Стюарт Вудс - Wild Card

“May I assume that your participation has a long-range purpose, beyond getting the secretary elected?”

“You may assume anything you like,” Peter replied with a small, conspiratorial smile. “Let’s say that I hope you won’t be working in my basement for too very long.”

“What will you do, if Ms. Barker is not elected?”

“You and I will both return to this work and wait for another day.”

“Then my decision is to accept your second offer,” she said.

“Good. You may choose your successor in this office, and you may hire another person to assist you, at a salary you designate. I hardly need tell you what a high level of intelligence, hard work, and integrity I will expect from such a person, because you have, yourself, long maintained that standard.”

“Thank you, Senator. Now, what should I do with these boxes?”

“Have them delivered to my house, along with yourself. There is parking in my basement, and you will find a couple of usable rooms there. Start outfitting them for your use and that of your assistant.

“Thank you for your service to the United States Senate. You are now relieved from your duties for an undetermined length of absence.”

Anna Lopez turned to her new work.

Ari Kramer sat in his obsessively neat dormitory room — his residence for the summer term in Cambridge — selecting, shredding, and discarding any materials that he would not be needing or archiving at his faculty storage unit, which he was being allowed to keep until he had a more permanent address. It was early on his last day at the TA job.

His laptop computer made a noise that indicated he was receiving a Skype call, a program he favored as he preferred it to actual face-to-face meetings with strangers. He swung around in his chair and faced the machine, then answered the call. A man wearing a business suit and facial bandages appeared before him.

“Good morning, Mr. Kramer,” the man said. “My name is William Smith. We have not met. I apologize for my appearance, but I am recovering from an accident, pending further surgeries.”

“What is the purpose of this call?” Ari asked in his typically blunt manner.

“It is in the nature of a job interview,” Smith replied.

“What sort of a job?”

“A political job, one as chief speechwriter and advisor to a candidate for office. There may be other duties attached as well.”

“Who is the candidate?”

“If we can agree to terms I will tell you that at the end of this conversation.”

“When does the job start?”

“Today. I believe this is your last week as a TA.”

“Correct. Describe my duties in more detail.”

“The candidate is one who presents well to the public, but needs to be coached in certain skills, such as the natural use of a teleprompter. He must also be trained never to speak extemporaneously, as he is prone to gaffes. You must be in constant contact with him, through Skype, which he currently uses to keep in touch with a number of women in his home state and in Washington.”

“Is he married?”

“Divorced, twice. He will have handlers who will discourage him from being alone with women.”

“I don’t have to ‘handle’ him?”

“Only his speeches and, perhaps, political strategies and his intellect, which is superficial. He appears to know a great deal about a great many subjects, but his facts are often wrong, and you must guard against that.”

“Why are you considering me for this post?”

“I have read much of what you have written while at Harvard, which is considerable, and I’ve spent time with a member of the Harvard recruitment board, who has taken an interest in you. I have liked what I have heard.”

“Do you understand that I have certain limitations where communication with others is required?”

“I do, just as I understand my own current limitations in that regard. And I believe yours are surmountable. I understand, for instance, that you communicate orally better through Skype than through actual contact.”

“That is correct, at least with strangers. I have no problem with face-to-face contact with people I know and have experience with. What does the job pay?”

“One hundred thousand dollars.”

“For the whole campaign?”

“Per month.”

Ari sucked in a quick breath. “That is acceptable,” he said. “Who is the candidate?”

“Joseph Box, the junior senator from Florida.”

“I can see how you might think he needs my help,” Ari said.

“One of the things I have noted in your writings, Ari, if I may call you that, is that you seem able to assume any political stance — whether or not you are in agreement with it — and defend your position. A happy skill in a debater or a political operative. One of the things you will need to do is to help select policy positions for Box to use in his campaign. Some of these positions brush against the far right, but most would be described as right-center, though not far enough right to put off college-educated white men and women and independents.”

“I can handle that.”

“Good. A package will be delivered to you shortly containing a complete biography of Joseph Box, including the legislative record of his votes and many of his speeches.”

“How will I be paid?”

“An LLC account is being opened as we speak, with you listed as president, at New England Trust in Harvard Square.”

“I know the bank. I keep my personal account there.”

“You may also hire a full-time assistant and pay that person from the account at a salary you consider attractive for the job.

“You will use the new account only for your personal campaign expenses, and you will submit monthly reports of your expenditures, with receipts. Your salary will be deposited into your personal account, and you must file quarterly tax returns and remain current on your payments.”

“Of course. I do my own accounting and use TurboTax for filing.”

“Good. The new LLC account will have a balance of two hundred thousand dollars. You are to rent an apartment immediately — today, if possible — and pay the rent from this account, a maximum of ten thousand dollars per month, and the attendant deposits. You may choose a property suitable for your office, as well as residence, and that of your assistant. Install a landline, if you wish, but all of your campaign conversations will take place on two telephones, one for your assistant, being sent to you. Keep it on your person at all times. Do you possess a driver’s license?”

“Yes, and I am quite a good driver.”

“As soon as possible, buy a new car. It should be a large American-made SUV, with a secure trunk area. Arrange for garaging in or near your apartment building. You may not have a firearm in the vehicle at any time, and if you possess one, throw it into the Charles River today.”

“I do not possess a firearm. They disgust me. When will I meet Senator Box?”

“You will phone him on Skype about seventy-two hours from now and transmit his first speech to him. A teleprompter instructor will be working with him in the meantime, and you may rehearse him. The location and subject of the speech is in the packet being delivered to you. At a time of your own choosing, visit some of his campaign events for the purpose of assessing the candidate’s progress. You will be known to his advance and security people and will be issued campaign staff credentials, as will your assistant. But avoid mixing with Box’s staff socially. As few people as possible should know who you are and what you are doing.”

“I understand. How may I contact you, Mr. Smith?”

“I am listed among your contacts on the phone in your package.”