The Outer Circle (The Counterpoint Trilogy Book 3) (20 page)

Chicago, USA

John Dimon was in a back seat of a limo, watching TV footage of his earlier rally. He was not happy.

“Get me Bob Johnson!”

“Hello, Mr. Dimon,” Johnson’s voice came on the car audio system.

“Did you see what happened today?”

“Ummm, yes?”

“And this was OK with you?”

“Well, Mr. Dimon, there were some interruptions but...”

“Interruptions? I was being hackled by Kron’s supporters! And I had to stand there with an idiotic smile on my face and take it!”

“Mr. Dimon, these things happen...”

“Well, Bob, I am paying you so these things don’t happen! Not to me! Kron probably sent them there on purpose, to make me look like a fool! Where were your men?”

“We had ten people right there at the rally. If it was one person making noise, they would have escorted him out. But there were dozens, so my men had to let it go as long as the protesters remained non-violent.”

“Yeah, they were non-violent all right! Just screaming their lungs out and waving Kron’s posters. Listen to me, Bob, and listen carefully. Next time I have a rally, I want a lot more than ten people there. And I don’t want anybody with an anti-Dimon poster within five hundred yards from me. And anyone who interrupts me, I want him or her out of there. Bleeding, if needed. Do you understand me?”

Johnson was silent for a long moment.

“Yes, Mr. Dimon.”

“Good. Goodbye.”

Dimon turned to Chris Bugelow, one of his two campaign advisors:

“Can you believe this?”

“Well, John, you can’t let a few hecklers get to you.”

“Chris, I was made to look weak there on the podium. I can’t look weak. That would be the end of my campaign. In these uncertain times, people want a strong leader they can follow.”

“Just be careful. Johnson has these goons he calls on. They come in and beat people up. In Seattle, they’ve put two pro-Kron demonstrators in a hospital. Some of the web blogs talk about intimidation tactics.”

“But they can’t trace it to us?”

“No, so far it looked like clashes between protesters.”

“Don’t worry about it then. I’d rather be feared than disrespected.”

They drove in silence while Dimon poured himself a drink from the bar, gulped it down, took a few deep breaths.

“John, are you ready to look at some commercials now?”

“Yeah, all right.”

Bigelow punched a couple of buttons on the controller and Dimon appeared on the TV screen telling a young couple with a toddler how he will keep them safe. The toddler’s face and the words
John Dimon will defend our children’s future!
filled the screen.

“What do you think, John? A bit simplistic?”

“No, I love it. Short and sweet. Great imagery. Make more like this.”

“We are being accused of not addressing the issues in depth.”

“I don’t care. Most people don’t want to dig deep or listen to what politicians say. Give them images, give them values, give them symbols, invoke their pride. People respond to emotions, not scientific treatises.”

“OK, how about this one?”

An unflattering picture of Jeff Kron came up on the screen, with Robert Treadwell’s voice blasting him for being inexperienced and unpatriotic. Kron’s face faded away and was replaced by smiling Dimon’s with a calm blue ocean behind him and
John Dimon, an American Patriot
caption.

“Hmm,” Dimon rubbed his jaw. “I’d say Treadwell went over the top in his last diatribe against Kron. Too much, might backfire. How are we doing against Kron?”

“The latest poll is still pretty much the same, thirty two percent for you, twenty seven for him.”

“We just can’t seem to pull away.” Dimon stared out the window, then turned back to Bigelow:

“What is our likely voters’ breakdown?”

“We are doing well with men and with the lower income group. Your promise to increase government assistance helped there. But it hurt you in the middle income category, which is now leaning to Kron. They are afraid of tax increases. The middle class is much smaller than it was, but still about a third of all voters.”

“Don’t air this commercial yet. Where is Kron now?”

“Probably in LA, as usual. He does not travel much.”

“No, not LA. Where is he going to be?”

Bigelow checked his phone:

“He’ll be in Phoenix in a couple of days.”

“Let’s go to Phoenix then.”

“But... but we have to be in Atlanta...”

“Reschedule.”

“But why?”

Dimon resumed looking out the window.

Beijing, China

Usually meetings of senior planners of the PLA General Staff’s Logistics department were conducted by its Director, General Tong Liao. But today it was General Wu Cao who sat at the head of the table, while General Liao took a seat to the right of his superior.

General Cao outlined his requirements and concluded with:

“Remember, the preparations must be conducted in utmost secrecy. You can’t discuss this plan with your subordinates except for what they absolutely must know. Any questions?”

“General Cao, I wanted to make sure that the planned timing is for the second half of January. In previous exercises, we avoided winter months because of the weather,” said Colonel Jia Kecheng.

“Yes, Colonel, that’s the timing. I understand it presents extra challenges, but it will also add to the element of surprise. Especially since there will be a power transition within the U.S. administration at that time.”

“And we should assume that the Russian Pacific Fleet will be a part of the attack force?” asked General Liao.

“Yes, why do I have to repeat myself?”

“I apologize, General Cao. It’s just that we’ve never made this assumption before because we did not think that Mosin would agree to this.”

Wu Cao patted Liao’s arm:

“I understand. I apologize for my irritation. You’ll see before the end of the month. Assume that not only will Russia help us militarily, but that they will divert all their energy deliveries from Europe to China, so you don’t have to worry about the Americans cutting us off from the Middle East oil. Thank you in advance for your efforts; I would like weekly reports on the progress,” said Cao as he was getting up to leave.

Phoenix, USA

“Why does he want to meet with you?” Robert Marosyan turned from the front passenger seat to ask.

Jeff shrugged,

“I don’t know. Probably noticed that we are in the same city and thought – ”

“No,” interrupted Jennifer. “I checked and it is an unplanned stop for Dimon.”

“But didn’t he have a meeting scheduled in some factory?”

“Jennifer is right,” Marosyan shook his head. “I checked, and Dimon’s visit seems to be a last minute thing. He is doing a traditional ‘meet-and-greet, press the flesh’ campaign and travels quite extensively. You, on the other hand, mostly sit in LA and do virtual townhalls. I barely managed to get you out on this three cities tour. I think Dimon came to Phoenix in order to meet with you. The question is, why?”

“I guess we’ll find out soon enough,” answered Jennifer.

The driverless car pulled to the entrance of the Scottsdale Fairmont Princess. Robert came outside, stretched, leisurely sauntered into the lobby, and admired stone flooring.

“Come on, Robert!” Jeff hurried him. “We’re already late.”

“Jeff, slow down,” retorted Robert. “The bastard wants something from you. Make him wait.”

They slowly made their way to the suite and knocked.

Dimon himself opened the door, smiling broadly as if his favorite relatives just showed up:

“Jeff, it’s great to finally meet you in person! And your lovely wife, of course! And you must be Robert, heard so much about you! Please, come in, come in!”

Two other people in the suite introduced themselves as Jonathan Morton and Christopher Bugelow, Dimon’s campaign advisors. After pouring drinks and exchanging pleasantries, Jeff cleared his throat and asked:

“So, John, what do you want to discuss?”

Dimon seemed to be taken aback for a second by being denied the opportunity to work his charm a bit longer, but quickly recovered:

“Yes, of course. You’re a busy man, Jeff, your time is valuable. Can we make this a private, one-on-one conversation?”

“No. Jennifer is my partner in everything and Robert is a treasured advisor. I have no secrets from them.”

“Very admirable,” Dimon laughed but his eyes were hard. He was used to others submitting to his requests.

“Let’s get to the point then. Jeff, you are not going to win this election...”

“Jeff is only five points behind you in the polls,” snarled Marosyan. “That’s within the margin of error and we still have three months to go.”

“But you don’t have the organization, and you don’t have the money – that will become more and more of a problem,” Dimon ignored Marosyan and continued to stare at Kron.

“And without that we are still very much within a striking distance, and Jeff’s virtual townhalls are proving to be more and more effective,” Marosyan won’t be denied easily.

“John, please get to the point. We all know the numbers, we know where we stand. Why did you ask me here?” after initial unease, Kron looked more confident. He leaned back in a lounge chair and pinned Dimon with a calm stare.

“Yes, sure,” Dimon showed his perfect white teeth. “Despite Robert’s enthusiasm, you are not likely to win. But I would like to offer you a way to get to the White House!”

Dimon paused for effect and then delivered the punch line:

“Join me as my vice president!”

Dimon spread his arms as if to embrace Kron with this generous offer.

Jeff looked unimpressed:

“But we both already designated our VP choices.”

Dimon waived off the objection:

“Mine is a moron that was pushed on me, yours is a nobody.”

Jeff remained silent, studying Dimon who shifted uncomfortably and launched into a speech:

“Jeff, just think of it: together, we are unbeatable! The moment we make an announcement, they can cancel the damn election. Instead of a chance at a highly improbable win, you get a guaranteed VP position. And in eight years, after I am done, you are the frontrunner for the presidency. You’ll be only fifty then, right?”

“But we disagree on so many things,” Jeff shook his head.

“Come on, Jeff,” Dimon twisted his face into an ‘is that a big deal?’ impression. “We’re not that far apart; with the proper spin people will think we were always in agreement on many issues. We appeal to our target demographics, we do and say whatever needs to be said in order to get elected...”

“Jeff does not!” interrupted Jennifer.

“OK, OK, your husband is a saint. But, Jeff, ask yourself: in just a few weeks, do you want to be a saint without a job, without influence? Or do you want to be in a position to make a difference? Pick the areas you want and I’ll give you a free hand there! Do you want education? Healthcare? Take them! I promise I’ll stay away.”

Ignoring everyone else in the room, Dimon sat next to Kron leaned forward and loudly whispered:

“Just think of the power you will wield and all the good you can do with it. The lifestyle you will have. And the promise of a future presidency. All here, guaranteed, in the palm of your hand.”

“Why are you offering this?” asked Jennifer.

Dimon slowly turned to her, as if remembering that there are others in the room.

“I believe I will win the presidency with or without your husband. It’s not just my advantage in the polls, it’s also where my followers are and how they map to electoral votes. But I don’t want to take chances. As I said, together your husband and I are unbeatable. It’s a win-win situation.”

“When do you need the answer?”

Dimon shrugged, showing that there is really nothing to think about:

“It’s already August, so soon. We are in the same city, we can make the announcement today.”

“Please give us a few minutes,” Jeff got up. “We’ll go take a walk.”

In silence, Jennifer, Robert, and Jeff walked through the grounds until they found a quiet place to sit by a small stream.

“Well, that was interesting,” Jennifer broke the silence. “Robert, were you surprised?”

“I must admit I was,” nodded Marosyan. “There is a certain logic to it.”

“So you think his proposal is worth taking?”

“Tough question,” exhaled Marosyan. “Lord knows I don’t like the guy. Dimon is a cheap populist. But it’s true that Jeff’s chances of winning are not very high. Becoming VP positions Jeff for the future while giving him a chance to do some of the things he wants to do now. On the balance, I would consider accepting the proposal.”

“What about you, Jen?”

“There are some advantages to this,” said Jennifer. “Jeff, you are behind in every poll. The Dimon – Kron ticket is sure to win. A bird in hand... You can start making an impact and in eight years you’ll be the frontrunner.”

Both Robert and Jennifer looked at Jeff expectantly. Jeff followed the stream with his eyes, then looked to the horizon, lost in thought. Finally, he shook his head:

“No. Everything you said makes sense. But I never wanted to be a politician. I am running because I believe we must make radical changes. To ally myself with this man, the man that stands for so many things I despise, will betray not just myself, but also all those that worked so hard on my behalf. I will become just another run-of-the-mill politician. And I will be eaten alive by those more skilled in the game than I am. There will be no reforms, no presidential runs. By the next election I’ll be a nobody and he’ll get rid of me.”

After Jeff delivered his answer and left, Dimon made a call:

“He refused. No, there is no chance of him changing his mind. I don’t want to know what you’re planning to do.”