Стюарт Вудс - Wild Card

“No, I don’t want to embarrass her, if she has to say no.”

“All right, I’ll mention it to her.”

“When you do, tell her I haven’t talked with either of my parents about this — and I don’t intend to, unless they bring it up. In which case, I’ll ask their advice, then tell them I’ll think about it and get back to them.”

“I’ll mention that to Holly, too.”

“Good. Now I’ll reward you two with a little gossip,” Peter said.

“I love gossip,” Dino replied. He jerked a thumb in Stone’s direction. “So does he. Lay it on us.”

“Ready? Hank Thomas has donated twenty million dollars to Joe Box’s campaign, through a PAC that keeps it anonymous.”

Stone and Dino sat silently, contemplating this information. Finally, Stone spoke. “Of course he has. He’s sticking a thumb in the eye of the Republican Party.”

“We are of one mind on that,” Peter said.

“When I speak to Holly, how shall I put it to her? As a feeler?”

“You can be as direct as you like,” Peter said. “And I hope she gives you a direct answer.”

Stone nodded. “I think it’s a little early in the campaign for her to give you an answer right away.”

“Tell her that if a better political option comes her way, I will stand down. I mean that. And I understand that she would not wish to announce her decision any time soon. She can pick her moment, and I’ll be there.”

“It may take a day or two to reach her. I don’t know what her schedule is like.”

“She’s at the State Department for the rest of the week,” Peter said, standing up and offering his hand. “Then she hits the campaign trail. Thank you both for your attention and your good advice.” He walked away.

“What do you think of that?” Dino said.

“He’s either a very smart politician or absolutely nuts. I can’t figure out which.”

Back at his desk, Stone called Holly’s secret cell number and got only a beep. “Call me when you can,” he said, then hung up.

Jamie Cox bustled in and threw herself into a chair, looking excited.

“You look excited,” Stone said. “What’s up?”

“They’re publishing my book next Tuesday,” she said.

“Jesus, that’s short notice, isn’t it?”

“I told you they were rushing it, and they have. They’re sending me on the road for two weeks — a month, if initial sales are good. They’re putting together an appearance schedule as we speak.”

“I guess that means no sex for a while,” he said.

“Not unless you’re into phone sex.”

“I’m more partial to the real thing,” Stone replied.

“Who isn’t? In this life, we have to take what comes to us.”

“I have the feeling that if we did, the Thomases would be listening to us panting — and in real time.”

“Well, I guess we have to make the most of the time we have left until Tuesday.” She stood up, took his hand, and pulled him to his feet. “Not on that grungy sofa,” she said. “Let’s go upstairs. We can start in the elevator.”

Stone did as he was told.

Hank Thomas called in Rance Damien and sat him down. “I’ve changed my mind about contributions to Joe Box’s campaign,” he said.

“You’re pulling out? I haven’t sent the twenty mil yet.”

“No, I’m doubling down and tripling. I want you to set up a campaign that parallels his own — not in every state, but in places where he can do well with more money — a shadow campaign, if you like. And I want you to find the senator a first-rate speechwriter, who can blend his work with Box’s style of speaking.”

“People with those skills are already aligning themselves with more important candidates.”

“People like that are always late on their mortgage and car payments. Figure out how much it would take to turn a writer’s head, and tell him or her that no one will ever know what he did, unless he wants to reveal it in his post-campaign book. Get Box some first-rate TelePrompTer instruction, too, and get him trained to not go off the reservation and sound stupid. Tell him that if he sticks to the scripts, he could actually be elected.”

“Right, I’m perfectly willing to lie to the guy.”

“You need to spend an hour in a room with him and scare him shitless. Make yourself out to be his only path upward, and let him know that if he strays from the plan, he’ll be humiliated and destroyed. Tell him you have no policy demands, but his speechwriter may suggest some likely ones. Remember, this is a guy with a net worth of less than half a million dollars. He can be bought, and in a hurry.”

“All right,” Rance said, “I’m on it.”

“And remember not to be seen with him anywhere, especially anywhere near a reporter; your face is too memorable at the moment. Of course, that will change with time.”

“What’s my total budget for this project?”

“Sixty million dollars,” Hank replied. “Now get your ass in gear.”

Holly Barker saw Stone’s message on her cell phone but waited until she had some free time before returning it.

“Hello, there,” she said.

“And to you. How fast do I have to talk?”

“I’ve got a few minutes.”

“I’ve got some interesting gossip, and I’ve got a campaign offer for you. Which do you want to hear first?”

“The gossip, but I warn you, I’ve probably already heard it.”

“Hank Thomas is putting twenty million dollars into Joe Box’s campaign through a PAC.”

Silence.

“You need to apply a squirt of oil to your brain, Holly. I can hear the wheels turning from here.”

“All right, I’ll buy that, and it’s pretty obvious why. Hank wants to wreck the Republican Party so he can have a clean shot as an independent in four years — maybe as the leader of a new party.”

“Consider yourself lubricated,” Stone said.

“What’s the campaign thing?”

“I had a conversation with Peter Rule yesterday, and he asked me to tell you that he’d like very much to be your running mate.”

“That’s surprising this early in the campaign,” she said.

“He also told me to tell you that if politics dictate a different choice, he’ll step aside and help.”

“I’ve always been very impressed with Peter,” Holly said. “Tell me, has Kate weighed in on this?”

“He told me that he has not discussed this with either of his parents and does not intend to, unless they bring it up, in which case he’ll tell them he’ll get back to them.”

“Do you believe that?”

“Peter is a young man who has never had to lie to get what he wants.”

“I think that’s an accurate assessment. I hope it lasts. You can tell Peter I’m interested — no, I’ll tell him myself. I need a few people — surrogates, I guess you’d call them — who can speak on my behalf when I can’t make a venue. I’ll invite him to join that group, then assess him as we move along.”

“That’s a good move,” Stone said. “If you want him, I think you’ll need to get him in front of the electorate often enough and with enough good material that, by convention time, a large pack of them will be clamoring for you to select him.”

“Make him the obvious choice?”

“If you want him. Don’t string him along, if you’re not interested.”

“I’m interested, and I’ll tell him so.”

“Then my work is done,” Stone said. “Try not to get us into any wars before November.” They both hung up.

Rance Damien sat across the table from a middle-aged woman in a diner. “What do you have for me, Florence?”

Florence Heath was a New York — based member of the recruiting committee for Harvard and had seen the résumés of thousands of applicants over the years. She passed Damien a large envelope. “Before you sit down and read this, let me give you the CliffsNotes version.”