The Run (8 page)
“It won’t have to be secret for all that long; just in this initial organizing phase. We ought to be able to get a lot done today, since nobody is going to come looking for us until dinnertime.”
They both nodded.
“And I want you to find me a Holy Man.”
Tim’s eyes narrowed. “
What
?”
“I don’t mean a guru or a television evangelist; I mean a man or a woman—a lawyer—who is so clean, so upright, that no one would ever believe him capable of doing a wrong thing. I want this person to be in charge of two things: one, to see that we strictly conform to both the letter and the spirit of the campaign-finance laws; and two, to serve as a sounding board on ethics, so that if anyone on the campaign has the slightest doubt that what he is about to do comes close to the line, he can call the Holy Man and get advice. The Holy Man’s opinion will be final.”
“Someone from academia,” Tim said.
“Or a retired federal appeals court judge,” Kitty chimed in.
“You’re getting the picture. If Oliver Wendell Holmes could be resurrected, he’d be ideal.”
“How are Kitty and I going to divide our time between the office and the campaign, once we’re under way?” Tim asked.
“You’re not. It has to be one job or the other; I don’t want anyone to be able to say that I’m using Senate staff to run my campaign. Frankly, I’d like you both on the campaign, but I’ll leave the final decision to you.”
“I want the campaign,” Kitty said.
“Me too,” said Tim.
“Fine with me. Start thinking about finding your replacements, and think about who else from the staff we’ll want on the campaign.”
“You know,” Kitty said wonderingly, “until a few minutes ago, I had a hangover; now it’s gone.”
Will laughed. “Me too. Now let’s get to work.”
Kate looked at him across the kitchen table. “How do you feel now that you’ve started?” she asked. She had whipped up a dinner of leftovers from their New Year’s party and had opened a bottle of merlot.
“Strange,” he said. “Exhilarated; tired; a little scared.”
“I don’t blame you, on any of those counts.”
The phone rang.
Will picked it up. “Hello?”
“Will, it’s Susan Adams; how are you?”
“Great, Sue; let me put you on the speaker so Kate can hear.” He pressed the speaker button. “Okay, we’re here.”
“First of all, I want to thank you for such a wonderful evening on New Year’s Eve. It was a great way to finish out the millennium.”
“We were delighted to have you both,” Kate said. “How’s Joe?”
As you saw the other night, he’s doing well. Which
brings me to my point. I have some good news, some bad news, and some good news.”
“Shoot,” Will said.
“First, the good news: Joe is going to make his withdrawal announcement next Friday.”
That took Will’s breath away; he hadn’t expected Joe to move so soon.
“We both felt we should get it over with and give the other candidates as much time as we can.”
“I expect you’re right,” Will said.
“I know this won’t give you as much time as you’d like to prepare, Will, but at least, you’re getting most of a week.”
“I can’t complain, Sue.”
“Now the bad news: I’m going into Walter Reed tomorrow for a lumpectomy.”
“Oh, Sue,” Kate said, “I’m so sorry. I assume it’s contained, if you’re not having a radical mastectomy.”
“That’s what my doctor assumes, too. I’m not real exercised about it; I’m sure everything is going to be okay. The other good news is that Joe is going to have an excuse to drop out of the race: more time with me, and all that, and it won’t be a lie. We’ve both become very conscious that our time together will be a lot shorter than we’d planned.”
“I see your point,” Will said. “It’s going to be a shock any way you put it, but—”
“We’re going to let a rumor out starting on Wednesday,” Sue said, “just to give some sort of media transition. By Thursday night, it’ll probably make the news. Joe thinks you should announce on Saturday; that’ll give you a shot at the Sunday-morning TV shows.”
“That makes sense, I guess,” Will said.
“You can say that I told you today. Let’s not refer to our meeting at Camp David; it would hurt a lot of feel
ings around town, if people thought you knew that far in advance.”
“Good point.”
“You won’t have to lie, Will; I know how you feel about that. After all, I
did
tell you today, just now.”
“I’m okay with that,” Will said.
“Oh, I’m being called to dinner,” Sue said. “I’d better run.”
“Thank you, Sue, and thank Joe for the warning. And our prayers will be with you tomorrow.” They both hung up.
“Well, it’s really on, I guess,” Kate said.
“Looks that way.”
“I’ll tell you the truth,” she said, “I’d half suspected that Joe would have second thoughts and let the clock run out through the campaign before he pulled out. That would have made him more the kingmaker.”
“That wouldn’t be like Joe,” Will said.
“I know, and I feel guilty about thinking that.”
The phone rang again, and Will picked it up.
“Hello?”
“Will, it’s Joe.”
Will punched the speaker button. “Hi, Joe; Kate can hear you, too. We were both sorry to hear about Sue’s illness.”
“It’s going to be okay; don’t worry. The reason I called is that Sue forgot to tell you something.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m going to wait a while after my announcement on Friday before I make an endorsement. I’m not sure just how long.”
This was a blow, but Will took it as well as he could. “I understand, Joe.”
“I think my endorsement will mean more after all the candidates have had an opportunity to establish a
presence in the campaign and had an opportunity to have their positions on the issues known.”
“You have a point, Joe,” Will said.
“Don’t worry, Will; I still think you’re the best man for the job, and I’m sure I’ll still think so closer to the convention.”
“Thanks, Joe.”
“They’re holding dinner for me, so I’ll say good night, and thanks again for the great evening.”
“Good night, Joe.” Will hung up.
“Well,” Kate said, “now I don’t feel so guilty about thinking Joe wanted to be a kingmaker.”
“Oh, I don’t know; this might be the best thing. The endorsement might mean a lot more later, when he can say he’s considered everybody.”
“You noticed, didn’t you, that he didn’t exactly say he was going to endorse
you?
”
Will poked at his food. “Yeah, I noticed that.”
“He’s playing his cards close to his chest; he’s going to want something when the time comes.”
“He already knows he can have anything in my gift.”
“So, how do you feel now?”
“A little deflated, and more scared than ever. Somehow I thought I was going to have most of January to plan. I guess not.”
“Six days is better than nothing, which is what the other candidates will have.”
“Don’t worry about them; when the rumor hits the streets, people all over town are going to start making plans.” He punched the speaker phone and started dialing. “Excuse me.” It took less than a minute to conference Tim Coleman and Kitty Conroy. “You both listening?”
“Yes,” they said simultaneously.
“I’m going to announce on Saturday,” he said.
“
This coming Saturday?”
Tim said, aghast.
“It can’t wait; you’ll know why later in the week. We’ll start calling the people on our list on Friday. Kitty, wait until then to stake out the Capitol steps for the announcement.”
“This is all very strange,” Kitty said.
“It’ll make a lot more sense by the end of the week,” Will said.
“Will,” Tim said, “I think our first calls on Friday should be to your Atlanta office. You’ve got a hard core of supporters there who’ll volunteer to man a campaign office until we can get up and running. Let’s get a couple dozen people on a chartered bus Saturday morning and have the office open on Monday.”
“Sounds good, but we’re going to have to find a headquarters, and we can’t start looking until Friday.”
“Can’t we fudge the date just a little?”
Will thought about it. “All right, you can start on Wednesday morning, but do it through a third party. I’ll see what I can do, as well.”
“Okay,” Tim said.
“Kitty, start working on a draft of a two-minute announcement speech, with the appropriate built-in sound bites.”
“Right. I’ve got an idea for Saturday.”
“Shoot.”
“Let’s get that bus started up here from Atlanta on Friday night and have you surrounded by supporters for the announcement.”
“Good idea. Call the Atlanta office and tell them to book the bus, but don’t tell them why. Book some hotel rooms around town for these folks to stay in.”
“Consider it done.”
“Okay, people, I want to see you both in my hide
away at 7
A.M
., so get a good night’s sleep. It might be your last for a while.” He hung up.
Kate put a hand on his cheek. “I think maybe you’ve had your last good night’s sleep for a while, too.”
Will had already made coffee in his hideaway office when Tim and Kitty arrived. “First things first,” Will said. “I want each of you to write a campaign manager’s name on a piece of paper; I’ll do the same.”
They each did so.
“Let’s see yours, Tim,” Will said.
Tim held up a sheet that read Sam Meriwether.
Kitty held up hers: Sam Meriwether.
Will grinned and showed them his: Sam Meriwether. “It’s unanimous. You both realize, you’re going to be working for him, as well as me.”
They both nodded.
Sam Meriwether was Will’s own congressman, representing Georgia’s fourth district, which included Delano. He was in his late thirties, smart, energetic, and supremely well organized.
“Kitty, call Sam at home and ask him to come and see me here as soon as he can.”
Kitty went to the other side of the room and picked
up a phone. She came back a moment later. “He’s on his way; he was already in his office.”
“Good. Now, tell me: Who did you two come up with for the Holy Man?”
“Mason Rutledge,” Tim said, “known as Rut to his friends.”
“I know him vaguely,” Will replied. “Bring me up-to-date on him.”
Tim read from a sheet of paper. “Harvard Law, class of ’52; private practice with Woodman & Weld in New York for thirty years, with occasional leave for public service; worked for Archibald Cox when he was independent counsel, during the Watergate investigations; was axed with Cox during the Saturday Night Massacre; an assistant attorney general under Griffin Bell during the Carter years, responsible for, among other things, campaign-law violations; said to have turned down the AG job when Clinton offered it to him. Clinton appointed him to the Court of Appeals. Rumor had it he would have appointed him to the Supreme Court, but the Republicans on the Senate Judiciary Committee would have obstructed, so he walked away from that. Last year he retired from the court, and he now holds a chair in constitutional law and legal ethics at Harvard Law. Married forty years, two sons—one an assistant AG, the other at Woodman & Weld. Old New England stock, spotless character, only a little pompous.”
“Will he do it?”
Kitty spoke up. “I know the son, Arthur, who’s at Justice. We had lunch a couple of weeks ago, and Artie said his father missed public life a little. My impression is he’ll do it, if he can stay in Cambridge.”
“No reason why he couldn’t do it with a phone and a fax machine, is there?”
“Not that I can see. I don’t think Harvard Law
would require him to take a leave if he’s just a consultant on campaign law and ethics.”
“Put him high on the list to call on Friday.” Will consulted his notes. “Who to run the advance operation?”
Tim shuffled some papers. “We think Leo Berg would be good.”
“Secret Service guy?”
“Retired. He ran the White House detail for four years; before that he was their top advance man. He’d be good for liaison with the Secret Service detail, too. He’s well liked in the Service.”
“Good choice; I would never have thought of him. Tim, you call him Friday afternoon.”
“Right.” Tim made a note. “Kitty and I both think that Mimi Todd would be good to run Issues. She’s done a great job in the Senate office, and she’s already trained an assistant.”
“I agree. On Wednesday, have her start rewriting everything, removing references to Georgia and putting a national cast. I want us all to review each issue before anything is carved in stone.”
There was a rap at the door, and Will pressed the button under his desk that released the lock. Sam Meriwether walked in. Tall, shambling, always slightly disheveled, he gave an almost opposite impression of the man he really was.
“You’re up early, Sam,” Will said.
“Shoot, I’ve been at my desk for at least two hours.” Sam grinned.
“Come sit down,” Will said. “I’ve got some good news for you.”
Sam folded his length into a chair. “Always like getting good news.”
Sam,” Will said, “I’ve decided to make you a United States senator.”
Sam smiled broadly. “Well, I guess I could choke that down.” He half rose. “You want to switch seats now?”
“Sit down, Sam.” Will laughed. “I didn’t say I was going to do it today.”
“How long do I have to wait?”
“A little over three years, if you’re lucky.”
“What do I have to do to get lucky?”
“You have to get me elected president of the United States.”
“Is
that
all?”
“It’s the only way you’re going to pry me out of my Senate seat.”
“Well, shoot, it might be worth it to get you out of the state of Georgia. How am I supposed to help you?”
“I want you to manage my campaign.”
Sam looked at Will narrowly. “You’re still drunk from New Year’s Eve, aren’t you?”
“I’m as sober as a Supreme Court justice.”
Sam looked around at his companions. “Are you three planning to assassinate Joe Adams? ’Cause, if so, I’m calling the Secret Service right now.”
