Sam Bourne - The Chosen One

That same night…

Senator Rick Franklin of South Carolina put aside the memo he had just received, detailing the results of a poll commissioned by CPAC, the Conservative Political Action Conference, which asked likely Republican voters how they rated a series of leading party figures. To his team’s delight, he had come in second, just behind the party’s rock star former vice presidential candidate who always topped these surveys, if only on the grounds of instant name recognition.

He knew how this had happened. Even if most of the country had been distraught at Stephen Baker’s removal from office – prompting vigil-like scenes at the White House, as thousands of supporters gathered outside, holding candles and singing old protest songs – among the hardcore American right it was a day of celebration and Rick Franklin was rapidly hailed as its hero. He was the man whose persistence had driven Baker from office. The Weekly Standard , the pundits on Fox, the Wall Street Journal op-ed page – they were all as one, anointing Senator Franklin as the frontrunner for the Republican nomination to take on the unelected President Bradford Williams in the election that was now little more than three years away.

His supporters were ecstatic; so was his wife. Only he felt a knot of anxiety at all this presidential talk.

He had seen Baker having to confess to those misjudgments from his past. They had broken him. And wasn’t he, Rick Franklin – family man, poster boy of the Christian right – just as vulnerable? His affair with Cindy had gone on for nearly two years; there was nothing they hadn’t tried, some of it illegal in several states. He would be destroyed.

It was a good thing she was away for the week, at that conference in Colorado. She would enjoy herself and, when she was back, he would tell her it had to end. She would understand that it was for the best. His mind was made up.

Perhaps twenty minutes later, there was a call from Charleston.

‘Senator, it’s Brian.’ One of his lowlier aides, sounding anxious, his voice wobbling as if he were a high school girl at prizegiving.

‘What is it, Brian? Come on, spit it out.’

‘It’s Cindy, sir. We’ve just had a call from-’

‘What’s happened?’

‘She’s dead, sir. In a skiing accident.’

Franklin felt his heart thumping. Was he about to have a heart-attack? He put down the receiver slowly and carefully and took several deep breaths. He told himself this pain in his chest was grief and, in part, it was. He’d been very fond of Cindy: she was a lovely girl, with a body shaped by the Lord’s own hand…

But there was more to that tension in his chest than sorrow. A thought was brewing. Was this Providence stepping into the affairs of men, acting to remove the last serious obstacle between him and the White House? Could this have been the work of the same beneficent God who had lent a helping hand at so many other awkward times in his career?

Rick Franklin spent the afternoon making dutiful calls, to Cindy’s parents and to his staffers, offering to deliver a eulogy at the memorial service. But in between, he stole another look at that memo and those poll numbers.

They really were very encouraging.

In amongst all the calls was one he hadn’t expected. It came from that veteran creature of Washington, Magnus Longley, the man who’d served as Baker’s Chief of Staff and been around longer than the Lincoln Memorial.

‘To what do I owe this pleasure, Mr Longley?’

‘Senator, I just heard about the loss of your very talented Head of Legislative Affairs.’

‘You are on the ball, Mr Longley: that hasn’t even been announced yet, just immediate family and friends.’

‘I believe I was among the first to know.’ A long pause. He cleared his throat. ‘Anyway, my condolences. I was hoping that we might have a conversation.’

‘Of course. Yes. I-’

‘Let me begin by saying – and this may surprise you – that my colleagues and I hold you in the highest possible regard, Senator Franklin.

‘We always have.’

Once again I have been assisted by friends generous enough to share their wisdom with me. Richard Adams, John Arlidge, Andy Beckett, Laura Blumenfeld, Jay Carney, Steve Coombe, Tom Cordiner and Monique El-Faizy all deserve to be singled out.

For the fifth book in a row, Jonathan Cummings proved himself an indefatigable sleuth for the elusive fact: working with him is only ever a pleasure. At HarperCollins Jane Johnson – ably backed once again by Sarah Hodgson – was tireless, even keeping the same lunatic hours as I did as she guided this book towards its birth. She was not just meticulous, but sensitive and shrewd. I consider myself lucky to have her as my editor. A word too about Jonny Geller: he’s often referred to these days as a ‘super-agent’. What fewer people know is that he is a super friend, a constant source of advice, encouragement and understanding.

Finally, my wife Sarah, along with my sons, Jacob and Sam, had their patience tested by this book, as so often before. It kept me from them for more hours than any of us would have wanted. But Sarah was never anything other than full of love, offering just the right word of support at just the right moment. Every day I feel glad that I chose her – and that she chose me.

Jonathan Freedland, March 2010

Sam Bourne is the pseudonym of Jonathan Freedland, an award-winning journalist and broadcaster. He has written a weekly column for the Guardian since 1997, having previously served as the paper’s Washington correspondent. He has covered five US presidential elections, including Barack Obama’s campaign in 2008.

In the annual What the Papers Say Awards of 2002 Jonathan Freedland was named Columnist of the Year, and in 2008 he won the David Watt Prize for Journalism. His first novel, The Righteous Men , was a Richard and Judy Summer Read and a Number 1 bestseller. His next two novels, The Last Testament and The Final Reckoning , were both top five bestsellers. He lives in London with his wife and their two children.