ALL IN: Race for the White House (5 page)

TV helps instill a positive and familiar ‘I know that guy’ kind of feeling. I don’t believe an election could be won without it. Our message has to be played repeatedly to be ingrained. 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 placed in charge of the Super PACs would be 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 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 to think aloud, knowing everything would stay with us. Secondary staff were on a need to know basis.
 

Bill was first to speak, holding up his thumb and forefinger 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, Jack. Are you prepared to lie to these guys?”
 

“The truth would be really quaint right now, Bill. Listen, they’ve sold 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 going to 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 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 and recruited by 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.
 

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

Tip finally spoke, “They’ll have to double up on your secret service protection once you’re in office, at least until things die down. There’s going to 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. The threat of it and oil drops like a stone.”
 

I said, “This isn’t only 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 killjoy, 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 going to 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 going to 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 in 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 you. 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 layout a Primary Strategy we all thought was a breakthrough.
 

“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,” 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 right 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 you 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 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 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. 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 that 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. Make sure there’s nothing on the tape dating it.”

Lisa shook her head, “Jack, come on, it’s not like we’re going to 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’ll get there, and sooner than you think,” Bud answered.

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

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

Lisa asked, “Didn’t that waste time?”

“Of course, but it wasn’t only McGovern, it’s every damn politician I’ve worked for since!”

“What about me?” I asked.

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

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

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

“Good,” Bud answered, adding, “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 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 Habia.”

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

A 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.