Power Play (30 page)

Tomlinson went straight to one of the lecterns set up in the center of the floor while Jake took a seat on the front row, reserved for Tomlinson’s staff and volunteers. Across the floor, Leeds’s people sat facing them. Amy Wexler hurried over to the bench and squeezed in beside Jake.

The audience cheered even louder as Senator Leeds sauntered in, grinning and nodding. He stopped to shake hands with a few people in the crowd and Jake wished Tomlinson had been smart enough to think of that.

Instead of a single moderator, three news anchors from the state’s three major television stations took up the seats between the two lecterns.

The audience quieted and sat down. Three television cameras were set up around the periphery of the floor; one of them was close enough for Jake to almost touch the guy operating it. The only woman among the three news anchors welcomed the audience and introduced the two candidates. Leeds had won the coin toss an hour ago; he would speak first.

Leeds smiled handsomely as he turned slowly to survey the crowd. Then he began:

“Thanks for coming out tonight. You all know me and you know what I stand for. For nearly eighteen years now I’ve served you in the United States Senate. I’ve worked hard to bring jobs to you, to improve our schools, to see to it that our state is a fine place to live and bring up your families.

“Okay. Now we’re facing an election again. You have a choice. Are you going to vote for experience and solid accomplishment, or are you going to vote for an amateur who has nothing to offer but vague promises of pie in the sky, of technological miracles that won’t benefit anybody but a tiny group of elite scientists?”

Leeds hesitated a heartbeat, trying to gauge the impact of his words on the crowd.

“My opponent has never run for political office before, yet now he wants to be a U.S. senator. And what does he represent? Not you! Not the honest, hard-working people of our fine state. He represents a narrow elite, a group of very wealthy old men who want to protect
their
interests, not yours. And an even smaller group of intellectuals and scientists. He’s a playboy who’s being put forward as a serious candidate when in fact he doesn’t have the experience, the knowledge, or the interest to represent you in Washington.

“What’s his big accomplishment? A gimmick with an experimental power generator that lit up some decorations for a few hours. We need solid experience and accomplishment in the Senate, not gimmicks. I know! I know how to get things done. All he can do is talk about some wild scheme that can’t possibly be of any real use to you or me for another ten or twenty years!

“Vote for him and you vote for his wealthy family and his elitist friends and his crazy ideas. Vote for me and you vote for experience and accomplishment. You’ll be voting for yourselves and your own interests.”

The crowd got to its feet and applauded wildly. Jake glanced at Amy. Over the noise of the cheering he hollered in her ear, “Did you have any idea that Leeds would take this approach?”

“No,” she yelled back, looking worried.

The crowd quieted and sat down. Tomlinson stood there, his face stern, solemn. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small packet of papers. His notes, Jake realized.

“I guess I won’t be using these,” he said, and let the papers flutter to the floor.

Jake swallowed hard.

“It’s true I’ve never run for political office before,” Tomlinson said. “So why am I running now? I’ll tell you. I’m running to make this state better, to make your lives better, to bring new industry and thousands upon thousands of new jobs to our state. I’m running to end the politics-as-usual complacency that’s got our state in its death grip.”

Turning to face Leeds, Tomlinson said, “Senator, I’m not ashamed of my family or my friends. They’ve done a lot for this state. Over past generations they founded the university, they financed research programs that have helped our farmers to be the most productive in the world. Far more workers in this state owe their jobs and their careers to what they’ve accomplished than to the federal pork barrel projects that soak up our tax dollars.”

Looking up at the tiers of packed benches, Tomlinson said, “I want to move us forward. If we don’t go forward we sink into complacency and corruption. We have tremendous opportunities ahead of us. We can use the knowledge coming out of our university to improve the properties of the state’s corn crop. We can use new technology to generate electrical power more efficiently and cleanly and reopen our moribund coal industry.

“The good senator talks about a small group of scientists. What he hasn’t told you is that this group of dedicated men and women can produce jobs for engineers and technicians, for store clerks and truck drivers, for coal miners and small business owners all across our state, all across our nation.

“We have a bright future ahead of us, if we can only recognize the opportunities that lie ahead and work to reach them.”

Glancing back at Leeds, he repeated, “I’m not ashamed of my family or my acquaintances. I’ve been blessed with great parents and wonderful friends.” Smiling brightly, Tomlinson said, “You know, they say that of those to whom much is given, much is expected. I’ve been given so very much. I want to use the gifts that have been granted to me to make your lives better.”

Pointing at the crowd, he added, “Much has been given to you, too: a land of freedom and opportunity, a state that is rich in natural resources, a tradition of hard work and solid achievement. Now, in this election, much is expected of you. You—and only you—have the power to move us forward into a brighter and better future. It’s not pie in the sky. It’s bread and butter. It’s the jobs and careers and new ideas that will feed your children and your children’s children.”

The crowd roared. They shot to their feet and yelled, whistled, stamped their feet until Jake had to clap his hands over his ears. The arena reverberated with the clamor.

Amy leaned close to Jake and hollered, “I guess he did all right!”

Jake nodded, grinning. He didn’t need the notes, Jake said to himself. He came through without them.

SUMMER OF DISCONTENT

And then nothing happened. As July melted into the sultry days of August, the political campaign seemed to settle down into a routine. Tomlinson raced around the state, speaking at barbeques, libraries, PTA meetings in town after town. Smiling handsomely, outwardly full of youthful vigor, he seemed tireless. But Jake saw him at home, away from the other campaign workers and aides. He knew how much energy was being drained from the candidate.

Senator Leeds ran a much more relaxed campaign, appearing at huge rallies in the state’s major cities. Mammoth crowds turned up for his appearances.

As they watched one of Leeds’s speeches on television from Tomlinson’s living room, Amy said, with grudging admiration, “His people know how to turn out a crowd.”

“Union rank and file,” murmured Tomlinson, leaning back on a big, plush sofa.

“They vote, dammit,” his father growled.

“Organized labor,” Amy said.

Organized crime, Jake thought.

Tomlinson’s numbers were inching upward, but Leeds still had a seven-point lead in most of the polls. The Fourth of July stunt at Lignite had bumped Tomlinson’s numbers higher briefly, but they settled back within a week. The debate had gone well, Jake thought. The news reports were generally favorable. But Tomlinson’s poll numbers inched upward only slightly. At least they haven’t gone down, Jake told himself thankfully.

Leeds kept hammering on his experience and derided Tomlinson’s “elitist pie-in-the-sky fantasy” based on “an unproven and possibly dangerous technology, which at best will take ten or twenty years to do anything useful.”

If Tomlinson’s people had indeed started a whispering campaign about Senator Leeds’s links to organized crime, Jake saw and heard nothing about it. No news stories, no hints in the political blogs and Web sites, no discernable whittling of the senator’s lead in the election polls.

Jake saw Bob Rogers regularly, usually on campus at their basketball exercises, and he drove up to Lignite at least once a week. Tim Younger had the big rig purring along smoothly, putting out fifty megawatts for hundreds of hours without interruption.

“We’re going for seven hundred fifty,” Younger said, over the constant roar of the generator.

Calculating mentally, Jake hollered, “That’d be more than a month.”

Younger nodded, a hint of a smile cracking his dour expression. “A month without interruption. Then we take her apart and see how she stood up to it.”

At least Tomlinson got the Fain Security Company to detail a couple of men to watch Jake and Glynis.

“You don’t have to look around for us,” said the agent who showed up in Jake’s office. “We’ll be watching you and the young lady.”

The agent looked like a wimpy little insurance salesman to Jake. Nondescript, spindly. Nothing like the tough guys he’d seen in movies and television.

Jake had dinner with Glynis as often as he could. Just to make sure she’s okay, he told himself. Just to see that nobody’s bothered her. But he knew that it was merely an excuse. He wanted to be with her. Talking with her, even if it was only over the table of some second-rate restaurant, was the one bright spot in his life.

Glynis seemed oblivious to his desires. “If the FBI is looking into this,” she complained over dinner, “they’re invisible to the human eye.”

Trying to put a good face on it, Jake countered, “Come on, Glyn, do you think they’d come charging in with guns blazing? They’re not a SWAT team, after all.”

She smiled dubiously at him. “I suppose you’re right.”

It was on one of his late August visits to the big rig that Younger took him outside for a walk around the building. It was a blazing hot August afternoon, and there wasn’t a tree or a scrap of shade anywhere in sight once they’d walked a few yards out into the dusty scrub. The distant mountains shimmered hazily, as if they were trying to pull themselves up and get away from this baking summer heat.

“Glyn tells me you two have been seeing each other,” Younger said, his voice tight, his face grim.

“Um, well, yeah,” Jake stammered. “Nothing serious. Just dinner now and then.”

For several moments Younger said nothing. Jake saw the stony expression in his eyes. The muted roar of the MHD generator drowned out the whisper of the slight breeze. Nothing seemed to be moving on the sun-scorched land, not even a tumbleweed. The sun felt like a hot iron pressing down on his head, his shoulders. Perspiration trickled down Jake’s ribs.

At last Younger said, “She’s not serious with me, either. Not yet, anyway.”

Jake wondered if Younger knew about Glynis and Sinclair.

Trying to smile, Jake said, “The first time I saw you two together, up here at the rig, I thought you were going to throw her out.”

Younger shook his head. “She’s a good kid. I like her a lot.”

“I know,” said Jake.

“I don’t want you getting in my way,” Younger said.

“Tim, I don’t—”

Jabbing a finger at him, Younger said, “Just keep away from her.”

“Now wait a minute…”

“She told me she’s got a bodyguard.” Younger looked incredulous.

“She’s convinced that Sinclair didn’t commit suicide. He was murdered. And Senator Leeds is mixed up in it.”

“The two of you have been threatened?”

Jake nodded.

“Well, just keep away from her. I’ll look out for her.”

“You’re up here at the rig most of the time.”

“Just keep away from her,” Younger insisted. “Understand me?”

“That’s for her to decide, isn’t it?” Jake retorted.

Younger took a step toward Jake, his hands balling into fists. “It’s for me to decide, godammit! I don’t want you near her.”

Holy Christ, Jake thought, we’re going to have a fistfight out here in the desert.

Raising his hands, palms out, Jake said, “Tim, calm down. This is a decision Glynis is going to make, one way or the other. There’s nothing you or I can do about it.”

Younger glared at him for a long moment. Jake could feel his heart thudding beneath his ribs, but he stood his ground, wondering what he’d do if Younger took a swing at him. He remembered the description of a fight from high school: Two blows were struck; he hit me and I hit the ground.

At last Younger muttered, “Just leave her alone. Stay away from her.”

Jake shook his head, thinking he was too stubborn for his own good. He heard himself say, “There’s nothing going on between Glynis and me except having dinner once in a while. We
are
both working on the MHD program, you know.”

Younger looked unconvinced, but his body relaxed and he took a deep breath. “Don’t try to beat me out, Jake.”

Jake started to reply, thought better of it, and simply turned away and started walking back toward his car. Younger stood there in the high sun; Jake could feel Tim’s eyes boring into his back, hear the throaty roar of the MHD generator blasting away.

DINNER FOR THREE

It was a week later when Glynis phoned Jake at his office.

“An FBI agent called me,” she said, sounding excited. “She wants to meet with both of us!”

Jake glanced at his phone’s screen. He had two calls on his voicemail list.

“What did you tell her?” he asked.

“I said we’d see her this afternoon.”

Grimacing slightly, Jake said, “I have a class at two. How about later? After four o’clock?”

“I’ll call her back.”

Jake checked his voicemail and, sure enough, one of his two callers had been Special Agent Sheila Mankowitz. The other was one of his students, asking for a makeup date for the test he’d flubbed.

He called the student and settled on a date with him, then phoned Special Agent Mankowitz. Her line was busy, so Jake left his name and number. Telephone tag, he thought as he hung up.

His phone rang immediately.

It was Glynis. “We’re going to have dinner with Agent Mankowitz tonight,” she blurted, without preamble. “Seven o’clock. It’s the only time she had available. That’s all right with you, isn’t it, Jake?”