Stuart Woods - Mounting Fears

Smith’s eyebrows went up.

“Don’t question, just do.”

“I take it this interview is of a special nature to the White House?”

“This appointment is of a special nature, Kerry. We’ve got a dead vice president, not even in the ground yet, and an appointment of a new one by the president on the fly in the middle of a nuclear event halfway around the world. There’ve been a lot of distractions for the president. He’s ordinarily a careful man by nature, but I don’t want him to miss something that’s going to rise up and bite him on the ass later, like in the confirmation hearings in the Senate.”

“Then he’s going to appoint Stanton vice president to serve out Kiel’s term?”

“You have to ask?”

“No, sir. Is there anything in particular that should be brought into this interview, apart from the draft of the information you’ve already seen?”

“Yes, two things: First, the governor has told the president that he and his wife are divorcing quite soon and that she will not be participating in the campaign.”

“And the president is keeping him as his running mate? Wow.”

“They intend for Stanton to announce this during his opening statement to the Senate Judiciary Committee. They figure it will blow over quickly.”

“That seems like a good plan,” Smith said.

“It’s a good plan, if the governor has told them everything. It’s my experience that no one ever tells anyone, let alone a Senate committee, everything about the circumstances of a pending divorce.”

“I agree.”

“What I want you to find out is everything, or at least everything the governor is willing to tell anybody.”

“What methods do you wish me to employ to secure this information, Director?”

“I want you to ask him.”

Smith blinked. “Oh.”

“And then I want you to check out everything he says and, in addition, everything he doesn’t say. I want you to do it fast, and I want you to do it good, because when I report to the president that his candidate is squeaky clean or, at least, highly unlikely to get caught doing anything that isn’t squeaky clean, I want to be telling my president the truth. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Director.” Smith held up a folder. “I have his questionnaire, and there are some points in there that I will raise with him. Ah, you said there were two things you wanted me to raise with the governor. What was the other one?”

“I want you to ask him where he was born. That is, exactly where he was born.”

“Exactly?”

“Get a street address, if you can.”

“May I ask the relevance of this information, Director?”

“Not yet.”

Smith flipped through the pages of his file on Stanton and came up with a sheet of paper. “His birth certificate says he was born at San Diego Women’s Hospital, in California. Isn’t that good enough?”

“Look just under the hospital name, Kerry. What does it say?”

Smith looked at the information. “It says ‘in transit.’ ”

“I want you to find out exactly what that means.”

“I expect it means in an ambulance, on the way to the hospital.”

“I can tell you the governor wasn’t born in an ambulance, and what the birth certificate doesn’t tell us is where his mother was in transit from.”

Smith shook his head. “I’m sorry, Director, but you’re going to have to tell me what you’re talking about, because I’m not getting it.”

Kinney sat back in his chair and tossed a file across his desk. “Read this,” he said. “I’ll wait.”

Smith read quickly through the two sheets of paper.

“Are you getting the drift, Kerry?”

“Having read his questionnaire, I can see how there may be problems. Is the governor aware of these circumstances?”

“From my reading of his questionnaire and the preliminary report, he is either not aware of them or is concealing them. I want to know if either of those things is true.”

“Director, forgive me for asking, but if this information is not known to the governor, how did you come by it?”

“I had a phone call from someone who, if not in a position to know, was at least in a position to ask some questions.”

“Was this person a member of the Republican Party?”

“That’s enough questions, Kerry. Now get out of my office.”

Smith gulped. He now realized that the file in his hand and what he would add to it in his investigation and interview of the governor might determine who the next vice president and, therefore, a potential future president would be.

Kerry Smith stood. “Sir, I will find out what you want to know.”

“Thank you, Kerry,” Kinney said. “And don’t keep me waiting for information about this.”

Kerry Smith got out of there fast.

Martin Stanford closed the door of the little office he had been assigned in the family quarters of the White House and sat down. He figured a president’s secretary had once worked in this room; it was too small for a visiting dignitary. He unlocked his briefcase and removed a cell phone that had been purchased for him at a grocery store in Los Angeles, one containing a prepaid phone card and no GPS chip, then he dialed the number, which he had committed to memory and not stored in the phone, of a duplicate cell phone.

“Hi there,” she said.

“Hi there, yourself.”

“How did it go this morning?”

“Well, I think. At least he didn’t immediately dump me. My guess is, the way he thinks, he’ll want me to make it public soon, to get it out of the way.”

“How is the gargoyle going to feel about that?”

“She’ll be good with it. She thinks she wants it even more than I do.”

“How about your kids?”

“They’re grown-ups. They’ll take it well, and they probably won’t be very surprised.”

“Is there any suspicion of us?”

“Not that I’ve detected. How about on your end?”

“Nope. We’ve been very careful, and it’s paying off.”

“Are you still willing to move here?”

“You bet I am. Your successor and I don’t really get along all that well, and I don’t want to work for him when you’re gone. And there’s some news: I’ve heard through the legal grapevine that the AAG for criminal stuff is not going to be around for the next term, and he wants to leave as soon as his boss can find a replacement.”

“That would be a great job for you, after your years as an ADA and state justice, before you came to work for me.”

“You bet your ass it would, and I’ve already made some calls. They’re sending me an application to start the process.”

“Listen, baby, I can’t have anything to do with your application; I can’t even write a letter, unless the AG asks me to.”

“How about if I give the big guy as a reference. I’ve known him since he was a Capitol Hill aide, worked with him a couple of times on justice issues.”

“Good idea. He’ll ask me, and I’ll give him my highest recommendation.”

“Then I’ll get started on the application as soon as it comes. When do you want me to resign?”

“We talk almost every day on state business. During the next call, tell me about your plan, then send me a letter saying that you want to start looking for something, but you’ll stay on until you’ve nailed down a new job. That’ll get it on the record, and be sure to log the content of our conversation. I’ll do the same.”

“Can we get together when I’m in town?” she asked.

“Baby, you know we can’t do that. I’ve got the whole process to go through, and I’ve got a security detail on my back now. But announcing this means we can start the proceedings immediately, and I’ve already talked with my people about how to divvy up, so that shouldn’t take long. I’m sure she has a list of what she wants. I’ll give her the house at home, of course, and she’ll pretty much get half. Don’t worry, there’ll be enough for us, especially if I get the job. And after that, who knows?”