Stuart Woods - Below the Belt

Stone looked at the single poached egg on Knott’s plate. “I see you’re in training,” he said.

Knott smiled. “Always. After all, I’m on television every night.”

“Good point,” Stone said.

“How do you keep your weight down, Stone?” Knott asked, pointing his fork at Stone’s eggs Benedict.

“I chose my parents carefully,” Stone replied. “They were both as skinny as rails. Oh, and I work out three or four days a week.”

“I hate exercise,” Knott said.

“Who doesn’t?”

Holly broke in. “Last night you said that your political philosophy is to do the right thing.”

“That’s right.”

“Tell me, how do you decide what is the right thing?”

“My folks brought me up to know the difference between right and wrong. I don’t have any trouble making that decision.”

“When you make a decision, how many people do you have to please?”

“Just one,” Knott replied with a grin.

“When I’m at work, not in Maine, cruising, I go to the President just about every day for decisions on one thing or another.”

“I expect you do.”

“The thing is, she has to please not just herself, but her party, the Congress, the nation at large, and, occasionally,” she said, looking at Ozick, “a contributor. How are you going to handle that as President?”

“Don’t you worry,” Knott said. “I’ll handle it. I’m good at handling it.”

“Do you think it will be that easy when American lives depend on your decision?”

“I take your point,” Knott said.

“My President has one thing going for her that you don’t have.”

“What’s that?”

“When she makes a decision, most of those people I mentioned can predict what she’ll do. That’s because she has a history, a record of making good decisions. But you don’t have that history, that record. How will the people who vote for you know which way you’ll jump?”

“They’ll trust me,” Knott said. “I’m a wealthy man because I know how to get people to trust me.”

The St. Clairs appeared from below, served themselves, and joined the table. “Good morning,” he said, “I hope I haven’t interrupted an interesting conversation.”

“Just in the nick of time,” Holly said. “I was, I think, about to get a straight answer from a political candidate.”

Everyone laughed, even Nelson Knott.

“Holly,” he said, “if you want straight answers from me, you’re going to have to stay up late at night.”

“Is that when you’re going to hold your campaign press conferences?” she asked.

“Now, that’s an interesting idea,” Knott said. “The press would be exhausted, and I’d be fresh as a daisy. I’d like those odds, wouldn’t you, Hal?”

“That would give you an edge,” Ozick admitted.

“Well, after breakfast,” Holly said, “I’m going to want to know how you formulate policy.”

“Oh, I’ll tell you that now,” Knott said. “I have a policy advisory committee at work right now, analyzing. There are experts in every field participating, and when I make a policy statement, it will be followed immediately by a written account.”

“Well,” said Holly, “that would be a refreshing change in our opposition.”

St. Clair artfully changed the subject.

Stone sat on the afterdeck late in the morning and read the day’s Times , which a crewman had brought from ashore. They were motoring quietly, at about ten knots, southeast, toward an eventual destination of Monhegan Island. The captain had told him there was no docking there, but when the wind and tide were right, they could put a launch ashore. The skies were low, but the visibility was good ahead.

Christian St. Clair and Nelson Knott were inside, at the far end of the saloon, talking earnestly. The other two couples and Clarice Knott were on the top deck, taking the breeze. Shortly, the two men in the saloon stood, and Knott went forward and up the stairs to the higher deck. Christian St. Clair walked aft, poured himself a cup of tea from an urn, and sat down with Stone.

“How is your cruise going?” he asked Stone.

“Just the way a cruise is supposed to,” Stone said, “though in greater comfort than I’m accustomed to.”

“What do you think of your shipmates?”

“I’m very impressed with my hosts and their yacht.”

St. Clair smiled. “And the others?”

“I’m enjoying annoying Hal Ozick, and Holly is having fun needling Nelson Knott.”

St. Clair laughed. “And what do you think of Nelson?”

“I think he’s a pretty slick article. How about you?”

“He’s brighter than I expected him to be, and more articulate.”

“Are you sure he’s not just glib?”

“Fairly. He’s not kidding about his advisors, and he reads their reports constantly. I think he’s fueling up on policy for his run.”

“He’s already decided to do it, then?”

“Oh, yes, I think he decided years ago. He seems to have learned a lot by watching the last Republican candidate do it badly, and he’s determined to do it well.”

“His chief talent seems to be the ability to tell people what they want to hear.”

“That’s a very great political gift,” St. Clair said.

“It is, if there’s an ethical basis beneath the philosophy.”

“I think he will form that eventually. In the meantime, while he’s exploring his options, he seems to be quite malleable.”

“I think that would interest both Hal Ozick and Clint Holder,” Stone said.

“I’m sure you’re right.”

“Does it interest you, Christian?”

“I’m always interested in furthering the national discourse.”

“And in shaping it?”

“It’s only worth furthering after it’s been shaped.”

“I thought as a Democrat you were committed to Kate Lee.”

“I think it would be a healthy thing for Kate to have an opponent who stretches her a bit.”

“Stretches?”

“Challenges, makes her think harder. Does Nelson interest you?”

“In the way that a lab specimen interests a scientist,” Stone replied. “I think the man has it in him to be dangerous.”

“In what way?”

“Once he’s digested his position papers and decided how he’s going to go about getting what he wants, he could be a danger to Kate. If he should be elected, he might be a danger to himself and others.”

“All the more reason to take him in hand,” St. Clair said.

“You mean, control him?”

Christian didn’t answer directly; he just gazed thoughtfully out across the gray-blue water.

“Would it be like building this yacht?” Stone asked. “Starting with a vision and overseeing every detail of its design and construction?”

“That’s an apt metaphor,” St. Clair replied dreamily, still keeping his attention on the water. Suddenly, he stood and pointed: “Porpoises,” he said, smiling.

Stone swung around and saw a pod of half a dozen skimming along the surface, diving and coming up for a breath. They moved closer to the yacht and Christian and Stone got up and went to the rail for a better view. The animals were playing around the bow, now, so clearly enjoying themselves.

“Such lovely creatures,” St. Clair said. “They have the knack of coming within inches of the bow, and yet they never get run down by what they’re chasing.”

“They just ride the bow wave,” Stone said. “There’s an art to that, and, maybe, a life lesson.”

“I’ve been doing that all my life,” Christian said. “Flirting with danger but keeping just far enough away to keep from being hurt.”

“What sort of danger?”

Christian shrugged. “Land values, building costs, rates for borrowing and lending, pursuit of and by the competition, those sorts of things.”