At Risk of Winning (The Max Masterson Series Book 1) (33 page)

Educate the people before asking them to decide an issue. American interests must prevail over foreign interests. Make Americans aware that they are a part of the world. It is better to confess that you don’t know than to lie. Don’t quote a statistic unless you can back it up with facts. Persuade, don’t deceive.
Combine strength with compassion.
Measure each decision by what is best for America. Above all else, be a patriot.

“The time has come for us to take back America and take back our ideals. The days of ‘My country right or wrong’ are over. We are progressing to a higher rung on the ladder that is our legacy. We are progressing, right this very moment, toward the mutual goal of creating a nation of patriots. We are now, each one of us, Americans, and American patriots do what is right for America.”

“When I walk away from this speech, I will be a rich man. Like my opponent, and all of the opponents I have faced and vanquished in this political campaign, I am wealthy. But the richness of my life that I have accumulated is the realization that I am no different from you, and you are no different from me. We are all Americans, and the United States of America is full of people who have mutual interests. We want America to succeed. We will succeed.”

The response to his words was secondary to the response to Max himself. At that moment, he was the leader of the country, and no rebuttal by his opponents could refute the message that he had presented. As he stood, absorbed in the lights and applause, two men in identical black suits turned toward the stage and withdrew laser-sighted machine pistols. They aimed at Max’s chest, emptied the magazines at fifty rounds a second, and fled as the shocked crowd surged forward. Screams filled the cavernous auditorium. Max still stood, in the same position he had been in before the bullets flew in his direction. The screen behind him was punctured with black holes where the bullets had passed, but Max was unscathed. Two Secret Service agents lunged in his direction, trying to bring him down and protect him with their bodies, but they passed through Max and collided with one another. Max was not there.

The remaining Secret Service agents cornered the shooters just outside the door and hauled them out of sight.
Darkhorse remained in his seat at the back of the auditorium, shocked at the failure of his suicide shooters to dispatch Max in front of a huge audience. By the time the shooters had been detained for questioning, they would all be dead from poison capsules surgically implanted inside their mouths. Nothing would remain that would lead investigators back to the group that had devised this attempt to eliminate the man who continued to occupy the stage unscathed.
Max watched the monitor as his hologram was first shot, then tackled, and then immersed in running figures, all trying to protect him and bewildered about his lack of substance. “hey, you guys!” his voice came from numerous speakers arranged to make the sound of his voice seem to come from his image. “I heard they were going to try this, so rather than dying, I thought I’d just make the speech from my house tonight. I hope you don’t mind.” he kept talking in front of the tattered backdrop, aware that his attempt at smoke and mirrors would never succeed a second time. “I have maintained all along that I am not a politician, and that’s a good thing, because a guy could get shot being a politician.”
The audience roared in laughter, partly out of relief and partly at the irony of the situation that had just played out before them.
The universal assumption was that the shooting was sanctioned by the president somehow, and whether that impression was accurate or not, Blythe had no time before the election to disavow all knowledge. Max did nothing to correct this perception, even though he knew that other forces were also responsible for his illusory demise. Blythe was finished, and so was his campaign. With the information that his intelligence secretary had leaked to the press, they were posting a love fest of new features and editorials running on continuous feeds, fulfilling their lust for salacious scandal that threatened to engulf the issues of the election.
“You have probably been wondering, too, how I could run for president without announcing my running mate. I had planned on telling you about it during tonight’s debate, but the president came down with the flu and had to go back to the White house to rest. I’m sure that he’s watching now.” The image of Max turned to the right, the illusion of his physical presence shattered by the tattered backdrop that still displayed the Stars and Stripes behind the hologram. “So I brought her here, right here on this stage, to meet you.”
As he spoke, the lights illuminated a small side stage, where Scarlett Conroy stood, red hair immaculate, beaming with vice-presidential appeal. She took her position next to the spot where Max’s image continued to appear, and spoke: “Max will be here in a few minutes. After all, my dear voters, it’s not reality, but the perception of reality we need to focus upon, as this evening’s events have so clearly demonstrated. But here is a reality that you can count on. In a few short weeks, I will be a heartbeat away from the presidency.”
Scarlett’s comments struck a nerve with the audience, who stood to applaud, tears streaming down many cheeks. The sound of their applause prevented her from saying more, and her feeble attempts to settle the crowd were ignored. The cheering continued long after she surrendered to the emotion of the moment, and tears of joy trickled down her cheeks.
There was no way that she could have known, but the standing ovation was duplicated in households around the world.
Max boarded a helicopter to make the jump across the Potomac from Fairlane to the Kennedy Center. As he strapped himself into the passenger seat, it lifted off the landing pad and hovered briefly and his pilot turned to him for the first time.
“how did it go?” Rachel asked, guiding the chopper toward the monuments of the nation’s capitol in the distance.
“It’s too early to tell,” he said. “But there’s hope . . .”

The End