Стюарт Вудс - Wild Card

“I am positively delighted,” Hank said.

“Please tell us why,” Henry said.

“Certainly, Poppa. One of my objectives in running was to do what I could to destroy the Republican Party, so I could start a new one. I no longer have that opportunity, but Joe Box, whether he realizes it or not, does. He’s going to drive them nuts, and he’s going to win some primaries, too, in the South and in the Rust Belt.”

“Surely not enough to win the nomination,” Henry said.

“Of course not, but he’s going to get a lot of votes and thereby weaken the party’s chosen candidate. They’re much more certain to lose the presidency now, and after eight years of Holly Barker, the party will crumble to dust. When and if I get back into it, it will be as the head of a new conservative party, one that shuns the yahoos, one that can draw support from independents, women, and educated whites. I’m going to have a better shot at it then than I would have had now.”

“Actually, that makes a lot of sense,” Henry said, bestowing a warm smile on his grandson.

“I think so, too,” Damien said.

“Rance, we have a PAC kicking around somewhere, don’t we?”

“We do.”

“A fairly anonymous one?”

“Yes.”

“How much is in it?”

“Something like sixty million,” Damien replied.

“Then let’s get twenty million into Senator Box’s campaign war chest, anonymously. The new campaign law we got past the Democrats will allow us to do that.”

“I’ll get it done today,” Damien replied.

“That will cheer Joe Box no end, and he won’t care that he doesn’t know where the money is coming from. Before the week is out he’ll be driving his party crazy.”

Henry Thomas rubbed his hands together. “This is going to be fun,” he said, with a little giggle.

Hank had never heard his grandfather giggle before.

Stone tuned in to the evening news to find Holly Barker and the French ambassador answering questions from the press about tariffs on French cheeses. At the end of it a bold reporter stood up and said, “Madam Secretary, you’ve always been very guarded about your privacy. When are you going to loosen up and tell us something about your social life?”

“Eh?” Holly asked, cupping a hand behind her ear. “I don’t believe I’m familiar with that term.” A good laugh.

“You know, going out to dinner with friends, perhaps even a man?”

“Well,” Holly said, “I hope one day to have such a life, and when I do, I promise that you in this room will be the very last to hear about it.” More laughter.

“What about this fellow from New York, Stone Barrington? We used to hear about him, from time to time.”

“That name is vaguely familiar to me,” Holly said, eliciting more laughter. “Unfortunately, he and I reside in different municipalities and are only infrequently colocated. Nice fellow, though.”

“Didn’t you see quite a lot of him once?”

“I saw quite a lot of quite a lot of people once, until I got this job. I don’t knit or play solitaire, and a girl’s got to get somebody to buy her a steak now and then, but not now or for the foreseeable future. Now, I’m getting out of here before you try to marry me off to somebody or other.” She picked up her papers and left the room.

The reporter handed off to the anchorperson in New York. “Thank you, Gracie,” she said. “It’s worth remembering that although she has never married, Holly Barker is known to enjoy the company of men. In fact, she was very nearly married quite some time ago, when she was serving as chief of police in the small Florida town of Orchid Beach. But on the day before the wedding, her fiancé, a local attorney, went to his bank to buy traveler’s checks for their honeymoon and, while he was waiting in line for a teller, four men wearing masks and carrying shotguns came into the bank to rob it.

“When her fiancé objected to the way they were treating a teller, one of the men turned and fired his shotgun into his chest. He died on the way to the hospital.

“Oddly enough, the man Ms. Barker used to see now and then, Stone Barrington of New York, was in the bank on other business and witnessed the killing. He and Ms. Barker first met when she was investigating her fiancé’s murder, and reportedly, they remain friends. Although they see each other infrequently, he is a major contributor to her campaign.”

Stone switched off the TV, feeling crowded somehow. Holly was right. They shouldn’t meet again until after the election.

Stone and Dino were having lunch at their club with no name when the junior senator from New York entered the dining room. He was Peter Rule, the son of the president, Katharine Lee, by her first marriage to one Simon Rule, deceased, who had once been a major figure at the CIA. The senator waved at them, then went to his table.

“That kid has turned out well, hasn’t he?” Dino asked over his lobster bisque.

“He has indeed,” Stone agreed. “He got good committee assignments as a freshman senator, and he dug in, did the hard work, and got commended for it on both sides of the aisle.”

“He’s good-looking, has an even better-looking wife, and a couple of cute kids, right?”

“When you’re right, you’re right, Dino.” Stone had never been able to entirely cure Dino of his habit of ending sentences with an interrogatory.

“Then what’s standing in his way of running for president?”

“Youth, I think, and the fact that both his mother and father have already committed themselves to Holly Barker’s candidacy. He’ll be a major factor when Holly leaves the post.”

Dino nodded and went back to his bisque.

They had just finished their dessert, when Senator Rule wandered over to their table. “Stone, Dino,” he said.

“Peter,” Stone and Dino said simultaneously.

“Pull up a chair,” Stone said.

Peter borrowed a chair from a nearby table and sat down.

“I hope you’re as well as you look,” Stone said.

“At least that well,” Peter replied. “I have a couple of questions for both of you.”

“We’re just full of answers,” Stone said.

“In complete confidence, of course,” Peter said. “I’m interested in becoming the next vice president of the United States. What are your opinions of that notion?”

“Peter,” Stone said, “I’d say you’d make an excellent vice president, but that would be insulting, given how little a vice president has to do in order to be excellent at his job.”

“That’s almost a very nice compliment, Stone,” Peter said, displaying a mouth full of teeth, all of them his own and each one perfect.

“Stone,” Dino said, “I think what Peter wants to know is if we think he should run now or wait four or eight years for a better opportunity.”

“Dino,” Peter said, “now I know why you have such a great reputation for interrogating suspects.”

“Go for it,” Stone said. “Anything could happen while you were waiting. Joe Box could get elected, for God’s sake.” Everybody laughed. “Nail down the job, make it your own, and be unwaveringly loyal to your president, except when you think she’s wrong.”

“What should I do in that case?”

“Tell her so. If she doesn’t see the light, tell everybody, as diplomatically as possible. That will earn you a quick reputation for being an independent mind. However, avoid being a pain in the ass.”

“I think that’s good advice,” Peter said, “and I think I’ll take it.”

“Hear! Hear!” Dino interjected.

“What was your second question?” Stone asked.

“Will you tell Holly I’m interested?”

“Wouldn’t you rather tell her yourself?”