twenty-four hours to care for both of them. I had some time before Kathy and the girls arrived, and my head was whirling with thoughts of the debate on Sunday, the fundraiser, the Saudis… I tried to push everything out except my mom.

When Kathy and the girls arrived I jumped up and ran down the stairs to greet them, “I love you guys,” grabbing all three of them in a group hug.

Kathy said, “We’re all here, Jack, as a family, how is she?”

“Is Grammy going to be okay?” Bethany asked her little face looked up, so concerned. She’s a little angel I thought.

“I think so Honey, we’ll be leaving to see her in a few minutes.” Martha was holding tight around my waist looking up at me. I could not help but think how pretty she was becoming, her eyes as big a saucers over a little freckled nose.

“Daddy, are you okay?”

“Yes, Honey,” I kissed the top of her head, “the doctor said Grammy is going to make it through this but he doesn’t know the extent of the damage the stroke may have caused.”

A member of the crew came aboard and quietly asked, “May I have your keys? We will have someone park the cars in the far corner of the hanger while you’re away.”

I gave the man my keys and said, “This set starts both.”

“Thank you sir, the captain has given the go ahead to push back out of the hanger onto the tarmac.”

Kathy said," Girls, let’s get ready to go, pick a seat.” Kathy and I sat on the couch together and the girls each took a chair opposite us.

Bethany said, “This is a pretty plane, Daddy, it smells nice.”

Martha chimed in, “It’s toasty warm and the seats are cushy soft.”

I felt the gentle motion of the plane being pushed out and heard the whirl of the twin engines being fired up. While we were taxiing to the runway, a pleasant woman-flight-attendant checked our seat belts and then sat down in the rear of the cabin. Captain Ben, who I had seen busily readying for takeoff called back on the intercom, “We are next in line for takeoff and are awaiting clearance.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

We arrived at Lexington Memorial and went directly to Mom’s room. Her nurse was seated beside her, “She’s resting comfortably.” Mom looked ashen under the eyes and very pale like the blood had been drained form her face.

Her nurse was a young, tiny, brown haired 24-year-old. She had great big brown eyes and long eyelashes making her look more like a Disney character than a healthcare worker.

Speaking in a sweet little voice, “She hasn’t spoken yet but she did move her right hand, are you Senator Canon?”

“Yes and this is my wife Kathy and my daughters Bethany and Martha.”

"I’m Casie,” the nurse said.

“I’ve been with your mother since the start of my shift. Mrs. Canon is on blood thinning medication and we are hoping she responds well to that. I have not left her side since. Before I got here, another nurse was with her through the night. Let me call Dr. Shapiro, he told me he wanted to meet with you as soon as you arrived.”

“Thanks, Casie,” I moved over to Mom’s ear and whispered, “We are here Mom. Kathy, Martha, and Bethany are here to see you. Can you hear me Mom?”

Waives of dread spread through my body. Seeing my mother in that condition was horrible because she was always so strong and healthy. Between the two of them, I thought it would have been my father in this position. Waiting for the Dr. I thought of all the things my mom had meant to me. She had always built me up and given me confidence no matter how trying the circumstances. Kathy was rubbing Mom’s arm. The girls were whispering softly, “Grammy we’re here and we love you so much.”

I remembered flying onto that dirt road with the A10 and causing Mom and Dad to freak out - and my dad being so upset. I have to laugh sometimes at all the crazy things I’ve done over the years. Now, with my mom lying here in the hospital may be the craziest. Trying to be president and change a system so out of whack, it barely resembles the founding fathers’ vision.

Casie entered followed by Dr. Shapiro, “Good afternoon, Senator. Sorry to meet you under these circumstances.”

I introduced my family and asked, “What is the prognosis, doctor?”

“Well Senator and Mrs. Canon, there are basically two types of stroke. One is caused from a burst blood vessel. It can be in an artery in the brain or somewhere else in the body that travels to the brain causing death to brain tissue. The second type is the kind of stroke your mother had.”

“Kathy asked, “How can you tell?”

“Following standard procedure we did a CT scan on your mother-in-law when she arrived. We discovered she had a blood clot or clogged artery that stopped the flow of blood to part of her brain. Usually, if we can catch it in time, say within a few minutes to three hours, blood thinning medication will help to lessen the symptoms.”

“She didn’t get treatment in time, did she, Doctor?”

“My fear is—your mother was not discovered for longer than that, the paramedics could not administer thinners on site for fear if she had a burst blood vessel the medication would have made it worse. She was non-responsive when paramedics arrived.”

“Has she spoken at all since this happened, Doctor?”

“Not that we have heard. The nurses have been with her, monitoring for me the entire time. I will say - I’m guardedly optimistic based on the CT scan and Nurse Casie’s observation that your mom moved her right hand. Another promising sign is her facial muscles are only slack on the left side. Usually that means she will regain some speech and mobility using her good side. We should know more in a few hours. You can pray the drugs take effect and there has not been too much damage.

“Thank you, Doctor.”

The doctor was walking towards the door.

“I will check in with your mother through out the day and the nurse will inform me of any developments. Please call me at any time,” he said, leaving.

“Senator,” Nurse Casie said, “Dr. Shapiro is the best doctor we have dealing with stroke victims and he’s also a wonderful surgeon. He would have operated if the CT scan revealed a broken vessel. I want to give you hope… usually from what I have seen patients like your mom do gain some speech back. She will have to have therapy.”

“She’s a fighter Casie,” I said.

I looked over at Kathy and she welled up with tears, still rubbing my mom’s arm. Bethany pulled a chair next to the bed and she and Martha were both trying to sit in it. We were all watching Mom for about a half an hour when the girls started to get restless sharing the chair, each trying to gain a slight advantage.

The coats, hats, and gloves balanced on the chair back had fallen onto the floor from their squirming.

Irritated, mind whirling from the situation, and all I had going in the next few days, I scolded, “Girls do you realize the gravity of the situation? Cut it out, your mother and I need some peace in this room to think!”

Kathy spoke more quietly, “Martha, I want you to take your sister downstairs to the cafeteria and get something to eat, alright?”

“Okay, Mom, come on you little brat.”

“Be good to each other, you girls will be best friends someday. Grammy wouldn’t be happy knowing you aren’t getting along.”

As the girls were leaving the room, “Martha, Honey, be sure to leave your cell phone on and available and just go straight to the cafeteria and come right back.”

“Okay, Mom, they chimed and then scurried out of the room.”

I picked up the coats and other items from the floor and placed them behind me in the chair and sat down facing Mom, “What do you think, Hon? Do you suppose she’ll come out of this?”

Kathy crooked her head to the side, speaking reassuringly, “Your mother is a strong woman, Jack. I think she will.”

An hour went by and Kathy decided she would take the girls home to get them settled. My phone rang. It was a call from Bud.

“Hey, Bud,” I answered.

“Any change with your mother, Jack?”

“We probably won’t know anything till later tonight or tomorrow.”

“Jack…there have been demonstrators at Faneuil Hall, they say they’re holding vigil for you until the debate.”

“You’re serious? That’s unreal, Bud.”

“The message is hitting a nerve in the Northeast and your popularity numbers are growing. Last I checked there were about a thousand people gathered with about a hundred or so in tents.”

“That’s amazing. A thousand people? It’s freezing up there!”

“There could be thousands by Sunday night if the crowd keeps growing.”

“I have been so concerned about my mom, I haven’t even turned on the news today, what are they saying?”

“People being interviewed are saying the system is unfair and we need Jack Canon’s Energy Plan now!”

“Are the majors covering this?”

“The major networks have been covering the scene. Once we got wind of this thing happening we sent a couple dozen of our people down there hoping they would be interviewed. We passed out signs for folks to hold up for the cameras. Our people in Massachusetts brought over every sign we could get our hands on. We have more being printed, the ones with the blue background and white lettering, that say Canon, We Can! And, American Energy Works!”

“Great work, Bud, I’ve got to leave this to you.”

“So far we’ve gotten a few of our plants comments taped, hopefully for the evening news.”

“Who’s out there, Bud?”

“For the most part it seems like an educated group of citizens who are with you and want to hear more about what you’ve got to say. The crowd is peaceful and in control, and so far the cops are just monitoring and letting it happen.”

“That’s really good, Bud, it means people are getting it. Try to get some young faces out there. They’re the only swing vote; we’re already going to split everybody over fifty voting the ticket with Griffin. If we can get the kids, we’ll demoralize her.”

“We’re keeping our people close to the cameras and calling everybody in that we can, but this thing is taking on a life of its own. It’s mostly the demo we want anyway.”

“Great, Bud, we have to shake her loose up there, winning New Hampshire will really bring in the donations, and will loosen the wallets in New York Tuesday Night. Keep the pressure on. The only people Griffin is getting in Iowa are the old guard and you can’t win like that. This will drive her crazy - put everything on this while we have the chance.”

“It’s exciting up here, Jack, you know once we win New Hampshire everybody and his brother will be calling us. I love this!”

“Hey, Bud, one more thing and then I’ve gotta get back in with my mom.”

“What, Jack?”

“Have someone they can’t trace to the campaign stir up the crowd right before the debate Sunday night. Pass out some leaflets on the basic science of producing our own bio fuels. Show how reducing demand on foreign oil will bring the cost per barrel down.”

“Great idea, Jack.”

“Bud, show some math…for every dollar spent to subsidize energy made at home…we save like ten times that on foreign wars, not to mention untold healthcare and loss of life and limb.”

“Do you know that as fact, Jack? Has anyone worked up the numbers? What about just sticking with creating more American Jobs?”

“No, Bud, listen the tobacco companies are always romancing the Senate with the twenty five billion in tax revenue from cigarettes. What they neglect to mention is - the country spends two hundred fifty billion on directly related healthcare costs. Use the same logic and get everybody going.”

“Will do!”

“Bud, last thing, I gotta go. We need someone who can really whip the crowd up.”

“I got just the guy in mind, Jack.”

“Good, have our guys get some of the local businesses to sponsor hot chocolate and stuff to keep em warm out there. Pass out blankets if you have to - just keep this going until I get up there.”

“Okay, got it - there’s just one last thing I want to tell you about. The latest NIM News Poll has you neck in neck with Griffin, so I ordered the ads increased through the Primary on Tuesday. It goes against my gut to taper off now!”

“Good call, Bud, I’ll see you on Sunday, bye.”

My mom always told me opportunity is when preparation and luck meet, this was one of those times. I wish she were awake to see this.

We had been playing a powerful ad since our announcement and it was gaining traction with voters:

A male announcer slowly reads the copy in a friendly but authoritarian voice, “Your groceries are high, health care and college costs are out of control - if you can still afford them. Millions of Americans are being forced for lack of better alternatives to work for subsistence wages.”

All while the camera pans across vacant and run down factories, “We are a nation that produces little and borrows much."

The pictures show workers in a fast food drive thru window then transitions to customers waiting in long lines at a Big Box Retailer while the copy reads: “More and more, our employment amounts to service jobs, filling orders, waiting on each other. Even then companies refuse to hire so you wait.”

“Our nation can’t go on like this - we need to produce washers, dryers, televisions, and cars again.”

The narrative continues over scenes of busy factories and workers in China.

“China produces our products and American Companies sell them here. RCA used to make Televisions right here in America.”

There’s a screen shot of an Asian worker attaching RCA Logos onto television sets.

“We have to create good paying jobs in America. We have to create our own Energy.”

Spoken over fields of plenty, then a bio mass plant. The pictures brighten and soft music begins in the background.

“Jobs that really pay the bills free us from wage slavery. We Can Power our Future. We Can! Bring America back to when American manufacturing was the envy of the world.”

Focus groups had reacted positively to the ad and many said they would be prompted to action after seeing it. Even so, what we were experiencing at Faneuil Hall had caught us by surprise, we had no idea we would gather a crowd of a thousand waiting for a debate.

I had been standing outside of Mom’s hospital room while talking to Bud. After the call, I stepped back in.

Nurse Casie said, “Her vitals are good, she hasn’t responded to me yet, but she did move her right arm towards her face.”

I reached over and held my moms hand, rubbing her arm, “Mom, it’s Jack. Can you hear me? Squeeze my hand if you can.”

I waited but there was no pressure from her hand.

“Casie, let me give you my cell number. Would you call me if there is any change at all?”

“Yes, Senator, and I will give it to my change of shift.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Sunday morning Kathy and I were up drinking coffee together sitting in our favorite overstuffed chairs facing each other, each to one side of a big white mantled fireplace. I remember her deciding to paint the mantle white to match the rest of the trim in the living room. The sun was shining through a colonial window at the far end of the room, softly lighting the yellow gold color of the walls. Kathy decorated the room in a color that changed with the amount of light in the room.

We refinished the hardwood floors and placed matching deep red oriental rugs in front of the fireplace and in the sunroom - three steps down from the living room across from us. Kathy said “It’s cold out this morning, but I like the snow.”

An inch or two of snow had fallen overnight and the rustle of the wind was blowing it around the L shaped sunroom.

Kathy said, “Jack, I’m going to stay here with the girls and be near your mother.”

“That’s probably a good idea; I’ll go up this afternoon for the debate and then fly back right after.”

“Jack, I don’t want to bring up a sore subject but Roger was at the hospital earlier and was asking for you to call him.”

Roger and I had a falling out. It was over a real estate deal he had gotten the Colonel involved in back in ’05. Roger talked Dad into investing 20 million dollars in a mid rise golf community in Naples, Florida. The project started and everything was going well; Dad was so proud of Roger.

I even thought this was good for them both and at least it kept him busy and out of trouble. They got a Regional Bank to finance the bulk of the 110 million dollar price tag. The plan was for four hundred and ninety units along one edge of the Naples Municipal Golf course. The idea was sound enough; there would be golf and the view but lower fees for the purchasers.

Everything was pre-selling back then and the project sold out before the foundation was poured. Roger had a wacky girlfriend at the time who he listened to and over the objections of the architect he made several design changes during construction of the first building. One of her bright ideas was to remove the floor to ceiling windows facing the golf course and make them half the size with a three-foot knee wall blocking the best part of the view from the upper floors. She thought it would make more room for furniture.

The market was so hot, buyers didn’t care, placing deposits of ten percent on asking prices of $250 to $750 thousand. Appraisals were coming in for double the original purchase price, so Roger and the bank were allowing people to buy up to ten units each, reducing the required deposit for multiple units. Things were so crazy in Florida, the bank gave approval to build four hundred of the units - none of the usual safeguards were in place. In the meantime, the builder delays cost too much time and the market softened.

To cut costs, since the units were already sold, Roger figured he would cut each building down to just two elevators, the minimum allowed by county code. Had the project finished on the original schedule, Roger would have made out fine.

During the nearly two years of delays, the market tanked. Due to pressure from Congress, Uncle Sam had reduced the regulation and oversight of the banks. Eager to capitalize on the rising values, banks loaned money to people on the strength of the rising market.

When the bubble burst, not one single investor showed up to close on a unit. Federal regulators seized the bank and, in a deal arranged by the Fed, it was absorbed by a larger one. Roger walked away from the one-hundred-million dollar paper loss. Today the property is just sitting with a chain link fence around it, waiting to be liquidated by Freddie Mac. Lucky for Dad and Roger, the property was held in a corporate name - Sunshine Investment Partners, along with the bank, each with third shares and no personal liability. The Colonel is still out twenty million and Roger is back in Kentucky, but I’m the one who will have to explain the mess to the press.

When this gets out it’s going to highlight my father’s wealth, my brother’s issues, and link the real estate mess to our family name.

Had Roger just let the project go forward on schedule without his girlfriend’s input, the units would have been completed on time and sold.

The phone rings, Tip’s name pops up on the screen, “Hi, Tip.”

“Jack, how’s your mother doing?”

“The same. She has been resting and we’re all waiting for her to wake up and speak to us.”

“She’s in our prayers Jack.”

“Kathy and I are just sitting in the living room having coffee. What’s up?”

“Two things, Jack. We picked up a transmission last night; one of the bugs we placed when we visited the prince signaled back from a location about three miles out from the palace, probably a dump heap.”

"You’re serious, what did you get?”

“We think the conversation took place in the palace, but the bottom line is they want F-16’s when you get in office.”

“F-16’s, that’s wild. Anything about cutting back on bio-energy?”

“Don’t shoot the messenger but from what I heard on the tape lets just say they aren’t too concerned."

“That’s not what I would have expected.”

“To paraphrase, they don’t think we can get it done.”

The Saudis had purchased F-15 fighter jets 5 years before in a 29 billion dollar arms deal with the United States. They were obviously banking on purchasing the latest technology available to beef up their arsenal when we took office.

“Well, Tip that’s not all bad, why not let them stand as a deterrent to Middle East aggression as long as they stay a step behind us in technology. We can tie them up with the State Department for a couple of years hammering out the details and then there’s the production time. By then the F-16 will be older and it won’t matter. I’ll tell them the deal has to be done through the proper channels but we can get them.”

“Jack there is one comfort - those F-15s we sold them have a kill switch, they’re programmed to drop out of the sky if they ever show hostile towards one of ours. Our planes have a jamming device that turns off weapon systems and engines if we ever have the need.”

“They have no idea?”

“It’s untraceable, deep in the programming, and you can’t fly those things by wire, it’s all computerized.”

“That’s good news, what else?”

“Jack I am very concerned about the crowds forming up in Boston. I have a friend who was a former commander with the Swiss Guard that I’ve called in to help with security up there.”

“Tip, do you think that’s necessary? If the press finds out, they’ll have a field day - showing me incapable of walking into Faneuil Hall without protection - before we even win a primary. It will look presumptuous on our end; people hate that.”

“Jack, this guy has guarded two popes - they’re experts at blending into a crowd. I’m telling you, with the crowd up there, even with a barrier line, the Boston Cops are not going to be able to control against some crackpot that jumps the barricade and lunges at you. I need to know we have people who can take care of any situation that develops. Your message is hitting home with a lot of people. Crowds can quickly develop into a mob and get difficult to control. If it happens, we don’t want to be second-guessing ourselves later. Jack, I really have to insist you go along with me on this.”

“Alright, Tip, but make sure these guys blend in. I don’t even want to know who they are.”

A wealthy merchant built Faneuil Hall, modeled after an old English market place, in 1742. It was probably one of the most impressive structures of its day. A three-story brick building, with a large bell tower that sits high above the front entrance and granite steps leading up to two very large heavy doors.

It’s testimony to the expert craftsmanship - the doors open easily due to the perfect weighting and balance.

The first floor is comprised of thirty-five or so small shops, each separated by brick walls with open fronts. The second floor was built for holding large indoor meetings and houses a large hall. I’m sure that back when Faneuil Hall was built, 34 years before the revolution, the shops were filled with the hustle and bustle of commerce. The center hallway design, with its 10-foot ceilings, flowed out into large outdoor areas, which held the horses and wagons.

Kathy and I used to visit Boston regularly and would stop by Faneuil Hall for lunch. Once inside the big doors, today you’ll smell dozens of food establishments along both sides of the 200-foot length. In the evenings, we would take in a comedy show in the upstairs meeting area. The most fascinating thing about the place is the rich history; the first floor opens into a large central area, soaring three stories high with seating all around. Where the founding fathers once met are high bars with stools and long tables with benches where busy office workers grab a quick lunch today. I’ve never been when the place wasn’t packed. Many just stand or sit outside if the weather suits, spilling out onto the now open brick paved pavilion areas on all sides of the building. The restaurants are also the destination for people hungry after shopping at all the new stores that have sprung up in buildings all around the historic site.

Once on a visit with the family, a street magician was performing at the front entrance; we stopped for a while to watch. It was fun when he picked Bethany out of the crowd and did a portion of the act with her as the helper. That day after we ate lunch, we grabbed a cannoli at the bakery, the irresistible last shop on the right as you leave the hall. People walk in Boston and we spent the rest of the afternoon walking the freedom trail from Faneuil Hall to Boston Commons. It’s hard to resist the intoxicating aroma of honey-roasted peanuts; once the girls get a whiff, we have to stop for a bag or two along the route.

Kathy loved to shop all along the way. I would sit outside, have a cup of coffee, and enjoy watching all the people. Usually there would be a singer or musician performing in the middle of the street, closed for pedestrian traffic. You can feel the subway rumble below your feet. Sometimes we would stay in town overnight and take the T to Fenway Park for a Red Sox Game.

I knew this area well. It’s the perfect city; so rich with the past, to talk about the future.

I arrived at Logan Airport at 7 p.m. a little later than planned but I hated leaving my mom. I stayed in Kentucky by her side as long as I could. Tip was waiting for me with a car when the pilot taxied over to a private area along the south end of an old terminal.

Tip said, “Jack, there’s a crowd of about 5000 people assembled outside on the pavilion. Bud has someone down there that’s been stirring them up for the last hour or so.”

We arrived at Faneuil hall about 30 minutes before the debate’s scheduled live airtime of 8 pm. Even though Tip had told me about the crowd, I wasn’t prepared. Driving up, the Boston Cops had closed the side street between the building and the parking garage to the North side. The driver pulled up as far as he could toward the Bell Tower end.

People pushed up against the car enough that we could feel it bouncing, like when you test the shocks on a used car to see if they’re any good. The cops quickly cleared a path up to the building. I followed Tip out of the car into the chill of a January wind that felt much colder without an overcoat or the sun.

It gets dark around 4:30 this time of year in the Northeast. As we entered through a cold, dark police line toward the building, I saw a man to my left jump over the barricade, lunging towards me. Tip stepped over, and, with a quick snap of his arm, the back of his hand slammed the guy square in the center of his face. The guy fell back into the police who quickly covered him.

“This is crazy, Tip,” I said as we ascended the granite steps through the heavy black doors.

A quick memory flashed in my mind about the Boston Police. They beat up a kid we knew of years ago because he mouthed off on the street in front of the Red Sox stadium. I thought they might do the same again.

Tip said, “Good thing we’ve got our guys out there, Jack.”

We hurried through the police rope line set up in the center of the hallway, past hundreds of onlookers calling out to me as we entered the large open area. Bud arranged for us to be met at the main entry door on the second floor. As we climbed to the top of the staircase, I heard a young man’s voice call out, “Senator, please follow me. I’ll take you to your dressing room. I’m Vic Miller, Associate Producer with KIM News, it’s [LM8] great to meet you sir.”

“Likewise, Vic.”

“We’ve got to get you into makeup; there’s only 25 minutes till airtime and we are live.” Vic had a nervous voice and he whisked us into a backstage area lined with small dressing rooms.

We entered through a small door and met Melanie, who was waiting for us. Tip stood by the door as Melanie introduced herself, guiding me into a chair in front of a mirror as you’d see in a hair salon. She stood behind me and stuffed black linen into my collar to keep from spoiling my white shirt. She arranged the cloth to cover my blue suit.

“We don’t want to get any makeup on your shirt,” she said.

Melanie was young and spent the whole time telling us about herself. She was a single mom with a 4 year old daughter, Stephanie, tattooed into one wrist and Judy, her mom’s name, on the other. I could see her in the mirror talking behind me. Her brown bangs were bobbie pinned off her face. The rest of her hair was styled in a severe angled cut, long in front with the back of her head shaved short. Melanie obviously worked hard for a living. Her story gave hint of her struggle although she wasn’t complaining, “Senator I am going to vote for you! I’ve seen your ads on TV and I think you’re exactly what this country needs.”

I could tell she was a tender person under the dark eye shadow and bright red lips alternating between a smile and motion.

“Thanks, Melanie, I appreciate that. Are you from the Boston Area?”

Small talk is definitely not my specialty. Some folks can talk for hours about anything. I’ve never had a talent for it. I heard Vic’s voice nervously interrupting as he popped back into the tiny dressing room, ”Senator we’ve set up screens outside for the crowd to watch the debate. I’ve never seen this many people gathered for an event like this; it is amazing, the effect you’re having on them.”

“The people outside, Vic?” I quizzed.

“No, everywhere - at the mall, the gas station. I was at the grocery store this afternoon and all people could talk about was - we need to make our own energy.”

All the advance work had paid off. The materials we put together and the ads were having an even greater effect than we’d hoped.

Vic said to a sound guy, “We need the senator mic’d and out front in 5.”

Melanie was just finishing applying a thin cream makeup to my face, “It looks a little dark, Melanie, are you sure?"

“You’ll get washed out under the bright lights if you don’t have this on. Don’t you worry, I’m doing my best work for you.”

At the same time the soundman is wiring me up.

Vic says, “All set, let’s go. This way please, Senator.”

We filed through a doorway onto the stage area. Vic walked me over to a small podium facing the moderators. Lexi and I immediately found each other’s eyes. I was glad she was here.

Brett Prauer, a brash egocentric bully that passed for a Washington correspondent, was seated next to her. Brett was twice divorced. I thought, what woman could stand him? In his late forties, he made his reputation asking the so-called tough questions many other national reporters would not ask. I usually cringed when watching him interview and preferred just to change the channel. Brett had very thin hair, black hair he made a point of cutting short, and cold features that reminded me of a third world dictator.

I’d have to be very firm with him right out of the gate and let him know this dog could bite back. Let him lock horns with the governor or one of the others. Next to me, on my left was Anne Griffin, on my right Dr. Tim Greene. Next to him was the Reverend Terry Williams, then Bobby D on the far end. The league had invited just the five of us for tonight’s debate and Anne Griffin was spoiling for a fight. She had just edged out Dr. Tim in Iowa and I could tell by the way she was posturing that she was looking to break out of the pack tonight. In her usual style, she wouldn’t care who she stepped on to do it. I’d have to put her in her place like a gentleman I thought looking over at her and smiling.

The crowd was standing room only. It looked over capacity for a room that normally held five hundred; it probably had seven hundred fifty pressed into it. I was ready to go; the throngs of people calling out to me on the way in had given me a burst of energy. It made me feel incredible.

I could hear a producer’s voice in my earpiece counting down the seconds until we were live. The cameras were hot, the producer signaled to Brett Prauer who introduced himself, the event, and then Lexi.

Lexi began speaking, “Thank you Brett. Each candidate will be allowed a brief opening statement, after which we will begin the questions. There will be no direct questions between the participants, but rebuttal to statements will be allowed.”

Lexi introduced each of the five candidates including their state then gave time for opening comments. I listened as each candidate gave their canned spiel, to polite applause, and I thought how cliché they all were. I didn’t like any of the competitors personally with the exception of Dr. Tim. I always thought he was a good man from Maine, really smart, but his views were a bit too ‘save the planet’ for my taste. Lexi introduced me and I began.

“This campaign is for the poor, the disenfranchised, the forgotten Americans who had suffered through the hardship of back to back recessions. You deserve better than you’ve been getting from Washington. The middle class is shrinking, the poor are suffering, and wealth is ever more concentrated in the hands of a few.” I paused for a moment and scanned the audience.

“I am in this race because it is unfair that 1% of Americans control 50% of the income in this country. It’s wrong that the other 99% are forced to subsist on what remains. The inequity has gone on too long. An elite super class has developed in this country while ordinary Americans suffer as a result.

“If you’re tired of living off the scraps…

“If you’re fed up with lack of opportunity…

“If you want to take this country back for the many rather than the few…

“Then I need your help and your vote.”

The crowd broke out into a raucous applause and many people stood.

Brett Prauer was trying to regain control, “Please we are going to have to ask for you to hold your applause in the audience.”

I continued speaking over him, “If you want the unfairness to continue…

“If you’re happy with the way things are…

“If this economy is working for you…

“Then by all means, vote for Gil Barker!

“If you want an America that produces its own energy and the jobs and investment that goes with it then vote for me.

“This campaign is all for you, America, and make no mistake - We Can! Take this country back!

“Look, everyone, it’s not going to be easy to change the status quo. We’re all brainwashed from school age that everyone has an equal chance to make it in this country, but that’s a lie!

“I reject the myth, and I strongly object to 38 million food challenged, I vehemently object to millions of homeless in this country.

“If you’re tired, if you’re hungry, if you’re worried about your home, this campaign is for you—the real people who are hurting in America!

“Our bridges and roads are crumbling on the outside while our hearts are breaking on the inside. The pain is causing many to rot from within; it impacts health, marriages, and self-esteem. It is not your fault our jobs were sent overseas.

“But…there’s plenty of blame to go around in Washington. Our campaign is for the future of every man, woman, and child in America.

“I am asking you to take to the streets and tell your neighbors what you heard here tonight! Let’s take this country back and create a brighter future for all Americans.

“If you’ve had enough…

“If you’re fed up with all of the above…

“If you want an America that works for all Americans - Now is the Time to act!”

I could here the cheers from the crowd outside. I spoke the words God Bless America as the audience sprang to its feet. Americans were at the end of a very long rope, and our message was gathering momentum. It took several moments for Brett Prauer to settle the crowd enough for the Texas Governor to begin.

Anne Griffin introduced herself last, spoke about her two terms as Governor and her executive abilities, “What America needs is someone who has managed a budget and handled the number one job of managing a state. America has illegal immigrants crossing the border stealing American jobs. We need to produce more of our own oil by expanding drilling in the gulf and cutting the red tape, allowing for more refinery capacity. We need to put more into education to attract the high paying technical jobs within a growing global marketplace!”

[LM9]  She raised her voice for effect, “My plan of Free State College for every citizen would make America more competitive. Like it or not, the fuel for our economy is oil and that isn't gonna change anytime quick.”

She was looking at me while making an effort to dissuade the crowd, “If the Senator’s plan would have worked we would’ve done it already. Why hasn’t that happened?”

Brett Prauer said, “Thank you all for the introductions, with that I would like to ask Senator Canon the first question. Sir, what do you think of the Governor’s last statement?”

“Brett, I would answer the Governor by saying we are already doing it. The technology is with us to turn corn, soybeans, and Jatropha into biofuels. I gave a speech a few weeks ago at Georgetown University, outlining our plan to create energy right here in America, and we have a book out on the subject.

“What she’s not telling you is it’s going to take a presidential initiative to steer us in the right direction. The oil companies are not just going to lay down while we work to drop the price of their product! We need to subsidize the growing and production of feedstock like Jatropha into biofuels. We have to give farmers incentive to grow fuel for America. Just like the victory gardens of old, citizens have to get involved. School kids could learn about bio energy growing gardens at recess. We need to change the national psyche to understand and to use the new fuels. The great thing is we can make a major impact in just one growing season; we are talking months, not years.

“We can work to increase yield the way we did with corn, and Jatropha is a grass, not a food source. It grows where many other plants will not, making it perfect for our efforts. Our goal is to produce enough bio energy that the price of oil drops in half.

“The oil producing nations, realizing the market is shrinking, will begin to dump oil onto the market and the byproduct of our efforts will be cheaper energy.

“For the foreseeable future to help that along, we will outlaw the speculation in oil and petroleum by those who do not take delivery as an end user of the products. The reason is simple. Right now oil, gas, and natural gas are bought and sold many times each day on speculation that the price will rise. This happens with many commodities and usually it’s a good thing because it makes a market for products and allows manufactures to lock in prices for raw materials like sugar or cocoa for the year. The exchanges allow a market to be made for planning purposes and the system works well.

“The problem is - there is such a vast and nearly insatiable market for petroleum and energy products - the speculation only drives the price higher and higher. People know that winter is coming and we will need oil to heat our homes. Speculators bid up the price with no intention of ever taking delivery on the product. They know people will want to hit the road over the Fourth of July, so they bid up gas prices. This phenomenon just serves to create a false demand that drives the price artificially higher.

“Look, if you’re an airline or own a chain of gas stations, nothing changes; taking delivery of the products as an end user, you will be able to lock in the price. That was the original intent of these commodities exchanges.

“Conversely, if you’re sitting home in your pajamas with nothing more than a computer waiting for a cold snap or a summer holiday to buy up oil and gas and you have no intent or ability to use it then you won’t be able to do that.

“False markets in energy will be against the law, period.”

Lexi asked, “Senator Canon, you’re saying there is a false demand for oil in this country, and that is driving up the price of oil and hurting our economy?”

“Yes, Alexa, my first day in office, I would sign an executive order prohibiting speculation in energy unless intended for sale to end users. Then I would work with Congress to make it the law of the land. Let’s be clear, there are very wealthy people in this country right now that are hoarding large quantities of oil in tanks just waiting for a cold snap or shortage so the price will go up, and then they sell. That behavior hurts ordinary Americans. I am here to let Americans in on this activity.

“Speculators, even small time investors, many with nothing more than a home computer and a telephone, buy and sell fuel all day long hoping to make as little as a quarter cent a gallon on each trade.

“Right now, any number of people will buy because they can unload in seconds with the click of a mouse to other speculators for a profit, or if the price turns, to limit their losses. That’s patently unfair with products that play such and important role in manufacturing, transportation, heating, and other essential services Americans depend on.”

“Well, Senator, let me ask you this. What happens if this false market stops and a buyer has to take delivery?”

“Alexa, imagine a truck pulling up to your home and delivering a tanker load of fuel. That’s how the system was designed to work. Believe me the false demand will evaporate overnight.

“If you’re holding oil and don’t plan to use it yourself, you’re gonna be looking to unload well before the executive order.”

After the debate, Tip, Bud, and I left the building under police escort. Even with cops all around us, getting to the car was slow. By the time I entered the car, without a jacket, I was freezing.

Tip called ahead to the driver and made arrangements with the police to help get us out of there. The crowd was amped up calling Canon…Canon…as we jumped into the car. The police instructed the driver to pull up along the side street between Faneuil Hall and the parking garage.

As soon as I got in the car, I could feel the rush of warmth. I felt good that at least we had some steel separating us from the throngs of people. It was quickly becoming a mob scene as the road filled with onlookers. There were police in the front and rear of the car. We were just creeping along with the cops dispersing the crowd when a guy leaped onto the front hood. I thought I heard him say ‘help us,’ before the cops quickly pulled him off and he disappeared into the darkness.

Tip said, “Jack we’re gonna need a lot more guys.”

Bud was amped, “I had no idea people would react this strongly.”

“Bud, next time we don’t want to have anyone stirring the people up, we probably caused most of this.”

“Jack, I didn’t have anyone whipping up the crowd, the guy I had in mind couldn’t make it so we concentrated on the posters and the flyers. I didn’t want to bother you with anything on your way into the debate. What we’re seeing is the natural reaction. There is a lot of frustration out there; twenty five million people are unemployed and the rich keep getting richer. People get it rubbed in their faces on television; they deserve better. The pressure’s been building for years. People are fed up and you’re their outlet.”

Kathy was calling in on the cell, “Jack that was wonderful tonight, you did a great job up there, Honey. It felt incredible just watching on Television. The people really responded to you.”

“We’re on our way back to Washington to drop the guys off and then I’ll be flying home tonight. How is Mom doing?”

Kathy said, “There is news, Jack. Your mom spoke this afternoon, she was asking for you.”

“Thank God, what did she say?”

She just asked where you were, We told her you were up in Boston and she would see you soon.”

“Well that is what we’ve been praying for; God is good to us Honey. I’m going to stop by the hospital after I land.”

“Are you sure, Jack? You must be exhausted.”

“I’m wide awake and I feel bad that I’ve been away from her. How’s Dad?”

“He’s doing well. Roger brought him to see your mom and they stayed at the hospital most of the day. Jack, speaking of Roger, he called during the debate and wanted me to tell you - he’s thankful for the way you handled the questions about him and the Real Estate mess in Florida; you made him very proud.”

During the debate, Brett asked about my brother, Roger, and his walking away from a major residential real estate project. He linked the mess to the closing of a bank by federal regulators. He mentioned the Colonel’s money being involved. I took the question as an obvious attempt to paint my father as one of the super rich, my brother as irresponsible, and by association these foibles ran in the family.

My answer was plain as to my father’s wealth. I handled that by saying simply, “I have a unique understanding of the very wealthy. My father would not want to give up anything, but if his income declined slightly, he and those like him would never miss it.”

“If just one percent of the wealth were spread over the remaining population, the standard of living for ordinary Americans would improve greatly.”

I added, “99% of Americans are living on just 50% of the National Income while the elite 1% enjoys the rest. For every 1% we wrench out of their greedy grasp, your standard of living will improve by 20%. Why should the many suffer because the accident of birth leaves the rich feeling entitled? I know for a fact they are no better than you are, no more deserving than you. The unfairness has gone on too long.” The room erupted.

Brett tried to settle the crowd, raising his voice to no avail.

I spoke over them, “Regarding my brother and his investment in Florida, and to all the others who were taught that Real Estate was a reasonably safe investment: you have been hood winked by corruption in the financial markets, the likes of which polite society can scarcely imagine!

“The corruption runs so deep that Ordinary Americans didn’t have a chance to make these investments work. The underbelly of this corruption involves the banks and the lack of regulatory oversight. The government fell asleep at the switch and didn’t just allow it to happen; they encouraged it!

“Hear me, America, if you got caught up in this scandal, it is not your fault, you’re not to blame. Homes should never be valued for less than they cost to build. When I am elected, the corruption will be unraveled and those responsible will be brought to justice. Help is on the way! Americans hurting from the mortgage mess will be helped; I guarantee that to you tonight!”

I motioned with my hands for the crowd to settle, “The greedy banks were bailed out to the tune of hundreds of billions of dollars: money they were supposed to loan to help Americans. Instead, they used the easy cash to bolster their balance sheets. Loans were extended to banks at zero percent while people hurting from the crippling drop in values had their feet held to the flames.

“The people didn’t get bailed out, the people weren’t helped. Instead, they were made to feel ashamed by inept politicians and greedy banks. The system failed you.

“I promise you the banks won’t like it! We Can… make this right! We must unwind this mess and provide the relief people need to get their homes and their country back on track.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

After dropping the guys off at Reagan around midnight, I sat back for the flight to Kentucky. I was feeling exhilarated, as if electricity was flowing out the ends of my fingertips. I thought— this is what it must be like to leave the stage after a rock concert. Ushered through throngs of people calling out to you, pushing slowly toward a waiting limo, inching down a crowded street, disappearing into the myriad of one-way horse trails turned roadways that is Boston.

I saw that Lexi had left a text on my phone, ‘Great job tonight, call me if you can.’ I pressed her number and waited for the phone, three rings, “Hi, Jack, how are you?”

“I’m good, I wouldn’t have called so late, but I just got your text.”

“Oh, Jack, I’m so happy for you, that was amazing tonight. It felt more like a football game than a debate.”

“I’m glad you were there to throw some good questions my way.”

“Jack, you sold me that night in Kentucky, but did you see the crowd outside? They’re with you Jack. I had my cameraman shoot the street scenes after you left. We’re going to use them for a lead story on the evening news.”

“Lexi, you're what’s right about the media, but that Brett guy is a piece of work.”

“Yeah, he’s made his whole career by tearing at people, he wrote a book about himself and how he clawed his way to the top. That’s his public persona though. Off camera, he’s the opposite.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, he’s nice to me and he treats the crew well. I went to a birthday for one of his kids and he’s a good dad.”

“So he’s just a prick on camera?”

“Pretty much. He’s got good ratings for it; it’s working for him. Brett appeals to the part in people that loves to find fault; seeing others torn down makes them feel better.”

“That’s sad, Lexi. He’s an ass!”

“Don’t worry about him. He told me privately he thought you had the best strategy. I believe it too, Jack. You have that defining issue that will lead like a shield until the New Hampshire Primary. You’ve opened people’s eyes to the inequities in this country and the world. You’ve given them hope that we can turn America around and make their lives better. I think you’re going to win the whole thing and be president and I’m really excited, Jack.”

“Well, no matter what happens, I’m glad I got to be your friend and I’m grateful for your questions, you helped me to frame my thoughts during the debate.”

“I loved that you said you’d call on school kids to plant gardens and learn about new energy sources. Change the way people think - get everyone involved in some small way - because we are all in this together. Jack, do you ever worry about retaliation from the rich? You’re calling out some pretty powerful people and it’s striking a nerve with the public. I was worried we’d have a riot on our hands before the end of the night.”

“You don’t have to worry about that in Boston; the cops will do whatever they have to keep the peace. The people know that up there. The big players will scheme to take over the energy markets with the help of the U.S. Government to do all the legwork. The end result will be: America will no longer bow to the King of Saudi Arabia. Lexi, there hasn’t been an investment this exciting ever, and we’re going to make it a no lose proposition by subsidizing it. The one percent is used to having the playing field stacked in their favor and this doesn’t feel any different.”

“Jack, I loved what you said about using surgical strikes instead of boots on the ground to accomplish military objectives.”

“Lexi, now you’re just baiting me. Listen, I’ve just had a thought.”

“What, Jack?”

“Why don’t you set up an interview in South Carolina? I’m going to add two more ideas to the platform, and what better way to bring them to a national audience than through you, my favorite reporter?”

“Any hints, Jack?”

“Just set it up; you won’t be disappointed. It has to do with jobs and taxes, but keep a lid on it until after Tuesday.”

“Okay, Jack, I’ll get it ready.”

“Lexi, there is one thing that I’m going to tell you that I heard about the Saudis, this is definitely under the radar so you’ll have to dig around.”

“You’ve got my attention. What is it?”

“A little birdie told me that the King is looking to buy F-16’s.”

There was silence on the other end of the phone, “Did you hear me?”

“Jack, how did you find…”

Cutting her off, “You know I can’t tell you that, but you have to wonder with so many friends over there what they might need with 30 billion dollars worth of war planes.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

I arrived at Mom’s hospital room about two in the morning. The hall was quiet except for a nurse sitting at the desk, none of the usual activity happening. I walked into the room and saw Mom sleeping, with a nurse sitting in a nearby chair. The nurse looked my way, “I’m her son.” I whispered.

“I know you, you’re the senator everyone’s talking about. I’m Karen,” she spoke in a hushed tone.

“How’s my mom?”

“She was awake earlier when I started at 7 p.m. Your family was here; I met your wife Kathy and your daughters.”

“Has she been eating?”

“No, that’s her dinner right there,” nurse Karen motioned toward the rolling tray that passes for a table. We have her on IV Fluids; she was pretty dehydrated when she came in. “

“We’ve got to get her to eat; that’s the only way she will regain her strength,” I said, “otherwise she will just waste away in here.”

“It’s really up to her at this point. If the doctor puts her on a feeding tube it will be just a matter of time before her organs shut down,” she said.

I told Karen, “I’ve seen how they keep people in bed at the VA Hospitals until their legs get so weak they can’t walk; it only takes about two weeks at this age. I don’t want that to happen to Mom. What is the doctor doing to try to get her up? Is she getting any therapy for her legs to keep them moving?”

“You’ll have to speak with the doctor in the morning, Senator. I’m sorry, I don’t know quite what to say.”

“Oh please, call me Jack,” I moved over and gave Karen a one-arm hug around the shoulders. “I know you’re kind, and I appreciate you’re being here with my mom.”

“I’ve been watching you on the news and I gotta tell you, I agree with everything you’re saying,” she said whispering, “My husband, Joe, has been out of work for over a year.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. What is his field?”

“He had his own construction company; we were doing well. I kept my hand in nursing a couple of nights a week so I could have my days off to raise my girls. I’ve gone back to work full time to try to make ends meet. My husband had trucks, equipment, and men working for him. His company built about 5 or 6 custom homes per year, but that’s all gone now.”

“I’m sorry, Karen. He’s been unable to find work?”

“Joe learned on the job right out of high school and built the business over the last thirty years of his life. He put me through nursing school. He feels like he’s too old at 49 to do anything else with his life now. He’s really depressed because of all the things he’s had to give up.”

Karen looked tired and not just because it was three in the morning. She was 46 but her face looked years older from worry.

“Here’s a picture of Joe and the kids.” She wore an acrylic covered photo on a chain around her neck.

“Here’s me and Joe on one side and the kids on the other.”

“That’s you?” I felt bad I had spoken quickly without thinking.

“Yeah, I used to have long hair but I cut it all off. I just couldn’t keep it up.” Karen had cut her hair very short and had let it go gray. The picture showed her smiling with highlighted brown hair, obviously a happier time.

“Your kids are beautiful, what are their ages?” I asked trying to recover.

“Ten and fifteen, same as your kids. I met them earlier; it’s obvious they love their Grammy.”

“Yeah, my mom has always been close to our girls. She used to babysit anytime we needed to be out of town for any reason, we could always count on her.”

Karen and I were quietly sitting on opposite sides of the bed, each of us holding one of my mom’s precious hands. We sat and talked for three hours about my mom, politics, places we’d been on vacation with our families. We both loved Disney World and shared stories. I told her I liked sitting in the rocking chairs on the big porch of the town hall people watching. I could do that all day. We both loved the fireworks. Just before dawn, I could sense a change. Karen’s finely polished professional veneer was wearing thin and she started telling me the real story.

Joe was severely depressed, his sleep patterns were disrupted, he was up all night with panic attacks, and exhausted all day. He was ashamed that he had lost the business and talked of suicide, thinking the family would be better off without him. Sometimes financial problems can be every bit as bad as health issues; but with the added frustration, that a little money would easily solve them.

The relationship was taking the brunt of the hurt and he had moved into the garage and was sleeping on a cot. The two girls, once excellent students, were having difficulty with friends as the family could no longer keep up with their extra needs. During one emotionally piqued episode Karen- half out of anger and desperate to do something - locked herself in the bathroom, hysterical. She told me how she had grabbed a pair of scissors and hacked away at her long hair.

“I was so sick of keeping up appearances. I just wanted some relief, and out of despair I picked up the scissors and cut all my hair off. I can still see the long strands falling to the floor. The girls were so upset with me they locked their bedroom doors and cried into the night.”

“What caused the blow up?” I asked.

“I don’t even remember. The tension in the house was so high, Jack, any disappointment could set us off. The next day, I wrapped my head in a kerchief and did a walk-in at the closest hair salon. I met an angel, the stylist was so kind to me, and she was going through some issues herself and understood what I was going through. She carefully cut my hair, trying to even out the mess I made and then gave me a gray rinse. My hair had to be cut so short, there was no sense maintaining the color, so we just made the best of it.”

“What did Joe say? A lot of girls have short hair; he might like it.”

“He won’t talk about it.”

“Well I think you look nice.”

“Jack, you’re being kind.”

I could sense that Karen was the type of woman who was tough to compliment in the best of circumstances, let alone after she had been beaten down.

“No, I mean it; you’re beautiful inside and out.”

“Well, it means a lot to me. You’ve managed to make me feel better.”

“I can feel you from across the room. You’re a wonderful person, Karen.”

“Jack, I’m so sorry to burden you all night with my troubles.”

Around 5:30 in the morning it occurred to me, “Karen you know we could really use someone to manage the ranch. My father’s place is enormous and we could use Joe over there, at least until the construction market picks back up.”

“Jack, do you really mean that? It would mean so much to us for him to be back to work.”

“He would be doing us a great service, to have someone of his ability over there who has managed a crew and run his own business. You know, Karen, when did it get to this point?”

“What Jack?”

“That people would be made to feel like they are winning the lottery to get a job. You know, once you get the job there’s usually a mountain of work. Employees are asked to do the work of two or even three people because companies can take advantage of the poor economy. I just think it should be a two way street. Employers shouldn’t have the upper hand; the playing field should be more level.”

“I agree with you; there is no dignity in being out of work. You are made to feel less than [AMR10] and it’s very painful.”

“Hopefully we can change that, Karen.” I moved over to her side of the bed and gently hugged her. She felt soft and warm, I thought any man would be lucky to have her tender embrace. I didn’t want to let go.

“I’m sorry that you and your family have had to deal with the stress of Joe’s business failing. I know that it’s been hard on all of you. I want you to bring the girls over to the ranch and go horseback riding and enjoy the peaceful surroundings over there.”

“You’re so kind, Jack. Not for the circumstances, but I’m so happy to have met you.”

Just then, I heard my mother’s sweet voice whisper, “Jack?”

I moved my face closer to her so I could hear, “Mom it’s me, are you okay?”

“I’m tired, dear. I suppose my body just wore out.”

“Mom, I’ve been talking to Nurse Karen, she’s been keeping good care of you.”

Mom smiled and nodded reassuringly, “But, she says you haven’t been eating very much. Can you try to eat something to get your strength back?”

“I could drink some juice, I think.”

It felt good to hear my mom responding.

Karen said, “I’ll go get her some fresh juice.”

“Thanks,” and turning to Mom, “Karen is going to get you some.”

“I heard her, that’s nice dear. Jack?”

“What, Mom?”

“I want to ask you while we’re alone, if you’re happy Honey?” She spoke faintly.

“I am, Mom, please don’t worry about me We’ve got to get you stronger and back on your feet.”

“Jack, you’re always so busy. I am worried that you never get a chance to catch a breath. I want you to think if all this is what you really want.”

“I want to make changes in this country, but right now I just want to get you better and home.”

“It’s so much, Honey; you’re taking on people who don’t want to change.” She whispered, “I have to be honest, I’m scared for you.”

Just then, Karen popped back in with a cup half filled with crushed ice and juice. “Here, Mabel, take a sip of this nice juice,” she carefully placed the straw to Mom’s lips.

I said, “Her lips are so dry. That’s what you get from a lifetime of using chapstick; she has no natural oils left. Her body hasn’t needed to make any for itself.”

“All women use lipstick and moisturizer, Jack.”

“I’m sorry, Karen; believe it or not that’s my best attempt at levity at this hour of the morning. When do you think the doctor will be in? I’d like to find out what the plan is.”

“Right now, I think it’s to keep her here until she is able to be moved,” Karen said softly.

“Mom, I’m going home to change and eat, I’ll be back later with the girls.”

“That will be nice, dear,” Mom whispered as I leaned over to kiss her cheek.

Karen was standing near the doorway, “I’ll be back with her tonight at seven. Thank you for being so nice to me.”

I walked towards the door and gave her a hug, “Everything is going to be better.” I looked deep into her eyes, “You are a wonderful woman and deserve peace in your life.”

Karen followed me out into the hallway, “Jack this must be so hard for you. I know you want to be with your mom, but don’t you have to be back in New Hampshire?”

“Karen, there are so many people running up there. Did you know there are 31 candidates on the ballot? Some of them are crazies with big hats that don’t make any sense, but others are serious people. Some are people who have been very successful in other pursuits who have been camped out there for the last two years trying to get noticed.”

“No, I didn’t know that. I only thought there were a few candidates.”

“Last time I ran, I spent months in coffee shops and lunch counters and outside of work places shaking hands. It’s so hard to know what to do. My mom would want me to be up there, but my heart tells me I have to be here. People are polite and happy to meet you, but even if you worked at it around the clock, you’d be lucky meeting two percent of the voters. Most people only see the candidates on the TV anyway. The real race is won in living rooms blasting your message when people are in a receptive state.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

The rest of Monday and all day Tuesday we spent visiting with Mom. I told Roger and the Colonel about Joe and arranged for him to get started at the ranch. Kathy wanted to stay behind and take care of Mom for at least the next few days. Then we’d have to get the girls back to Alexandria for school. Preparations were made for me to fly up to New York for the fundraiser. Bud, Tip, and Lisa would be there waiting for us. The pilot would stop off at Reagan to pick up Sandy and Bill before flying on to New York. The plan was to arrive at the fundraising event around 8 p.m. then watch the returns of the New Hampshire Primary. A win would mean that I would give a brief interview with a local news crew Lexi would make available. Finally, we would fly our people back to Reagan and I’d head back to Lexington to be with my family.

As planned, the jet was ready to fly me up to Reagan when I pulled into a private hanger at 5 p.m. on Tuesday evening. I phoned Bud, he was at the Syracuse Home of billionaire Gene Hobbs making arrangements for the evening and the interview later.

“Everything all set up there, Bud?” I asked.

“You're gonna be surprised. Gene told me he has one hundred and seventy five people who confirmed they were coming. If you’re super rich, this is the hottest ticket in town! We should do well tonight.”

Gene Hobbs was heir to one of the largest fortunes in the United States. The family had one of the original land grants dating back to pre-colonial times. The Hobbs fortune was the epitome of old money; the family was invested in multiple industries including vast amounts of raw land held for generations. Politically, Gene leaned Republican. He believed in dramatically lower corporate taxes, reduction in social services for the poor, and favored reduced government. Contributions from him and his ilk had pressured Congress over the years to reduce banking regulations. The lack of oversight on Wall Street and the Banks had drastic consequences, causing the longest and deepest recession in American History. Naturally, his political beliefs dovetailed nicely with his business interests, which by some accounts had his fortune at the fourth largest in America.

One other interesting thing about the Hobbs Dynasty is they seldom, if ever, sold land, preferring to lease for ninety-nine years. That strategy allowed the holdings to earn substantial income while staying with the family. Hobbs was very reclusive and never granted interviews, preferring the seclusion of estates all over the world. Bud told me that Gene never dealt directly in business, preferring his attorneys handle everything. Tonight would be a rare exception. Gene wanted to deal directly with me and asked Bud to arrange for a private meeting between the two of us.

It was just before 7 p.m. when we made our approach at Reagan International. As usual, Captain Ben made a perfect landing and quickly taxied over to hanger 82. Due to the frigid conditions, he instructed the ground crew to pull us inside. We were running a little behind schedule and I asked him to turn it around as quick as he could.

“We should be ready to refuel in about fifteen minutes, then we can leave,” he said.

The crew prepared the plane and pushed us partway outside to refuel. It was a clear night, so we wouldn’t need to waste any time deicing. I got up and walked towards the front of the plane. I saw that Bill had already arrived and was sitting in the small waiting area reading a magazine.

I called over, “Hey, Bill, you made it. Any sign of Sandy?”

Bill got up and started walking toward me, “I just spoke to her, she is on her way. I told the driver to bring her directly over here and I informed security that she was coming.”

“Good thinking, Bill,” I said as I descended the jets stairs,  “I’ve got to hit the bathroom; I’ll meet you inside the plane.” In a gesture of friendship, I grabbed Bill’s shoulder as I passed him, “Are you good?”

“Ya I’m okay, Jack. Hey, Steve made it to Namche Bazaar.” Bill’s son had joined a group of 15 adventurers in Nepal. They were making final preparations for a Trek to Base Camp at Everest to begin acclimating to the altitude. In a couple of weeks, they would attempt a climb to the peak. Like any good dad, his thoughts were with his son.

“That’s awesome, Bill. I want to hear all about it.” The hanger was empty except for our plane. The crew told us that Brenner and his entourage had taken the other two jets, leaving for New York earlier in the day. He was close friends with Gene Hobbs and the only one I knew on the guest list. His group would be on hand tonight to watch the results with us.

I passed one of the ground crew and thanked him for keeping the hanger warm for us; the word had gotten out that I didn’t like the cold too much. I sprung up the steps and entered the plane.

“How’s Steve doing?”

I sat down on the couch across from Bill.

“Steve told me you would have loved the landing at Lukla, the airstrip is only 1500 feet long. It was built with a 12 degree slope to help the small planes that fly in there stop on such a short strip.”

“You’d have to come in at near stall speed to land in that distance, Bill.”

“He said it was pretty hairy, alright.” Just then, I looked out the window as a limo pulled into the hanger. The driver got out and opened the passenger door to the side facing the plane and then he started toward the trunk.

Sandy twisted her body so that both her legs were heading out the door. Her left leg was first with her toe reaching tentatively for the ground. She looked like all legs in the mid thigh dress she was wearing.

Bill had moved over to a window and leaned in to see what had caught my attention, muttering, “Wow would you look at that.”

I said, “She’s something else. Looks like a cross between a new fawn searching for its first steps and a beautiful woman.”

Sandy placed her right calf across her left knee and paused before sliding it slowly down the length of her leg so the underside of her right knee was cupped over her left. Her left hand clutched a small handbag across her pale lower thighs while her right hand supplied pressure to the inner door jam. She shifted her weight forward and landed on the ball of her foot, emerging free from the car. She made no hint if she’d seen us ogling like a couple of thirteen year olds as she adjusted the plunging neckline of her dress. She shook out her hair a little and started walking towards the plane with the slink of a starlet walking the red carpet. The driver grabbed her small carry on and a jacket that she had left on the seat of the car. He stepped quickly to remind Sandy of the jacket and then handed the carry on to one of the crew. Reflexively I jumped out of my seat to greet her at the door.

“You made it,” I said as she climbed up the stairs. “Sandy, you look amazing,” as she met me at the top of the landing. I gave her a hug and I wondered if she could feel my heart beating. Something about this hug was different, the tips of her hair tickled me just right and I got chills. She stepped back to face me and questioned, “What do you think? Do you notice anything different?”

I thought quick, “Your hair is lighter?” She was disappointed in my answer. Give me a day or so, and I could’ve thought of a hundred things to say. Thinking quickly is not my strong suit. For now, all I added was, “Wow!”

“That’s part of it, silly,” she said as she brushed past me then walking one foot directly in front of the other until she found a seat on the couch across from where Bill was sitting. Sandy adjusted her dress and, carefully crossing her legs, seated sideways so that she could face me as I followed finding a seat next to her.

She looked into my eyes and started sounding upbeat, “I was sitting at the office trying to figure out what I was going to wear tonight and decided to go out shopping. That’s when by chance I saw this calendar. I know you love Marilyn and have always thought that I resemble her a bit, so… I just made up my mind to do it! I went to my salon and told them to do me up like the April picture. Sandy reached into her clutch and pulled out the page from a calendar. I told the stylist to cut my hair and color it platinum blonde. When she finished with my hair she arched my eyebrows and did my makeup.”

Looking at her and then the picture, she had nailed it, dress and all.

“You’re gorgeous, Honey, dazzling, and that maroon dress is exact. Where did…”

Sandy put her finger to my lips, “Nice try. This dress is red Jack, or should I call you Mister? I can see blonde?” Sandy was referring to a comment I made after being accused of color blindness by Brett Prauer at the recent debate.

Brett was on the attack, “Senator we have a witness who claims you were not able to pass the National Guard Flight Physical, flunking the color test. Yet you still managed to fly. Can you explain that, sir?”

I thought to myself, there were only two other people in the room the day I was trying so hard to view the numbers in the dots: the doctor, who was trying to help me out, and a young male assistant. There’s always some jackass from the past looking for their fifteen minutes. The guy must have come forward after seeing my face on TV, thinking he had scandalous news. So many people wait for that gotcha moment. In response I said while noticing an attractive blonde in the audience, “I can see blonde.” The audience cracked up, much to Brett’s disgust. After the laughing settled, I tried to recover by looking over at Anne Griffin’s outfit, listing the colors she was wearing. I didn’t want to appear chauvinistic so I turned to Dr. Tim and said, “Blue tie, pale green shirt, blue blazer.”

“Sandy, I really thought your dress was maroon.”

Shaking her head, “It’s red, Jack. You really do have trouble with some of your colors, don’t you? How did you pass your color test?”

I looked over at Bill who was sitting across from us, listening.

Bill volunteered, “I got a copy of the test and practiced with him. He got good enough at remembering the other colors and patterns that he was able to pass by the skin of his teeth. I guess I’m to blame for him passing his flight physical.”

No, you were a good friend to me, Bill; I did what needed to be done."

“Not too good to be jealous of what I’m seeing over there. If a beautiful woman went through all that trouble for me, as unavailable as you are…”

“Sandy stopped him, “Bill…I just thought this look would be fun for Jack. To help keep his mind off any other distractions. He’ll remember me back at the office like this and be able to laugh a lot of that stuff off.”

“I’m jealous of that, too. Women are always throwing themselves at Jack. I’m divorced, alone, and miserable.”

Sandy said, “You’re a nice guy, though. I’ll try to fix you up with one of my girlfriends.”

In all the talking between the three of us I hadn’t realized that we had already fueled up, been pushed back and were taxiing to the runway. Pilot Ben came on the intercom, “we are next in line so buckle up, everyone. We are out of here.”

We arrived at Syracuse Hancock International around 8:30 p.m. to a frigid wind and waiting car. Tip had arranged for a car and driver that would take us to the estate of Gene Hobbs. The estate was located along the Onondaga Lake. The route to Liverpool took about twenty minutes down 81 to the Parkway and then onto 2nd street, ending up at the northwest section of the lake.

Tip made the trip to pick us up to fill me in on a few details concerning the fundraiser as well as to make sure we got there in one piece. He was waiting in the back of the limo when Bill, Sandy, and I hurriedly jumped in to escape the cold. Sandy climbed in first and found a seat across from Tip. Her dress rose up accidentally revealing her uppermost thigh and she quickly shifted to pull it down. She over reacted and crossed her legs tight, one over the other. I saw Tips reaction as his eyes made their way from her toes to her breast.

“Look at you,” Tip couldn’t help but comment about Sandy’s transformation. “You look amazing!”

I was second to jump and sitting next to her - heard both the question and the answer.

“You like it?” Sandy blushed.

“Like it? That’s got to be the understatement of the century; you look frigging hot Sandy. How are you doing Jack?” Tip turned his head toward me but his eyes couldn’t seem to follow and stay.

I said, “I’m good. Isn’t she something? It feels like we’re traveling with a starlet.”

“I know, I’m in love!” Bill said jumping in last then pulling the door shut behind him.

Once we were all settled, Tip knocked the back of his closed fist against the window signaling to the driver that we were ready. The center window between the passenger and front cabin rolled down slightly.

Tip said, “Let’s move.”

Turning back to me but still distracted, Tip added, “I ran the guest list and there are a couple of undesirables that you should know about, Jack. Actually you all need to know about.”

“Any word from Bud and Lisa?” Bud was back at the mansion, busy working the donations with Lisa at his side handling the accounting.

“Ya, Bud wanted me to remind you to try not to let any pictures flash with either of them, if possible.”

“How bad are these guys, Tip? They’re obviously friends of Hobbs; he keeps himself fairly clean I’m sure.”

“Jack, Hobbs is no boy scout, anyway. Add to that the stink of Tommy Santoro and Emeilio Juarez at his place. Juarez, nicknamed the Cuban, is the head of a crime syndicate in Havana with a home base in the Dominican Republic where he’s sort of a local hero. The agency has its eye on him.”

“How did he get into the country?”

“That’s the thing, Jack; these guys fly around in private jets owned by corporations linked to Hobbs. Juarez takes a short trip to the Dominican or Haiti or even the Bahamas where Gene picks him up and flies him here. He’s a badass Jack, the agency was considering taking him out just to shake things up but a hold came down from the top so they’re just keeping tabs on him for now.”

“What about Santoro?”

“He’s the real bargain, mixed in with the New York mob and Juarez. The agency has him as the number two man in the North East Drug trade.”

“Has he ever done time?”

“Twenty years ago he did three years for extortion but was let out early and has never been back. His nickname is the undertaker because his business partners tend to die off.”

“Why would Hobbs bother?”

“It’s always the money. My guess is that Juarez is the grower, the Italian is the distributor, and that Hobbs owns the land or something; he obviously provides transportation. The agency won’t touch Hobbs; he’s got the hands-off platinum card from the president. Even the IRS can’t audit this guy. He’s definitely one of the elite.

We pulled up to high solid black iron gates and a guardhouse that would lead us onto the estate.

Tip explained, “We checked this place out, Jack. I looked at the original as-built schematics and had our guys at the agency do some satellite surveillance. This place is tighter than Fort Knox; the entire property is surrounded by a 20 ft. stone wall. Just inside that is a forty-foot wide mote filled with razor blade tipped barbed wire just beneath the surface. I heard the crew has to skim out dead birds and small animals that venture in. The road heading to the house has a section that can drop 8 feet making it suddenly impassable with a vehicle. The entire property can be lit up to daylight conditions with floodlights. Surveillance has shown as many as 30 security staff roaming the perimeter.”

“I hope you brought plenty of gum with you,” I said.

Just then our driver opened up the window and announced, “The Senator Canon party is here.”

The guard went back inside the guardhouse and emerged along with another man with a dog who proceeded to lead the animal around the vehicle. When he was finished, the first guy walked up to the driver’s window and I heard, “Thank you. Please travel straight ahead to the main building; someone will be waiting with a red wand light to direct you.”

The gates slowly opened and revealed a quarter mile road lighted by old-fashioned gas carriage lamps. At the end, sitting on a slight rise, was a beautiful building lit in golden spotlight.

Driving towards the residence I said, “There is nothing small about this place.”

Sandy turned her face towards me, “Thanks for inviting me, Jack. Something tells me this is going to be a memorable experience.”

Bill added, “I’ll stay close.” His job was to know details so I could work the room and be charming without worrying about forgetting stuff.” Bill was a great help, he was a storehouse of information, jumping in when I needed him to answer questions. He took care of the details, allowing me to mingle. Sometimes I would leave him to finish with one group, excusing myself to move on to another. We made a good team. Tip had all the names and background information and Sandy was playing her unofficial self-appointed role as eye candy. This was definitely her night for that.

“I’ll be right next to you all night, Jack,” was her only comment as we pulled up to the mansion. The four of us exited the limousine and walked toward the massive porch that looked to span a hundred feet along the entire front of the house.

The building was well over three stories tall with too many very large colonial windows to count, each lit brightly from the inside. We walked from the car and stepped onto the landing. I could see inside a spacious open hall with a brilliantly polished wood floor. Two doormen opened giant etched glass doors and we entered. The receiving area of the house was about seventy foot deep to a double staircase that split in circular fashion taking guests to second and third floor landings. Groups of massive white columns held up the floors, and the walls were faced with thick, white colonial moldings. Through the center of the staircase, there was a very large open area with what looked to be a lot of activity.

I could make out a pool, surrounded by a large brick patio and what looked like grass. Surveying my surroundings, I realized I was only seeing the tip of the iceberg. The building was extremely large with a Plexiglas dome covering a central courtyard area half as long as a football field. The house was constructed surrounding it on all four sides. Each of the ballroom-sized rooms on the ground level opened up to what can only be described as an indoor park, shielded from an upstate New York January with temperature and wind chill coming off the lake that made it more like twenty above in the real outdoors.

There were guests milling about, captivated by street performers and magicians playing to the crowd, working to keep everyone entertained. Everywhere I looked there was something going on.

Bud made his way over to us, “What do you think of all this, Jack?”

“It’s unbelievable, Bud.”

“Well, enjoy yourself. The take for tonight is already 28 million and I expect may be somewhere around 35 or 40 before the night is over.”

Lisa found us, “Jack, Integrated Media has you the winner by 9 points with Griffin second and Tim a distant third.”

Sandy gave me a hug, “Congratulations, Jack. This is your night.” I was feeling elated as our host, Gene Hobbs, greeted us, “Glad you could be here, Senator. You must be happy to hear you’re the winner in New Hampshire. Gene quickly added, “I’d like to introduce my wife of fifty years, Betty.” She was a comely woman of about seventy and seemed genuinely pleased to meet all of us.

“Senator, we are so glad to have you visit our home, I so enjoyed watching your debate,” she said in a mild southern drawl. “These are my daughters Timlin and Lily.” She presented her girls, both in their mid-thirties, who were making their way to us.

“I’m so pleased to meet all of you,” I said toward the girls and Mrs. Hobbs. “I’d love a tour of the house later; in fact we probably all would if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Please, call me Betty and I’d love to show you the house.”

Gene added, “Well done. You have Griffin on the ropes; I don’t think she’ll be able to recover.”

I replied, “Don’t count her out yet, Gene. She’ll pull out all the stops in South Carolina, she’s gonna be like a cornered rhino now.”

Everyone chuckled. I thought it interesting people were listening with rapt attention when I spoke. The celebrity draws them like moths to a flame. Even the rich and powerful are intoxicated by it. I would use this night and the news of the win to try to convince Gene and his guests subtly to draw back on some of Griffin's funding. Especially since it seemed like he was leaning that way already. If her money dried up, maybe she would too.

Gene and Betty began to walk us around introducing us to groups of people who were gathered about. I felt more like a kid at the circus than a man running for president. The statues were real people. We passed a sword swallower, mimes and acrobats. Sandy held tight to my arm as we walked to the very back of the room towards the main attraction. Behind the pool, there was a tiger in a black circular cage with a tamer running through a series of tricks with the beast.

“Jack, have you ever seen anything like this night?” Sandy looked up at my face.

“This is definitely over the top. Are you having fun?”

Sandy answered, “It’s definitely different, but I have this weird feeling too, like I could never fit in with the people here. I don’t know why, Jack, it just feels sort of creepy. I just can’t seem to shake it.”

Sandy felt the guarded polite plastic veneer as we met with each cache of guests. Arm in arm, we made our way around the room in what felt like a summer night just before sundown. The music playing softly in the background like something you might have heard at King Henry’s Court in the Middle Ages. As we passed, I could see it was a live version with odd-looking instruments and singers performing. This type of money and privilege provides comforts most people are not aware of - I doubted average Americans even contemplated such things as they struggled to meet their obligations and keep a roof over their heads. We were all struck by the extravagance, and I can safely say we would never forget.

We took side trips through sections of the home as Betty explained the different wings, each with multiple bedroom suites and living areas overlooking the central courtyard. It struck me that the kitchen was a commercial type and the number of staff milling about. Gene and Betty lived in a fashion where they would never enter a kitchen or even think to do so. When we arrived at the library, Gene asked if he could have a moment with Bud and me, asking Betty to continue with the tour.

Tip stayed behind, saying, “I’ll wait here for you, Jack.” Betty blithely continued with Sandy, Lisa, and Bill. Bud mentioned that we had a crew waiting to shoot our acceptance of the New Hampshire win.

“This won’t take too long,” Gene said. Opening the door into the library, I saw two men seated, having a discussion. One I recognized from earlier in the evening; his behavior had taken me aback. This mid-fifties aged man with dyed hair the color of coal tar sealer threw his drink at the big cat during a performance. He startled the obviously tame animal and proceeded to run his mug back and forth across the steel mesh cage. He was laughing like a hyena and none of the people around him was giving him any grief about it. From my vantage point across the pool, I could see the tamer quickly opened the smaller cage door and ushered the tiger into the comfort of its transport box.

Gene said, “Senator, I would like to introduce Thomas Santoro.”

The Italian rose to shake my hand, “pleased to meet you, senator.” His accent sounded heavier than New Jersey, closer, but not quite as thick as Rhode Island.

The other man was on his feet and Gene introduced, “and this is Emilio Juarez, my friend from the Dominican Republic.”

Tip had warned me about Juarez, nicknamed the Cuban.

“Good evening, Senator. I too am very pleased to make your acquaintance,” he said in a very soft-spoken Cuban voice. The man, obviously in his very late seventies, maybe early eighties, was almost sheepish and his handshake was soft. His health looked frail and I was surprised at his age along with his obvious wealth, he’d be hanging in this group. I thought he should be spending what time he had left trying to find joy and peace.

The only thing that gave me a worse vibe than these two was Gene’s taste in decorating. The ceilings were about 30 feet high and three walls held books up to about the first 15 feet, after which was a very large landing around three quarters of the room. The wall opposite the door was made up of five floor-to-ceiling arched windows. The bottom six feet of each had colonial muttons and were partially opened, allowing the outside winter cold to fight with the heat in the room. On the landings above the bookshelves were housed various artifacts of torture.

Gene saw me noticing, “These are from the collection of King Henry,” he boasted.

There were guillotines and stretching racks and other devices all made of aged wood and black iron. Some had big weathered chain links hanging from them and leather straps. There were black iron turning wheels, the sight was gruesome.

Gene motioned to a large axe with a semicircular blade and an unusually long, thick handle.

“This is my prized piece of the entire collection - the axe used to behead Katherine, Henry’s youngest bride.” Mounted next to the axe, on a polished cherry post, was a scrap of parchment. Next to it, carved in gold lettering over black onyx, was inscribed an onlooker. The parchment had faded to an almost illegible degree and was kept behind glass.

Gene said, "The onlooker’s account is sealed in helium, just like the Declaration of Independence, to preserve it. I’ve had it authenticated by historians, expert in the period.” The words were transferred onto the stone.

The eerie account told of the misty morning when the helpless fair-haired teenager, a mere girl, forced to lay under the weight of the wealth of England, was led to her death.

I read the inscribed: Queen Katherine emerged just before nine in the morning. A rain the night before had turned the courtyard muddy to our ankles. The streets containing the foul smell of chicken scratch and horse urine slurried into the mix. Gawkers’ pushed for position and strained to see the delicate fawn-like Katherine as she walked barefoot, clothed only in a very plain and simple linen dress. The exposed skin of her upper chest was so pale I could see the ghostly blue vein patchwork just beneath. The last time I had seen the young queen she was amazing, the most beautiful woman in all England. Fancily dressed and bright, riding in an open coach smiling sweetly waving to her subjects, I fancied the thought our eyes might have met for a second.

“Spill her blood!” A spectator called out. I thought, what cowards this mob, content to stand by and watch. Greedily clinging to their own lives–any one of which could be wrenched from him in a second.

This bitter gray morning, the little Queen made her way slowly up to the old worn wooden steps, pausing briefly, turning sad doe eyes back to the crowd. A pitiful thin waif of a child so helpless and demure, Katherine continued up the stairs carefully gripping the railing as if it were her mothers hand, that somehow she might be swept away from all this.

Once upon the platform, facing the crowd full on, her tiny limbs were exposed and pale, a simple dress hanging over her nearly shapeless frame. She wore no jewelry. Her one remaining vanity, long hair, perfectly combed. The henchman placed her firmly against the block and with a blank and helpless stare Katherine moved her beautiful locks to one side exposing her slender neck.

I waited for her to jump to her feet and scream out in defiance, “What have I done that your precious King isn’t guilty of?”

Laying her head sideways on the block, she awaited her fate in silence.

The black-hooded killer appeared to us like a giant standing over her. A moment before, even the handle of the axe and the blade had been taller than the living little queen. He drew back.

I heard the neck cracking then a thud as the girl’s head crashed to the platform floor. Steam rose from the blood pouring in a warm pool from the lifeless body slumped behind the block.

Gene Hobbs had acquired the only known account of the gruesome event; one can imagine that onlookers must have rushed to write on whatever they could find to recount the scene. The metaphor of the rich over the poor and the machinery of torture in the room made me shudder. Reading the narrative, I felt sickened by the horror of the day, for lost innocence and the tyranny of the time. What a waste of a beautiful young life; what a disgrace for England.

Never a fan of the monarchy, I never understood the concept that some human beings considered themselves born to privilege. Life itself is so unfair and as far as I was concerned, the Royal Family was the most visible representation of that. They could shove it up their collective arses; I had no patience for them. My favorite part of history is when we kicked the English out of America and took it over.

“Betty let you decorate this room yourself,” I tried to joke to lighten my mood; these so-called artifacts give me the creeps.

Gene said, “My family thinks the decorating eccentric, I’ll admit, but I’ll have you know the artifacts in this room cost me 14 million dollars to assemble, more than the young king’s entire inheritance of 1.5 million pounds from his father back in 1509.”

“Inflation,” I joked.

Gene continued, “I paid two million for the axe and another five million for the eyewitness account at auction; there were several bidders. Everything on the upper shelve is from the 14th century and authenticated by experts as owned by the Tudors.”

I thought to myself—this guy is a real head case. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but there was something very sinister about Gene that went much deeper than his taste in decorating. A voice came over the intercom; it was one of Hobbs’ many staff of underlings and clingers on. “They are setting up for the senator in the entry hall, Mr. Hobbs.”

“Alright,” Gene said toward the intercom and then turning to us, “This won’t take long, gentlemen. Please be seated.” Gene explained the reason for the meeting. The three men were business partners and wanted to enter into agreements with the United States to grow large quantities of feed stock material in the Dominican Republic and import to America.

“Simple enough,” I said. “Anything else on your minds.”

Gene excused everyone and asked me to stay a moment. As everyone except Hobbs and I filed out of the room, Bud said, “I’ll gather our group and meet you up front, Jack.”

Gene began, “Jack, I have extensive holdings in farmland here in the US, some half million acres that I would like the government to lease from me. You could grow fuel on them, if you like. In exchange for a long-term lease of these areas, I would make a donation of $50 million to the campaign.”

“You don’t mince words, do you, Gene?”

“It depends on the terms,” I said, “because any large scale contract is going to be scrutinized.”

Gene continued, “The terms can be on the high end of market for smaller tracks. Each is broken into 5000 acre lots in the names of separate corporations.”

“You have really thought this through, Gene.”

“We have teams of attorneys who we have had working on this ever since you started campaigning on the idea. We’ve had our eye on you for a while, Jack.”

“I’m sure we can work out something, Gene. I can’t get into any details with you, but we can agree in principle.”

I was thinking of all the debts to various donors I had to accumulate to get to be president.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what are you’re doing getting involved with these other two guys? I mean, with all the money you have, what could you possibly need with two guys like that? We had these people checked out, Gene, they are undesirables.”

“I inherited Juarez from my late father; they were business partners, and Santoro goes with him. Jack, let me tell you something that I have learned over the years: You didn’t make the world the way it is, and you’re not going to be able to change it. Either you work with these people, or they're going to stonewall everything you do. Don’t let that little old man fool you. Between the two of them, they could kill anyone they wanted. New York City is a drug-ridden cesspool because of the two of them. Make no mistake, if I could have, I would’ve ended my relationship with the Cuban. If I did, it would be a death sentence for me and my family.”

I’ve been in enough negotiations to always pull back a little, even though what Gene was offering was much more than we’d expected. He had obviously planned to make an offer that we couldn’t refuse, and money was just a game to this guy. He was investing millions to guarantee billions from the Federal Government.

I half teased, “Hey, Gene, could you arrange for a little Mercedes or something like that for my assistant, Sandy? She loved the car you got me, and she’s been so loyal. If that wouldn’t be too much, I think the rest of this can be worked out.”

Gene said, “Consider it done, Jack. You know, Jack, there’s something I’ve been dying to say to you.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s that I’m humbled by the way you’ve been able to distance yourself from your own father’s business dealings and become popular, even loved, by the public.”

“Not everybody, Gene. The Republicans hate my guts.”

“Well, you’re liked by enough people in this country to run for president and win; I could never do that.”

“Well, Gene, from those that much has been given, much is to be expected. Popularity and even the Presidency can be bought. Getting known takes cash, which you’ve got.”

“Jack, in my later years I’ve been really depressed about the way this family is viewed by the few who know about us beyond these walls. I’ve gotten everything I’ve wanted out of life, now I want to be popular and liked. I want what you’ve got. Can you get this for me, too?”

“You have a beautiful family, Gene.”

“I’ve never had sons, neither of my girls had any ambition. All they wanted after college was to get married. They both ended up with bums with pedigrees from families that had seen better days. Lily and Timlin are meal tickets. My so-called sons-in-law sweet-talked their way in and made grandchildren so they could live off my daughters. They basically sleep, eat, and spend money. You know, if it wasn’t for Betty, I don’t think I’d put up with it.”

“Gene, I’ve got an angle that I think might work for you. You could donate a section of land to set up an energy research area, funded by your family to help the nation with its energy situation. Why don’t you let our PR Company work with you? The energy could go toward fueling homes for the poor. We could do a few photo ops out there and gradually build your family name.”

“It sounds like it could work, Jack.”

“It will work. You could put your bum son in laws into it as figureheads or maybe buy them seats in the state legislature. Your grandsons could be congressmen or senators someday.”

“Jack, I’ve seen your charisma on television and I was forewarned that you could sell, but I am truly disarmed. Hearing it from you it feels real. I want to be part of it all.”

“Jack, you asked me before what I see in guys like Juarez and Santoro. I admire the fact that they get what they want and will do anything they have do to get it. I see that in you.”

“That’s true, but they have no respect for human life; is that how you want to be remembered? Eventually we’re all just memories, Gene.”

“You have a way about you, Jack.”

I entered the hallway flanked by my team with Gene Hobbs standing just off to my side.

“Hi, I’m Will,” the young man said. “I’m the producer.” As he quickly began working to mike me up, a pretty, young twenty-something walked over, who appeared to be busily talking on her cell phone.

“This is Macy Smith,” she said, “a reporter with KRET News, our local KIM affiliate.”

Macy pushed the phone into her pocket and held out her hand, “I’m so happy to meet you, Senator. They gave me this assignment; actually, I begged my editor for it.” She stated, starry eyed, “I’m like your biggest fan. I love what you’re saying out there.”

“Judging by the results tonight, I think a lot of people do,” Will added in a more mature tone, finishing up attaching my microphone.

I could see the brightly lit room behind me reflected in the large glass doors we had first entered tonight. The heavy pillars, the double staircase, the thick colonial moldings all in reverse. Accentuating the strange cast of characters crowded to the front, peering over the two landings. In what had been a whirlwind yet bizarre evening we had accomplished what we came to do.

Will motioned to a kid holding a camera, “That’s Frankie. He’s our Videographer.” Frankie nodded.

Then Will turned, “Are you set?”

Macy nodded, “Go.”

Everything was happening quickly. Turning to me, “Senator we will go live as soon as you’re ready.”

“Anytime is fine,” I answered feeling like a dad chaperoning a high school field trip. Will held up his hand and counted off with his fingers, “in five... four... three..," then silently the second and then the last finger pointed to Macy.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

On the plane back to Washington, I called Kathy, “How’s everything, Honey? Are you and the girls okay? How’s Mom doing?”

We would make a quick trip to Reagan and drop everyone off and then I would fly home tonight to be with Kathy and the girls in Kentucky.

“Your mom is feeling better, Jack. The doctor thinks she will be able to live at home with help.”

“Oh, thank God, she would have hated a nursing home.”

“Guess what? I asked Karen to come and be a nurse for your mom; she’s going to take a three month leave and do it.”

“That’s the best news! You couldn’t have made a better choice. Mom really likes her. For that matter, so do I.”

“We’ll have both Karen and her husband there helping at the ranch.”

“Good thing, we’re gonna be on the road a lot. Next stop, we are going to have to head to South Carolina now, Honey.”

“Jack, can I join you after South Carolina? I promise you I will be there for the whole time in Florida. I’m exhausted, and I’ve got to give the girls a little structure, get them back to school and settled in.”

“I guess I can do South Carolina alone; Bud is working on something really big down there. Once he fleshes out all the details, he’s going to lay it all out for me. He didn’t want me distracted tonight but he’s all excited.”

“I figured you didn’t need me along, 19 points up in South Carolina.”

“If we were behind you’d have had to come with me, so you lucked out. You’re my star hitter. Look what you did for us just being in New Hampshire, shopping with the girls! Bud said it was worth 5 points just having you show up.”

“Jack, you’ve got to promise me one thing though.”

“What, Honey?”

“I don’t want you taking Sandy all over the country with you campaigning,” she said bluntly. “I mean, that ridiculous get up she was wearing tonight, right there on national television. It looked like Halloween with her dressed up as Marilyn. I didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. You had that Megan…”

“Her name’s Macy,” I realized immediately that I should not have corrected her.

Kathy raised her voice, “What did I say? Oh, whoever she was, teenage-looking reporter practically falling all over you with Marilyn at your side. What a farce, Jack. I was waiting for her to sing ‘Happy Birthday, Mr. President’ in a throaty, half drunken voice, and it wouldn’t have surprised me if she had.”

“I’m sorry, Honey. We brought her up there hoping she’d meet some rich guy and…”

She cut me off, “She’s in love with you, Jack. If you can’t see that, you’re an idiot.”

“Honey, you know there’s nothin’ goin’ on. She runs the entire office,” I tried to cajole.

Kathy continued, “Jack, do I have to spell it out for you? All my friends know you like Marilyn, a lot, maybe more than you should. Your secretary shows up, a dead ringer for her, on national television standing right next to you while your… I give up. We’re just retracing the lines here. Just promise me.”

“She will be at the office, I promise.” I tried to explain, “I need her there, anyway.”

“Jack, I know she does a good job. If she didn’t, she’d have been gone years ago. I’ll see you tonight.”

“Don’t be mad, Sweetheart. I’ll be home in a few hours. I can’t wait to see you.”

I didn’t say it, but few people realize—and I wouldn’t even have wanted Kathy to know—Senators, including me, do next to nothing. Members of Congress have teams of staffers, all bright, hardworking people who do all the heavy lifting. My senate colleagues golf, fund raise, and go on junkets spending money given to them by lobbyists while the smartest and the brightest do all the work.

The only pressure is getting re-elected, and senators only run part-time. Congressmen don’t have that luxury, having to run every two years. That’s why the guys born with silver spoons always choose the senate. The truth is, every member has someone like Sandy that leads the team, organizing and handling the actual job. Teams of young attorneys hoping to make their way with the powerful read the briefs and prepare the reports. There are speechwriters, researchers, and even hard-core career guys to take the preliminary meetings and hash out details. There is even a steady stream of interns dying to get close that does all the grunt work. The truth is, the life of a senator is pretty easy, and the longer you manage to stay, the easier it gets. Once deals are done by staffers, we basically just go in, smile, and shake hands for the cameras. It’s hard to believe the public isn’t on to all of this now that everything is on C-SPAN 24-hours a day. Either the ratings must be so low there’s nobody watching, or people just don’t see it. If it wasn’t real, it would be funny. A bunch of old geezers sitting in the front leather seats nodding off, flanked by teams of assistants sitting behind them in the cheap uncomfortable chairs, sometimes whispering in their ears, sometimes passing papers, all the while doing the real work. Only in America.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

The following morning I awoke just before dawn to a hound's barely audible howl. The sound, which seemed to be coming from a half mile away, was mixed with the closer sounds of birds and the chimes I had hung on the front porch. The faint and cold breeze from a window left slightly opened was whispering its way into the bedroom, carrying the pair of curtains back and forth, barely brushing across the thick white molding of the windowsill. As the light grew less faint, I could just begin to make out the silhouettes of a painting Kathy had on the wall just past her side of the bed. The normally brightly painted ladies seemed just faintly colored in the minimal first light of morning.

I felt a little guilty everyone was back to work in Washington this morning, but pushed the feeling aside and rolled over resting my face back into the pillow. The last thing I felt just before I drifted off to sleep again were the dog’s paws pushing at my back. Sophie liked to snuggle and sleep between Kathy and me, always trying to fix herself equally between touching us both.

I was awakened by the buzz of my cell phone that I had thrown on the nightstand before falling into bed. Usually I did not bring the phone into the bedroom, but after the long day and the travel back to Kentucky, I had just dropped the contents of my pockets before peeling off my clothes and falling into bed. Being on all night at the fundraising event had been exhausting but well worth the donations which Bud had calculated at seventy-eight million. Hobbs and company were the heaviest of hitters, they knew what they wanted and weren’t afraid to pay dearly to for it. We needed the money, but there were two things that concerned me about Gene Hobbs: one was his association with Juarez and Santoro that smelled of trouble, and two, his hands off status with the agency. We discovered a group led by Hobbs had offered to build Barker’s Presidential Library. Clinton’s cost in the neighborhood of one hundred sixty-five million, so the pledge was probably worth two hundred million with today’s construction cost. Tip told me a hands off order could only stick if it came from the very top.

I reached over for the cell and saw Kathy was just waking up. I smelled coffee brewing from the Coffee Maker we had preset.

Kathy stirred, “I just love sleeping in with you, Jack. When was the last time we got to just stay in bed?”

“It’s been a while, it feels like our honeymoon.”

I checked my text messages.

First from Tip: will need a lot of security for what Bud has in the works.

Second from Sandy: so excited woke up this morning to a brand new SLK 350. Love you, Jack, Call Me!!!

I moved the phone closer so Kathy wouldn’t see the message; it would be hard to explain and would ruin the day. I wanted to see my mother and have some family time before heading back to Alexandria this afternoon.

I pressed the delete button. Wow! Gene Hobbs works fast! He must have had one of his people on the car for Sandy immediately after we spoke of it. I was glad he got her something in the fifty thousand range; I was afraid he might try to prove a point and get the SLS Roadster around two hundred grand. That would be tough to explain. Money meant relatively little to the guy and I couldn’t be mad he did what I’d asked, just because it was quicker than I would have liked. Especially after he raised 78 million bucks for me the night before! Now I would have to explain to Sandy that the car was a gift from Gene, not from me, and hope she hadn’t told too many people at the office. Scratch that, if she told even one person, the cat would be out of the bag and it would be all over the office by now.

Third, from Bud: Jack, call me as soon as you can. Have great news about SC.

Fourth, from Lisa: Sandy gets a car. Really, Jack?

I was right, that tabby ain't goin’ back.

My first return text was to Lisa: Lisa, please don’t misunderstand, the car was a result of an offhand comment I made to Gene last night - probably had too much to drink. Please do not discuss with Sandy, I will talk to you when I get to the office tomorrow - sorry - don’t want you upset - Jack

I didn’t expect one little text to fix the problem. I know enough about the female mind to know Lisa would be hurt and feel betrayed. I was mad at myself for not seeing this coming. Just as a precaution, I hit delete on Lisa’s message and my response.

I got out of bed and walked over to a big, overstuffed, soft, brown and vanilla cloth chair Kathy had placed next to the window. One of her favorite things was to look out on the new morning from that spot. It was a bright, beautiful day. There was a light snow on the ground that didn’t look like it would last very long, but it made everything look so clean.

“You getting up, Jack?” Kathy asked.

“Ya, I gotta call Bud. He texted he had great news about South Carolina. I don’t think any news could top last night.” I said while dialing.

Bud answered, “Hey, Jack. How’s it going today?”

"Good, Bud. It was epic getting all those folks together for the fundraiser; I think you set a record. It’s like they couldn’t get the money out fast enough.”

“Jack, listen I’ve got some incredible news.” Bud sounded almost euphoric. I was really curious to hear what got Bud so excited. It wasn’t like him to get so worked up in a positive way.

“This doesn’t sound like the Bud I know, what is it?”

“Hobbs got us the University of South Carolina Football Stadium for Saturday night.” He continued, almost giddy, “It’s his Alma Mater, he’s a major donor to their expansion, he made a call and got it.”

Hobbs was a major supporter of the Gamecocks Football Program. He’d donated tens of millions to expand the stadium; the most recent in a long history of renovations put the capacity at 88,000 screaming football fans.”

“For this Saturday, Bud? How are we going to even put a dent in a place that size? It could end up backfiring on us if we end up with a few hundred people there. Can you imagine how stupid we’ll look? The media would love for us to fail like that. We’ll look like assholes down there; they’ll laugh us out of the place, such short notice. Tell them another time, Bud.”

“That’s the best part of the whole thing; Hobbs Conglomerate owns a major recording studio. He made a call and they promised us three A-list acts to bring the people. Jack, I gave the go ahead, I hope you aren’t pissed, but this was too good to pass on.”

“I’m okay with it, but I’ll tell you this: if I get there and the attendance is crap, then I’ll cancel. The people who show can listen to the music but without me.”

“Jack, I think this is a great way to reach people. I’m going to call the local media outlets in Columbia and blitz the advertising.”

“Bud, you know when I was nineteen I went to a festival in Canada where they had sort of a mini Woodstock. Thousands of kids showed up; they called it the Canadian Jam. Why don’t we call this the Energy Jam?”

“I like it, Jack. I’ll get the guys at My Basket to spread the word for us on the internet with an introduction to promote your energy ideas. They said they could print any message we want and distribute it to millions on the internet and text within a few minutes of my call.”

“Do it, and tell em to keep on hitting it hard. To get that many people to show up, don’t even think about charging for this. This can't be a fundraiser, Bud, it's gotta be for show.”

Kathy rolled out of bed and walked over to her closet. It was actually a large room outfitted like a small boutique leading into a private bathroom. I had surprised her with the renovation for her birthday last year.

“When did you come up with this, Bud?”

“That’s the thing, it was Hobbs idea. He called me early this morning and made the offer.”

“Bud, can you imagine a guy like Hobbs? He always has a winning hand either way. He has Barker already, and with everything he is doing for us we will owe him big time. Do you ever worry we will owe too many large debts? I hope Hobbs isn’t setting us up.”

“Jack, listen, he wouldn’t have done so well for us last night if that were the case.”

“You’re right, Bud, there really is no one else in the game like you, Singer, spend whatever it takes to get the people in there.”

“It will be like the circus is coming to town, Jack. We’ll pass out tickets at the University and all over town; trust me this will be great.”

“Bud, now Tip’s message makes sense about the security. We’ll need plenty of off duty cops there. Ask Hobbs' people to coordinate with Tip. I’m sure they have a small army of guys who regularly work those football games we can use.”

“As soon as we hang up I’ll be calling Gene to tell him you love the idea.”

“Bud, tell Hobbs we want him to play a small part in the administration; tease him with Ambassador to Great Britain.”

“Are you serious, Jack, would you really give him that?”

“Sure. Did you see his tribute to King Henry? His big ego will fit right in over there with the queen. He probably wishes he was part of the family. Manipulate the guy. Tell him we’re impressed with his ability to organize parties and events. Get him to spend this thing into the stratosphere. Believe me, the guy would love to be Ambassador, and it’s a bonus because he didn’t even hint about it. He’ll be disarmed, thrilled over it. He might even subconsciously sabotage his support of Barker for it.”

“Jack, I am humbled.”

“Most important, Bud, make him feel personally responsible for the success of this thing, make him own it. It’s his name on the party.”

Hobbs was like a big spoiled kid, and we were his latest toy. We would use his interest to our advantage before he tired of us and went on to the next thing. The ambassadorship would give this legs that would last. I was also playing Bud subtly, putting it on him by making him responsible to communicate my wishes to Hobbs. It would be interesting to see if the two of them could really pull something this big off in just three days.

Kathy emerged from her closet and walked over plopping into the chair with me. She put one arm under my back and one leg over my two.

“What’s Bud got cookin?” She asked.

“You’re not going to believe this. He’s got the Williams-Brice Stadium in Columbia booked for Saturday Night. Hobbs is setting up the event and staging three big acts to drag the people in, all for free.

“It’s nice of him, Jack, wonderful even, but do you ever worry the guy is doing too much and payback will be a bitch?”

Kathy always cut to the chase and didn’t pull any punches. I tended toward jumping in headfirst while she was more cautious. It made for a good match.

“I’ve thought about it but he’s already bought and paid for Barker, if we don’t take his money it will go to Griffin or somebody else. The kind of cash he’s throwing around buys media. We have to keep our eye on the prize; we can’t help anyone if we don’t win. You love to help people; at least we can feel good about our intentions.”

“You’re right about wanting to help people.”

“Honey, the rich will always be on top. Hobbs has influence no matter who is in the White House; it might as well be us.”

“You’re right, Jack. You know me, I’m always a little worried; please be careful.”

“Careful with Hobbs or the event in South Carolina?” I knew what she meant. Kathy worried even when I was in a group of ten people.

“Both, Jack.”

“Honey, you don’t have to worry about either. As president, I’ll have Bud handle Hobbs. I might end up spending five minutes with him at White House parties and maybe take a couple of calls a year.

“Really, Jack? A few minutes a year - in return for all this?”

“That’s it, Hon, and for the stadium event we are going to have wall to wall cops and I’ll be in and out. I’ll be there for the last act, do my thing, and leave.”

“Alright, Jack, it always sounds good when you say it. What are your plans for the next couple of hours?”

"Well, I thought we’d go see Mom and Dad and spend some time with them before all heading to the airport. I'd like to meet Karen’s husband, Joe, too.”

“That’s nice, your mom loves Karen, Jack, and I think she likes taking care of your mom. You’ll see a change in them both, your mom seems much better. Karen rinsed her hair medium brown and looks ten years younger. I want us all to fly back right after; maybe we could relax for a few minutes together.”

“Daddy, can I come?” We heard Martha’s excited almost frantic voice through the rapid knocking on our bedroom door. I got up to unlock the door joking to Kathy, “She can't be talking about Grammy’s.” I opened the door, Martha’s light little body jumped into my arms, hugging for all she was worth, “Daddy can I come, please, please, please?”

“Come where, Honey?”

“Mom, make him take me,” she begged, “I just got a text, Devon, Billie Rubin and Fantasy are gonna be with Daddy at the University of South Carolina on Saturday!” She was so out of breath she barely finished with “I have to go; I’ll just die if I don’t!”

Hugging Martha, taking advantage of the rare affection from my fifteen year old, I looked over at Kathy for some direction, saying, “The word’s out already?”

Martha exclaimed, “Dad, kids are downloading tickets right now-wah[AMR11] . It’s my dad, please take me, Mommy please make Daddy take me!”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Just before seven Sunday night, Kathy and I, along with the girls, had planted ourselves down in front of the TV to watch the broadcast. Lexi had filmed both the concert and an interview with Martha and me on our trip back to Alexandria after the show.

Watching from our living room- “I hope she gets me with Fantasy backstage, Dad, I would just love it if the kids from school see that,” Martha was excited.

Secretly I hoped the opposite, preferring Kathy not to see the twenty minutes the Brit star spent hanging on me. I thought she must have been high on something the way she was carrying on Saturday night.

Lexi opened her Sunday night news show.

“It has been a long time since this reporter has witnessed something this exciting,” Lexi’s voice was heard dubbing over the video of the Concert the night before.

“Fantasy, the number one pop star on the planet, has just finished a ten minute remix of her hit song ‘Naughty Girls.’ Moments before, the backstage area was teaming with fifty beautiful girls wearing black dresses with a matching white stripe across the hips. The dancers were frantically moving about in, what seemed to this reporter, to be organized chaos. Somehow, it all worked as the performers made ready to strut out onto the stage to back up the Superstar. From our vantage point, stage left, we heard the loud crackle and felt the intense heat from flamethrowers reaching into the sky. It sounded like a hundred hot air balloons coming too close. The strong smell of burning propane and spent Pyrotechnics filled the air. The thick fog of rising smoke remained into the clear night lit from the glow of a seventy-five foot high mega screen playing provocative scenes of the British girl-singer. The performance was completely mesmerizing; at one point the star, flanked by her scantily clad backup dancers, matched the screen behind move for move.”

Later in the broadcast Lexi appeared in person and spoke,  “Fantasy so captivated the audience, they roared into a frenzy as the petite blonde raised her fists repeatedly shouting for what seemed like five full minutes… ‘Get your hands up, get your hands…get your hands up for the next President of the United States’….

“Finally taking the stage, Senator Jack Canon’s voice raised over the cheers….”

“Look, there’s Daddy,” Bethany announced.

The video showed me addressing the crowd, “What a beautiful night – look at those stars – you’re all bright lights in my eyes – how about Fantasy - isn’t she something?”

I continued, “You know, I had a chance to talk to her backstage tonight. She’s not only beautiful, she’s a very smart girl.” Shouting into the microphone over a hurricane of applause, “I want to thank Devon and Billie Rubin for the great rap and country music they brought to this stage here tonight.”

Lexi continued the narration over film, “We heard cheering build to an almost continuous thunder roar as Canon continued to whip up the already wildly excited crowd …That was the scene from Columbia, South Carolina last night.”

“Shish up. It’s back on,” Bethany attempted to quiet her big sister.

It was rare we would all sit in front of the TV to watch a Sunday night news show. We watched movies together as a family, but tonight was different. It wasn’t just Dad on the tube saying something boring the girls refused to watch. They usually covered their ears. Tonight it was Dad and Martha; that was a horse of a different color.

A commercial came on and gave us all simultaneous license to talk.

“Everyone, please, one at a time, we are all excited,” Kathy tried to calm the girls and me.

“That’s seven commercials in a row, Daddy,” Bethany was impatient but enthralled seeing her sister on television. Lexi continued where the show had left off at the last break, “We had the opportunity to sit down with Senator Jack Canon and his lovely daughter, Martha, last night during their plane ride back to Washington. Tonight, on Brief Encounters, you will see our exclusive interview in its entirety.”

“Look, Mom! Look! Fantasy’s teaching me her dance. Look, Mommy without her shoes she’s the same height as me. She’s so pretty, Mom.”

“You both have the same color hair, too,” I added “but I think you’re a little prettier than she is, Honey.”

“Right, Dad, as if… she’s like the most prettiest girl on the planet. She’s older than I thought, but she’s still awesome.”

By including a shot of her with Fantasy, Lexi had made Martha a very happy girl. They had arranged it all like two girlfriends on the plane ride home the night before.

We had a great time being interviewed by Lexi; she was a friend to me and had really taken to Martha. She asked questions in just the right way and I always loved her editing and production. We were a little hyped up riding back on the plane and we laughed almost uncontrollably off camera, still elated from the reaction of the fans.

It’s tough to come down from something like that. The cameraman had offered to show Martha a replay of the entire night on the monitor and her young eyes were glued to the screen.

Tip was the only one of our group riding with us; the rest of the space went to the camera crew and producer for the interview.

Hobbs graciously provided a large corporate jet for Bud, Lisa, Bill, and some staffers who came along. Sandy had stayed behind to run the fort. Partly to keep my promise to Kathy – besides, I couldn’t risk Martha seeing something harmless but hard to explain.

Lexi led me to the back of the plane, “Jack, can I have a few minutes to talk with you?” I took a seat on the couch at the rear and Lexi sat down almost on top of me. Lexi kept her eyes peeled on Martha, and once confident her gaze was fixed on the monitor, proceeded to kick her high heel off stretching her silky bare leg over the two of mine. She playfully grabbed my tie, which was hanging loosely around my collar, and pulled it off.

“You need to relax, Jack.” She scootched closer and leaned into me, still keeping a close eye on Martha up front.

“She’s such a great kid, Jack. Did you see how she took to Fantasy tonight? She was absolutely beaming when she and Devon taught her that dance. You are gonna be her hero for bringing her with you.” Lexi stared into my eyes for what seemed like 30 seconds, lightly swaying her neck and head.

I said, “What’s with you?”

“Jack, you moved me with your speech tonight.”

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

The three days leading up to the South Carolina Concert were lived at a frenetic pace. Martha continued her pleas finally wearing her mother down to a maybe but the final decision is up to your father. Hearing that, Martha recruited me to help. She didn’t know I was a willing accomplice. We schemed together. I stalled. We planned, and I suggested she sweeten the pot by offering extra chores. I confided that it really was still up to Mom. I told her I could promise Tip would not leave her side if she could go. Kathy knew I’d cave and without Martha’s knowledge, spent three quarters of an hour on the phone talking terms with Tip.

Bethany, sensing an opening, tried to make a case for coming along herself, but the idea was flatly refused by Mom.

“You are not going, young lady, and that’s all there is to it!”

Once Martha got the ‘maybe’ she immediately began packing and making preparations. Partly, I’m sure, to seal the deal in cement with me. She said nothing at all to her sister and did not make any attempt to rub it in for fear any infraction would reverse her mom’s tacit okay. She helped Bethany with homework, cleaned the supper dishes without being asked and even swept the garage. It was like three days of living with the perfect child.

“I could get used to this,” I joked with Kathy. Martha had sold her coming along with phrases like, “I will simply die if I can’t go with Dad!”

Martha was so concerned with what she might like to wear she went through every outfit in her closet.

“Should I wear my hair up, Daddy?” Martha was assuming the sale, I was proud of her. She brought it to my attention - nothing she owned was suitable for her to wear. She knew better than to engage Mom in the full on pleading it had taken for her go in the first place, intuitively realizing it would backfire.

She took a different tack offering to pay for the clothes herself. She even sweetened the pot promising lunch to any parent who would take her shopping. Martha rarely had occasion to learn the value of spending her money; this was an opportunity. The Colonel spoiled her with one hundred dollars on her birthday for every year of age. It was beginning to get ridiculous, a far cry from the meager allowance I worked for as a kid.

The outfit they finally decided on was a compromise. I’ve dealt with world leaders but I was glad Kathy negotiated with our fifteen year old on hair, makeup, and choice of outfit.

When my beautiful little girl stepped out of the limousine beaming with happiness all her preparations had been worth it. My daughter glowed and I loved that she was with me.

One of the chores I was dreading was talking to Lisa about the car thing. I stalled telling her that Bud and I were basically camping out in the office for the next few days with the speechwriters to come up with something special for Saturday. I wanted some epic sounding stuff on short notice.

I told Lisa to give me a few hours my first day back and then come get me for lunch. I wanted to get her out of the office, away from all the distractions and make it right with her one on one. We had no time for the usual vetting process of focus groups and consultants’ opinions and were coming up with some pretty racy stuff.

Bud was imploring me to play it safe when Lisa knocked lightly on my office door. Peeking in, she spotted me, “Jack, it’s almost lunch time; you said to remind you...”

I could see from across the room her eyes were welling up. This car debacle had caused her to get emotional. She was doing her best not to burst into tears. I jumped up quickly, “Excuse me, guys. I have a lunch date, let’s break for a while.” I got to Lisa just in time and hugged her, in another two seconds she might have been sobbing aloud. She buried her head into my chest and I whispered, “It’s going to be okay, Honey; we’ll talk it all out. Please don’t be upset. Try to relax a minute and we’ll go out and have a good time.” I stood, holding her half in and half out of the doorway, using my back as a shield so no one could see her.

“I’m going to hold you until you settle and then we’re gonna walk straight out to the elevator door and disappear, just the two of us.”

She looked up into my eyes with her chin still down and whispered, “Okay, Jack.”

I kept Lisa to the wall side of me as we walked toward the elevator arm in arm. I could feel fifty pairs of eyes now focused on my side and back.

Once in the car, I couldn’t resist the fun of fish tailing and squealing the tires all the way down to the lower level of the garage to the attendant, smiling ear-to-ear; now quite familiar with my daily routine waiving me through. I think he got some perverse pleasure out of my parking garage antics, burning rubber and breaking rules.

That reminded me of something - I had two five thousand dollar gift cards to the Simon Mall at Fashion Centre in Pentagon City. Gene Hobbs had stuffed an envelope into my pocket on Tuesday night with the cards. I think he said something like a gift for my daughters. Direct gifts were definitely a line I had never crossed until recently, before becoming involved with Hobbs. I had accepted the car, rationalizing I’d give it to charity, and now the certificates. There was so much going on that night, I didn’t leave time for conscience. I really should have given them back, but now I had them and was definitely not going to give them to the girls. They were already spoiled enough and there was no way I was presenting them with a gift like this. No kid should be given everything.

Luckily, the cards had no names on them and were just like cash. I decided not to embarrass myself by sending them back. There’s no way I would risk insulting a man who’d raised record cash and, more importantly, was a giant well spring for more.

“Where do you want to eat?” I said, racing down the street. Lisa looked a little uncomfortable; I could see her hands gripping the armrest and seat tightly.

“You drive too fast, Jack; can you slow it down a bit, I’ll be too nervous to eat.” Slowing down just a bit, “How about the Portofino on 23rd South?” I asked. “Have you been there before?"

“Not really, Jack. I heard it was sort of pricey”.

“Pricey? It’s not every lunch I get to escape from the office with a beautiful girl.”

“Ya right, Jack, I’m not Sandy.”

I continued, “The food’s good, the atmosphere’s casual, and I think you’ll like it. Just tell me if you’re up for Italian.”

“Sure, Jack, I love Italian. Sounds good to me.”

We arrived in front and valet parked. I slipped the kid a fifty and said to keep it close by.

“I’ll keep it right in front,” he said, “I don’t even want to risk parking this.”

We walked up the short flight of stairs onto a little washed out slate landing; I opened the single narrow red door for Lisa. Once inside the small entry, the Maître Di recognized me and lighted up.

“So nice to see you, Senator.”

He quickly took our coats and led us to a quiet corner booth so we could talk. I was happy to get a cozy spot near the little painted brick fireplace.

Lisa started, “Jack, it’s nice of you want to understand my feelings. I didn’t want to freak you out; it wasn’t very professional of me to even question you. You can obviously give a car to anyone you want.”

“Lisa, you’re important to me, I care about you.” One of the waiters who would serve us arrived and introduced himself as Jeffrey. He explained the specials and asked for our drink order.

“I think we’ll start off with a little wine, bring us a bottle of your best, Jeffrey. Do you like red or white, Honey?”

“I think red goes better with Italian,” Lisa said.

“Red it is,” nodding to the waiter.

Jeffrey disappeared for a moment.

“Lisa, I am sorry you found out about the car the way you did, I don’t know what you must have been thinking.”

“Jack, I didn’t mean to react like that, her eyes welled up. Women talk, Jack. I know you’re not sleeping with her, that’s why I didn’t understand it. I’m sorry I sort of freaked out and sent you the text. I’m dedicated to you. Let’s face it, I’m not married and don’t have a social life, my whole life is my job.”

“Lisa, you have to view yourself from a better perspective; you have a lot of great qualities.”

“That sounds like something my mother would say, Jack.”

Tears started streaming down her face.

“Jack, believe me, I see what’s happening to me. I’m getting older and haven’t found love… I may never find it. I’ve even considered having a baby in vitro. I’m so worried it may never happen for me.”

Lisa was spilling her guts out. “It’s just… I thought she’s your favorite because she’s pretty and I’m not.”

Our waiter was back, ignoring Lisa, wiping her eyes.

He said pouring, “This is a bottle of our best Chianti compliments of the manager.” Jeffrey confided the manager on duty had called the owner of the restaurant and our being there had caused quite a stir back of house[AMR12] .

“Please tell your manager thank you.”

He trotted off beaming. Lisa continued the sad saga, “My dad never told me I was pretty. He used to say it to my younger sister all the time. Until the day he died, he never said I was beautiful. Even at the hospital while he lay dying I waited until he took his last breath to hear him say it, still hoping, but he never did.

“Lisa, if that’s true it was because you’re so smart, he was focusing on that. I’m sure he thought it. Beauty is all attitude. That’s what I tell Martha and Bethany. You can talk yourself into feeling any way you want.”

“Well, I’m thirty five. I don’t think love’s in the cards for me.”

“Don’t say that. You’re talking yourself out of it. Speaking of love, have you met Bud’s girlfriend yet?”

“No, he’s keeping her all to himself, I guess.”

“Did you hear how they met?”

We were laughing together, Lisa through the tears.

“The whole office heard it, Bud bites and tells.”

“No, Jackie bit him, isn’t it wild?”

“Jackie? He calls her Jacqueline whenever I’m around. If you stop and think, Jack, it’s almost Freudian.”

“Oh, you’re funny, keep that to yourself.”

“Sorry, I didn’t say it, Sandy did. Don’t kill the messenger.”

“I knew you’d try to cheer me up,” Lisa said, wiping her eyes with her linen napkin.”

“I don’t want to see you sad, Honey, that’s all.”

“Jack, I really am thinking of in vitro and I want to have a family even without a husband. Tell me if I’m way out of line but I’ve been fantasizing you would be my donor.”

I almost spit out the wine. Where did that come from? This can’t be happening. I could barely believe my ears, didn’t Lisa realize I could never father her child and not feel responsible?

“Before you say anything, I promise you no one would ever know. It would be our secret; I would take it to the grave.”

I felt my face may be getting flushed – suddenly, the fireplace felt very hot, I was feeling freaked out and had to get her off the subject.

"Lisa, I’ve got a much better idea. I’ll help you find someone.”

“How are you going to do what I haven’t been able to do my whole life?”

"I bet you I can do it. Give me a year. If you aren’t in a relationship by then, I’ll consider it.”

If not, I could always ask Sandy to be her wingman. She’d get her drunk, dressed and out. No, that would be too easy. If I really care about her and I’m not just kidding myself then I’d want to see her in love and happy.

“Consider being my donor?”

I closed my eyes, shook my head and took a deep breath in and out, “I can’t, Honey…but listen, I’m sure if you’ll do what I tell you…I can help you find someone.”

“What do you think I am doing wrong?”

I didn’t have the heart to tell her. Where would I begin? First, you look frumpy as hell. Even I know Mousy Brown Bobs weren’t just meant to grow out. You don’t have to be a stylist to know sweaters, pants and flats aren’t very appealing.

Instead, I said, “First of all, you know I love you right? Well, Sweetheart…you don’t realize how pretty you are. Because of that, I don’t think you try very hard.”

“Do you really think I’m pretty? I don’t believe you.”

“Lisa, you’re not making any effort. Hey, you know what would really cheer you up? Join me for the concert Saturday. We’ll fly down together and have a great time. Martha’s coming.”

“Really Jack? That would be amazing.”

“First let me treat you to the mall; you can pick out something sexy to wear.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me?”

“If you’re gonna trust me to do this, I’m not gonna pull any punches. Men are visual first, Lisa, and you need to work on that.”

“Jack, I know you’re trying to help, but shouldn’t we just go back after lunch? If we take too long, everyone’s going to blame me. You know Bud will be furious, Sandy will be pissed, and Bill will get in one of his moods. You’ve got so much to do before Saturday.”

“Who cares what the people at the office think, we’re up for this; let’s go pull out all the stops! You’re important to me, Sweetheart.

“Do you really think it would do any good?”

“By the time I get through with you you’ll be getting a lot of attention.”

Honestly, I didn’t have a clue, but I figured anything off the rack had to be better than what she had on.

“Jack?”

“Ya, what is it Honey?”

“I’ve always wanted to tell you…you’re beautiful. Don’t take it wrong… I mean in a rugged way, but you attract people like a magnet. I’m talking about real people, Jack. You’ve got charisma.”

Lisa was sounding like she had too much wine.

“Lisa, you’re a math wiz, with all the girls out there making bad choices, picking the wrong guy, the odds ought to be in your favor to get one of the good one’s that’s left, right?”

“Funny, Jack, but it’s working. You’re making me feel better. I’m almost allowing myself to dream a little. Are you just getting my hopes up?”

“Lisa in a little while, you’ll be beating them off with a stick.”

“Okay, Jack I’ll give it a try. I’ll do whatever you say, I’m all in.”

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

That night, for five glorious minutes, thinking the day was finally over, I rested my tired head on the soft down pillow. Our bed was made up of all ten layers of the Westin Heavenly Series, a collection of all whites over a thicker than normal pillow top mattress. Dealing with all Lisa’s emotions and the mall trip tired me, and I was ready to fall asleep. Kathy had other ideas as she climbed under the covers.

Turning to me, “Emma called today and said you were at the mall with some hot young girl hanging on your arm.”

I could hear the displeasure growing in her voice. It was strange because up until bedtime, Kathy hadn’t given the slightest inkling she was angry.

Emma Van Winkle was one of Kathy’s college roommates. They had shared a quad at the dorm with two others and the four still made a point to get together for a girls weekend once a year. They tried to stay in loose touch with each other with phone calls and more frequently with texts. Two of the girls still lived in Kentucky but Emma and her Podiatrist husband Phil lived in Alexandria. A couple times a year Kathy would make it a point to ask them to get together with us. Emma was a busy body and Phil was a know it all. I cringed whenever we had to spend time with them, which luckily with our kids and busy schedules wasn’t too often. The only upside to knowing Emma and Phil was the two of them had made it into my comedy routine. Since college, I’d been working on a strong five minutes of material. I always waited until our guests were drinking before launching into my jokes.

I was tired and drifting when Kathy continued, “Emma said there was some really skinny guy linking arms with the girl, and you were all carrying big shopping bags.”

The way she said it, a tiny squirt of adrenalin partially woke me up. Knowing I had this one, I wanted to play it really well. Pretending to be almost asleep without a care in this world in the softest most pleasant voice I could muster I yawned.

“That was Jean-Claude, Lisa’s hairdresser.”

“That was Lisa from the office you were with?” Kathy voiced the words as if she couldn’t believe her ears.

“What a trouble maker she is,” I said hoping to shut the Emma dilemma down once and for all.

“Emma said she agonized all day whether to call and tell me. It was Phil who convinced her. He told her that’s what a friend would do, and wouldn’t she want to know the truth if the shoe was on the other foot?”

I thought to myself, Phil what a worm. Thinking he was impressing me one night when I was obliged to visit. Sitting on his gray washed front porch drinking cheap scotch, he bragged he’d hired a hooker in Vegas on a business trip. He could barely contain his excitement as he told the whole sordid tale of how he’d been approached at the bar by an attractive redhead in her forties. How they’d gone back to his room together and what she did for the two hundred bucks he paid her. The bastard knew I planned to take his secret to the grave; I was no snitch. Bill, Tip, or Bud could say anything to me and I would think it was hilarious. I didn’t have the same tolerance for Phil, but I would still keep his secret. Until tonight.

I blurted, “Phil hires hookers when he’s in Vegas,” I added the plural for effect speaking in a sleepy, quiet undertone. He’s jealous of our relationship, and Emma’s a friggin witch. When I saw her at the mall, I even pretended to be glad to see her. I introduced her to both Lisa and Jean-Claude, she’s heard Lisa’s name before, but still she tries her best to start trouble, the jealous bitch.”

“Jack, I’m sorry don’t be angry. I’ll deal with her. I mean, the way she described the girl as voluptuous and hanging on you makes me wonder about Emma’s intentions.”

I should have quit right there while I was clearly ahead with the matter settled.

Kathy mused, “You were with Lisa?” I should have just turned over and fallen asleep, but that would have been too easy.

I added, “Lisa was having a bad day, so on a lark I took her out to lunch. The poor kid was feeling really bad about herself…can you believe her father never told her she was pretty?”

“Jack, she’s playing you. It can’t be true; no girl’s dad could be so cruel.” Kathy knew my big mouth wouldn’t leave it there.

“Well that’s what she told me at lunch, sobbing over her Chicken Marsala. I decided to put her in the car and take the four-minute ride up to Hayes Street to Fashion City. Lisa excused herself to freshen up, meanwhile the waiter brought a note saying, Thank you Senator Canon, we are delighted you stopped by. I stuck a tip in the jacket and closed it just as Lisa was walking back to the table. The kid really needed this day, Kathy.”

“I know you meant well, Honey, and Lisa’s important. I guess I was upset because Emma thought she had really seen something and it was her responsibility to tell me. Now I’m angry with her for jumping to conclusions. Like you said, Jack, you even introduced Lisa to her. I’m wondering what a friend she really is.”

Fashion City was the mall we usually shopped in, beautiful and wide open with escalators in all directions. It was comprised of the first four floors of the Washington Office Tower, the perfect place to cheer Lisa up. I knew from living with three girls—nothing cheered them up like shopping.

I grabbed my Boston Red Sox cap and sunglasses from the dash. Before this, I had never been noticed around Washington or maybe people were so used to politicians they didn’t bother. Recently, because of the ads, people would come up wanting to talk. It’s actually easier to be charming on television in front of millions, than it is working a one-on-one.

I wiped the lenses on my shirt, put on the hat, and we sped off... I had planned to spend the day with Bud and the speechwriters. So dressed in jeans and a polo shirt, I was ready to blend right in with the crowd.

I turned over and said to Kathy, “You’ll be happy to hear I got stopped for speeding on the way there. Lisa couldn’t believe the officer just let me go.”

Kathy hated my fast driving and made me promise never to speed with the girls. The truth was almost never, sometimes with Martha, I would drive a little fast. Little Bethany made a habit of watching the speedometer carefully and would report the slightest infraction to her mom. Usually she’d be able to say, ‘Daddy did good, Mommy.’

“I told Lisa I was going to treat her to a new dress and shoes and I wanted her to accompany Martha and me to South Carolina.”

“So I guess you’ve definitely decided to bring her; that’s nice Jack, it will be a good father and daughter experience.”

“Like you ever thought I could leave her home. You know I’m a soft touch with her.”

“Are you referring to Martha or Lisa? It could be either with you.”

“Martha, Honey.”

“Okay Jack, so you took Lisa to the mall. How did you end up shopping with Lisa’s hairdresser of all people? You hate shopping.”

“That’s the great part about the afternoon: I didn’t have to shop. I only had to carry a few Juicy Couture bags to the car. When we were in the salon while Lisa was getting her hair done, I mentioned to Jean-Claude she was going on a trip and we came to get her a new outfit. Right there he offered to shop with her. He said he was born to shop. I lucked out. I wouldn’t have been much help anyway.”

“You took Lisa to get her hair done?”

“Ya, it’s funny. We weren’t planning on it, but when we got to the mall, the first thing we saw was this fancy salon. I’ve always thought Lisa’s hair was frumpy. It was right in front of us like a sign, so I offered to take her in there.”

I had actually nudged her in that direction with my body but I left that out. I was going to add, ‘you always say hair is important,’ but thought that would only irritate her so I kept it to myself, saying only, “To make her feel better, I made a deal to get her hooked up within a year, and I was feeling the pressure; I didn’t have a moment to waste.”

“It’s your responsibility to get her hooked up with someone, that’s gotta be a joke. Are you still in high school? The Commander in Chief doesn’t have the time to be matchmaker. How could you promise her something like that?”

I thought, if she only knew what I’d been asked, she would flip out.

“So you’re telling me you just walked into a salon, I can’t get you near a salon with me.”

“You’re gorgeous, and you don’t want me with you while you’re getting your hair done. Plus this just came up over lunch, and I figured why not help her out.”

“Well, this is actually a good thing, Jack. Maybe you can take your daughters next time they need a trim.”

Adjusting my pillow I said in the most tired sounding voice I could make, “I’ll take them next time, I don’t mind.”

I knew it would never happen. None of the women in my family would trust me for hair advice. I turned over and closed my eyes. I was proud of myself for having the will power to close my mouth and leave out some details about the day.

Like earlier, when Lisa and I walked into the salon the young women who walked over to greet us made quite an impression. Her movements caught my eye as we entered and I secretly hoped she’d be interacting with us. Walking like it was an art form, she slinked her way toward the front reception area and strangely unlike most people the closer she got the better she looked. An all black mini dress barely covered her. From a high collar, it scooped ultra low backless loosely draping her bottom revealing some of her sides and lowest back.

I could make out a couple tattoos without trying to hard. They were both in handwritten script; one across the exposed part of her foot read butterflies. The writing flowed beautifully at the angle of her heels. The other–four lines of a story centered across her ribs. Normally I don’t even like tattoos, now I’m fantasizing about tracing the letters with my tongue and tasting her skin.  Once upon a time, a girl got her heart broken…

Her hair was gorgeous. She wore it mid back length, stick straight, with bangs just touching the top of her softly brushed brows. Crazy, I’ve never liked black hair before, but I was fascinated by the shine.

Close up her face looked smooth as silk, like it was in soft focus. Her delicate features reminded me of a new fawn with giant eyes and a turned up nose. I thought, the lighting must be magnificent in here, so I looked over at Lisa to test the theory.

Lisa shot me a look like ‘don’t you dare compare me to her.’ It wasn’t the lighting.

Face to face, I focused on her steely blue eyes under large lids covered in smoky dark charcoal.

Her body language was saying no, quickly twitching her head. She looked Lisa up and down as if she was nothing, and then briefly turned a dismissive glance towards me.

Through high gloss lips that were a perfect match for a hot pink scarf she wore, she asked, “What can we do for you today?”

I hadn’t heard a tone that condescending in years. I wasn’t used to being treated like that. The problem was she had an attitude like we couldn’t believe. I thought, how can something all wrong, be so perfect.

Lisa seemed a little uncomfortable too. Then, I remembered, with my Boston Cap and Ray-Bans, I’m as invisible as any other middle-aged guy would be to a girl her age.

As I was removing my sunglasses and cap, Lisa said sheepishly, “Do you have anything available now for a walk in?”

“Right now?” Over a look like you can’t be serious.

“Well we’re on our lunch hour,” Lisa managed.

During the verbal exchange, I was scanning the salon for eye contact with anyone in charge.

A man came quickly over, “To what do we owe the pleasure today?”

The pink lips said, “I was just telling them we have nothing avail…”

“Nonsense,” he said. Bumping her aside with his hip, he moved directly to the middle of the counter.

“I’m Jean-Claude; I’ll take it from here Daphne!” Shooting her an if looks could kill glance, he turned to us.

“Daphne does not realize she may have just told the next President of the United States we can’t help him. That will never do!”

He clapped his hands in the air quickly saying to Daphne, “Get my station ready! I will take you myself, follow me.”

Jean-Claude was unfazed by the beauty and dismissed her out of hand. While an assistant was shampooing Lisa, Jean-Claude stood by telling me he was a big fan of the campaign and he wanted to volunteer.

Following Daphne’s movement around the salon as if I was on surveillance, I told him why we came to the mall and hinted he could help by shopping with Lisa if he was serious.

To my surprise he said, “Sure but first we must take care of this hair!”

Once the shampoo was finished, he walked Lisa over to an antique brass and white leather Barber Chair and sat her down in front of a large Victorian mirror. Turning to face only me, he mouthed the words, “Call 9-1-1.”

Jean-Claude gingerly told Lisa her grown out Bob Hairstyle was lifeless and the color drab. He emphasized the word boring making it into two very distinct syllables. Lisa was very engaged in what he was saying. He was very attentive and took his time exploring the structure of her face giving her a lot of TLC. I stayed as long as I could to give moral support while they were deciding what to do. After about twenty minutes of expressively showing her pictures, waving his hands, and even threatening not to go shopping did he end up convincing her. The plan sounded a little drastic so I was careful to stay out of it in case of a less than desirable result.

While Jean-Claude was busy with Lisa, Daphne made her way over to me, “I’m Daphne Cole, Senator. I’m so embarrassed that I didn’t know who you were. Some of the girls filled me in.”

I told her, “You’re better off not to worry about politics,” and changed the subject. Motioning back toward Lisa, speaking under my breath, “Daphne, he’s getting a taste of how conservative she is. I was surprised she agreed to something so dramatic.”

I turned to Lisa and Jean-Claude, “You know the smell of perm solution and nail polish remover is beginning to gag me. I thought I could stay for the whole process but I think it would be better if we just set a time and place to meet. How about I head over to Barnes and Noble and meet you there whenever you’re done.”

“Are you sure Jack?” Lisa asked.

“Absolutely this will be great,” I said.

Then I turned to Daphne, who was patiently waiting, “If you get a chance come down and join me for coffee.”

“I’ll try,” she said, “I get my break in about a half hour.”

“Okay then everybody’s all set.”

I looked into Daphne’s eyes, “Maybe I’ll see you in a few,” with that, I put on my sunglasses and Boston Cap and headed off.

When we met later, Lisa looked amazing. Jean-Claude had dressed her in a wild form fitting animal print dress and matching spike heels. The print looked like Giraffe to me. The large dark and light shapes really showed off her figure. She had a cute shape under all those clothes - anyway it was better than I thought. He had reshaped her hair cutting it very short in back with steep angles sloping down toward the front. He lightened the color and added chunky blonde highlights. Jean-Claude was also a talented make up artist and did her eyes sort of like Daphne’s. The only difference he told her was to use cocoas, copper, and violets instead of the charcoals to bring out her big brown eyes. When Lisa saw me, she dropped her bags, ran over, and hugged me like I’d saved her from drowning. We all picked up the bags. Lisa interlocked one arm in mine and one with Jean-Claude. We were all happy and I was smiling at her thinking I’d have our deal closed in no time. I was really glad for Lisa. Just then, Emma showed up.

CHAPTER THIRTY

In the morning driving to campaign headquarters, I was ignoring the phone buzzing, enjoying the solitude the scenery and the speed. The cherry blossoms were out and even the Jonquils in our garden were in bloom. An unusually mild February, it felt more like springtime in Washington. The day before, I had seen people out with shorts and t-shirts, reading on blankets, playing soccer and laying out in the sun.

The win in Florida had amplified a decisive nineteen-point victory in South Carolina. The talking heads and television pundits were now mostly in agreement; the writing was on the wall. The race would be Canon vs. Barker in the fall. Our team had a great time in Florida traveling around the state in two buses we’d leased from a friend of the campaign. The deal we worked out would have raised some eyebrows, so everything was packaged as a short-term arrangement on paper. The truth was—with us so far ahead—the buses had, for all intents and purposes, been given to us on loan. The press bus was basically a 48-seat tour bus with ‘Canon for President’ wrapped all over the body of it. The bus for senior staff was a $1.5 million traveling palace with coffered ceilings, marble floors, and granite counters. It had a big, semi circular couch and center low table that raised electrically from the floor. Walking through a small galley area to the rear of the coach was a private area where I could relax. The only problem we had in Florida was the mid level staffers took up half of the seats on the press bus.

Regardless of how many times it rang, I made a pact with myself not to answer the phone while driving. There were two reasons: First, my spirits were buoyed from the wins and I figured a decent stress free ride into work was my reward. Second, at the speed I was driving, it was only a matter of time before I caused an accident from looking away to text. So now my time in the car would be just like when I was a kid ripping down the farm roads of Kentucky, only without the dirt trail cloud behind me. I pulled up to the parking garage and stopped briefly to say hi to the kid in the booth. His name was Johnny, and a couple of times a week when we weren’t on the road campaigning I’d stop and talk for a minute. He always had some question or comments, like ‘dude those women who work in your office are beautiful, man. How do you get anything done?’ Another day he asked, ‘Hey I was looking on line, that’s not an ordinary car, is it some kind of after market ride?’ I never knew what he would say or ask and today was no different.

“How ya doin’, Johnny?”

“Good, man. Hey that pretty blonde lady just drove in a few minutes ago. Is she seeing anyone?”

“I quipped back, “Why you didn’t you ask her, Johnny?”

“I don’t think I could bring myself to talk to her,” he said.

“Come on, she’s a person just like you. You can talk to her. When you find out, let me know. We don’t talk about things like that.”

“Oh, I understand. Sexual harassment and shit.”

“Ya, something like that.”

“Hey, I wanted to ask you?”

“One more, John, then I gotta go.”

“How much does a senator make?”

I laughed back, “Not enough kid, see ya.”

The kid loves watching me burning rubber up the entry, and I didn’t disappoint him, pressing the throttle to the floor. I thought, if the kid only knew what was really going on in Washington his young community college mind would be completely blown. Not to mention he could've easily found the information on the web. The real question he should have asked is why the governor of Florida spent two hundred million of his own money to get elected to a job that would pay him less than one percent of that for the whole four years. Turn over that rock, and he’ll have the story.

I pulled the car into my usual spot on the third level of the parking garage and reached over for my cell. Three texts, all from Lexi:

Jack when you get this please call me, Lexi.

Have a couple of questions for you, Lexi.

Jack have a big favor to ask, Lexi.

Sometimes I liked to sit in the car and answer texts or emails before heading up the elevator to the office. Lexi and I had become very good friends, and I knew I could trust her. The relationship was symbiotic; we both gained from it. Her intense loyalty partly came from her belief personally in what we were about and partly because I gave her first dibs on everything. She was our plant in the media and it had made her a big star with the network. Her bosses were enjoying her exclusives and the access, and while they didn’t verbalize it, were probably secretly hoping it would continue into the White House.

I texted Lexi: I’ve got a minute if you can talk.

I figured either she would call right back, or at least I get points for answering her text.

Almost as soon as I pressed send and the phone rang. It was Lexi.

“Hi Lexi, I got your texts, but I was driving.”

Hi, Jack, thanks for answering. I knew you’d get back to me when you got to the office.”

“Oh, I had a great ride in this morning; the weather feels like I should be sitting on my grandmother’s front porch drinking orangeade, not heading into work. What’s going on with you? What do you need, Honey?”

“Jack, everyone’s buzzing down here about Griffin. How did you get her to lie down like that in Florida?”

“Lexi, I could tell you but it would have to be off the record.”

“Really, Jack, that would be the story of the year. Everyone’s going to be digging.”

“Well they are not going to get anything from her, and I’ll give you the exclusive on the condition that you wait to reveal until after Maine.”

“Why wait, Jack? She’s practically a cheerleader. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she had a schoolgirl crush on you.”

“That would be funny, the Wicked Witch of the West. You can print that she definitely doesn’t have a crush. But anything else, you wait until you get the okay from me.”

“Jack, why would you make me wait, you could capitalize on a story like this while you’re in Maine.”

“Lexi, Maine is like my backyard. We have a home up there. I want to win the state so big. When you do report what I’ll give you, this race will be all over.”

“You know I want it, Jack, just let me know the minute I can use it.”

“I’ll tell you now; it will be the day after we win Maine. Our buses are on their way right now, and will be joined by a third when they get there.”

“Why are you adding another bus?”

“One will be for staffers and the most favorable press, and the rear bus will be for other press. Bud and the gang will be up front with me.”

“Speaking of buses Jack I got quite the ribbing from the press core about the two hours I spent interviewing with you up front.”

“Why it was all innocent enough?”

“Jack it was because of that Daphne chick you have working with the press. She stood right at the door to your bus after I went in and told everyone, ‘The senator is not to be disturbed.’”

I belly laughed and Lexi joined in, “You’ll have to get used to that, Miss Exclusive. I’ve heard the rumors. They’re just pissed at you because Daphne’s job is to keep the interviews to fifteen minutes.”

In fact, Daphne and I had a code worked out. She comes back and says the next appointment is ready. If I object, she insists we keep things moving so we can get to everyone, she knows to get rid of whomever I’m with.

Honestly, we could give a crap about getting to anyone; we only feed the good press. If I say nothing then she waits another five minutes and it goes like that until I object.

“Lexi her standing orders are - when you’re on the bus – no other press - everyone clears out.”

“That’s why everyone’s pissed off at me. Who is Daphne anyway? She is sooo intimidating. All the women hate her and the guys are going gaga and can’t stop talking about her. It’s like we’re all in Junior High again. She has a knack for making people feel like crap just walking up to her.”

“Not you Lexi.”

“Really Jack? Do you want to know what it feels like for me approaching her?”

“I can’t believe you would even care Lexi.”

“Jack it freaking feels like everyone has a copy of the latest Sports Illustrated Swimsuit edition and is comparing me to it. Seeing her gets everyone off their game. The men—even some of the big time guys are tongue-tied talking to her—it’s sort of funny. On the bus, behind her back it’s like a locker room, the testosterone and male bravado, but when they get face to face with her, they melt.”

“How would you know what it’s like in a locker room?” I teased.

“You never told me who she is, and I didn’t really want to bring her up when I was with you in Florida. Is she a model, an actress?”

I wouldn’t have gotten away with it face to face, but over the phone, she couldn’t see me smiling. The Daphne thing was working just the way I had hoped. I would never admit to the real reason she was there. Anyway, it was right in front of Lexi’s nose and she even hit on it once or twice. Daphne had a natural talent for deflating egos and that was just the condition I wanted the press in when they schlepped onto the bus to meet with me. Daphne was hired to intimidate even though she didn’t know she was doing it.

The day she met me at the Bookstore all I told her was she would be my appointment keeper, basically doing the same thing she did at the salon. She said, “I don’t know if I can handle such an important position.”

I told her not to worry everything she did just by being herself was perfect.

I gave her my other gift card. “If you want to join us, spend this on some kick ass outfits, you’ve got to be on every day.”

“What if I don’t?”

“Good question,” I even liked the bitchy way she said it, “If you don’t then just mail it back to me."

I couldn’t have been happier; the press were marching in like wounded dogs. The women came in needy like damaged goods starving for male attention. I would sooth them with compliments and send them back to file their stories. The men were worse, even the married guys came in begging for a hand out. “Hey Jack, could you introduce me.” I’d say it like I was their wingman.

“If you can save it for after the campaign, I don’t want her distracted. She’s got a job to do.”

The third bus would be the spawning pool. Reporters who filed positive stories would graduate to the second armed with mid level staffers and occasionally Bud riding along to serve the Kool Aid. True believers would have assigned seats and perks like early interviews so they could make deadline. We made their lives as easy as possible with prepared notes, selected quotes and reserved seats at rallies.

Daphne would ride up front with me to keep her unfamiliar as long as possible. I didn’t want her power to fade.

Lexi was waiting on the phone for an answer.

“No I met her when I took Lisa to get her hair done.”

“You’re playing with me now. You took Lisa to get her hair done?”

“Why is it so hard to believe?”

“Well that explains the transformation. They’re calling it your little harem Jack. Lisa does look fantastic though. Ever thought of giving me some advice. Like what would do you think, I mean what would you suggest I do?”

“You’re perfect I wouldn’t change a thing.”

“No Jack really - give me two suggestions. Please I promise I won’t be mad. On the contrary, I would love the help.”

“Wow Daphne has really gotten to you huh babe?”

What Lexi didn’t know is too much of anyone even Daphne can get on my nerves. She looked so amazing when we met; at first glance, I understood her power.

I wasn’t easily shaken but Daphne’s Rare Beauty had intimidated me. Spending time with her I was finding the more familiar we got the less enamored I was. It’s almost like she was getting less pretty. I told her to limit her time with the Press and not to get friendly with anyone. My goal was to keep her as intimidating as possible for as long as I could.

The reporters coming in to see me had to pass through Daphne and get their egos deflated. That two-minute edge was all we needed to knock them down a peg. The men would question their prowess, the woman their beauty, prima donnas all, confidence a little shaken. When I built them up again they linked feeling good with me, it’s as if they couldn’t separate the man from the message.

No one knew better than me what it felt like to walk up to this girl and get nothing. Deep down I knew that when I was just another guy coming into the salon she wouldn’t give me the time of day.

Fame is funny. It changes the way people interact with you. The hangers on, the roar of the crowd, the way up is exhilarating. I was slowly getting used to it, but as any once really famous person will tell you; it doesn’t last forever, for some the way down can be pretty ugly.

Once at a charity event I watched as a new starlet was being interviewed accompanied by her famous Hollywood agent. In mid sentence one of his former clients, a women that was once really famous crashed the interview. She was a little loud and pushy and seemed frazzled. They tolerated her but I could see the strain on their faces, it was really sad. It was obvious she still liked to come out to events and appeared to crave attention, but her star once bright had faded.

Daphne was star struck and craved my attention. She even confessed to having a crush on me and told me she had dreamed we were together. I couldn’t burst her bubble so I had to play along a little, or risk damaging her confidence. I was getting to know the real Daphne and with her guard down, she was a sweetheart. She needed what she had to play her part with the press, and the poor thing wasn’t acting. She couldn’t make this stuff up, to those who didn’t know her she appeared to be an aloof condescending bitch that just happened to be a stone cold fox. I had no other choice but to keep her close with me so we could maintain the mystery.

I was the only one who had seen Daphne without her makeup. It happened one day at a campaign stop in Venice, Florida when she told me she had a terrible headache. While I got out to shake hands with some seniors, I told her to lie down on the bed and try to relax. I hoped she would feel better if she took a nap for a couple of hours. She took a couple of pills and lay down and I left. A few hours later when I returned Daphne was still sleeping. There was no need to wake her and with us scheduled to leave for our next stop north to Tampa, I told the driver to head out. We arrived in Tampa and all got out and did our dog and pony show while Daphne stayed on the bus. An hour later, I went back by myself to check on her. I walked to the back of the bus and lightly tapped on the door, “Honey are you okay, how are you feeling?" She opened the door and I was a little surprised to see her standing there wrapped in only a towel, “I feel better, I just had to take a shower to freshen up Jack, I hope you don’t mind.” Her voice was the same but somehow the quiet direct manner of her speech was childlike. What we were all trained to hear, as a quiet detachment in this context was just her sweetness. I told her of course I didn’t mind, but I hardly recognized her. Gone were the exotic smoky eyes and in their place were plain lids over pale blue. Maybe not even blue, more of a milky white washed Robin’s Egg blue. Daphne noticed me looking at her eyes, she explained apologetically, “I take my contacts out to sleep, I hate my eyes, my real color is gross, so I chose the deepest blue I could find.” Her hair was up in a new white towel and her normally hot pink glossy lips, her sultry trademark, were washed off. Her stilettos were slung beside the bed, and the clothes she wore so well were spewn all across the floor. Daphne the exotic beauty my intimidator, wrapped in only a towel seemed almost plain. I felt pangs of tenderness run through me like a shiver and realized how vulnerable she was, “Honey take all the time you need to get ready, I’ll give you some privacy.” I felt like Toto had just pulled back the curtain on the Wizard of Oz. Before me half naked innocence, vulnerable, lacking guile, I wished she would speak the words.

“I get the whole thing Jack, I understand.” She really didn’t though, this wasn’t the first time I’d met a women and a girl popped out. Poor Daphne was a blank canvas; we all projected our insecurities upon.

“Lock the bus door after me when I leave Honey.”

I had to protect her image, and be careful not to simply use her and throw her away once the campaign was over. I thought we could place her in a token job or send her to school or better yet, she could stay with me and greet appointments waiting to see me in the oval. That would be the plan - I’ll just keep her with me.

While I was lost in thought, Lexi was still on the phone.

“She has gotten to me, Jack. I’m surprised Kathy puts up with her.”

“Lexi, my wife knows I like blondes, and that’s why I picked Daphne in the first place. She flew right under the radar. Kathy’s forgiven me but I’ve made an ass of myself several times gushing over blondes. Don’t tell this to a soul, but you do more for me than she does, and unlike Daphne you get prettier every time I see you.”

“It’s a good thing we’re on the phone, Jack; I’m blushing and smiling so hard I can barely talk.”

“See, Lexi, that’s what I love about you. You’re smart and funny, you make me laugh. You’ve got it all and you’re a knockout.”

“I’m serious, Jack, you have just made me a very happy girl, even if it’s not true. Damn, you’re good.”

“You said you had a favor to ask?”

“Yes, everybody at the Network thinks it would be a great idea for us to film you all access while you’re up in Maine. Sort of like reality TV. We’d get film of everything, it would mean hours of television. I told them I didn’t think you’d go for it Jack.”

“Do you want to do it, Lexi”?

“Of course, what reporter wouldn’t want hours of film in the stations archives with the next President of the United States? My face would be much more visible and it would bring my career to the next level.”

“What about the ribbing you’ll get from the press core?”

“Let them talk, Jack. In this business, if their not talking about you, you’re dead. Besides I don’t really have a choice; this request came right from the top.”

“Lexi, in any business if they’re not talking about you, you’re dead.

“I guess we could do it, with one condition.”

“That’s great Jack, anything.”

“Nothing gets through without Bud looking at it first or we pull the plug.”

“Sure Jack, you know I’d never try to hurt you guys.”

“That’s the only way I’ll get him on board, and he’s gotta be okay with it or it won’t fly, Bud is one guy you don’t want to force.”

“It’s all set then. We’ll join you in Maine. I can’t wait to spend that much time with you.”

“Be careful what you wish for, Lexi.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

“Hey, I forgot to mention we’re getting Secret Service starting with Maine, so it may not be any picnic for your people. They’re a paranoid bunch you know.”

“How did you manage that, Jack? Usually the protection only comes into play the last 120 days before the election.”

“Lex, we didn’t ask for it. They came to us, something about the crowds getting too large. They’re right it was getting hard to get in and out of places because we couldn’t control the traffic. The Secret Service will change all that. Besides we were spending a fortune on all the guys Tip had working, let Uncle Sam foot the bill. Anyway we jumped on it.”

“We’ll just work around it Jack, I’m sure once they get used to the film crew it will be okay.”

“Whatever, I’m looking forward to seeing you Lex.”

“Jack, you said you were going to tell me about Griffin. What has gotten into her?”

“I couldn’t believe it myself. I thought she must want to make a deal to shelve the negative ads or some other nonsense.”

“But she was playing two negatives to every one of yours.”

“Well my curiosity was piqued. I figured she’d probably spent herself into the poor house trying to stop us…”

“I get it, Jack, and when it wasn’t helping her she came to you with a deal…”

“Lexi, I was as excited as a five year old the night before Christmas…I got to the office early…and opened the door so I could have a straight view of the elevator door. I arranged the way I was sitting, the angle of my head, should I have a phone in my hand, should I be writing. I was trying to play it cool…”

“Then she arrived walking down our hallway, flanked by four tall, black haired clones in suits. I hadn’t slept the night before because I could hardly wait to hear what she wanted to talk to me about.”

“She’s a powerhouse, Jack.”

“You’re right, Lexi, but there she was, her majesty the Governor of Texas, all covered up in a vanilla overcoat, matching ‘kerchief, and big dark glasses.”

“That sounds like Anne Griffin, marching in there like she owned the place.”

“Sandy had taken a call from the Governor’s Chief of Staff Ron Bean earlier that week.”

“Ron Bean is a political dynamo, Jack.”

“You’re telling me, Lexi. Bud hates the guy, and Bud wouldn’t give him a thought if he wasn’t good.”

“Well Sandy took the message. The governor would like to meet with the senator to discuss areas of mutual interest. She didn’t mind coming to our offices and ‘would Friday afternoon be good for us?’ Bud couldn’t believe she would be caught dead walking in here, and that’s when he spilled an old secret he was carrying. She’s a real cougar, Lexi; and true to her reputation, she shows up with four 30-something guys that look like she got them from central casting.”

“She’s married to a man ten years her junior, some said he was kept. Did you know that, Jack?”

“Please, Lexi. Tip has given me the straight skinny on everyone who comes into contact with us in a meaningful way.

“Even me?”

“Of course, you. Especially you. He was worried you and I would end up… Well anyway, here she was, the Governor of Texas, underlings in toe, as big as Billy-be-damned in our offices, in person, hand stretched out. I greeted her, ‘Good afternoon Anne,’ and I reached to shake her hand.

“’Jack, I came alone, can we speak privately?’ she says. I almost corrected her, Lexi, but had to stop myself. I wanted to say, ‘it looks like five of you to me,’ but I knew what she meant: she had come without Ron. She wanted to talk with me off the record about something, and she knew I was gentleman enough not to use it against her.”

“She’s right about that Jack.”

“Griffin knew Bud would use anything including a visit with us against her. I had never known until just a few moments before she was standing in my office that Anne Griffin and Bud Singer while working on the McGovern campaign had a fling.”

“Bud told me quickly just before she got here it was just a weekend and they were very young. He said she was beautiful then and smart, they both had too much to drink, and she seduced him. He said she’s an animal in the sack and once the weekend was over, she was done with him and on to the next guy. He was just another notch on her belt.”

“Amazing, why do you think Bud shared that now?

“He was probably worried if she told me it would seem like he had held something back. Bud’s paranoid sometimes. So Griffin gets into the office, shuts the door behind her, and takes off her coat and glasses. Then, standing in front of the mirror, she removes her kerchief and starts fussing with her hair.

“She said, Jack, I have to congratulate you on your fundraising efforts, you have managed to accumulate quite a war chest.’

“Then, as blithely as if she was ordering a drink, she continued, ‘We can spend the rest of ours painting you as a neo-liberal socialist, or you can join forces with the Governor of Texas. I’m practically a Republican compared to you.’

“Lexi, she had me at a loss and it just slipped out. I told her, ‘You’ve got a pair of brass balls coming in here like this.’”

“Oh my God, Jack, you lost it…?”

“Lexi, I thought she was going to ask me to be her VP. Instead, she turned and looked right into my eyes, and without flinching, she says, ‘I’m here to make you King, don’t screw it up.’ That’s when she laid it all out on the table. Canon–Griffin, The White House—she sold me.”

“That’s incredible, Jack. Unbelievable… it’s over then. Oh my God, if you could see my face, my jaw dropped, I actually made a face at myself in the rear view mirror when you told me.”

“Well, Lexi, instinctively I pulled back a little. I asked Griffin to wait until after Maine. Then we would call a press conference and announce it to the world. She agreed, and the deal was done. You can have the exclusive if you want it.”

“Are you kidding, Jack? Of course I want it! What did Kathy say?”

“At first when I told her she was like you? Then she said something like, ‘she’s a real bitch… the Governor of Texas got herself wedged in there. Well at least you’ll get Texas.’”

“What about Bud?”

“Bud was so excited; he kicked up his heels and ended up flat out on the floor. Poor guy lost his balance. Luckily he wasn’t hurt. He just rolled over onto his side, crawled over to the couch and got to his knees. By the time I was there to help him, he was up. Embarrassed, he was trying to convince me he used to do that all the time when he was in college…”

“Right…I wish I’d have been there to see it. I mean, knowing he didn’t hurt himself.”

“Oh, he was sore the next day. He could barely move. Then—typical Bud—he goes paranoid. He says, ‘Let’s call around to all the big guys and get her funding cut.’

“I said, ‘No, Bud. That’s ours now.’ And Bud says, ‘I don’t trust her. I’d rather cripple her now while we can.’

“I asked him if she hadn’t come with the offer, what would he have done?”

Every few minutes my phone was buzzing in a call-waiting signal. Sandy was trying to reach me. I didn’t share it with Lexi. If the two had gotten along I would have done a three-way conference call, but I didn’t feel like being a referee first thing in the morning. Besides, Sandy must know I’ll be in shortly, and that I’m on the friggin phone.

“Lexi, I told Bud that we needed to just play it out till we finish up in Maine. It can’t be any worse then if she was a full-on candidate.”

“You thought she was laying off you in Florida to cajole you into the VP Spot?” Lexi asked.

“Ya, and instead she was positioning herself for it. Go figure.”

“Jack you just accepted her offer right there on the spot without discussing it with Bud or Lisa or anyone?”

“Decision by committee is pathetically slow; sometimes you gotta get off the dime Lex. Bud would’ve said no first, and I would’ve spent days talking him into it. Lisa would’ve wanted to run the numbers first and get back to me. I went with my gut.”

“I agree with you, Jack, it’s a great call. What was her demeanor like? Was she at least trying to be friendly?”

“You be the judge. In the bitchiest voice I’ve heard since the Wicked Witch of the West, she said for me to take the offer or she’d spend every last dime she had painting me as a liberal or worse.”

“You are, Jack.”

“Are what, Lexi: a liberal or worse?”

“A liberal, Jack. I haven’t had a chance to sample the worse. A girl can dream though, can’t she?”

“I love your sense of humor, Lexi.”

“But seriously, Jack, you’re the first guy in a long time that’s willing to shake the system.”

“Lexi, it’s one thing if we joke about it, but I didn’t want the number two democrat in the race saying it. She does have a lot of credibility and she gets credit for being a moderate. Plus she has the blessing of the party.”

“How do you know that?”

“I know.”

“Then if that’s the case, why wouldn’t she try to go all the way?”

“Her people did the numbers and told her she couldn’t win. Ron told her the truth. That’s a very rare commodity in this business.”

“What about Dr. Tim?”

“I know, I didn’t want to mention it to Griffin but he would’ve been on a very short list for VP, you know in a perfect world.”

“I know Jack, but in this game you take your best shot.”

“He’s a friend, loves the environment, and has a great mind. I’ll probably ask him to head agriculture.”

“No one will argue with that, I think people will really believe your pro environment with that choice.”

“His job will be to tame the Wackos; we’re bound to encounter some resistance planting millions of acres of feed stock. I’m going to make the offer right after I announce Griffin as VP.”

“You’re right, Jack, better to have him in your pocket.”

“Lexi, there’s no sense having him running around spouting his mouth off about the impact of overplanting, thinking he’s got a shot.”

“Speaking of shots, what about the Reverend?”

“He had that little spike in the beginning. We had three of his mistresses ready to come out and tell their stories… but then he fizzled. We decided not to kick him when he’s down. No need to wreck his marriage.”

“That dog and all the time preaching family values.”

“You should hear some of the stuff, one of the girls I’m serious could get a book deal, you know if he ever went to the nomination.”

“That would never happen, but he’s got a big mouth.”

“We’re still gonna play him the tapes to keep him in line. We don’t need his histrionic bullshit on the stump. He gets so animated, especially if he thinks he’s got an audience.”

Lexi added, “The reverend never met a fight he wouldn’t travel half way across the country to stand in front the cameras for.”

“He’s a Jesse Jackson wanna be, but he doesn’t have the chops Jesse has or the resume.”

“That’s it then Jack - it’s just you and Barker now.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

It was my first day back to the campaign office since winning Florida. By the time I rode the elevator to the seventh floor it was close to ten o’clock, I had spent nearly an hour on the phone with Lexi. When the door opened, I walked out into a sea of fifty anxiously waiting faces, everyone stood up, and clapped, it was the happiest I’d seen this group since the campaign started. Bud came out of his office and joined in the applause. Lisa and Bill started walking toward me. I thought imagine how excited these folks will be when they find out Griffin is on the team.

In my peripheral vision, I saw her… tantalizingly perfect, eyes aglow beaming with joy. Sandy always looked good but today she had outdone even herself. Wearing a sort of zebra colored print only with wilder stripes and taking quick little steps, each as far as her dress would allow… scooting towards me. It was hard having a best friend this beautiful.

Looking around the room it seemed like all the girls had stepped up their game. I thought it might be Daphne’s influence or Lisa’s transformation or a combination of both.

Sandy got to me, practically falling into my arms, “Jack, I need you in your office right now!” She started dragging me the fifty or so steps from the elevator door. Okay, Honey, what’s got you so wound up?”

“It’s the president, Jack, he’s been trying to reach you for over an hour.”

“Let the old lady wait,” I said.

“What if he needs you for something important, Jack, you’re the chairman of Armed Services?”

“I’ll guarantee he just wants to get into my head, he wouldn’t lower himself to care what anyone thinks. He’s in full out campaign mode now Honey.”

“Do you want me to get him back on the line, I tried to conference him in with you this morning, it was very intimidating Jack.”

“Barker intimidates you?”

“Jack, of course he’s the president.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I didn’t answer because I was on the phone with Lexi.”

“Oh I could’ve figured she’s like your shadow. I wish I could go on the road with you.”

“Well it’s going to get worse; she’s going to be with the campaign in Maine.”

“What do you mean ‘with the campaign’; she’s already on the press bus?”

“No, I’m talking reality-TV-style, a 24/7-type deal.”

“Is Bud okay with that?”

“Since when do you care about what Bud thinks? Anyway, he’s gonna have to be, Sweetie. I already promised her.”

“Jack, why can’t I go with you to Maine? You speak so fondly of it. I’ve been once but I’d love to see it through your eyes.”

Sandy’s body language gave her away, her shoulders hunched, her face holding back tears. I didn’t want any tears so I reached out and hugged her.

“Come here,” I said holding her. Whispering in her ear, I measured each word carefully.

“Kathy doesn’t want you out on the road with us. It’s that simple. Honey you’re a smart girl, you must know why.”

Sandy took a deep breath in and said, “I suppose she’s right Jack. If you were my husband, I would’ve probably fired me by now. She’s a good woman and very trusting. I wish I had her confidence.”

“Well she trusts me, even with you parading around the office looking like Marilyn at her best.”

Sandy knew I wasn’t just flattering her. She had captured the look of Marilyn but not in a cheap way, she had the essence of what Marilyn was all about, and she had done it beautifully.

“Well since you put it like that, I’ll have to be happy with this. I’ll take what I can get. Are you not going to call the president back?”

“Let him wait a few minutes, the White House has called before. Besides, we’re probably on a list of calls. The operator just rotates through them. I’m sure the president is oblivious to the fact they haven’t reached us yet.”

“Well in that case, Jack, can I have your ear?”

“Sure, Honey, when haven’t you?”

“Oh please, want me to make a list? No, I’m going off point. I was hoping you would let me take a vacation to see my mom and dad.

“Of course, you haven’t had any time off in at least, how long has it been?”

“Eighteen months Jack.”

“How are your parents?”

“They’re good, but my dad calls and texts all the time and really misses me. Mom and I stay very caught up; we talk at least once a week and have very deep conversations, but with my dad it’s ‘hi beautiful how’s my girl.’ Dad really likes to see me and he likes to hug.”

“How long will you be gone”?

“A week?”

“Oh, Jack, I didn’t mean right now, I thought maybe in a couple of weeks. I wouldn’t leave for vacation on such short notice.”

“You deserve some time off, are you taking your little dog?”

“No. Lisa said she’d stay at the house and take care of Molly. Jack, she’s not so little anymore. Fourteen inches at the shoulder. I took her to the airport to check and she can’t fly. Well, what the guy actually said was he’d let it slide but that he couldn’t guarantee the connections would and we might get stuck.”

“What about the cargo area?” I gently moved her towards the couch area to sit down. We sat once cushion apart facing each other.

“No way, Jack. It’s cold in there and loud. She’d be scared, and I heard there’s pressure…Well anyway Lisa likes my apartment and it’s real close to the office, and she offered.”

“Honey, take two weeks and really enjoy yourself.”

“Really, Jack, I hate to leave you that long when things are so hectic.”

“Sweetie, crazy is the new normal around here; they’ll be plenty waiting for you when you get back.”

“I’ll still be available by phone for the senate staff. You won’t have to worry about that.”

“No way that’s not a vacation, let Lisa handle all the calls and if she gets over her head she can ask Bud. Don’t worry about me. I told Kathy that Maine will be just like a vacation. We’ll be enjoying the seafood and traveling up the coast. The office will be fine. Don’t worry. Besides let em have a chance to miss what you do around here.”

“Jack, are you sure?”

“That’s an order, you go see your mom and dad and relax for a change.”

“Thanks.”

“One thing I’d like to see is the look on your dad’s face when he sees you, I bet his jaw drops a few inches.”

“You mean ‘the Marilyn’?” Sandy giggled visualizing her dad’s face, “Silly.”

“Ya, you were beautiful before but now…I’m just sayin’—how’s his heart?”

“My daddy told me every day I was beautiful. My mom used to make him add ‘smart’. She’d say, ‘She’s pretty and smart, Daddy.’”

Sandy’s assistant Megan pops her head into the office. “Excuse me, but Jack, it’s the president on line one.”

“Do you want me to leave, Jack?” Sandy whispered.

“No, stay.” I said pressing the speaker button.

“Good morning, Mr. President.”

“Hey, Jack, glad I could catch up with you. I hear you’re doing pretty well out there. Got the old girl on her toes, I see.”

“Yes, we have managed to do fairly well this time.”

“You definitely have all the celebrities with you, Jack.”

“Gil, I know your busy, why don’t you tell me what do you need?”

Sandy’s eyes showed surprise at my directness with the president. I knew Gil Barker to be a glad hander. He could charm anyone to their face while secretly plotting their demise behind the scenes.

“I’m asking you to leave Iran alone, all your bullshit on the stump is stirring everybody up.”

“You make it easy, Gil; you’re heading us toward World War III over there. You’re going to wait and let Israel take matters into her own hands?”

“We have UN Inspectors going in.”

“With all due respect Gil, they couldn’t find a pile of crap in an outhouse.”

“Let them do their work. It’s in our national interest.”

“They’ve been in before and we keep hearing the same thing, I warned. Those sites they’re always checking are decoys the real one must be underground somewhere. Gil do you actually think you can trust the Iranians not to pull one over on the UN?”

“Jack, the UN knows what they are doing.” I could hear the irritation growing in the president’s voice.

“Seventy million lives were lost in World War Two, half of them innocent civilians. What do you think happens if Israel launches an attack? They have the bomb and have threatened to use it, are you prepared to stand by and let that happen?”

“Jack, just for this argument this one time, I wish you were in the hot seat. Let’s just say it changes your perspective.”

“All I’m saying out there is that you should send in surgical strikes. No one will come after America the way they’ll retaliate against Israel.”

“I know what you’re saying; I don’t agree with you.”

“Then it will end badly with boots on the ground. Why don’t you take the afternoon Mr. President and visit Arlington. Every one of those crosses represents a young American who lost their life because someone like you sent them into war.”

“You’re going to far Jack, you’re making a lot of very powerful people angry, people you don’t want to screw with.”

“People who want war to line their own pockets. They’ll send kids into battle but never fight themselves. Is that who you work for Gil?”

“Jack, it’s a good thing you have Secret Service Protection, you’ll need it.”

“Is that a threat Mr. President?” Sandy was falling out of her chair.

“No… believe me I want to run against you in the fall. I’m going to paint you into the biggest socialist that ever came down the pike.”

“Gil there’s a stark contrast between us let the voters decide.” Sandy was staring directly into my eyes shaking her head and mouthing Oh My God in disbelief.

“Jack, the people you’re aiming at are worried about you. I mean opening up the surplus food supplies and eliminating speculation on oil. Are you nuts?”

“Have you ever worked with the homeless, Gil? Or visited with a father who can’t feed a hungry three-year-old child, her big, brown, watery eyes crying softly into a soiled blanket? Have you ever watched as a family piled into a barely operating mini van to go to sleep for the night? No room left in the shelter?”

“I can’t say I have, Jack.”

“You’ve got to get your head out of the sand. 50% of the people in this world live on less than two dollars a day. People are starving right under your nose.”

“Jack, save the shit for the debate. Or keep it up; you’ll take a bullet faster than you can say ‘Sirhan Sirhan.’”

“Gil, your warmth is disarming.”

“Jack, I’m going to level with you. It’s not the crowds, like they probably told you. Believe me, the agency doesn’t break protocol because they’re worried about some teenage girl at a rock concert. The NSA picked up some chatter. The deal I’m going to offer is this: lay off Iran and you’ll get the full boat… helicopters, sharpshooters, protection for your family. The basic protection you’re scheduled for may save you from taking a bullet, but what if they kidnap one of your kids?”

“Gil, I’m going to enjoy taking the oath and then having you tour me through the White House. The funds for that library disappearing faster than the fake smile you flash for the cameras.”

“You bleeding heart liberals are all alike. I am trying to help you here, Jack.”

“You’re going to let Israel fight this battle?”

“Yes we are. Whether you like it or not I’m still the president.”

I thought about Iran. There were enough people talking about it now to keep the heat on.

“I’ll take it, the whole ball of wax, Gil.”

“Consider it done then.”

The president abruptly ended the call. Sandy and I just looked at each other still shaking our heads. My heart was racing and by the looks of it hers too. Finally, I found the words, “Wow…unbelievable.”

The one thing I could count on negotiating with a pro is you always have the fallback option of giving him what he wants, especially if he leaves you no other choice.

Sandy asked, “Did you hear a slight cringe in his voice when you mentioned the library?”

“Barely, it was almost like he wished I’d decline his offer.”

“That’s what I felt too, Jack, eerie, I got the chills.”

“He’s one cool customer, Honey.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

I saw Kathy’s picture pop up on my cell. It was unusual for her to call in the morning. Our routine was to catch up around lunchtime.

Martha and Bethany both went to Leary School in Lincoln Heights. The school had a very small population of 110 students in grades 3 through 12. We had chosen Leary for two main reasons, in addition to an excellent reputation the student teacher ratio was less than one to ten. The second and more important to me was that we could do everything for both girls in one place, drop off, parent teacher conferences and school events were combined. It avoided us fragmenting our time in different dates and directions.

The agents had entered the school flashing badges. The two male agents asked to be shown to the girls’ classrooms so they could stand guard by each door. The third agent, Sally Rhine, explained to the office that she was assigned to the girls and would function as their direct liaison. Sally was team leader for the group. The agency felt a young woman could interact with the girls, and they’d be more comfortable with her.

“Honey, I just got off the phone with the president less than an hour ago. I didn’t know this would happen so fast.”

“Jack, you told me the Secret Service was going to be joining us in Portland, Maine on Wednesday. You didn’t say anything about the girls and me. I just figured that wouldn’t come until you were president.”

“Honey, we have no choice. The president called and offered us protection based on threats that made it to his attention. It was a ‘take it or leave it’ offer. I can’t take chances with you and the girls.”

“Oh No…Did he tell you what kind of threats, Jack?”

“He didn’t, but with all the crackpots out there…it only takes one.”

“I understand Honey; I would have done the same. We definitely can’t let some crazy make good on a threat. Wow, I’m just not used to this.”

“I’m sorry Honey.”

“Jack, I didn’t get a chance to tell you everything yet.”

“There’s more? What else is happening”?

“Well where do I begin, we have a road block at both ends of the street. Our dining room is transforming into a command post while were talking. There are agents setting up who knows what all over the house.”

“I know you waited years to find exactly what you wanted for that room.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I don’t care about the dining room. I just want to be sure my girls and my husband are safe. That’s all that matters. Don’t worry Honey, we talked about this.”

“Nothing this abrupt and intense though and this is much earlier than we planned.”

“There’s a funny part, Mr. Pickering called demanding an explanation.”

Pickering was the neighbor that everyone seems to have, the one who complains at the drop of a hat. I always tried to avoid him when walking Sophie, if he got my ear I’d have to be almost rude to get away.

“That pain in the butt, what happened?”

“Well apparently he’d gone out to walk his dog, and when he tried to get back to the house he was stopped and asked for identification.”

“Good, we’ve put up with his silver spoon lazy ass complaining for years.”

“I know right? The thing was he didn’t bring his wallet. An agent had to walk him home to check his id. He was furious. It’s wall to wall Secret Service here Jack, there must be twenty agents between the house and the street.”

“Honey, the protection we were originally scheduled for was nothing compared to this. The president escalated this to full scale, basically the same as a visiting foreign head of state. Remember the summer in New York with Netanyahu.”

“Oh my God Jack. You’re serious, why would he do that?”

“Look around you, it’s done.”

“Jack you didn’t answer, why would Barker give you all this protection?”

“It’s complicated I think, I’ve definitely got some enemies or they wouldn’t go to all this trouble.”

“Jack this has gotta be overkill.”

“Barker said he wants to run against me.”

“He’s an ass; he’s just trying to get into your head.”

“We’ve got this, huh Kath?”

“There is a bright side to this.”

“That’s why I love you so much, what is it?”

“You know how worried sick I get about my cousin’s driving?”

“Yeah.”

“Well now Veronica won’t have to drive the girls to school while we’re in Maine. Agent Sally told me on the phone the Secret Service will be taking them from now on.”

Veronica at twenty-seven was Kathy’s youngest cousin on her father’s side of the family. We all laughed along when she made fun of herself for being a perennial student still working on a degree in art history. The girls loved her and she was always our first choice to babysit.

“She’ll love all the attention, she’ll probably volunteer to move in and watch them for the rest of the campaign. Won’t that be nice Jack?”

“Funny, Kathy. Maybe for the first few days.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

The day had finally arrived and Kathy and I were on approach to the Portland International Jetport. We agreed that going up to Maine for the primary would be a vacation break for the two of us. We were alone on the plane except for our usual pilot Ben and the one concession seated next to him, a Secret Service co pilot. I assumed in case Ben had a heart attack or went crazy or something. Bob had bargained with me to have at least one armed-agent on board.

I had met Bob Sheppard, the Agent in Charge of our detail the same day Kathy had called about all the commotion going on at home. Bob was a no nonsense guy who’d been with the agency for years. I’m a pretty good judge of people, and while I’d only known Agent Sheppard for a few days, I felt he was genuinely concerned for our safety. He received hourly updates from Agent Sally, who, along with two other agents, never left the girls.

Our deal was struck when Agent Sheppard asked to meet with me alone back at campaign headquarters. He came into the office in official mode asking for my complete cooperation. Adding he would need to know the complete itinerary for our trip to Maine.

“Senator, we can’t do our job if we don’t have agents setup in advance of your arrival. We need several days of preparation to insure your safety on the road.”

“Bob, hold up, I promised my wife a vacation, you don’t want to spoil this for us?”

“Senator I have worked with the agency for seventeen years and I’ve never once compromised on protocol.”

“I know you mean well but we are going to travel freestyle in Maine. There’s so much to see and it’s our second home up there.”

“You have three residences sir.”

“Lighten up Joe Friday,” I explained that while we were in Maine the basic plan was to end up in Sebago at the tail end of our visit before returning to Washington.”

“We will need the specific itinerary senator to do our job effectively, Bob pressed.

He confided his dream was to be promoted to agent in charge of the President of the United States and he had no intention of marring his perfect record.”

“Bob, I’ve met dozens of guys like you over the years. Your intentions are good, you do what you’re told, but his vision was myopic.”

“Sir?" Bob looked puzzled.

“Bob, I’m going to come and go by jet and meet up with the buses, I’m not going to be trapped at every stop with a press starving for anything that might pass for a story.”

“Senator, you’re not understanding how difficult you’re making this.”

“Well get used to it Bob,” I let him down hard. I could see he was questioning ever wanting this assignment. After a few moments of complete silence, I made Bob an offer.

“Bob, think about this for a second, if I’m happy with you, when I’m president you’ll stay with us.”

I told him I would stick to an itinerary on the condition he break protocol every once in a while so Kathy and I could have some fun. I added that he tell me everything about the operation. He said that no one is to know all the details. Even the agents in the field were only given orders on a ‘need to know’ basis. I asked him if he could live with himself if he passed up the opportunity I was offering. He told me he wanted to see it my way. That he had been watching the campaign, sympathized with our cause, and truly hoped that I would go all the way.

“Then Bob, take the leap, join us. We’ll both get what we want, join our team. It will be you and me working together, and I assure you—anything we share will stay between us.”

Somehow, I inspired his confidence. I could almost smell the wood burning as his brain weighed the offer.

He countered, “I suppose you could break away from the group occasionally, but I’d have to have at least one agent within sight of you, to be certain he’d be able to call for assistance of he saw something wrong. You’re wife won’t even know we’re there. As to the operation, I’ll tell you what I can, but just know that what you see is only the tip of the iceberg.”

The Secret Service had closed the flight path for all planes in the vicinity of Portland. The door to the cockpit was ajar and I could hear the tower giving Pilot Ben the okay to land. Runway 1 - 9 would take us out over the fore river landing east to west. Following the landing, we were ordered to proceed to the far end of the airport.

Ben called back, “I could get used to this, Jack,” He quickly turned the plane and taxied over to a phalanx of Agents waiting at the end of the terminal area. Kathy looked out the window and coined a new phrase, “Jack it looks like the Secret Circus out there.”

“I know a week ago we could have flown in here and just walked off.”

Today was different, we descended the steps of the plane to a waiting Agent Bob who had the door to a large black SUV already open. Tugs and baggage cars blocked off the area like circled wagons. Lexi and her crew were filming our arrival. I waived to her producer and cameraman knowing she couldn’t see me turned towards the camera.

“Watch your step, Hon,” I said motioning for Kathy to avoid the heavy oil stain on the tarmac. Portland had been through some tough economic times, and the small jetport was showing signs of it. The cement formed walls of the outer terminal, once white, were graying and needed a paint job. Water mixed with rust had stained a section next to an abandoned jet way. The municipal budget had been redirected toward post-9/11 security measures. The inside of the terminal was a choppy hodgepodge of temporary barriers. The city didn’t have the funds to renovate and was left in a mess. I was glad we didn’t have to step inside there today.

“Look at the helicopter Jack,” Kathy pointed to a Huey-sized Hunter Green Copter with the inscription ‘United States of America.’

When we got to the waiting car, I introduced Kathy to Bob, explaining he was the agent in charge of the operation.

“Just the man I want to speak with then,” Kathy said.

Stepping inside the vehicle with one hand on my arm, Kathy took the seat next to the far window. I jumped in next, then Bob pulled the door closed sitting across from us facing rear.

“Agent Bob, is this all for us?” Kathy couldn’t believe the production.

“Yes ma’am, we have over two hundred agents on the ground.”

“You can drop the ma’am, it’s just Kathy.”

“Honey, Bob had told me he has agents stationed all along Route 1, two each at various motels along the way.”

“Bob sounding full of himself, “Those agents are backup in case we need them. The agents traveling with us are the ones you saw outside when you arrived.”

“Isn’t that enough?” Kathy said.

“We also have plain-clothes agents you won’t even know are there as part of the crowd.”

Kathy was right. This is like a traveling circus, hundreds of agents and a bus full of press along with us wherever we go.

I had given the itinerary. Portland, Freeport to visit LL Bean, Boothbay Harbor, Bar Harbor, and then inland to Bangor. Furthest north would be Milo to get a visit to the rural interior. I wanted the press to get a look at the small Maine towns to document the lives and struggles of the people here. This trip would showcase how bad management in Washington had caused the mess the country was in. I told Bob to plan for our return via an inland route through the center of Maine, south to Sebago. That’s where this over the top dog and pony show would land for a week before heading back to Alexandria.

Our first stop was the Portland City Hall. Bob gave the driver the okay to move.

I joked to Kathy, “It’s funny how nobody moves without being told in this bunch.”

I had driven the route into downtown Portland many times. Usually we’d get to the airport, fumble around for fifteen or twenty minutes waiting for the baggage handlers to bring our luggage. We’d always get that hopeful first piece and then wait for the rest. The ride into downtown normally takes about fifteen minutes because of the narrow one-lane roads that made up the drive. The city can’t widen the roads because everything was planned before the car, so the homes sit fairly close to the road.

Today, the entire ride would take less than five minutes, as the Portland Police closed off each intersecting rode along the route.

I remembered when I was young, Fritz Mondale came to our town to do a speech. I happened to be the first car stopped for a light on a side street. All of a sudden, a cop car pulled up and blocked the entire road, and then the officer jumped out and stood outside the vehicle. I could see across the street—another cop did the same and all the way down the road, side streets were being blocked from traffic heading for the main thoroughfare. It just seemed like the world stood still for what now I realize was about five minutes. You know how everything seems much longer when waiting at a traffic light, especially with a cop blocking your path and no way to know how long it’s going to be. Well, after a few minutes, along comes a motorcade with a big black limo heading into City Hall. I remember thinking, who is this guy that miles of road from the airport to the town center are just shut down for? I’d like to be that guy.

Kathy got right to her point. “Bob, who is in charge of the protection assigned to our girls?”

“I am,” he answered without hesitating.

“Then do me a favor, explain to me why we are traveling with all this while there are only three agents with our girls?”

Agent Bob started to explain, “We have sharpshooters stationed on nearby roofs ready, drivers, shields to walk along beside us…”

Kathy cut him off. “Jack, I think we need to bring the girls here with us, we can get them a tutor for the trip. I can stay with them in Alexandria after that. Either that, or I could fly back to get them myself.”

“I think you’re right! We need to have the girls with us.”

“Well, send the plane back for them then. I’ll call my cousin and tell her to pack some things.”

Bob started, “Sir, we’re really not prepared for a change in plans.”

The driver was blocked from view by a blackened glass divider but announced into Bob’s ear loud enough so we could hear, “Two minutes to arrival, sir.”

The press, the buses, Bud, Bill, Lisa, Daphne, and the rest of our crew were already at Portland City Hall waiting for us to arrive. The granite steps fronting the building were now the staging area for our kick off speech for the trip. I picked the setting for its downtown location just steps from a working waterfront mixed with restaurants and cobble stone streets. I would give a brief speech about unchecked greed, get the crowd stirred up, and then walk the few hundred yards to the scenic backdrop of the Old Port Area.

“Kathy, I told Daphne to tell the press to save their appetites for lunch in Camden. I thought we’d treat everybody to Chappy’s Chowder House.”

“Jack, turn this car around. I’m feeling like I want to go back and get the girls.”

“You heard the lady, Bob, back to the jetport.” I reached for my cell.

I knew what Kathy was doing; she was working on an angle, and I let her run with it.

“Sir, we have agents set up all through the downtown area ready for your arrival. The crowd has swelled to over five thousand.”

“Turn this car around, Bob!” Kathy said in a chillingly firm voice.

“Sir?”

“Bob, turn the fuck around.”

Bob was squirming in his seat.

Then to let him off the hook, I asked. “Honey, if Bob can take like fifteen guys off of this detail and run them down to stay by Veronica and the girls, would you be okay?”

“I guess I’d feel better.”

“Can you do that, Bob?” I asked.

Bob just nodded his head. His lips were tight against his teeth. Not many people have ever gotten past the two of us; Kathy and I had an unbreakable alliance, and we were a formidable team.

“How soon can you make it happen?” Kathy asked.

“As soon as we arrive, I’ll make the call.”

“Do it now, Bob,” Kathy wasn’t going to wait.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Bob spoke into a tiny clear mouthpiece at his cheek, “Get me command.”

Kathy turned to me and gave me the gentlest kiss, took a deep breath and then sat back in her seat.

“You know, Jack; it would’ve been nice to do something like Chappy’s for dinner.”

“I know, Honey, but it gets dark so early up here.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

“Jack, I’m not so sure I’m loving having Lexi underfoot. I have to watch everything I say. Couldn’t you ask her to follow us in their own vehicle, at least to give us a little privacy between stops?”

Kathy got my attention; I’d been looking out the window at the scenery along Route One. The waterfront towns are so beautiful with their Main Streets lined with white New Englanders all seeming to have the same front porch style.

Bob looked over at me listening intently to hear my answer.

Lexi was up front going over some notes with her cameraman and producer but still close enough to hear the gist of the conversation. Cocking her head towards us, she lifted a hand to brush away some hair that had gently fallen into her face. Exposing her ear, I saw the big gold hoops I told her I liked.

“I’ll take care of it, Hon,” I said. “Listen up everybody. Once we get to Camden, everybody is off this bus. This isn’t working; no one can be on all the time and I need some downtime. Film all you want in between.”

When we arrived in Camden, I walked off the bus to the smell of the thick salt air. February is usually colder than this but we’d lucked out; today was fairly warm with no wind. We pulled into the town parking lots that sat just up a rise, one street back from the town square. From this vantage point, I could see part of the waterfront through spaces between the shops of the brick building-lined Main St. This is where we’d feed the crew. Chappy’s was happy to get the publicity. I told Daphne to leave a big tip; we don’t want to take advantage.

Lexi came quickly over to me, begging… “Jack, our van is filled with equipment, and there’s no room for the three of us to jam in there. Can’t you talk to Kathy, please, for me?”

“That’ll go over big, ‘Hey, Honey could one special reporter ride up front with us? She could sit on my lap, you don’t mind do ya?’”

“You’re making fun of me now?”

“Listen to yourself; I’m havin fun with you. Anyway, problem solved, I’ll have Bob find spots for you guys in the Secret Service Cars.”

Lexi was pouting, “I don’t want to ride with him I’ll die of boredom.” The little girl inside was finding her way out.

I had no choice but to ignore that, “Better yet tell that billionaire you work for to buy you guys a damn car in Rockport, or have one shipped up from Portland. That ought to be easy enough.”

“I’m not so sure I even like it here in Maine. I just wanted to be near you.”

I quickly changed the subject.

“Lexi, there’s this guy in Rockport who gave up corporate life in New York City. He lives in a converted barn right on the water up there. Believe me, it’s very basic. Upstairs is the living area, a big open loft with the walls covered in insulation and plastic. I saw it on a TV documentary a while back; he runs a sailing school year round. The bottom floor of the barn is filled with tiny two-person sailboats. He’s really making a go of it. I want you to try it.”

“You’re kidding me, what if I get wet… it’s winter. The water has to be freezing.”

“I’m gonna do it, Lex. The guy has suits people wear and even kids sail year round. You know, I bet I’d be happy living in a barn in Camden. I’d grab a good book, a cup of coffee and just sit by the ocean.”

“I don’t know about that, Jack. It would be you sitting with your book. The secret service, the roof top sharp shooters, helicopters, cameras everywhere.”

“You’re right. Could you even believe the set up at City Hall.”

“No, they’ve pulled out all the stops, Jack; they’re not taking any chances.” Lucky for me, the little girl had retreated; grown up Lexi was back.

We had been having our conversation standing in the middle of this small town parking lot, flanked by Secret Service agents, and Bob, pretending not to listen. I thought, that’s gotta be tough, I’d probably crack up laughing hearing the exchange we just had.

“I’d still like to do it, though—just live in a small town, by the ocean,” I said.

Lexi was relentless. “Jack, what if just I ride with you, just me? I could sit way up front with the driver; my crew could follow in the van? There’s enough room for them all if they squeeze. At least until we could rent a car in Portland.”

“Just til you rent the car? Whatever. Hey, let’s walk down the hill and enjoy the seafood.”

CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

We had arrived in Windham, Maine, the night before and figured we’d stop and sit tight so the troop traveling with us could get some breakfast in the morning. Our final destination was South Casco, just eleven more minutes up the road. I’d been there in the summer when the small town grocery and Dunkin Donuts had trouble handling a few extra tourists. I thought, this tribe would throw the whole little town out of whack.

Windham is a small town of about 19,000 and sits about twenty-five miles west of Portland. It’s unique in that it plays host to practically every fast food restaurant known to man. The town has its own Super Wal-Mart, a Home Depot and serves as a service center for the surrounding rural area. Unlike other Maine towns, Windham isn’t charming or quaint; it’s just a drive-through. At least it could handle our group without too much hassle.

The locals must have been surprised when fifty or so reporters walked into McDonalds this morning to get their coffee fix. We were traveling with some of the biggest names in television news, which I’m sure wasn’t going unnoticed.

Everybody was scrambling to rent anything even resembling a motel room for the rest of our stay. The Secret Service had taken rooms from Portland all the way up 302 to Bridgton, which besides Bar Harbor is my favorite Maine town.

We awoke to about an inch of snow, the mercury showing only a brisk 22 degrees. After a quick morning meeting, with everybody munching on Egg McMuffins, the group disbanded. I was enjoying a moment alone drinking my last few sips of coffee when Lexi popped onto the bus.

“Phew, it’s cold out this morning,” Lexi shook of the chill. Closing the door behind her, she climbed the ribbed rubber stairs to the main level.

“Jack, you must be a political genius.”

“I do my best, are you finally admitting it, Lex?”

“No, I’m serious, Jack; we did some ‘man on the street’ interviews following you around yesterday. We got some amazing material; I’m putting together a piece…”

“What’s the angle, you sound excited?”

“You’re obviously doing well everywhere, but you’ve had a sort of fanatical zeal with the people in the rural towns. Almost everyone we talked to outright professes love for you. Some are hurting so bad, and you’re the only hope they’ve got left.”

I shook a sugar packet then thought better of it and threw it back into the bowl.

“Lexi, do you think I should lose a few pounds, for the camera? The food on the road is lousy and I’m sure it’s fattening.”

“Jack, the cameras we have today don’t add weight like they used to. You don’t have to worry anyway. You look great on and off camera. Not to mention, you easily look ten years younger than you are.”

“I don’t think you’d tell me anyway. But getting back to your genius comment, to be honest, Lisa came up with the strategy. I only drove through the center of the state ‘cause I love it. There was no motive other than maybe getting my way.”

“Well your luck is legendary, then. There’s this one guy, I want to lead the piece with him. He said, ‘before Canon it felt like we were all marching toward failure in this country. Our jobs are gone and our money is heading overseas to buy foreign oil. Jack is going to change all that.’”

“I’d like to see the tape, Lexi. I can use some of it in my acceptance speech at the nomination.”

“Sure, Jack,. I’ll be working on it today. The piece has to be ready for Sunday night ahead of the primary on Tuesday.”

“The timing couldn’t be better. You’ll have the Griffin thing to scoop on Wednesday. Lex, I thought of a line you could use.”

“What is it?”

Speaking like a commentator, “Sources tell us Anne Griffin, once Canon’s number one rival, is joining the campaign as the vice presidential hopeful. She is sacrificing her ambition for the greater good of America, believing the two can forge a formidable team and break the gridlock in Washington.”

“Jack that’s good, I’ll use it.”

“I figured it does the job still playing to her massive ego.”

“You’re right. Are you okay with the ‘man on the street story’? I want your blessing.”

“Ya, do it. I don’t just like it, I love it.”

“Thanks, I’ll make you proud.”

“Hey, Lex, you’ll never guess what Bill said at the morning meeting today.”

“Tell me.”

“His son Steve, you’ve met him right?”

“Yes, Christmastime at your house. Remember the night you showed me the view of the stars from your patio?”

“I’ll never forget it… Steve had to come off Everest.”

“How come, Jack? He seemed so capable.”

“He never got acclimated at base camp.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No, something about the altitude, he was up there for a month trying to get his body used to it. Bill said on one of the trial climbs he developed blood in his mucus.”

“Oh no, Jack, is he alright?”

“Steve told Bill he’s fine now, but altitude sickness is serious; they say if you push you can die. He felt really ill and decided to come off the mountain.”

“How is Bill taking the news? What did you say to him?”

“That I’d be proud of Steve. He had the courage to abort instead of possibly dying up there. A lot of guys would’ve pushed ahead regardless of the risk. I think that shows he has his ego in check.”

“What’s he going to do when he gets back to the states?”

“I told Bill I wanted Steve to come work for the campaign, that we could really use him.”

“That’s nice, Jack.”

“I had an ulterior motive. I’m going to have him work very closely with Lisa. I’m hoping they might hook up.”

“Jack, you are so funny,” then freshly, “maybe you could help me next.”

“Like you need it, Lexi, come on.”

“When do I ever get a chance to meet anyone following you around the country?”

I’d been in this conversation with Lisa. I quickly changed the subject, “Hey what do you think of Lisa for Press Secretary?”

“I’d sort of hoped you would have offered that to me.”

“Are you kidding, we need you on the outside. You’re a major news personality, and the scoops will make you a star. We need you to report our perspective.”

“Well, since you put it that way, I think Lisa would be perfect—especially with her new look.”

“Lexi, I always hoped you’d end up as the anchor of the CBS Evening News. It hasn’t been the same since they railroaded Dan Rather out of there.”

“I don’t think they’d let me out of my contract over at NIM, Jack. Plus, why CBS?”

I adjusted the shade of the bus to partially block the bright morning sun from my eyes.

“That was the Colonel’s favorite; we grew up watching it. That’s probably why I always liked it best. It’s familiar and feels like home to me. We could get you out of your contract.”

CHAPTER THIRTY SIX

I never thought I would want to hear Anne Griffin say anything. In fact, I used to cringe at the mere mention of her name. Now here I was standing on the side porch anxiously awaiting her arrival. I wanted to hear her say the words in front of America.

I had no reason to doubt. She was a good soldier that had kept her end of the bargain and then some. Since I couldn’t drill Barker on Iran, we had instructed the Griffin Camp to do it. Anne’s attack was relentless. If we were going to beat a sitting president, we had to show his weakness on foreign policy. Griffin pulled the negative ads off us and the results in for Maine were extraordinary. Everything was as we hoped or better, but still I wanted to see the check cashed.

Our people set up the side yard for the press conference using Sebago Lake as a backdrop. If this was to be the Summer White House, we wanted America to start getting used to the idea sooner rather than later. We expected Griffin would speak first and then I would say a few words about her selfless patriotism, sacrificing her ambition for the good of the country.

The press pool had been setting up jockeying for the best spots since dawn. I awakened to their rumbling, the only sounds over a frozen lake. Other than us, there were no signs of life except for a few ice-fishing houses set up for winter. Sebago is a summer destination and basically empties of inhabitants after the fall foliage.

This would be the icing on the cake. Going head to head into the convention against Griffin would have been like two eagles grabbing talons spinning towards the ground. The lady was a hard campaigner and a big believer in negative advertising. Better to have this attack dog on the end of our leash than us trying to step around her.

Still, I couldn’t help thinking, what if she doesn’t show? There are any of a dozen different scenarios where she decides to go to the end. Who knows what advice she’s getting last minute from all the hangers-on she’s carrying? It’s hard to keep an ego that size in check.

I’ve got to stop over thinking this, she’ll be here, and this will be over. I try not to but I allow my eyes to move towards the front of the house to check for her again.

“Jack, can I talk to you for a minute?” Lisa said coming out to the porch. Kathy sent me out with a cup of coffee for you. The press conference isn’t scheduled until nine o’clock, so I thought we could go over a few things. Is there anything pressing when I’m in Washington covering for Sandy the next couple of weeks?”

“You know I asked Bill’s son Steve to meet you at the office on Monday; he’s going to be your assistant for the rest of the campaign.”

“I heard, and I know what you’re trying to do, Jack.”

Lisa wasn’t the type to forget our bargain, and I doubt the thought of it ever left her mind.

“Well, he’s interested in working in politics, and what better chance than to jump into the Big Game? I told him you’re the best in the business and that he’s going to learn a lot from you.”

“Is that all, Jack, or did you have something more in mind?”

“You mean—the fact that he’s your age, a rugged adventurer and you just happen to adore his dad?”

“I think that basically covers it. Jack, I appreciate what you’re trying to do for me, but I feel a little strange using work to meet a guy. Isn’t that like really against the rules?”

“Sit down, Honey.”

We both sat on an old porch style couch that was facing the lake. The two of us sunk deep into the soft cushions covered in a tan blanket we used for naps. This was one of my favorite spots in the house. The porch had a great view of the lake and the lawn that sloped about 100 feet to the water. The grass was covered now by a fresh inch of powder, and the dock and Adirondacks were long put away for winter. I pulled her close to me with my arm around her upper shoulder. The position felt awkward, the way you might hold someone on your first date at a movie. She didn’t seem to mind, so I figured it must be me. Her head was angled towards my face, so close I could feel her breath on my neck.

Meeting her eyes, “Honey, there are no rules for us. We’ll do as we like. Very soon it will be us making those laws you’re thinking about.”

“Jack, you can’t be serious?”

“Lisa, the only laws that matter are God’s. When we’re in power, our only responsibility is not to break those. The rules you’re talking about are man made conveniences so people don’t kill each other. Just think of all the nonsensical laws that have been made only to be changed afterward. Prohibition, the right to vote, segregation, slavery, we could go on and on. Man’s rules we can break. In fact, Honey, good people are often hurt by those who haven’t got the guts to bend the rules.”

Her mind moved to something else, “You didn’t want Steve to see Daphne first did you, and you waited for Sandy to be out of the office, too?”

“Honey, you’re over thinking this.”

“Admit it, Jack. I’m right.”

“It’s not that I didn’t think he’d fall head over heels for you. I mean, he just got off base camp at Everest and he’s feeling vulnerable because he couldn’t make the final climb.”

“You’ve got this all figured out, don’t you, Jack? Tell me I’m right, though.”

“You know you’re right, but you don’t understand a man’s mind. He’s going to love you, Honey, but you’ve got to get him committed. Before he meets Sandy and especially Daphne, so he doesn’t get confused.”

“Confused, are all men confused, Jack? Has that been my problem?”

“Lisa, listen. During the two weeks you’re with him alone, you let him slowly take possession of you.”

“How do I do that?”

“Honey, I want you to call Jean-Claude and have him help you get yourself together for this.”

I wanted to tell her myself exactly what she needed to do, but I couldn’t bring myself to say the words. I would get Jean-Claude to do it.

“Men are visual, so have Jean-Claude get you into something. I’ll call him and give him some ideas, but you have to trust me. I don’t want to tell you now ‘cause it’s embarrassing.”

“What do you mean, Jack?”

“Let’s just say I’m gonna have him leave nothing on the table.”

“Do you want me to dress like a slut at the office?”

“Not at all, Honey. You’re beautiful. Think business but borderline. Just promise me.”

“Promise what?”

“Just don’t act interested.”

Lisa had a look like she knew this was right. “Okay, Jack. Whatever. I’m going to call you if I need any pointers when you’re on the road, okay?”

“Sure, I’m sending the buses on to Michigan, then I’ll be heading there. We’re gonna send Griffin to Arizona. They love her there anyway.”

“That’s convenient.”

“I think I’m going to like this tag team. I’m not in love with the campaigning.”

“So basically you want me to get all dolled up and act like I don’t like him, and you’re trying to keep him away from Sandy and Daphne til he buys.”

“Sweet stuff, if this works out he will claim you for himself, and then it doesn’t matter who he meets.”

“You’re kidding. That’s how it works?”

“Yes. I’m not fooling around; you asked for my help, and I’m delivering.”

Just then, I heard the thud of a heavy car door slam shut. I turned and looked out the window towards the front of the house. My heart raced a little. There she stood next to a Texas-sized black limousine, the Governor.

Staring out, I said, “She’s here, Lisa, she’s going through with it.”

“Jack, I sense you’re a little uncomfortable with Griffin. You can’t let the public see that.” Lisa moved effortlessly into her work mode.

“It shows, huh?”

“Yes, she’s part of the brand now. You’ve got to welcome her with open arms, and it can’t be contrived.”

“That’s going to take some doing.”

“Just treat her like you do us. Jack, if she believes the whole country will believe.”

“You’re right, this Presidency will be big enough to include her.”

“Think Clinton- Gore Jack. Even the wives were dancing like sorority sisters on stage at the convention. The whole country was excited, but after the election when the dust had settled, Gore took a back seat. Griffin will do the same. Just make her feel really welcome.”

At that moment, I was so grateful to have someone like Lisa in my life. I just hugged her for what seemed like a solid minute. We finally got to share the feelings of tenderness between us. Holding her, I felt deep pangs of emotion flowing through me. I loved this girl.

When I pulled back enough to peer deep into her eyes, I told her, “Honey, you’re pretty and smart.”

She didn’t speak, but her lip quivered and she welled up.

“Lisa, there’s something I wanted to tell you before you go run the office next week.”

“What, Jack?”

“I want you to be my Press Secretary when we win the White House.” The tears just poured, “That’s good news isn’t it?”

All Lisa could do was quickly nod her head up and down.

Finally she spoke, “Jack?”

“What is it, Honey?”

“In my whole life I’ve never felt as safe as just now in your arms.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

“In my wildest imagination, I would never have thought it was this bad up here.”

“It’s a crime that things would be allowed to get like this.” Bud was angry, he hated to see Americans living this way.

We were in Michigan having our regular morning meeting but without Lisa. The buses were parked at the far end of a Lowes parking lot in Ann Arbor. Our official plans took us all the way up to Saginaw via I-75. We planned a mid-day stop in Flint in time for the national news broadcasts to pick us up.

Bill said, “People are sheltered in Washington; unless you’re campaigning you don’t get to see the country like this.”

“The folks up here are hurting. Is it any wonder with all the closed factories?” Bud added.

“The crowds have been huge, Jack; you can focus on something positive. Your presidency will be able to help these people.” Bill said.

It’s true that we had drawn record crowds, but I thought the people were drawn to us out of desperation. This state which had some of the finest natural resources in the world had been so blighted you could actually read it on the faces.

“I miss having my little sweetheart along. Have either of you spoken to Lisa today?”

“I spoke to her around six in the afternoon yesterday. She was just finishing up at the office, said she had a date or something,” Bud answered blithely not realizing that’s exactly what I wanted to hear.

“I didn’t speak directly to Lisa, but I did talk to my son. He told me that he and Lisa have been out together every night this week.”

“That’s amazing, I was hoping they’d hit it off. She’s such a special girl, Bill, and loves you to death. How many fathers in law start off as well?”

“Jack, I’m thrilled that Steve cares for her; it’s been like a whirlwind. He told me he just fell head over heels.”

“That’s great! It’s all in the timing, Bill. They’re both ready for a relationship.”

Bud was becoming a bit impatient, “Jack, I know this is a sensitive subject, but I wanted to broach it this morning before we go out today.”

“Bud, lighten up. You can’t even enjoy talking about the kids for a minute.”

Bill laughed, “Bud has a two-track mind, and it’s all politics or Jackie. He doesn’t want to talk about anything else."

“Well, I’ve got news for both of you. After our stop in Saginaw, I’m going to take one of the cars and sneak off to Bay City. I want to get a look at Lake Huron while I’m up here. Either of you want to join me? Who knows when we’ll be back this way again?!”

“Jack, I was serious before. I wanted to ask you not to bring up the idea about state-sponsored factories,” Bud had a grave look of concern over his furrowed brows.

“Why not, Bud, the crowds love it?”

I knew to lay off anything that reeked of socialism, but I was having too much fun with him to stop.

“Jack, Barker will use it against you in the fall. What plays in Ann Arbor may not go over in all those Red States.” Bud stated his case.

“That’s what your old girlfriend’s for, Bud.”

“Please, Jack. Promise me you’ll restrain yourself.”

“Bud, you don’t know what it’s like in front of the bigger crowds, it’s like—euphoria comes over me, and I can’t seem to help myself.” I began making circles in the air with my hands.

“Okay, Jack, you’re funny.”

The three of us broke out laughing.

“What else could three guys be doing and have this much fun?” Bill was in a great mood.

I was happy with the way things were going and relieved that we had made the decision to bring Griffin on. She was proving to be an asset in Arizona and would help us move to the center in the fall. Getting to know her as an ally gave me a chance to see her in a different light. She was tough all right, but had a tender side that started to leak out. There was more to Ann Griffin than meets the eye and I was grateful, especially for her relentless attacks on the president.

In less than a week, I’d done a 180: from skepticism the morning she pulled up to my driveway in Maine to a working partnership destined to become a friendship at some point.

I get chills remembering her announcement that she would be joining the ticket as VP. That morning she was classy enough not to mention that I had given the story to Lexi to scoop.

Instead, she shook hands with me for the cameras and then turning to the press, positively regal, “I have come to a realization that, in order for America to continue as the nation it was meant to be, I must throw my support and efforts behind Jack Canon.”

Each of her words was measured, as though she knew that this speech would be the one she’d be remembered for.

“The answer begins with Energy Independence and ends with Education, and I am here today to tell the American people that we can and must do this.”

My favorite line was in her ending. Just before I got up to speak, she closed, “The choice is clear. The road is sure, We Can! Build a Better America. Join us and take action for a better tomorrow.”

She even threw in our tagline for good measure. I liked her pragmatism; she was willing to put up with our shit for the good of the country. Anne Griffin was a grown up.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Something out the window caught my eye. There was more than the usual commotion. It was odd that two black Chevy Tahoes pulled up simultaneously and four agents quickly exited and stood outside them, obviously waiting for a third vehicle, this one a Suburban. The last was the only vehicle with markings of any kind, just an American flag on the driver’s door. Something didn’t feel right, and I felt a shiver of dread.

Bud and Bill noticed me looking out, “What’s going on out there?” They said it practically in unison.

“I don’t know, but usually we don’t get three Secret Service SUV’s pulling up to the bus all at once.”

My mind felt a surge of panic, like a sixth sense that something out of the ordinary was happening.

Agent Bob was climbing out of the Suburban, his face looked very concerned. He motioned to the other agents, the five walked towards the front of the bus, and I heard the knock. I sat motionless waiting for the news while Bill jumped up to get the door. Agent Bob stepped up onto the bus alone.

“Good morning, sir,” in a somber voice.

“Bob, what’s going on?”

“I have some very bad news to tell you.”

“Oh my God, it’s not Kathy or the kids?”

“No, Jack, they’re all fine.”

Kathy had taken the girls back to Alexandria for some normalcy and regular school after the trip to Maine.

Bob started what must have been excruciating for him to tell us.

“Jack, Lisa Pennington is dead. I’m so sorry.”

The words hung in the air and the three of us just looked at each other as though time itself didn’t dare to move. Then like a thud, we all crashed in a flood of emotion.

“No way Bob, you’ve gotta be….”

“This can’t be true; there must be a mistake…” Bud was hollering.

Bill pleaded, “Bob, are you sure? We all saw her a few days ago; she’s a healthy young woman.”

“Bob, what happened? Was there an accident?” I asked.

“This was not an accident, Lisa was executed in an apartment leased to Miss Sandy Collins, Jack’s assistant.”

“Executed?” Bill struggled with the thought, “What are you talking about?”

Bud couldn’t believe what he was hearing anymore than Bill or me, “She had no enemies and kept to herself. Who in the world would want to kill her?”

“It happened last night; we found out from the Alexandria Police. They were alerted to the scene by a neighbor.”

“Did the neighbor see anything, ID anyone?” I was numbed from shock but managed to ask.

“No, apparently the neighbor’s an older man who thought he heard barking in the night. He told the police that it was unusual that the dog would be allowed to just bark like that. He knew that Sandy was away, and he didn’t want to get involved.”

“That’s her new dog. Lisa was staying at Sandy’s place to watch Molly while she went on vacation to visit her parents.”

Somehow, I had the presence of mind, “Bob, do you think they were after Sandy and got Lisa by mistake? What am I saying—neither of those girls have any enemies. Bob, is Sandy safe?”

“Yes she is safe. We contacted Ms. Collins and we’re sending an agent to escort her back to Washington.”

“No! Tell her to stay put until we can send the jet down to her. She has to be with us now where I know she’ll be safe. Oh my God, poor Lisa! She was the most innocent, precious person. What kind of animal would want to hurt her?”

“There is one other thing I need to tell you. There was a man with her in the apartment and he was also killed.”

Bill moaned, “Oh my God, Steve was over there. No! It can’t be…Not Steve!”

“Sir, police found identification next to the bedside. I am so sorry, Bill. It was Steve.”

I never saw a face wretch with such agony. Bill collapsed on the couch and then his body went limp and he rolled to the floor. Bud knelt by his side and held the back of his shoulders. My mind was racing and my body couldn’t hold back the tears, I had never felt this kind of pain. My best friend’s son and a girl I adored both killed because somebody wanted to get to me. All these years unable to cry now I couldn’t stop. My heart actually ached in my chest.

“Who could have done something so heinous Bob”?

“We don’t have much information yet. Just what the police have told us. What we have now is that Lisa went to the door to answer and was shot through it. The cops think two assailants were involved. The door got kicked in and Steve was shot in the living room. There were two separate guns used. The dog was found next to the bodies still barking. The neighbor said the dog never stopped and with daylight, he went to investigate. He saw the door ajar and called the police.”

“He waited till dawn?” I was having trouble processing all of this.

“Did anyone hear anything at all besides the dog, gunshots, and foot steps in the hallway?” Bud asked.

Bob said, “Because this involves a close member of your staff, the agency will step in and do a full investigation. I am going against protocol to speak so frankly but whoever did this is sending a message. I don’t think anyone would shoot someone through a door in the middle of the night otherwise.”

“I can’t live with this, Bob. Knowing these kids were killed because someone was trying to get to me. What about the rest of the staff back at headquarters and the congressional staff? We have to make sure they’re safe.”

“We have coordinated with the Washington Police and a uniformed officer is with the staff at your headquarters. The congressional offices are well guarded; nobody is going to walk in there unnoticed.”

“Tip came bounding onto the bus. He literally rocked the bus he came in so hard, not taking the usual care with his large frame.”

“Jack, I came as soon as I heard, this is fucked up. Lisa?” Then Tip turned into Bob’s face, “this is on you asshole.”

“Tip!” I said sharply, to shut him off. I was the only person who could tame him at this moment. He might have hurt Bob if I’d let him.

“Bob, could you excuse us for a moment?” Tip got the message and was quiet for a moment, just nodding to Bob as he left the bus.

“Tip calm down I need you clear headed now. Think why would they target Lisa, who could have done this?”

Tip understood what I was asking, “Usually they leave some trace. I’ll go down there and see what I can dig up.”

“I want to go with you.”

“You can’t, Jack. You asked me to be clear headed, and I’m going to be. The next president of the United States can’t be running around Washington looking for some thugs who murdered his assistant.”

Bill looked up toward Tip, “I’m going, and I’m going to kill who ever did this.”

“Both of you listen, it may take some time but I’m going to find who did this,” Tip said.

“Tip whatever it takes I want you to find these murderers. Listen to me now all of you, whoever did this is going to pay for it. If there’s one thing I will promise you it’s that they will pay.”

Bud asked, “Tip what if you can’t find them?”

“There are very few perfect crimes; most assailants leave at least a faint trail. I imagine with this there will be a path. Once I get a look at the surveillance tapes from the building and any surrounding cameras, I’ll shake up the local hoods for some information. The way I see it if these are local guys hired to do a hit, they’ll be easy to find.”

Tip let that thought hang, “If they’re professionals and leave little if any trace, that tells us another story. Either way I know where to look.”

“Tip, call in all your guys and keep the staff back in Washington safe, I don’t care what it takes.”

“I’m on it, Jack.”

“My parents could be a target. I feel so guilty not having spent any time with them. The campaign hasn’t given any of us time to think about anything else.”

“Jack, don’t start beating yourself up, your mom and especially your dad would be proud of what your trying to get accomplished for the country,” Bud reminded, “We’re all shaken and we’re going to have to get through this tragedy and carry on.”

“Tip, get someone to go down to Kentucky and guard my parents until we catch the killers. I can’t take any chances that anyone else could be targeted to get at me.”

“Bud counseled, “Jack, I think Bill should go with Tip, and Sandy should stay put in Washington. People will be watching how you handle yourself in crisis. We can’t let things there go in the shitter because of this.

“This, Bud, someone is sending us a fucking message.”

“And they’ve done it in the cruelest way possible, I know, but I’m just saying. Whoever did this wants you to crumble.” Bud was right.

Daphne is knocking on the door of the bus.

“Tip says, “Jack, is it okay to let her on?”

I motion with my hand to let her come in.

Daphne is visibly upset trying her best to maintain a steady voice, “Jack the press is asking for a statement.”

“What do they know, Daph?”

“It’s all over the news about poor Lisa…and,” looking towards Bill she chokes on the words, “…and Steve.” Tears rolled down her cheeks. The pain overcomes Daphne, I can see the jaw muscles at the sides of her face tensing and releasing in reaction. Bill was retching in agony as his body tried to process the loss.

“Sit down Honey, this is horrible, I don’t know how yet but we’ll…”

My cell rings, it’s Kathy. I was dreading her finding out, even though it was inevitable I was ashamed that this could have happened, and I had only myself to blame.

“Hi, Honey.”

Kathy is crying hysterically, “Oh my God, Jack. What have they done?”

“I am so sorry, Honey, we’re all devastated.”

“How is Bill?” Kathy asked.

I paused for a moment to collect my voice, “Horrible.” Changing the direction, “Kathy Honey, I want you to stay right with the agents until we find who did this.”

“Jack, do you think they’ll find them?”

“I do, Honey, Tip is going back to Washington to work on finding these animals and bring them to justice.”

“What about the rest of the staff?”

“The police are at the office and we’re sending someone over to keep my mom and dad safe.”

“Jack what about my sister and family, our cousins, your brother Roger? Anyone could be a target, if someone is trying to get to you?”

“God help anyone who tries do break into my brothers, he’s got guns and he’s nuts.”

“Honey, you’re going to have to have everyone come stay with you in Alexandria at least for the time being. The house is guarded like a fortress. My dad has guns, but I don’t think he should use them.”

“Bud, what the fuck are we going to do about a statement to the press?” I wanted Kathy to hear this.

“Jack, I’ll send Daphne back to tell them you’ll have something for them after lunch.”

Speaking directly toward Daphne, “Tell them Jack will give a brief statement at one o’clock, after he has a chance to speak with Lisa’s mother and stepfather, Jack I’ll work something up.”

“Okay Bud, hear that Kath, in the meantime Tip is heading back to Washington to get started finding these animals. The sooner they’re off the streets, the safer everyone will feel. Are you going to be okay, Honey, do you need anything?”

“Jack, I’ll be fine, I’m heartbroken, and horrified, but I’ll be okay.”

“You know I just had a thought, would you rather everyone head down to Kentucky and stay at the ranch, at least until the dust clears?”

“No, Jack, the Secret Service has a small army set up here.”

“I just thought….”

“No, I’ll have everyone here. That will be good, plus the girls have school.”

“Kathy, you would not believe this place, I’m looking out the window, and the press is piling in and setting up camp.”

“Jack, try not to blame yourself. I know you... it’s not your fault.”

“I have to tell the press something. They’re like hungry wolves out there.”

“Jack, focus on the loss of the kids and not the why behind it; the press doesn’t need any help coming up with salacious stories. Honey, have you given any thought about the funerals? I’m sure they’ll be in Washington. We have to stay here to support Bill and Lisa’s families.”

“Oh my God, in all this chaos I didn’t even think about funerals and burials and all that.”

“Jack, take some time and collect your thoughts, don’t worry about us here. Honey, keep it brief with the press and don’t let them sidetrack you.”

“I love you, Honey, and I am so sorry...” I was fighting back the choke in my throat. “I’ll call you later, Hon.” Kathy was clear headed and always my best advisor.

“I love you, Jack,” she said as we hung up the phone.

Tip was waiting, “Jack, I’ve got a friend on the Washington Police force who will help us with information the police won’t tell the public. I want to get on this before the trail gets cold.”

“Call and have the jet ready. Do whatever it takes, Tip. We’ve got your back.”

“I’ll leave immediately then….”

Bill didn’t let Tip finish, “I have to go with you; I’ll go crazy staying here. I want to find whoever did this and put a bullet in his head.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

It had been two weeks since the tragedy and the nation was glued to their TV sets. Police had questioned a dying 21-year-old crack addict coming out of anesthesia. The man had come into the emergency room the night of double murder and collapsed with a bullet wound in his belly. Doctors operated, and the moment he regained consciousness the cops demanded to speak with him. Tip got us a tape of police questioning the man in the recovery room.

The questioning was relentless. The man swore that he and a friend were promised a thousand bucks and some drugs to go to an address and harass the girl that lived there.

“We were just going to scare her,” The man’s voice was groggy. I didn’t think he’d have the presence of mind to lie and the words sounded chilling.

“I needed the money, man, so me and Ty said we’d do it. The guy met us in a bar. The deal was half the cash up front …the rest after the job. It was just gonna be ten minutes and nobody was supposed to get hurt; we never even made it through the apartment door.”

One of several officers’ voices was heard asking, “You expect us to believe that bull shit when two people are dead? I think you went in there on your own and killed the girl in cold blood and then shot the boyfriend in the back.”

“Did you go there to rob the place?” Another asked.

“No, man, before I got inside the door I got shot in the stomach, you gotta believe me. Ty shot back through the door and then we both ran.”

The man, Phillip Michael Rondo, never made it out of the hospital. The bullet had caused too much damage. In his dying breaths he told police a second man, 24-year-old heroine addict, Tyrone Nathanial Taffies, known as TNT on the street, fired the shots out of panic.

A nationwide manhunt was under way to locate Taffies and being him in. The police didn’t believe the dying man. Evidence showed the door had been kicked in and that Lisa was lying just beyond it holding a gun that was registered to Sandy. She had multiple bullet wounds to the head and neck that didn’t correspond with the number of holes in the door. Steve was found in the center of the living room with a bullet lodged in his back; the coroner said his lungs had filled, and he had drowned in his own blood. There was no trace of anyone else in the apartment. Forensics revealed that the bullets that killed Steve did not come from the gun Lisa held. While the police and FBI were concentrating on finding Taylor, Tip was focusing on a different theory.

“Jack, I believe the kid. I think it was a set up,” Tip told us.

Bud and I listened to the logic.

“Picture a third man already inside the apartment. He was there to make sure Sandy was dead and that the two stooges would take the fall for it. When he got there, he encountered Steve and shot him. At gunpoint, he forced Lisa, who he thought was Sandy, to go to the door and answer it. Everything went haywire after that. Lisa would have never fired a shot at anyone. He had his hand on hers and somehow in the panic seeing Steve shot in cold blood right in front of her, she pulled the trigger. The bullet goes through the door and hits Rondo. The addicts never made it inside and ran for their lives. The pro inside kicked in the door to make it look like the two other guys had done it. Whoever ordered the hit will go after the kid; they won’t want any loose ends.”

We were listening in disbelief just shaking our heads.

“The cops are convinced that the kids acted alone because there’s no evidence that a third guy was in the apartment. That’s a sure sign that the guy who hired Rondo and Taffies was a pro. If you’re going to commit a crime and get away with it, you need a stooge to take the fall. This asshole had two. I am looking for the pro. One more thing, Jack, the police don’t believe her, but Sandy told me she didn’t own a gun.”

“I don’t remember her ever speaking of one.”

“Well the Pawn Shop owner swears that a blonde matching her description made the purchase a year ago carrying ID that matches Sandy’s. He said she was real looker, dressed to the nines, and that he wouldn’t forget her. The Police think that Sandy has blocked out the purchase out of hysteria.”

“We all believe her - Jack, I need you to be okay with me taking this to the next level. This guy is lying for someone, but he’s a real sleaze bag and I’ll have to go over the line to get the information out of him.”

“What will you have to do?”

“You shouldn’t know Jack. But once we cross the line there’s no going back.”

Bud pleads, “Jack let’s wait until you’re president and then go after these guys. You’ll be able to use the Service then, and keep your hands clean.”

Tip fired back, “The trail will be cold by then and all the pawns will be dead. Do you even give a shit about Lisa?”

“Listen, I can’t have you two at each other’s throats. Tip, do whatever you need to do, but don’t get caught.”

CHAPTER FORTY

My cell phone was ringing, it was Lexi calling.

“Jack, Dr. Tim just made the announcement that he is getting out of the race. It’s not even Super Tuesday yet and you’ve got the nomination wrapped up.”

What Lexi didn’t know was how good of a thing that was. I was so involved in finding Lisa’s killer that I was just going through the motions with the campaign. Of course, I knew about Tim, we had met privately and I promised him Agriculture just after Griffin had made the announcement joining the campaign as VP in Maine. He was following orders.

“He said he was lucky to get a camera to point in his direction, Jack.”

It had been media frenzy with non-stop around the clock worldwide coverage.

“Jack, I didn’t get to speak with you after the funeral, your eulogy was beautiful.”

Lisa’s mother and Stepfather had decided to have the funeral at Saint Johns’ and open the service to anyone who chose to attend. Thousands came to pay their respects, perhaps drawn by the salaciousness of the events. Walking into the church early that Saturday morning, I could see the White House just across the mall from where I stood. The seat of world power sat like a solid lump framed in the mist just a thousand yards away. I thought, no man should be given that much power. An eerie, light fog was coming up from the ground around the park across the street.

The Secret Service insisted that I arrive early ahead of the crowds.

“Lexi, when am I going to see you?”

“Jack, I thought you’d be sick of me after spending so much time covering you in Maine.”

“No, I’m not kidding. We miss you around here.”

“The network has the producers combing through all the film we have of you guys trying to put together a story on Lisa. The News Department wants the piece ready to air on Sunday. I’ll be with you guys on Wednesday to cover the Washington Caucus.”

“We’re sending Griffin to Washington State and Wyoming. Lisa’s master plan had us skipping some of the Beauty Contests and heading straight to Georgia for Super Tuesday. We’re not veering from that schedule, you should join us there.”

“Well it really doesn’t matter now you have the nomination sown up.”

“Now we focus on Barker and the general. It’s a bonus to us that Anne will be going to all the places we hadn’t initially planned.”

“Do you like her Jack?”

“Anne Griffin?”

“Let’s put it this way, she’s useful.”

“But you wouldn’t go so far…as to say you like her, even a little bit?”

“Lexi lets just say I’m glad she’s on our side, especially now. I could grow to like what she can do, but don’t think I’d ever look forward to spending time with her.”

“Well I’m glad you miss me, even though I don’t know if I believe you.”

“Lexi, Lisa’s passing has left us devastated. I feel a sense of dread, and I blame myself. Do you get it that she is dead because of me?”

“Jack you can’t do that you loved Lisa, you would never have done anything to hurt her.”

“But still she’s dead.”

“I know it’s awful, Jack, but you have to press on for the good of the country.”

“It haunts me though, Lexi.”

“Lisa’s death?”

“I haven’t really processed it fully yet. I’m talking about the service.”

The funeral had been a disaster. The crowds had become so large that the family’s limo couldn’t get near St Johns Church. It took thirty minutes for the cops to get Lisa’s mother to the mall across the street. Close enough to be carried. Her grief was so encompassing, she was unable to take the steps under her own power. Lisa’s Stepfather and a Captain from the Washington Police carried her to the front to spend one final moment with her baby.

My goodbye had been earlier. Bob Sheppard told me the most dangerous area I could be in was just outside the church. The AFL-CIO Building next door would make it easy for anyone to take a shot at me. Unfortunately, he said it in front of Kathy. So, even though I had wanted to be a pallbearer for my sweet Lisa, I would be forced to stay inside when she was carried her into the hearse for the final ride to the cemetery. My body broke into an uncontrollable sweat as Lisa’s mother placed her hands over the all-white coffin, rubbing it slowly, helplessly agonizing over loss so great yet so senseless. She was standing there in tears and drenched through her clothes. It had started pouring sideways a half-hour before the service, so she along with everyone else who entered was soaking wet. I heard her sobbing behind the thin black veil she was wearing as I walked up and put my hands on her shoulders to try to comfort her.

She whispered so softly, “Lisa loved you…”

I couldn’t find words to answer but gently helped her back to her seat.

Lisa’s favorite church song “Hallelujah” was being played with the heavy smell of incense filling the air. She was always so happy when she heard her songs. Her favorite flowers were baby’s breath, her favorite poem, “Citizen of the World”, by Joyce Kilmer.

I walked up the podium and cried telling everyone that the words I would speak today were the most difficult of my life.

“The Eulogy you gave was beautiful, Jack. When you read the letter Lisa wrote to you, I balled. There wasn’t a dry eye when you said she was your little angel and that you loved her.”

Police had found a letter in Sandy’s apartment that Lisa had started writing. She hadn’t finished it, I’d imagine Steve had arrived and she put it down half done. The church was full beyond standing room spilling into the street as I read aloud the last words anyone would ever hear from my precious innocent friend. I read to the packed room, “Dear Jack, words cannot express how grateful I am to you for caring. You have shown me that, even at his busiest time, a man can show me kindness and loving attention. You have helped me to put my best foot forward and inspired me to take action in an area that I had basically given up on. But Jack, it has been so worth it, for the first time in my life I feel pure joy and it is wonderful.” Then I read the final sentence not knowing the effect it would have on Lisa’s mom. “Jack you told me I was beautiful and when I didn’t believe… you shared your heart with me and…”

“Lisa never finished that sentence.”

“I know, Jack.”

“It breaks my heart, Lexi.”

Lexi spoke softly, “Jack, I’ll see you in Georgia then. Please remember to tell Daphne and Bob to let me on the bus.”

Bill Mitchell decided to have his son cremated, he would carry his ashes to Nepal and have them brought to the summit and laid to rest.

He knew that’s what Steve would have liked.

We had a press conference, which lasted only a few minutes on the day we heard the horrible news. I gave a brief statement telling what we knew. Lisa Pennington, our longtime friend and senior staff member, and Steve Mitchell, son of another senior staff member, were found dead in the Washington apartment of my assistant, Sandy Collins. The press fired out questions about why the two were together in the apartment. I said they were friends helping another friend with her dog while she was away. I wasn’t going to fan the flames.

Questions were fired out about motive, was Big Oil involved, and was this an attempt to derail our goal of producing American energy. I answered if that was the case the killings would only strengthen our resolve and now national attention would be focused on the issue. I concluded the five-minute session with the words, “We are all devastated by the events, and please know that we have lost two people we dearly loved today.” When I got back on the bus, I told Daphne I wanted no interviews for a while.

Everyone we had ever met called to offer condolences and to wish us well. The TV was on for a diversion.

The president called. I answered and put him on speaker so Bud could hear, “Hello Gil, I’m with Bud.”

“Hello, Mr. President.”

“Jack, Bud, I wanted to call you myself and tell you how sorry I am. Nobody wants to see something like this. I’m going to issue a statement and inform the country that the vice president will be heading a full investigation. We are going to get these bastards.”

“Thank you, Gil.”

“Do you need anything, Jack?”

I told the president, “We’re worried about the rest of the staff in our Washington offices and family members.”

“Say no more, I’ll call the director and have extra crew assigned to make sure your people are safe.”

“We appreciate you help, Gil.”

“Jack, I know you’d do the same for me.”

In one gesture of goodwill, Barker was easing our intense anxiety during the aftermath.

“Jack I will do everything I can to find those responsible and bring them to justice. The eyes of the world are on this.”

We spoke for a few more minutes and Gil Barker ended with a statement, “You can’t screw with a national election and get away with it.”

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

It was two days before Super Tuesday and I was just about to go onstage to deliver a speech in Atlanta at the Georgia Dome when Bud and I got the call from Tip. It was our first big break into what had really happened that night.

Daphne was with us and we were standing just off stage when the call came in to Bud’s Cell. Bud seeing that it was Tip put him on speaker.

“Hey Tip Jack is just about to go on camera, can this wait? Bud asked.

I had told Bud to answer Tip’s calls immediately and interrupt me with any news, even if I was speaking to a crowd. I was in anguish waiting for anything Tip might find out about the tragedy.

“Bud, is Jack there?” Tip asked from the other end of the line.

“He’s just getting ready to speak to a full house at the Dome, can’t this wait?”

“No, Jack’s going to want to hear this.”

I grabbed the phone, “Tip, it’s Jack. Have you found anything?”

“Jack, Bud’s right. We shouldn’t get into this right now, but just know there is news.”

“News…Tip, have you found the killer?”

Just beyond the stage curtain, the audience was chanting Canon...Canon... in a deafening roar—seventy-five thousand strong. There were no pop stars to open the show and no celebrities. The double murder of our staff members had brought record numbers out.

I think that life is so hard sometimes that people are drawn to witness other’s pain, in hopes that it might relieve some of their own. I felt that the real reason the crowds were so large is that people found it cathartic to hear about the loss. No one would ever admit it, but the tragic end of something so precious by comparison makes their life seem bearable. People were watching on television and coming to our events to experience emotion in the telling and relief that it hadn’t happened to them. It was almost sick but we still had to deliver our message. I hated it but we had no choice. Lisa would have wanted us to carry on. At least, that’s how I rationalized it. I turned and looked directly into Daphne’s eyes and told her firmly.

“Daphne, go out and tell the people that there has been a delay and I will be arriving shortly.”

Daphne was beautiful as she blithely stepped into the night and glow of the stage lights to greet the crowd. In an all black mini over pink platform heels she walked out as though she hadn’t a care in the world…I turned toward the phone.

“Tip, Listen to me, the fucking audience is just here to get a fix, tell me now.”

In the background with Daphne speaking, “Jack Canon is on his way to the stadium and we expect he will be arriving in…”

I focused so entirely on what Tip was saying that I could no longer hear her.

“Jack, I went to see the pawn shop guy and bugged his place. I told him I was with the FBI investigating the sale of the murder weapon.”

“What did you get, Tip?”

“Well, I asked him about the gun and he started giving me this bullshit story, way to thought out for a guy like that. I wanted to drop him right there, but I knew that if I did he wouldn’t lead us to the killers. So I spread the word through some local stoolies that he had given up the whole story. Then I just waited and watched the shop. Jack within a couple of days two thugs show up and go inside, one puts the closed sign out like he knows exactly what he doing and then pulls the blinds. I’m listening as they abuse this guy accusing him of giving up some local hood I’ve never heard of. I’m making notes thinking I’m getting a great lead when out of the blue I hear this. Let me play it for you, Jack. It would be better if you heard it for yourself.”

“Tip, why don’t you just tell….”

Before I could finish, Tip played the tape.

“You don’t know who you’re screwin’ with asshole…” Then I heard the first guy mutter under his breath to the other, “Tommy ain't gonna like this…,” and two shots are fired from a gun with a silencer.

I couldn’t believe my ears, “Tip, Tommy Santoro?”

“It has to be, Jack.”

“What would he have to gain from hurting us... he’s got dealings with Gene?”

“That’s what I thought, so for the last few days I’ve been going over all the tapes I’d made from Gene’s since Lisa and Steve. Our only link to Tommy is through Gene; I wanted to hear something more to be sure it was Santoro.”

“Oh my God, Tip...”

“Jack brace yourself… it’s the president… I’ve got him saying to Gene, ‘get Tommy to take care of this.’”

“Take care of what, Tip. That could mean anything. They must be into all kinds of shit.”

“Wait, Jack. Listen.”

Tip played the words that chilled me to my core.

“Gene, ya botched this, and you turned this fuckin’ guy into a national hero in the process.” Then with the dispassion as though he were ordering lunch he said, “Clean up your mess.”

Bud was silent as Daphne was making her way over to us. In what had been only seconds long enough for her to walk out and deliver a message, we had heard something so unbelievable that it strained our minds.

“Bud, the president?”

Tip was still on speaker, “Jack I’m heading back to Georgia to be with you. I’ve got hundreds of hours of tape since the fundraiser that I haven’t listened to.”

“Okay get here as soon as you can. We’ll help you with it. What about Bill?”

“I couldn’t tell him, Jack.”

“Bring him with you; I’ll have Bud send the jet.”

Daphne had made it within earshot as I said to Bud, “I can’t go out there and speak.”

“Jack, we can’t tell seventy thousand people to just go home, get out there and make it real quick, but get out there, you gotta do this.”

”Fucking president.” I walked headlong onto the stage.

The last thing I remember hearing is Daphne asking Bud what I meant. I know I spoke for thirty or so minutes and incited the crowd to a near riot railing on everything that was wrong with this country and how we were going to set it right.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

I couldn’t remember for the life of me what I said at the Georgia Dome, but apparently the press was hungry for more. There were at least forty news crews setup outside our bus the next morning, but all I cared about was seeing Tip.

When Tip and Bill arrived, we all sat down and broke the news to Bill that we believed the president was involved. We all agreed that we needed to listen to the tapes to get the details and find out if the screw up the president was speaking of was about us. I had to eliminate any doubt from my mind, so the four of us spent the next few days on the bus listening to the tapes. We laid down wherever we could wearing head phones with the shades pulled. Most of the tape consisted of Gene’s staff preparing meals or talking about Mrs. Hobbs. Apparently, she was quite a bitch in her own right—at least the staff thought so. We filtered through so many trivial conversations it was mind numbing. Occasionally, we’d hear something and interrupt if it was interesting.

The morning of Super Tuesday, Sandy showed up and surprised us all. It was about 9:30 in the morning when the door opened. Seeing it was dark, she stepped carefully over to the big windshield and opened the shade…the light flooded in. Standing before me framed in a bright sun, Sandy looked like an angel. We'd been holed up like moles searching for evidence linking Hobbs and Barker to the killings.

“What are you guys doing just sitting here in the dark?”

“Sandy?” Squinting my eyes against the light, “What a surprise.”

“This place looks like a frat house - you boys are living in a mess. I had to come down here to find out what’s going on. The press has this place staked out and they’re wondering what you guys are doing in here. I wanted to see it for myself, now I wished I’d just called.”

Sandy started picking up fast food wrappers. Picking up a half drunk cup with two fingers, “Ewww!”

She was right, the bus was a disaster, bags and wrappers and drink cups all over the place. None of us was used to picking up after ourselves and we had Daphne running back and forth like a gopher just bringing us fast food for the last couple of days.

“I’m so glad to see you, Sandy. You’re a sight for sore eyes.” Everyone else echoed the sentiment. “We’ve been hanging out in here.”

“I can see that, what pray tell are you boys up to?”

“Sandy, stop cleaning and sit down, I’ve got news.” I motioned to Tip. “Tip, can you queue up the first tape you gave us.”

“Sure,” Tip nodded and spoke very softly.

Sandy listened intently, just shaking her head. I explained what we had been up to and then played her the second tape of Hobbs and the president.

“Are you sure Jack?” Sandy didn’t want to let herself believe.

“That’s what we’ve been doing we’re listening for proof.”

“Do you have an extra set of headphones? I want to help. “I went over to the front windshield and pulled the shade to halfway and then settled in to finish listening to my tape. Tip handed Sandy a small player and set of ear buds and she took a spot next to me on the couch.

About an hour after Sandy showed up, I was hearing a conversation between what sounded like two maids cleaning when I heard a phone ring. A woman answered and walks the phone over saying 'excuse me Mr. Hobbs, it’s the president.' My ears perked up and my heart started racing, I was straining to hear the voice. It sounded like Gene had taken the phone and walked across the room.

I could only make out bits and pieces, “I know... but it’s Tommy that fucked this up; he’s the idiot that got the wrong girl…”

Then there was a very long pause, “This is the last you’ll hear of it. We’ll get it done.”

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

“Aren’t you fearful that you’ll be caught?” Bud was asking Tip.

It was just three weeks before the Democratic National Convention. The last few months had been a whirlwind of back to back campaigning. With the nomination locked, we had set our sights on the president. Fueled by our hatred we launched an all out negative assault that set new bounds. The economy hadn’t improved, and Iran was threatening to launch a test missile into Israel. Earlier in the summer, the president had locked them out of International Commerce and the situation had reached the boiling point. Barker’s approval ratings were at an all time low at just forty one percent.

Tip asked Bud, Bill and I to meet with him to hear the plan. Against Bud’s strongest warnings, I invited Sandy to join us. Gathered in my office at Campaign Headquarters we all listened intently as Tip spoke.

“The president has a State dinner scheduled with the British Prime Minister on the night before the Republican Convention.”

We had planned a three-day Woodstock like event with live music and a festival to happen leading into their convention. The press will probably say to steal their thunder. Nineteen acts had signed on and some of America’s largest corporations were sponsoring the event. We expected several hundred thousand people to show up. The event would be in Texas on Anne Griffins home turf on a one thousand acre ranch owned by the Hobbs Family. The Governor’s staff would handle the organization and logistics.

Bud pleaded, “Jack I can’t go along with this, the fucking president?” Then turning to Tip, “You’re either the bravest guy I’ve ever known or the stupidest. Have any of you thought of the consequences if he gets caught?”

Then to me, “Jack, you’ll go from the most popular politician of your generation to...”

Sandy put two fingers up to Bud’s mouth and I waived him off. “Are you done, Bud?”

Bill spoke, “Bud, if you don’t have the stomach for this just shut up and listen. This fucker killed my son.”

Bud pushed Sandy’s hand, “Jack, please at least wait until after the election. At least then you’ll be untouchable.”

“No, Bud. Tip has this well thought out, and I think it will work.”

Tip answered coldly, “The plan is simple, Bud. It boils down to putting this bullet into Barker’s head.”

Tip held out a long brass colored shell shaped like a miniature missile.

I knew that Tip had been part of an elite sniper team called Cobra. The group was trained in lead-time, arc, and wind, anything that affects a projectile on delivery. Tip could hit a moving target one thousand yards away with a one-second viewing time. He described how everything had to be taken into account, his breathing, the slight movement from the squeezing of the trigger, the lead of the target. He used gradated scopes to sight and was expert with high-powered rifles.

“Jack, I object. You’re a father. What will your girls think if we get caught? We’ll go down in history as the guys that killed the president. You're gonna be president…”

“Bud, what kind of father would I be if I just let people get away with something like this? I have thought about it, and I couldn’t live with that. Listen to what Tip has in mind.”

“Well it’s basically just like when Bill and I went up to New York and got Hobbs.”

Bud’s face went cold. He breathed out all his breath in one big sigh and then tried to say, “That was you guys?” Catching his breath back in a gasp, “When were you gonna tell me”?

“Bud, I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d be a wreck.”

“Jack, you spoke at Hobbs’ funeral, the president was there. That was over two months ago and you never let on. You people must have nerves of steel. So the night Bill was up there asking for cash and the ranch to have the festival, Tip was the one that shot him?”

“Yup,” Tip said.

Bill said, “I have been working with Betty Hobbs on the thing ever since. Part of the festival will be in Gene’s honor. She’s gonna come down to Texas and speak. We’re pretty friendly, actually; she’s in love with Jack.”

Bud said, "You were the only one with him when he got shot through the window in his library."

“It was pretty straight forward, Bud. I made an appointment with Gene, told him we needed another fifteen mil, and mentioned that I wanted to talk about a festival. He agreed to see me; he didn’t want us to have any inkling that there was anything unusual, and he played it cool. We figured he was probably planning to shut us off from any more cash, but he didn’t suspect a thing. The guards were expecting us because we had an appointment, when we got close to the house, we slowed briefly, and Tip slipped out of the car about a hundred yards before the driveway. My part was easy; I only had two things I needed to do. The first was to ask to see the library that Hobbs had shown Jack. I told Gene I was a British history buff. Hobbs had all those King Henry artifacts, and he loved showing them off. The second was to get Hobbs near the window. That was easy. I just told him I needed a little air. I said to just open it a crack.

As soon as Gene opened the window, I heard glass shattering, and boom, he hit the floor.

The plan was for me to leave immediately so I told Hobbs people that I was having severe chest pains from the anxiety and had to leave. Of course, I’d be available to help police with a statement. I laid it on thick, while Hobbs lay there in his own blood; I went to the bar and splashed water on my face. It looked to his men like I was sweating profusely and in distress.”

Bud asked Tip, “How do you keep your hand steady enough to take that shot I’d be shaking like a leaf."

“It’s easy I’ve had a lot of practice.”

Tip added, “I had night vision goggles and ran around to the side wall. I through steel line over the wall, hooked it, and winched my way up. I trained the rifle on the window and waited until Bill did his thing, when I saw Hobbs I gently squeezed the trigger and took the kill shot.”

“Weren’t you afraid you’d get caught by the guards?”

“No the adrenalin rush is so intense I’m on a major high. I just slid down the line to the ground. I carried a vile of powerful corrosive to destroy the rifle. I laid the gun down into a narrow hole that I dug and covered the gun with acid and then buried it with dirt and leaves.”

“Where did you learn that trick?”

“It’s not my first rodeo Bud. The most important part of any operation is the getaway.”

“I would literally be pissing my pants. You actually get a rush from being perched on a twenty-foot wall in the pitch dark waiting to shoot a guy, and then have the presence of mind to get away unscathed.”

“It’s all in the planning. I know what I’m going to do and I just follow through. After I buried the gun, I ran through the woods and hid back along the road. When Bill left, he briefly stopped and picked me up. The acid dissolves any trace of evidence and most of the gun the only glitch was making sure Bill got out of there quickly enough to pick me up. I’m sure if he wasn’t Jacks right hand they would have kept him.”

Bill finished the story, “The cops questioned me in my office, and I just told them what I saw. The guy got shot. I added that he may have ties to organized crime but wasn’t sure, that it could be just rumor. I planted the seed though besides I said I hesitated to even bring it up him being friends with the president that could be embarrassing, and I mentioned career ending to any detective that might bring it out.”

“So you killed Hobbs and got away with it, how and I can’t believe I’m even asking this, do you plan to get the president?”

“Bud obviously getting Hobbs was easy by comparison.”

“Well, please humor me Tip, just hearing about this has my heart racing.”

“Imagine this bullet travels one thousand yards through Lafayette Park to the North Portico where the president is waiting to welcome the British Prime Minister. We will be in a suite at the Hay Adams House on the seventh floor overlooking the park.”

“Who’s we Tip?”

“Oh that’s the best part, I’ll get to it.”

“Jack, even if this does work, they will never stop looking for the killer. No stone will go unturned and it will never end. Fuckin-ay, fifty years from now they’ll be talking about this. Please reconsider, Jack. Sandy, talk to him.”

“I’ve tried, Bud, but his mind’s made up and there’s no changing it. These guys were coming after me, and they killed two people we love.”

“Jack,” Bud pleaded, “at least wait until after the election. No one will ever suspect one president of killing another; you’ll get away with it.”

“We’re going to get away with it now. Tip’s got every angle covered.”

“Bud, you’ll always have an excuse. I can just hear you, ‘Jack you’re president, let it go, you’ve got too much to lose.’”

“Bill is going to be downstairs in the restaurant watching on TV, when it’s finished, he leaves...” Bud cut him off.

“How can that work, Jack, the police are gonna know there’s maybe a few guys in the world that can take that shot? They’ll check all the cameras for miles around the Capitol and they’ll spot him.”

“Jack will vouch for me. I wasn’t feeling well and was resting at home. My cell answers his call just before the president is scheduled to meet the prime minister. I’ve prepared a tape. Jack asks Bob into the office in time to hear my voice faintly in the background. Jack has to be convincing. There’s one more thing, Bud.”

“What?”

“We’re gonna use a patsy.”

“Who?”

“Well… Jack wouldn’t let us get anyone innocent involved.”

“That’s fucking noble. Who are you gonna use then? The trigger man is probably at the bottom of a river somewhere.”

“We’re gonna use Tommy.”

“Tommy who…..Santoro?”

“Yes.”

Bud sat there silent for a solid minute just shaking his head. “They’ll say he never could’ve takin that shot… there’ll be one conspiracy theory after another. It’s fucking poetic justice if it works.”

Bud was still shaking his head, “Unbelievable.”

“What Bud?”

“You guys are really going to do this?”

“Absolutely.”

“Well I’m not going to stick around for it.”

“We already thought of that. I’m sending you to Texas so you won’t have to worry.”

The festival was scheduled to run at the same time as the Republican National Convention with our convention the following week. The press would say we were trying to steal their thunder. We’d all leave to join Bud right after Tip had completed his task, giving us the perfect excuse to be out of town.

“Oh I’ll worry; I just won’t be around to panic.”

“Bud, you’ve got a bad ticker, we don’t want anything to happen to you.”

Sandy said, “Bud, this just isn’t your area.”

“You think? Jack, what about the convention, just as we’re about to get under way the nation will be in shock… have you thought about that? The whole thing will be a bust!”

Sandy explained, “Bud, if all goes as planned we’re going to postpone the convention a month.”

Bill adds, “The Republicans will cancel and we’ll follow out of respect. The music festival will go as planned and Jack will have the perfect platform to speak. It will be like two events, a month apart. Once Barker is gone the Republicans will have to scramble to get the VP ready.”

“When were you planning to tell me all this?” Bud was pissed. “I’m the only one that was left out of the loop.”

“We waited for your own good, Bud.”

“I don’t like it, Jack. I don’t like any of this. What if something goes wrong, what would we do?”

Tip had every detail of the operation planned. He was a master of disguise and diversion. He started off by telling Tommy that he needed to meet to discuss covert work. There were things the government couldn’t do, things that required his expertise. Things the new president would need him for.

Tip told him to come alone, playing into Tommy’s massive ego and vanity, and he fell for it. The trip to the Hay Adams house would take about twenty minutes in traffic. The prime minister was scheduled to arrive at 5:30 in the afternoon—that  would give Tip several hours to set up.

We agreed to keep me in the loop via an open cell line on the condition that my end be silent. The rationale—on the outside chance the Feds did pick up the line, they wouldn’t have my voice on it. I knew Tip was right; he told me that if anything went wrong, he planned to take the fall himself. He said, “I’ll keep you posted but no matter what do not take the phone off mute.”

CHAPTER FORTY FOUR

Congress was on the last day of its August recess. The morning started off as stale as the politics had been in this town. The sun was hot and there was no movement in the air. I tried to stay busy but spent the early afternoon in a semi daze just waiting. I hadn’t eaten any lunch and my nerves had gotten the best of me.

Earlier I’d snapped at Sandy.

“You’re doing this because you loved Lisa,” she tried to comfort.

I told her that it was a matter of respect, that there would be a lot of dead bodies around if that’s what it took. I wished that I could take that back, it was uncalled for. I went into my bathroom; dry heaved and then shut myself in the office. The open phone line would at least allow me to hear the event. There’s no way I could just sit and wait for it to happen on television. I lay back on the couch with my feet up on the coffee table.

I had the TV on C-SPAN to capture a visual, not paying much attention as the commentator lauded Gil Barker for keeping close ties with the British.

I’d gotten in trouble earlier this summer when an open mike caught me deriding the queen. I hated the idea of royalty, thinking they wasted resources that could feed and clothe thousands.

‘The queen is an inbred whore’ is not something you want caught on tape. We had meetings with our PR people and spent days trying to figure out the best way to spin it.

Sandy came up with the idea.

“Jack why don’t you say that you’re for the poor and that the idea of royalty is contrary to the ideal of equality, you meant whore in the sense of waste, with no sexual intent. While you admire the queen for her statesmanship you are against subservience and class strata.” Anyway, the story lasted several news cycles, we ended up using Sandy’s strategy adding my profuse apology and moving on.

To her credit, the queen accepted my apology. Then in a gracious gesture to the cheers of her subjects, she told the world that she too felt angst for the poor. I learned a new respect. She turned the whole affair to suit her, and handled herself with dignity. All the while probably wishing I’d drop dead. In private, I’m sure she made comment that I was American trash and that she’d have to endure meeting me at some point.

My mind was wondering, thinking about the next few days, broken by waves of anxiety and dread. What would happen if we were caught? Our freedom was at stake. Bud was right I’d be visiting with my kids from behind a glass wall in a maximum-security prison somewhere.

I was freaking out in the office with all the shades pulled. The TV was on low when I heard from Tip, “Van is parked, heading up to the room.”

We'd been over the plan. Tip had parked the white panel van on the north side of the hotel the furthest away from Lafayette Park. Bill was to park down the block and drive by to pick Tip up afterwards.

Tip wore a Bluetooth around his ear and spoke short sentences. It was amazing the features these cheap phones had and purchased for cash they were untraceable. I listened as Tip spoke, pushing the wheelchair to the elevator.

Tip had checked in earlier disguised as an old man, he had the bags dropped off in the room and gave the bellhop a good tip but nothing worthy of attention. The room directly beneath had been rented under the guise of wanting it for relatives who would be arriving late. Tip told the attendant that his sister wanted nothing more than an equivalent view of the White House. The desk attendant gladly gave him the key card and Tip was on his way, changing out of the old man disguise just before picking up Tommy. Tip liked using the old man disguise - he said old people are nearly invisible. He loved the wheelchair; he thought people will even try to avert their eyes being careful not to stare. Tip told me if Daphne walked in the clerk would remember something her long dark hair her slightly turned nose her big eyes. If asked about an older person seventy plus people usually respond just that they were old. Tip had used the wheelchair and old disguise to enter many places including airports in foreign countries for the agency.

“You drive a van?” I heard Tommy asking Tip when he picked him up.

Tip answered, “It's rented” and he’d be driving it down to Texas for the festival we were having.

“You should come down,” he told Tommy.

“Maybe I will,” Tommy said, just as Tip stuck him with a dose of drugs large enough to tranquilize a bear.

Tip mentioned that Tommy struggled for a moment, but with the drugs in him, and the size difference, Tip just held him in a chokehold until Tommy went to sleep. Tip narrated as I listened, he put the front of a dress over Tommy and a short gray wig, and then he placed a black veil over his face.

“I’m getting into costume,” he said, careful not to say my name. Tip made the whole thing sound almost fun, like he was having a decent time. Meanwhile my stomach was in knots and I was sitting motionless sweating profusely from anxiety. Minutes were passing like hours, and the slightest hint of sound on the other end of the line made my heart pound.

I thought I’ll be so glad when we’re all on a plane to Texas for the festival. We were scheduled to leave at 7:30 tonight, that way I wouldn’t have to go home and face Kathy right away. By the time she joins us in a couple of days, I’d have a chance to calm down.

There was a knock at the door. It startled me. Sandy stuck her head in, “Can I please come in and watch with you Jack? I’m feeling so tense. I’m jumping out of my skin. I don’t want the staff to see me like this.”

“Sure, why not,” I said. “Just know that I’m a basket case and nothing like Tip. I guess it’s better you know the truth.”

“Jack, I don’t think any less of you for being nervous about this! Are you kidding, if you were nonchalant about it then I’d be worried. My bladder has let loose three times already, and every time the phone rings or the elevator opens, I feel like the cops are coming for me. I’m a nervous wreck.”

“Well, Honey, that makes two of us. This is like skydiving without a parachute; it's unreal.”

Sandy settled in on the couch, I turned the phone on speaker, laid the receiver on the desk, and we heard as Tip continued the narration for my benefit.

We could hear Tip dragging something across the floor.

“I’m moving the desk over near the window so I can set up my tripod on something stable.” Tip had purchased a high-powered sniper rifle, a replica to the one he’d used to take out Gene Hobbs.

The prime minister wasn’t scheduled to arrive at the White House for another hour. Tip was training his rifle site on the North Portico where the president would be standing. Tip put Tommy’s wig, dress, and veil into a plastic bag and placed it in a holder under the seat of the wheelchair.

Sandy and I strained to hear as he told us he was setting Tommy up in a chair in the corner. Placed a small tube down Tommy’s throat and pushed a funnel into it. He poured a fifth of Kentucky Bourbon down the tube into his throat, adding, “I thought you’d like the fact that this liquor came from your state, Jack.”

I whispered to Sandy carefully, even though the phone was on mute and Tip couldn’t hear us, “Can you imagine he can joke during this?”

Sandy shaking her head, “I’ve never known anyone who could do this, my heart starts racing if I see blue lights in my rear view mirror, and it takes a half hour for me to calm down just from that. You know I’d probably die of shock walking into that hotel room right now.”

“Sandy, can you imagine that scene? Tip is setting up to shoot the most powerful person in the world, ready to frame a known gangster whose out cold only a few feet away.”

“I’m writing a suicide note for Tommy,” Tip said.

There was silence on the other end of the line, and we waited for Tip to talk. The window was open in the hotel room and we could hear a siren go by; it sounded like an ambulance. There was a knock at the door. Our hearts dropped into our stomachs.

Tip answered in an old man’s voice, “What is it I’m trying to rest?”

We heard a muffled voice call back, “Oh, sorry to disturb you, sir. I just wanted to see if you needed anything.”

“No, go away. I’m sleeping.”

Tip lowered his voice, “If I’m caught, I’ve got enough C-4 strapped to me that they’ll never identify my body. No matter what happens, this will end here. There’s too much you need to do. I want you to know it’s been my privilege to serve. There was silence in the office. Sandy and I sat completely still looking at each other.

The words struck me cold, “Sandy, can you believe that?”

“Jack, will you hold me. I don’t think I can stand even sitting by myself.”

After ten minutes, which felt more like an hour, Tip read the note quietly but aloud in his best attempt at a broken New Jersey Accent, “First off, nobody kills my friend and business partner and gets away wid it. Second, the President of the United States ain’t no angel like you think. Thirdly and most important, he told me that he killed Gene Hobbs and that he was gonna get me and my family if I didn’t do like he said. The End. Oh ya, so everybody knows, I ain’t got nobody in on this wid me. I’m gonna get him and then do myself cause dis guy ain’t goin’ to no pen. Signed, T. Santoro.”

“That note is chilling. Can you imagine the Feds will be analyzing it for years. I hope he gets away with it,” Sandy said, looking like she was ready to faint.

“If he doesn’t we’re all screwed, Honey.”

“I’m rubbing Tommy’s finger over the trigger and putting his prints on the barrel and stock of the gun Jack,” Tip continued. He had no idea that Sandy was listening, and he wouldn’t have liked it if he knew. He’d agreed to me only on the basis that I told him I’d go crazy if I didn’t know what was going on.

“I’m setting him upright in a chair in the corner of the room.” He told us he took a metal ice bucket from the bar area and jammed over the top of Tommy’s head saying, “The bucket will contain the mess.”

We heard the one, barely audible shot fired.

“I used Tommy’s finger on the trigger.” Dead silence followed, and I thought I’d lost him. I looked at the phone, realizing I had accidentally pressed the speaker button turning it off; I hit the button just in time to hear, “I’m going to get in position now; I don’t want to miss the arrival.”

My heart was pounding so hard I thought Sandy could hear it.

While Tip waited in the Hay Adams, we were watching on television. The TV was turned down low and I heard the commentator say that the Prime Minister’s car was about a mile from away from the White House.

The president stepped out onto the North Portico and Sandy gasped, “Oh my God, Jack. This is it.”

My arm started an involuntary twitch and I laid my head back staring motionless at the screen.

We heard as Tip cocked the rifle, loading a bullet like the one he used to shoot Hobbs into the chamber. Tip narrated, he sighted the gun to the spot where he thought the president would stand and made some final minute adjustments. There was no wind; the distance would mean the bullet would travel in a slight arc. Now was the time. He would only get one shot. Tip gently closed the gap between the trigger and his palm. The projectile was off with a light blast that echoed into the phone. The sound would definitely attract attention. Tip tapped the ball off his foot on a switch setting off a police yelp siren - four short blasts to mask the sound of the shot at street level. In the two and a half seconds the bullet would travel to reach its target, Tip tapped the foot switch a second time setting off timed blasts at Washington Monument Park.

Sandy grabbed my arm and gasped at the television as the president appeared to lose his balance and fall on his back. The sounds of rapid-fire weapons could be heard faintly in the background. While the world was catching up to what was going on, we heard the progression of explosives go off in a wave on 15th and 17th Streets behind the White House, as Tip had planned.

We heard Tip say, “I love that smell, you never forget that.”

On television, we watched as the British Prime Minister was knocked to the ground abruptly by Secret Service. There was chaos as people scrambled in every direction to escape what sounded like an attack.

Agents were huddled around Gil Barker blocking him from view as the commentator announced, “It appears the president has been shot.”

I switched the channel changer through the networks hoping for a better angle on the scene.

Sandy said, “Right there Jack,” as we picked up a camera showing men carrying the president into the White House.

The reporter was blaring, “It’s hard to imagine the scene. We heard shots fired from the side of the building and then watched as the president fell back. The Secret Service has brought the president inside. At this point, we do not know his condition.”

It only took the networks a few moments to replay the tapes that recorded what had happened. We watched as slow motion photography showed a projectile hitting the president right under his left eye. Frame by frame, the news replayed the scene showing the hit and fall.

“It’s time to get out of here,” we heard Tip say. Tip quickly scrubbed the area for any trace that he was there, sat back in the wheelchair, and rolled out the door of the seventh floor Jr. suite. While the nation was in shock and reporters were in near panic describing the events, Tip told us that he was rolling down the hallway toward the elevator.

We all waited together after he pressed the call button. Seconds seemed to be passing like hours and my whole existence had come down to one wish that he would make it out of there without getting caught.

On television, there were sirens and police appearing from every corner of the city as if showing up after the fact could change anything.

The door to the elevator finally opened, and Tip rolled in.

We heard as he settled himself into the small sized area.

“What floor would you like?” We heard a woman’s voice speak in a very proper tone.

“Ground level please,” Tip replied.

“Hi Mister,” a little girl’s voice sweetly spoke. She sounded about four or five. Tip didn’t respond.

“Are you okay?” she asked. “His hands are shaking, Mama.”

“Let’s mind our own business, Sweetheart.”

“That’s okay,” Tip said, “I’ve got Parkinson’s disease, Honey.”

“Oh,” she said, like it was the first time she’d ever heard that term. We could imagine from the little voice that she was wide-eyed staring at the strange old man in the wheelchair.

“What’s that, Mommy?” the innocent little voice asked.

I turned to Sandy, “It’s not like Tip to shake. His nerves must be taking over.”

“This is surreal, Jack. I can barely take my own nerves and I’m sitting safe on this couch! I can’t imagine what Tip is feeling.”

“She so inquisitive, I apologize. That’s what makes the man’s hands shake, Honey, but he can’t help it. We’ll look it up later on the computer, and I’ll help you learn all about it.”

“Okay, Mommy,” then turning her attention back to Tip, “Mister, why do you have those black gloves on?”

We could hear Tip say to the mom, “She a precocious little thing. Oh, my hands get sore from rolling these wheels, Honey, and the gloves make it softer on my palms.”

“Sorry for all the questions. Are you in any need of assistance?” the woman asked.

“He’s all wet, Mommy.”

“No, I’m okay girls. It’s normal for my body to get overheated in small confined areas. To be honest, chancing on a beautiful woman has caused me to flush. I’m so sorry.”

“That’s quite alright,” the lady told Tip. “I wish I had that effect on my ex.”

“The man thinks you’re pretty, Mommy.” We heard a giggle. It sounded muffled, like the little girl had her hand covering her mouth.

“Ever since coming back home from the war, I blush if I get caught off guard or surprised. Isn’t that crazy?” Tip asked in an old man's voice. Tip could spin a story with the best of them and he was so believable in character we almost forgot he was really an assassin making a getaway.

“Are you a princess?” Tip asked the little girl.

She thought for a moment. “Yes,” she said.

“Well, sir, you needn’t worry about a thing,” the Mom said.

“Thanks for understanding, I just need a little air and I’ll be fine,” Tip told her adding, “Would you mind just wheeling me out onto the street area?”

I looked at Sandy, “Tips taking advantage of the situation.”

“Right,” she said, “Who would suspect an old man with a mom and little girl rolling out of the hotel…”

“Even while the whole world is coming apart at the seams a few blocks away,” I finished her sentence.

The elevator door opened.

“I’d be happy to help you out of the hotel.”

“I have a van parked just down the road,” Tip told the mom. “By the way, I didn’t catch your name. I’m Chet from Ohio.”

“We are Tina and Hannah; we’re here to take a tour of the White House tomorrow morning. I’m a flight attendant with a private airline and my employer arranged it and let me bring Hannah along this trip.”

While Tip was telling her how wonderful that all was, my body was going cold. Could that be the Tina I’d flown with now in Washington with the daughter she had spoken of? It’s not like I could call her and ask.

“Look, Mommy, that man’s washing the sidewalk. There’s a rainbow in there.”

Tip whispered softly into the mouthpiece, “They’ve made the van. Tell Bill to abort.”

“I’m sorry, what did you say,” Tina asked.

“Oh nothing, sweetie. I’m just muttering to myself about the wet sidewalks getting my wheels all wet. Would you mind terribly just wheeling me across the street?”

“Not at all. Hannah, hold on tight to Mommy’s arm while we cross.”

Sandy quickly got on the phone to Bill, “Don’t stop. Just get out of there.”

Sandy put Bill on speaker, “What’s wrong? There’s a cop parked blocking Tip’s van, I saw him with a woman that looked to be about thirty five with a little girl. I figured I circle the block once...”

I grabbed the phone, “Bill, Tip wants you out of there, come back to the office.”

“I can’t just leave him here!”

“Bill, leave the area. There are cameras that will recognize you, the van’s been made, there’s nothing you can do now!”

“Thanks for helping me; I’ll be on my way now. Have fun at the White House tomorrow, both of you.”

“Are you sure there’s nothing else I can do for you, Chet?”

“No, I’m fine. Bye, Hannah, it was nice meeting you. Did anyone ever tell you that you look like Shirley Temple?”

“Yes,” Hannah said, with a little girl’s laugh, “Grammy tells me that all the time.”

“Have a nice rest of the day you two, bye bye.”

We heard Tina and Hannah saying goodbye, their voices further away.

Tip said, “Jack, I’m going to blow the van.” Tip had every contingency covered. “I put a small charge in mostly a little compression and a lot of smoke.” There was a small explosion in the background, “That oughta keep em busy for a while.”

On television, the cops had helicopters flying over the bombed FedEx boxes. The blasts seemed to have been contained. Reports were coming in that the Museum of Natural History was on fire. As we flipped through the channels, all hell was breaking loose - Tip told us he was rolling in the other direction.

“Jack, change of plans, I’m heading down to McPherson Square Metro Station on Vermont Ave. Tell Sandy to pick me up right out in front of the zoo. Tell her to look for a red Toyota Corolla with a bumper sticker that says, ‘This Car Climbed Mt. Washington.’ I’ll be inside.”

Tip told us he was taking the 12-minute ride the 2.46 miles to the Woodley Park Zoo exit. That he pulled an MIA/POW sticker out of his backpack and stuck it to the back of the chair. He pulled out a black cowboy hat and placed it on his head along with some mirror aviator sunglasses. He placed an American Flag in the tube in front of the armrest and rolled to the metro.

“I hope you’re getting all this,” he said. There were sirens going off faintly in the background. My nerves were completely shot.

Tip kept his humor, “Jack, I rented a locker at the Museum of Natural History; they have ‘em available for twenty five cents, they’re about 12 by 16 inches. I don’t think I’ll go back for the refund.”

Back at the office, Sandy couldn’t stop shaking. I grabbed her by the shoulders and told her to get a hold of herself.

“Do you want Bob and company to get suspicious?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then calm down.”

“I don’t know if my nerves will let me, Jack.

“Fake it, then, you’re gonna have to put on an act good enough to get you out of here and onto that plane. We leave for Texas in an hour.”

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

“You know what he had me do?”

“What?”

“I pulled up to the car and he kneels at the window, I open it to hear him. He says, ‘I’m going to put this phone in front of the tire, drive forward a couple of inches.’ Then he tells me to turn the tires back and forth to mash the thing into the ground. All the while, I just want him in the car so I can get us the hell out of there. I’ve never been so nervous in my whole life. When he finally slips into the car as I’m driving away, the Toyota he was in—the one with the bumper sticker ‘I climbed Mt. Washington’—is a smoky mess.”

Tip was smiling. He explained, “Cell phones, even when they aren’t being used, track basic location by continually locating the closest cell tower. When in use, they pinpoint exact location GPS style.”

While Tip was talking, he took a 16 oz. tumbler from the bar and put the phone he had given me to use into it. He poured a small bottle of liquid about the size of one of those mini bar bottles of booze over it. Sandy and I watched as it liquefied the contents. Tip added a few drops of something else, “This is neutralizer.” Then he poured the mixture down the drain.

I asked, “Tip, how were you able to plant explosives at the Washington Monument without being noticed?”

“That was the easiest part. For three days, I rolled over to visit the park in the afternoon. I looked like and old man in a wheelchair feeding peanuts to the pigeons. When I pretend to reach down to clean up the terrible mess I’ve made, I plant the charges. A lot of kids like to roll down that hill or do cart wheels in the grass, so I was careful.”

“What do you mean ‘careful?’”

I picked a wall area about a hundred yards down the hill to the left of the monument, no kid would want to play there, that’s where I put the explosives. All anyone saw was one lonely guy who likes to feed the birds. The charges are radio controlled set to blow off randomly for ten minutes. My insurance to create a lot of noise, divert attention and confuse the situation. In an operation like this you want the authorities to think we’re under attack, not just a lone gunman getting away.”

“How did you burn the car, the van and the Museum without causing widespread damage?”

“I use one of those 6 volt lantern batteries and a thin tightly wrapped coil spring. The kind they use in toys. It heats red-hot within seconds and burns the evidence leaving no trace of sophisticated equipment. I fill a large flashlight with lighter fluid and set it all in a gym bag filled with shredded newspaper. It makes a lot of smoke. If I need to have the fire start as a diversion to draw responders away from my location I just use a remote timer set. I had each of the buttons on the phone set for a different area. The FedEx boxes were number one, the museum was number two, everything set up in basic order to make it easy. I really was surprised they made the van though, must have been some cop who got lucky or suspicious or something. When I got out of the hotel, I asked the lady and little girl to take me across the street while I reached into my pocket and felt for the number nine to blow it. I saw the cop jump back, he didn’t know it was just noise and smoke, anyway they closed off the street, and I high tailed it to the Metro for plan B.”

There would be no evidence linking Tip to the event.

Tip told me once in a late night heart to heart conversation after having too much to drink.

“Jack if the U.S. Military can train an innocent to kill in 8 weeks, imagine what Uncle Sam can teach you in ten years of specialized training.” Tip had shown us what he could do, and he made it look easy.

CHAPTER FORTY SIX

On the plane heading to Texas, Betty Hobbs called to say that the media had gotten a hold of Tommy’s suicide note, that it was being read endlessly along with continuous coverage of the assassination.

“Jack, I know the president wouldn’t have had Gene killed; they were good friends, you were friends.”

I decided to appeal to Betty Hobbs to donate land rather than getting it by exposing Gene and destroying their name.

“Betty, we will all be memories at some point.”

I could hear Bud bitching in the background about how weak Porter was. He couldn’t bring himself to call him the president. North Korea had launched a test rocket as a show of strength claiming it was a weather satellite.

“The VP should take a strong stance and send a carrier off the coast,” Bud said. “Jack will be running against Porter, It’s gonna be a shallow victory against that guy.”

Bill was answering his mutterings in a low tone, “What does it matter, Bud?” I heard him say as I began speaking to Betty.

“Why don’t you bring the girls down to Texas; you can speak. Lily and Timlin and their husbands, your grandkids, all onstage while you dedicate land to energy production under a Canon Presidency. That will be his legacy, in fifty years Gene’s name. Your family name will be bigger than Carnegie. Your husband was mixed up with organized crime; you can choose how he will be remembered.”

I had a heart to heart with Betty as we discussed the speech she could give. I basically gave her a choice: she could donate the land or wait for the Feds to seize it.

“Take the payoff out from under them, there’ll be no reason coming after a dead man. I promised her if she agreed I would order them to leave her alone.

“The country will be on your side, Betty, for a leading donation in the Energy Revolution, others will follow…, but you’ll always be the first. Think of that. Besides, I’ll be right there next to you the whole time, it will be good you’ll see.” It helped that she liked me personally.

The Hobbs family fortune divided three ways left Betty the 6th richest woman in America followed by her two daughters tied for 7th.

Betty told me that her oldest, Timlin, was quite taken by our campaign and wanted to get involved. She also confided that her daughter was divorcing and that she would be coming with just her girls. She added that her husband paid the worthless son-in-law five million to sign a release to get the hell out of their daughter’s life. Days later, he returned violently angry wanting more money. The family believed there was motive.

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

The event in Big Spring was growing by the hour. Texas State Troopers decided to close off the interstate. People were leaving their cars by the side of the road and just walking in.

I was ready to hit the stage joined by the Hobbs Family. What better way to start I thought than to begin with a gift.

I was waiting backstage when Betty arrived and reintroduced her daughters, “You remember Lily and Timlin. You met the night of the fundraiser.”

“Yes, I remember. Great to see you both again.” I heard myself saying it, but I must have been distracted in New York because one of the girls was a looker and I would have remembered her. “Girls, this is going to be a great night.”

Lily was thirty-three, thin and plain, with short, dark, unstyled hair speckled with gray. She was shy, opting to stay close by her mother. Practically drooling like she was sedated, she barely lifted her head to say hello.

Betty busied herself preparing Lily for the stage, topping her head with a little floral hat pinned at an angle.

Timlin, on the other hand, was a real shocker. From the ground up, she was a study of Sandy, pink stilettos with zebra print platform heels, a tight black skirt and a very low-cut white blouse. Her hair was pulled back into a single thick braid checkered with sunny blonde highlights. It was a great look.

As I was noticing, the tone of her voice gave way her enjoyment, “You don’t remember me do you Senator?”

“How did you know?”

“Because the night we met I looked more like my sister. You seem repulsed by her. Now that my ex is out of the picture, I’m free.” Timlin twirled once to each side to show off her new look.

“Well, you’re very beautiful, Timlin.” I couldn’t imagine her looking anything like her sister.

She asked playfully, “Can I call you Jack?”

“Of course, I’d like that.”

Beaming with confidence she pressed closer whispering, “I can’t take my mind off of you. Believe me I’ve tried. If I don’t get to be involved with you...”

I cut her off trying to keep it light, “Don’t be silly, we’d love to have your help.” I figured she had great contacts and obviously, it couldn’t hurt to have her around.

“Just let me know what I can do, I’m ready to start anytime.” Timlin moved so close that our bodies were nearly touching.

To drain the awkwardness I hugged her, “It will be great…”

I didn’t finish. She was fuller figured and felt soft and beautiful. She looked up at me moving her face gently to one side. I thought she was presenting her cheek for a friendly kiss, but she moved toward me. The corner of my lip brushed her mouth and she went limp in my arms.

“Are you okay?” I whispered.

“Yes…” She exhaled.

I was invigorated as I linked arm in arm with Betty, Timlin, and Lily. We walked out to a sea of humanity who had spent the last few days getting hyped up waiting for me.

The festival was amazing, deciding last minute to bargain with Betty Hobbs rather than destroy her husbands name had paid off. The crowd was exhilarated with possibility as I gave the speech I had waited a lifetime to give.

I addressed the crowd.

“I believe that generations from now, you who were here will remember this day. The time has ended when ordinary Americans suffer under the weight of wealth and arrogance. Greed will not be rewarded.

“We are not here to condemn but instead to provide an avenue of opportunity to make it right, to rebuild America. You just heard Betty Hobbs get up and tell you that she along with her daughters, Timlin and Lily, will be donating fifty thousand acres and half their vast fortune to energy research and production.”

I called Betty and family back out onto the stage. The crowd erupted in cheers that further electrified my delivery.

“We and those we represent are creating a Legacy of Philanthropy. The Hobbs family is first. My presidency will give the opportunity. If the greed continues, there will be justice. No, there will be a reckoning. I will go after those who have raped America and hurt you in the process.”

For as far as I could see, the farmland was filled with humanity searching for meaningful change. Each sentence brought the energy level higher.

“I have not found an instance where great wealth was amassed without harm. Crimes committed in the creation of these vast fortunes will be exposed. Those who cause you pain will be brought to justice!

“Today, Liberty breathes the fresh air of change. There is nowhere to hide! The system will be cracked wide open and reworked for the greater good. I promise you that if you elect me as your president, you will see a first hundred days like no other!”

The crowd was emotional, I could see people near the stage were crying and cheering and raising there arms in defiance against a system that had failed them. The popularity of this event was opening the country’s and possibly the world’s eyes to the root of the problem.

I took the opportunity to nail Porter.

“We can not allow North Korea to fire missiles in an aggressive posture. There will be peace. I promise you that the day I am elected, the U.S.S. Ronald Reagan will be on its way to park on their doorstep. Our diplomacy is simple: fire another missile and we fire on the palace.”

The people forgot the ruts in the fields and the conditions caused when thousands force themselves onto tight quarters in the late Texas heat. Anne Griffin had done her best to accommodate the masses, expecting numbers in the hundred thousand range; when things had swelled beyond that, she called in the National Guard to deliver supplies as quickly as possible. We had to arrange to end the event and organize a safe and orderly disbanding of the crowds. People were still making their way to be part of history; the time had come to turn them back.

I took one last stab at the system before calling the epic event to a close. “The Federal Reserve is backstopping trillions in debt for the largest banks. Institutions have been bailed out to the tune of billions of taxpayer dollars. Never once did Washington succeed in helping you!

“Why is the government so willing to dedicate unfathomable amounts of money to help the rich but so averse to helping the working man down on his luck? They call it personal responsibility when the system forces you out of a job and your family out of your home. Pain, humiliation, and shame are put upon ordinary, hard-working people while the elite go unscathed, bailed out by their friends in Washington. The Fed Chairman had to send word to one of the large investment firms to hold off on awarding huge executive bonuses months after they were bailed out. They didn’t get it. He had to tell them it would look bad. What were they being rewarded for? I promise, beginning my first day in office I will sign an executive order making it illegal to speculate on oil without taking delivery. I’ll release the food the government has sitting in silos, instead of letting it go to rot to keep prices up. The founding fathers would not have allowed good food go to waste while children slept hungry in their beds.”

I was speaking over the cheers, euphoric over the sight of the throngs of everyday Americans coming together. The time had finally come to dismantle a broken way of life and begin anew.

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

“That was unbelievable, Jack!” Lexi was very excited on the phone.

“The speech? I got a little carried away, the crowd inspired me.”

“All of it. The speech, the park, the people stretched out forever, the closing of the highways, the shear spectacle of it all. You know what I loved the most about the last three days, Jack?”

“I don’t know, Lexi… the history in the making, the comparison to Woodstock?”

“All that, but most of all the timing, for three days after the president was shot the country was able to come together. It was very cathartic for me and I’m sure for the people who were drawn to Big Spring. Remember right after 9/11 everybody was like your long-lost friend, we appreciated each other, and the pettiness was gone. It felt like we could love each other more if you were president. I’m not sure how it was for those watching on television. That’s the feeling I came away with.”

“I was surprised they closed Highway 87 and Interstate 20. Bill told me people were walking in for miles on foot.”

“We have footage of people walking into the park passing the Comanche Trail sign and of families swimming in the spring. Anne picked an amazing location, and I’ve got to hand it to her: she somehow kept everybody alive down there.”

“You’re not kidding, Lexi. She brought in the Texas Guard and over a thousand volunteers, and somehow managed to provide the basic necessities, even though it had to be twice the number she’d expected.”

“The people just kept coming. We got a lot of footage for background, the network wanted it for our archives and for posterity. This thing was big, Jack. They’ll be talking about Big Spring and using that film for years. Jack, did you know that Midnight Cowboy was filmed in Big Spring?”

“No, I have to thank Anne for the parallels to ‘69. The mood of the country is ‘revolution against the status quo’ just like then. History repeats itself. She’s gonna make a good VP.”

“Are you guys headed back to Washington?”

“Ya, another hour in the air, and we’ll be there.”

“Who’s with you?”

“There’s just the four of us, Bud, Bill, and Sandy of course. I sent Kathy and the girls out of there yesterday with Tip. Things were getting so crazy I thought they’d better get a jump on the crowds.”

“Good ole Tip.”

“I sure miss Lisa, though.”

“I know, Jack,” Lexi spoke with heartfelt sympathy. She knew how much I cared for Lisa.

“I know I’ve told you this before, but I felt so much peace when she was near.”

“I know you miss her, I’m so sorry she’s gone.”

“You have that quality of kindness, Lexi, only you’re so hyper.”

“I’m always on the run following you around, the network’s so demanding.”

“The running’s going to stop soon, and you’ll be able to stay in Washington.”

“Thanks to all the scoops the network’s given me a five-year deal. I’m finally getting some respect. Before you came along, the top brass would’ve replaced me in a heartbeat.”

“That’s not true, Lexi. You’re great at what you do, not to mention the style you bring to your reports.”

“I’m telling you, Jack, and they let you know it with anyone. Do you have any idea how many hungry reporters out there in any town USA would love to get a break, even just for the money? The networks know people are willing to do anything to make the national market.”

“Anything, Lexi?”

“Yes, Jack, anything short of killing someone I guess.”

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

I met with Bob privately outside the residence before heading into the Oval.

“Bob, I wanted to take a minute to congratulate you.”

“For what, Mr. President?”

“I’m putting you on charge of my detail.”

“It will be my honor. Thank you so much, Sir.” I knew how much this meant to Bob. He was trying to maintain his composure.

“Do me a favor, Bob?”

“Sir?”

“I want you to triple the protection on my girls.”

“Yes, absolutely it will be done today.”

“Bob, I consider us friends. When we’re alone, call me Jack.”

“Well, you kept your word to me and I won’t forget it.”

“Good, then it’s done.”

“Jack, you know there’s one thing that bothers me...”

“What’s that?”

“There’s like maybe a handful of guys who could take that shot, and Tommy wasn’t one of them.”

“Bob, there’s one more thing you really have to promise me.”

“Anything, what is it?”

“You’ve got to give up on the assassination and give this job 100% of your focus. I can’t afford to have you distracted when you take the reins. Besides, I’m putting my best man on it. You’ll hear all about it when we get into the Oval.”

“Normally I would stand outside the office unless you need something.”

“Not today.”

The impressive character of the oval struck me. I walked into a room bathed in light with large windows framed in beautiful white colonial woodwork and raised panel moldings to the height of the seat backs. Chairs placed in pairs along the walls.

The floor was a work of art, laid in striking alternating light and dark woods covered by a gorgeous rug adorned with the Presidential Seal.

It hadn’t quite sunk in yet, my seal. The government issue furniture consisted of two exquisite tan couches facing each other each with seating for three. The couches provided the main seating along with two chairs that sit prominently at the fireplace end of the room opposite to the president’s desk.

A portrait of George Washington hangs over the mantle standing watch over the proceedings. Behind the couches is a second portrait, of Lincoln. No other president is represented on these hallowed walls. Why is no contemporary president remembered here? I imagine failure is forgettable, their absence a testament to empty promises and broken dreams.

Our time will be different, we’re gonna mark this place. This town will never be the same.

An antique grandfather clock stands stoically keeping time on the opposite wall.

Adorned with fabric coverings, the rounded walls match the seating, and the ceiling carries the Seal of the United States of America framed in raised white stars.

I can only imagine the historic conversations that have taken place in this room. Stories that could keep us all entertained for the duration of our stay. Now was no time for stories; this was our time to make history.

Everyone was seated when Sandy entered.

“He’s arrived, Mr. President,” then under her breath just to me, “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of saying that.”

All eyes were on her as she walked up to me to whisper the message.

“This meeting is simple, gentlemen. We live in increasingly dangerous times. There is a serious threat to our National Security. I’m sure you’re all keenly aware that our enemies are finding it easy to gather and exploit information garnered on a global network.

I had called together the newly-appointed heads of all the policing and security agencies for my first morning meeting. I wanted to take control of these guys and introduce them to their new boss.

On the couches facing each other were the heads of the FBI, CIA, NSA and Secret Service. Bud, my Chief of Staff and Bill, my newly appointed Chief Advisor were seated in the two chairs opposite me. The new vice president was seated in a chair across from Bud. Bob stood quietly through all the introductions, standing just inside the door.

I turned another chair towards the group emphasizing that it was empty. Only Bud and Bill knew what I was about to say.

“I didn’t call you all here today to make sense of your recent combined failure to protect the President of the United States. This meeting is intended to be a positive step in the defense of not only the ideals of this nation, but every person’s physical safety as well. Your core mission is to provide National Security and to defend this nation from threat, both foreign and domestic. The way I see it, we must improve on our efforts by integrating the agencies here today into one unit that shares information freely, unhindered by internal politics. In order to accomplish that goal, I am creating the position of National Security Director who will be the defacto head of all your agencies. You will report directly to him and he reports only to me. This is a Cabinet-level position. Consider any order from the National Security Director as a direct order from the President of the United States.

I pressed the intercom to Sandy, “Please send him in.”

“I am honored to introduce your new Director, Mr. Robert “Tip” Thornton. You are now a team, gentlemen, and you have a leader.”

“Mr. President, I am honored by the confidence you have placed in me, and I will work to achieve the goals you have set forth.”

Turning to the couches Tip began shaking hands, letting his staff know that he would be gathering them all this afternoon in his new office in the West Wing. Tip would always be close by.

As the meeting was winding down and the group was leaving, I said, “Tip, hang with me a minute.

“Sure, Jack.”

“Pretty heady stuff, huh?”

“Yeah, I thought Bob was gonna crawl right outta his skin with all the brass in there.”

“I know it, funny right?”

Tip nodded then shook his head, “Bob.”

“Tip, there is something serious I wanted to tell you about. The Chief Justice has signaled displeasure at the temporary halting of energy speculation and the food release. One of the conservative media quoted him as saying this may end up in the Court.”

“I was so pissed when Barker appointed that conservative old fuck! So he’d rather have people cold and hungry?” Tip fired back.

“How do you think I feel? I want to sign those orders this afternoon and keep my promise to the people.”

“That court is way too conservative for my taste.”

“Tip, is there anything we can do? It’s 5-4 up there and I don’t want him blocking us from the bench.”

“Jack, we’ve come to far to let them get in the way now.”

“Could we send them a message, remember when that justice was mugged in Mexico?”

Tip said, “Don’t look at me I didn’t do it.”

“Funny.”

“No, seriously. We could set up a trip wire of human hair; in evening light it’s almost impossible to see. Depending on the number of steps, we could put the old man out of commission for six months or more.”

“Has that ever worked before?”

“It’s an old agency trick. We weave the hair just strong enough to cause a trip and fall. The evidence is so hard to explain.”

Tip had been dropped into places that would have killed any normal man from the fright. He was up for any challenge and once again was proving to be a valuable asset.

“I know a hooker named Brandy that we can get the hair from. She’ll be famous for a while telling the story of some kinky old guy that wanted to buy her hair. When she denies ever meeting the Chief Justice, no one will believe her.”

“I’ll spread some of her hair around his place when I show up personally to review the scene.”

“That’s ingenious, Tip.”

“It gets better. I’ll assign the case to some hotshot looking to make a name for himself. Officially, due to the salacious nature of the event he’ll report directly to me. I’ll steer him in the right direction. Not only will the Chief be laid up, but his reputation ruined. Just like that his career as a bench legislator will be over. The conservatives won’t be able to block your plans for America.”

“Jack, now may as good a time as any—when you have time, I’ve made a list that I wanted to go over with you.”

“What list?”

“People that need to be surgically removed to defend this nation.”

“Foreign or domestic?”

“The targets are mostly foreign but there are a few here in the states.”

“What about Tommy’s people?”

“I don’t think Tommy’s guys are a threat. I told him if anyone knew he was with me, the deal was off and that you couldn’t use him. That it had to stay between the three of us. His vanity got the best of him, I guess.”

“Can we wait on the list a few weeks, Tip?”

“Sure.”

“Good, you’ll have the next eight years to clean house around the world. Right now, I want you to concentrate on the Chief Justice. Alright?”

“Dead or Alive?”

“What do you mean?”

“Dead you get to pick his replacement, somebody a lot more sympathetic to the people.”

“Alive…just put him out of commission, we’ve got enough blood on our hands.”

“Okay, but don’t forget Jack.” Tip said as he was heading out of the Oval.

“What?”

“You owe me a rifle.”

“That’s right, how much was the one you used.”

“Not that one, you already bought that, I’m talking about the one that shot Hobbs. That one was mine.”

“You buried it, not me.”

“I couldn’t very well display it over my mantle.”

“Too bad. Those guns would be collectors’ items, just like those torture racks Gene had.”

“Wouldn’t that have looked nice on his wall with an onyx plaque? That sick bastard.”

I was sitting across from Tip on the couches with my head leaning back. We were like two guys just talking about a game.

“Tip, you know it’s still gonna be four-to-four. I’d really love to reconstruct the court.”

“Dead, then. I’ll string the hair from the top of the stairs.”

“No, can’t you just hurt him enough to retire, I mean the hooker story?”

“Sure, who would you get to replace him?”

“You know who I’m thinking… Hillary.”

“She’s gotta be in her seventies, Jack.”

“No she’s not. Anyway, that doesn’t matter. She’s iconic, probably the finest democrat of her age, and philosophically—at least she’ll provide help from the bench.”

“Chief Justice, do you think she’d get confirmed never having been a judge?”

“Of course, she’s so smart, Tip. The way Lisa was. She was leading on healthcare when you were still in the jungle. I’m not married to the idea, but I think with her high profile and the nostalgia of the good times, we could get her confirmed. We’re in the majority.”

“I guess I’m not really into smart women.”

“Figures your impeccable record with women runs from Bangkok to Tijuana. I’m not asking you to date her.”

“Jack, a lot of agents have failed relationships with women.”

“You loved Lisa?”

“Of course. She was like my kid sister.”

“Well think of Hillary as your sister then.”

“Whatever, I leave the politics to you. What time frame on the Chief Justice?”

“Yesterday…I want to distribute that food to the kids. Kathy wants to spend time in Appalachia and bring some help.”

Tip opened the door to leave. Turning back, he said, “Don’t worry Jack. I’ll take care of everything.

‘Jackie, come on now, Honey. We gotta go.’ I stood there frozen in time watching Rico—worried my friend may never eat again. The bus started–I got a whiff of the exhaust. I heard the rattling of the diesel, as I stood too heartbroken to move. Dad scooped me up and carried me onto the bus. Mom hugged my back. Looking out the dirty window--dust kicking up the rear, salty tears in my mouth—Rico disappeared.

I heard a knock and Sandy opened the door.

“Do you need anything, Jack?”

“Oh ya, Sandy. Will you call Bill and tell him I’m ordering a couple of Tens brought up to Andrews. A little play time for us boys.”

“You mean the jet fighters? Really Jack, can you do that?”

“I’m the Commander in Chief. I could have them dumped in the White House pool if I wanted.”

“I’d try to keep that to yourself.”

“You’re right, Honey, it sounds arrogant.”

“Somebody’s gotta keep you grounded; I guess it’s gonna be me.”

“I’m counting on you, just don’t get starry eyed and forget”.

“I will do my very best, your majesty! Mr. President.”

“Bill’s gonna love flying jets again.”

[AMR1]Lining up the faithful party.  Or, lining up the party faithfully. It’s not clear what you mean here.

[AMR2]Depending on what you mean by the previous statement, I would still make this a separate sentence.

[AMR3]Reword.  Perhaps – she said, slightly exaggerated, out of breath.

[AMR4]What is the home still?

[LM5]Is this supposed to be in italics? Is someone telling a story here?

[AMR6]This sentence is a bit odd.  Consider rewording.

[AMR7]Should this be hole?

[LM8]When you can replace the words “it is” with it’s, it is proper to use the apostrophe. “Its” is a possessive pronoun, as in—something belonging to “it”. Example: The dog showed its teeth as a sign of warning.

[LM9]See how this first section ends with a comma after the word abilities? The line below needs to be moved up after the comma. Should not end a paragraph with a comma. And then there is no ending quotation. In this case, t he ending quotation should be after the word “marketplace!” a couple paragraphs down. My personal thought is that this should be all one paragraph

[AMR10]Less than what?

[AMR11]What does this word mean in context?

[AMR12]This is worded a bit strangely.

Table of Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY SIX

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

CHAPTER FORTY

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

CHAPTER FORTY FOUR

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

CHAPTER FORTY SIX

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE