The Run (11 page)
“I hope when I go, someone will speak as well of me.” Will laughed.
“The statement applies to you in full, except that I’m your biggest fan.”
“Kate, sometimes I wonder about that.”
“If I’m your fan? You can’t be serious.”
“It’s just that you never seem to get very excited about anything that happens to me. Sometimes I’m not even sure that you approve of my line of work.”
Kate put down her drink, got up, and sat on his lap. She kissed him thoroughly. “I’m sorry if I seem that way,” she said. “Just for the record, quite apart from loving you dearly and completely, I want to see you go all the way this year. If I sometimes seem reticent, it’s because I’m selfishly thinking what this is going to mean to
me.
”
“I know that you’re accustomed to our life the way it is, my love, but try and look at this optimistically. If I win, our lives are going to be more exciting than we could ever have dreamed, and if I lose, we’ll be back to normal by Thanksgiving.”
“Don’t kid yourself, pal,” she said, kissing him again. “Once you make that announcement on Saturday, nothing is
ever
going to be the same again. It may be better, it may be worse, but it won’t be the same.”
“You have a point.”
“I just hope that, no matter how hard the wind blows, I can hang on to my job.”
“I’ll do everything I can to see that you do,” he replied.
She kissed him again, then went back to her chair and her scotch. “Oh, Jesus,” she said suddenly.
“What’s wrong?”
“If you’re vice president, we’ll have to move into the vice-presidential residence, won’t we?”
“You know, I hadn’t given that a thought.”
“I believe you are acquainted with how much I hate moving.”
“I believe I am. Maybe, since this would only be for the year, we could stay here.”
“I’d love it if we could,” she said.
“If somebody makes us move, then I suppose we could just pack our clothes and leave everything else here as it is for our return.”
“I’ll believe that when I see it,” she said.
The telephone rang, and Will picked it up. “Hello?”
“Senator, it’s Tim. I’m in a car about a few blocks from you with Leo Berg, who’s agreed to run our advance operation.”
“That’s great news, Tim; tell him I’m very pleased.”
“You’ll get to tell him yourself; we’ll be there in five minutes.”
“What for?”
“I’ll explain when we get there. We’ll try not to interfere with your dinner.” Tim hung up.
“We’re about to have visitors—Tim Coleman and a man named Leo Berg, who used to run the White House Secret Service detail. I don’t know what they want.”
The doorbell rang, and Will got up.
“Tim lied; they weren’t a few blocks away, they were outside.” He let the two men in.
“Senator,” Berg said, “thank you for the opportunity; I’m looking forward to it.”
“I’m glad to have you aboard, Leo. Now what can I do for you two?”
“Senator, Tim tells me that there was an attempt on your life some years ago by a right-wing militia group.”
Will glanced at Tim sharply.
“I’m sorry, Senator, but I felt Leo should know about this.”
Will turned back to Berg. “That’s correct. It was a group calling themselves The Elect, and it was run by a retired general named Willingham. Both Willingham and the assassin died in the attempt.”
“Because of that, Senator,” Berg said, “I want to ask for Secret Service support earlier than it would ordinarily be granted in a campaign.”
“Do you really think that’s necessary?”
“Sir, these militia groups are in touch with each other; if you’ve annoyed one of them, you’ve probably annoyed more.”
“I don’t know, Leo,” Will said. “I don’t want to ask for anything that other candidates won’t be getting.”
“They can make their own requests,” Berg replied.
Kate piped up. “Listen to the man, Will,” she said firmly.
Will sighed. “All right, I’m listening.”
“I’d like to do a sort of preliminary survey for the Service,” Berg said. “Then I’ll contact them tomorrow to arrange for your protection from Saturday, and if you’ll allow me to do this now, I think I can save you some intrusion by a lot of agents.”
“Come into the study,” Will said. “Can I get you a drink?”
“Scotch,” Tim replied.
“Nothing for me,” Berg said.
Will introduced Berg to Kate, and they all sat down.
“Now,” Berg said, “let me familiarize you with what’s going to happen from the point of view of the Secret Service, and Mrs. Lee, I’m glad you’re here to hear this, because it’s going to affect you, too.”
“I’m all ears,” Kate said.
“The Service will likely assign you a detail of sixteen men, Senator,” Berg said. “A dozen of them will work in four-man teams on eight-hour shifts, and they’ll be with you wherever you go. The other four
will float, depending on the circumstances. Mrs. Lee, there’ll be six assigned to you, and two will remain with you at all times.”
“I don’t think that will be entirely necessary, Mr. Berg,” Kate said, “since I work at the CIA, and that is a very secure environment. They can escort me to and from work, though.”
“Good point,” Berg said, taking notes. “Is there a downstairs bedroom in the house?” Berg asked.
“Yes,” Kate replied. “There’s a maid’s room at the rear. We don’t have any live-in help, so it’s empty.”
“Good. There’ll be two men in the house at all times, and that will allow them to take turns sleeping at night.”
“Do they have to be in the house?” Kate asked plaintively.
“I’m afraid so. Don’t worry, they’re trained to be as unobtrusive and discreet as possible. Senator, they’ll be in your office, as well, and in the corridor outside. And anywhere either of you goes, you’ll be driven in a Service automobile, probably a Lincoln Town Car.”
“How nice,” Kate said dryly.
“Who lives in the big house across the street?” Berg asked. “It’s dark.”
“The ambassador to Saudi Arabia,” Will said. “They’re not there much.”
“Good; maybe the Service can arrange to use it as an outpost. They’ll go through the State Department for that. What’s out back?”
“A garden, and beyond that another garden and another house,” Will said. “The owner does something at Justice, I believe.”
“Good. They’ll want to know about that. Your neighbors on either side?”
“The
Times
of London rents the one on that side
for their bureau chief,” Will said. “The other one is owned by a lawyer with Ropes & Gray.”
“Neither of those should be a problem,” Berg said.
“Leo,” Will said, “I want you to stress to the Service that life on this street should not be disrupted in any way.”
“You’re dreaming, Senator,” Berg replied. “The first time something controversial happens in the campaign, you’ll have two dozen press out there, howling for a statement, and there’ll be sightseers, too.”
“Rather than have that happen, ask them to block off the street and allow only residents through,” Will said. “I mean it, Leo, I’m not going to let this disrupt my neighbors’ lives. Tell the Service I’ll be intractable on this point.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Berg said, making a note. “You have a security system in the house, of course?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll want to see the central box and then check every window and door. There’s every likelihood that it’ll have to be beefed up.”
“All right.”
“The Service will want their own phone lines in the house, too. I notice you have a garage downstairs.”
“Yes, the house is unusual in that respect.”
“Two cars?”
“Yes.”
“The Service will like that. What brand of garage-door opener?”
“I haven’t a clue,” Will said.
“I’ll check it out, and we’ll order some extra remote controls.”
“As you wish.”
“How many cars do you have here?”
“Two: a Suburban and a Lincoln Continental.”
“Is there someplace you can store them?”
“What?”
“The Service will want their sedans in the garage. Don’t worry, you won’t be needing a car between now and the election.”
“I suppose I could park the Suburban in my parking space in the Senate garage.”
“And I could park the Lincoln in the Agency garage,” Kate said.
“Perfect. Now, could I look around the house?”
“Sure.”
Tim stood up. “You go ahead and have dinner,” he said. “I’ll show Leo around.”
“Thank you, Tim,” Will said.
He and Kate went into the kitchen, and Kate took some steaks out of the fridge. “So, it begins,” she said, and there was a little sadness in her voice.
Will worked on a combination of Senate and campaign business through the morning; then, just before lunch, his pollster, Moss Mallet, arrived and was shown into Will’s office.
“It was tight, but I have the results of your poll,” Moss said.
“Tell me about it.”
“There’s good news, and there’s bad news.”
“Shoot.”
“The good news is that nearly a third of likely Democratic voters have heard of you.”
Will winced. “What’s the bad news?”
“The bad news is that less than a third of likely Democratic voters have heard of you.” Moss handed him a sheet of paper.
Will looked at the paper. “Jesus, nine years in the Senate, and I register with only thirty-two percent of Democrats?”
Moss handed him another sheet of paper. “Relax,
it’s not as bad as it sounds. Only forty-six percent know who George Kiel is, and he’s the minority leader in the Senate.”
“So much for an informed electorate.”
“Listen, Will, this could be a lot worse. This is the first national polling we’ve done, you know, and I’ve seen guys you’d think were well-known who hardly raised a blip.”
“That’s comforting.”
“Okay, here’s something that
is
comforting,” Moss said, handing him another sheet of paper. “Of those likely Democratic voters who know both you and Kiel, forty-one percent would vote for Kiel, in a head-to-head race, and forty-six would vote for you.”
“What about the other thirteen percent?”
“A plague on both your houses, more or less.”
Will sighed.
“Can’t you see what this means?”
“Tell me.”
“It means of those who know you both, you get a more favorable rating than Kiel.”
“Should that make me deliriously happy?”
“I can promise you, it’ll depress the shit out of Kiel.”
“Well, that’s something, I guess.”
“Look, Will, if we can extend these numbers, it means that, as people get to know you, they’ll like you better than Kiel. What more can you ask?”
“I guess you’re right,” Will said.
“I promise you, Tom Black is going to love these numbers.”
“I’ll feel better if he does,” Will said. “Anything else?”
“That’s it for now. Later, we’ll do polling on issues, running mates, the works, but for right now that tells you where you have to go.”
“And where is that?”
“On TV, my friend, and the more often, the better. I’d recommend doing an immediate campaign designed to raise public awareness of you.”
“We don’t have the money yet.”
“Then get all the free time you can grab. Just remember, hardly anybody outside of Georgia knew who Jimmy Carter was when he announced. You’re a lot better off than he was.”
Kitty stuck her head in the door. “There’s a report on CNN that George Kiel will announce on Monday,” she said.
“That’s good news,” Will replied. “We’ll beat him by forty-eight hours.”
“Not really, not unless we start spreading the word now. This means people are already hearing Kiel’s name, and not yours. I’ve had a bunch of calls from press asking what you’re going to do, and I’ve been coy. I think it’s time to telegraph your entry into the race.”
“Okay, do it; tell them I’ll have an announcement to make tomorrow, and you’ll get back to them on time and place. Start angling for the Sunday-morning TV shows, too.”
Moss stood up. “I’ve got to run, Will. I’m going to put together a polling proposal for the next month and send it to Tim. Let me know what you want to do.”
Will stood up and shook his hand. “Thanks, Moss; I’ll be in touch.”
Late in the afternoon Tom Black came to Will’s office, and the two of them compared notes on the announcement speech.
“Yours is too long,” Will said. “I’d like to make it easy for the networks to run the whole thing on the news.”
“Not going to happen,” Tom replied. “If you give them a minute, they’ll run seven seconds; if you give them five minutes, they might run half a minute. Our job is to break the announcement into segments, any one of which they can pick up at different times, and to have one paragraph loaded with the gist.” He tapped Will’s sheet of paper. “I like this: ‘It’s time to make a new center that we can all gravitate to.’ Make that New Center, in caps, and we can craft something that will be a theme for the whole campaign.”
“Start crafting,” Will said. “I’ve got to make some begging calls to scrape up some money. Moss wants us to run a national TV campaign to increase awareness that I’m alive and running.” He handed Tom the poll results.
“Not bad,” Tom said, “but national TV spots are not going to happen anytime soon. We’re going to have to put the money into specific states to win primaries, and let the media make you famous for it.”
“You’ve got a point, but we’re going to need the money, anyway, so I’d better get started.”
“You do that.”
Will started with a list of a hundred men and women who’d given substantial sums to the party in the past during his elections. Eighty-one of them were Georgians. At the top of the list was one Lurton Pitts, fried chicken king. Using a private line that he paid for himself, Will dialed the number. In a moment, he was put through.
“Will, how are you?” Pitts boomed.
“I’m real good, Lurton; how’s the chicken business?”
“Not bad.”
“That’s good, because I’m about to hit you up for some money.”
“I knew there must be a reason for that sinking feel
ing in my stomach. What’s going on? You’re not running this year.”