ALL IN: Race for the White House (6 page)

“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.
 

Bill said, “We’ve got to 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, “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, “If there’s a few who want to do their own thing, we’ll 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, 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 15 million, for New Hampshire!”

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

Bud added, “The ads will save us from 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 going to 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, “Do you think we could send Sarah 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 - Sarah, my wife, was the perfect media darling. Known for her lovely blond hair, she dressed fashionably, was well spoken, and best of all she was a team player. Sarah believed in my plans for the country from the 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 Sarah, 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 Sarah 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, “You should make a speech on your Energy Plan for America while the girls and Sarah are in New Hampshire. You know, since we’re going to 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 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 are 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 is 13 miles north of my residence, in Lexington, Kentucky, and the home of Sarah’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, 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 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.”
 

“Oh, you noticed. It’s Clive Christian; I got it at Neiman Marcus. I 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. 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, “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 wait, Mister!”
 

“Tell me honestly. 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? Aren’t you ever tempted, I mean with us?”
 

“Sandy, you’re attractive 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 sat there for five minutes. Then breaking the silence, Sandy asked, “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 storefront, 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.”

“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 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.

“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 in a sack and clean up the mess. He’s my life and I’m alone in this world without him.”

Tip said, “I like that about you. But really, 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 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 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 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.”