When No One Is Watching (21 page)

Following his mentor’s advice, Blair had been conducting a weeklong series of intense interviews to fill the key positions on his team. He sat in his suite at the Intercontinental Hotel in downtown Chicago with his wife and father-in-law, having just finished his final interview. It was nearly 10:00 p.m. He flipped through the small handful of résumés, photographs, and crude scorecards on the coffee table in front of him, exhausted, yet determined to bring closure to the process of finalizing his campaign team.

“I want to finalize these decisions tonight,” Blair announced, rubbing his bleary eyes. “Tell me what you think.”

Kimberly spoke up, a tone of impatience in her voice. “I think it’s easy,” she said. “We’re in agreement on almost all the key positions—policy director, finance director, chief media strategist. The only one we’re still struggling with is the big one: campaign manager. And you’re the only one struggling with that one, Blair. I think it’s a no-brainer.”

“I agree,” Sam added decisively. “My only reservation is that nerdy little Indian guy who was just in here. Do we really need him?”

“Politics has changed, Sam,” Blair replied. “You’ve got to have a professional pollster now, and those guys are usually computer geeks. Rama may not be the life of the party, but Arthur says he’s the best there is. We need him.”

“Well, I think you need to listen to Arthur’s recommendation on the most important position, which is the campaign manager,” said Kimberly, becoming even more insistent. “He used Bobby Rosensteel for both of his presidential campaigns, and the results speak for themselves. The guy knows what it takes to win.”

“But so does Neil,” Blair replied. “He handled both of my congressional campaigns and both gubernatorial races, and we did great. He’s a winner, too, and as far as I’m concerned, there’s something to be said for loyalty.”

“Not in a presidential election, Blair,” Sam growled. “All that matters is winning. Neil Miller is a nice guy, and we all like him. And you’re right, he’s done a fine job for you, there’s no denying that. But he’s got no experience with national elections. Kimberly’s right. This one is a no-brainer.”

Blair picked up a résumé from the coffee table and stared at the picture of Bobby Rosensteel. He had a thin face and sharp features; small, penetrating eyes that looked black as coal; and dark hair slicked straight back. He looked the part. “I don’t know how else to say this, but I just don’t like the guy,” said Blair. “He’s got about as much charm as a rattlesnake. He’s an abrasive, arrogant bully, and if we take him, we’ll have to take his entourage of assistants, too.”

“I agree. He’s a pompous little ass,” Kimberly said curtly. “But he’s not running for office, you are! And he’s the right guy to get you there. What did Arthur say about him?”

“Arthur said I’d be a fool not to hire him. He said Bobby knows how to win, and he’ll do what it takes. He also confirmed all my suspicions and reservations. He said Bobby is sneaky and manipulative. He’s been known to start rumors with the media when he sees an edge to be gained, and find underhanded ways to get intelligence on what the other side is up to. Hell, Arthur even said I’d be better off not knowing how Bobby does his job, that I should just let him do it. He also pointed out that Bobby’s an expert in attacking the other guy, which we’ve all seen in previous campaigns. I reminded Arthur that I’ve never lowered myself to negative campaigning and I won’t start now.”

“Get real, Blair!” Sam snapped, a scornful look on his face. “This is the big time. You need a guy like Bobby. You may need to sling some mud before this is over. Even if you don’t, the other guy will, and Bobby will know how to handle it.”

Blair stood up and began pacing as he contemplated Sam’s words.

“Look, Blair,” Sam continued in a more accommodating voice. “Keep Neil involved. He’s a good soldier and a good friend. You can make him deputy campaign manager if you want. But you need Bobby. He’s a proven winner at this level. This may be a once-in-a-lifetime chance for you. You’ve got to do what it takes to win.”

Blair threw up his arms in a gesture of surrender. “Okay, I give up. Politics is the art of compromise, right? It’s against my better judgment, but I’ll take your advice. Bobby’s the guy. I’ll call him in the morning.”

“Good man!” Sam replied enthusiastically, getting up and slapping Blair on the back. “He’s the right guy, Blair, you’ll see. There will come a time in this campaign when things get nasty—you can count on it. When that happens, we need a guy like Bobby in our corner.”

Blair looked from Sam to Kimberly. “I hope I don’t live to regret this.”

CHAPTER 31
F
reddy Salazar and Martin Schwartz walked briskly through the Russell Senate Office Building toward the office of Senator Henry Hamilton, Republican candidate for president. The sound of their footsteps clicking in unison on the ancient marble floor echoed loudly through the deserted corridor. They were an odd-looking pair. Schwartz, the campaign’s chief media strategist, was short, trim, and stylishly dressed, looking like he had just stepped away from a television anchorman’s desk. Salazar, Senator Hamilton’s campaign manager, looked like a former boxer, which is exactly what he was. There was a swagger in his step and an intense look in his dark eyes, as if he were ready for the next fight at any time.

 

Schwartz looked nervously at his watch. “What do you suppose this is about?” he asked. “When the boss summons us at 11:00 p.m., that can’t be good.”

“No shit,” Salazar replied as they entered the senator’s office. Henry Hamilton sat behind his desk, shirtsleeves rolled up, reading glasses perched on the end of his thin nose as he studied a report containing a myriad of colorful pie charts and bar graphs. “Have a seat, gentlemen,” he said in a brusque, no-nonsense voice.

Schwartz and Salazar seated themselves in the chairs in front of the senator’s desk. Hamilton removed his glasses and unceremoniously thrust the report across the desk. “Have you seen this shit?” he asked, his tone turning sharp. He didn’t wait for a reply. “These are the most recent polling results. It’s a disaster! Van Howe has opened up an eight-point lead in the polls, and it’s growing.

“Don’t forget that there’s a margin of error in those polls, Senator,” Schwartz pointed out, trying to sound optimistic.

The senator waved his hand dismissively. “Any way you cut it, we’re losing, and it’s getting worse. We need to do something about this—now!”

Salazar eyed the senator coolly. They had worked together on three previous senatorial campaigns, and he knew his boss’s moods, as well as his way of thinking. “Do you have something in mind, Senator?” he asked, knowing that was precisely why they had been summoned.

“You’re damn right I do!” Hamilton slammed a fist into his desk, then pointed a long index finger at the polling results. “According to this data, one of the things people are saying about Van Howe is that they trust him. They’re eating up his Mr. Integrity shit. Well, he can’t possibly be as clean as he’s holding himself out to be, and we need to prove that he’s not. If the public sees that the Mr. Clean image is just a mirage, then he looks like a goddamn fraud, and his support will crumble like moldy cheese. We’ve got to find that dirt and get it out there fast.”

Both advisers stared silently at the senator. “Well? Talk to me!” he demanded, raising his voice. “Does that make sense?”

“It makes perfect sense,” Salazar responded, his lips curving upward, forming a trace of a smile. This was his kind of mission. He had handled similar tasks many times before with considerable success.

The senator turned toward his chief media strategist. “Martin?”

“It would be a great strategy, Senator, except for the fact that this guy has done an excellent job of keeping his nose clean. The fact is, we just don’t have any dirt on him.”

“Then find some, goddamn it!” Hamilton shouted. “We don’t need a lot. Even the slightest indiscretion will help us show that this guy is a hypocrite and a phony! Even if he had one little fling years ago, we could make something big out of it.”

“But, sir, there’s no evidence of that,” Schwartz pleaded. “Hell, look at his wife. Why would somebody fool around if he’s got a wife who’s that hot? He’d be crazy!”

“Maybe not,” said Salazar. “By all accounts, she’s a royal bitch. Their entire campaign staff is terrified of her.”

“Well, then, maybe Van Howe is afraid of her, too,” Schwartz replied. “But whether he’s afraid of her or worships her, there’s no evidence of infidelity or any other kind of misconduct since he arrived on the public scene.”

“Shit!” Hamilton muttered. “What about before that?” he persisted, unwilling to relent. “Any problems when he was in college or law school? Did he represent any sleazy clients? Did he consort with shady characters? Come on, guys, there’s something out there. There’s got to be!”

“Well, there is this,” said Salazar, pulling a copy of an old newspaper article out of his briefcase and handing it to Hamilton. “His former law partner and law school roommate is a convicted felon.”

“Now you’re talking!” Hamilton replied, rubbing hands together, a gleam in his eye as he perused the article. “We may have something here, some kind of guilt-by-association angle. Let’s dig into this!”

Schwartz looked gloomy. “I hate to be pessimistic, Senator, but we’ve been down this path already. Van Howe was really smart about this. He actually turned it to his advantage during his first campaign for Congress. He threw his friend under the bus and publicly condemned him. He tied this into his law-and-order theme and used it as an example of the need for tighter laws and better enforcement. He came out completely unscathed. We’ve researched this thoroughly and didn’t come up with anything useful at all.”

Hamilton glared at his media adviser. “Then dig deeper,” he demanded, his voice ominous. “Did you do anything other than read old newspaper articles? Things are not always what they appear to be, Martin. I shouldn’t have to tell you that. I don’t believe for one minute that Van Howe is the Boy Scout he pretends to be. We need to prove that. Start with that accident and keep digging until you find something. It’s out there!”

CHAPTER 32
D
anny Moran lifted his champagne glass and tapped it with his fork. For an instant, he flashed back to the last time he had held a champagne glass during a toast. It was the night of the Champions HealthCare banquet, a night that ended in tragedy and changed the course of his life. Things were different now. His champagne glass was filled with water. This occasion marked a joyous new beginning. He looked at the crowd of happy faces in front of him as an echo of silverware clinking against glass drowned out the lively chatter.

 

“I’d like to thank all of you for coming and for sharing in this special occasion,” he began. “It’s one of life’s great joys to see those we love so happy. And it’s also a great joy to see them embark on the most exciting and rewarding adventure life has to offer. As a father, I’ve always wanted the very best for my daughter. Now, as I look at the two of you, I know, beyond any doubt, that you are perfect for each other, and I couldn’t be happier for you. You are two very special people, and you will accomplish great things over the course of your lives, but your greatest accomplishment, and your greatest gift, will be the love you have for each other.” He turned toward the stunning newlyweds seated to his left. “To Allie and Jason, all the best, and all our love.”

He raised his glass, and the room burst into a spirited applause. Allie stood up and embraced her father tightly. Then she stepped back, and they stared at one another, both of them misty-eyed, but beaming.

“I love you, Pops,” she stammered through her tears. “I love you, too, Allie-Baba.”

Danny turned toward Jason, and they shook hands warmly. “Congratulations, Jason. Take care of my little girl.”

Jason smiled and looked at his bride. “You can count on it, sir.”

Danny looked from one to the other. “I knew you two were right for each other the very first time I saw you together,” he said, still glowing with unabashed pride and joy.

Allie gazed lovingly at her new husband. “So did I, Daddy.”

That had been ten years earlier, when they were seniors in high school. They had been dating ever since, although for much of that time, it had been a long-distance romance. As a result of his disciplinary suspension during his senior year in high school, Jason had lost his scholarship opportunities with all of the big-time, Division I schools that had been eagerly recruiting him to play football. Not to be deterred, he attended a small Division III program in southern Indiana, where he was light-years ahead of the competition on the football field, and also distinguished himself in the classroom. That record, coupled with enthusiastic recommendations from his teachers and coaches regarding both his talent and his character, provided him the opportunity to transfer to a Division I school his sophomore year. Half a dozen schools offered him admittance, although none of them offered an athletic scholarship or even a guaranteed spot on the football team. He was required to try out as a walk-on and prove himself.

Jason opted to enroll at the University of Michigan, both because of its status as a collegiate football powerhouse and because it was close enough to Chicago that he and Allie would be able to see each other on weekends with some regularity. Through his drive, determination, and extraordinary talent, Jason quickly became a standout linebacker for the Michigan Wolverines. He was named to the All Big Ten team, both sophomore and junior years, leading the entire conference in tackles as a junior. A professional football career seemed like a real possibility until he suffered a serious neck injury in practice just before his senior season was to begin. Just like that, his football career was over.

Rather than feeling sorry for himself, Jason shifted gears and focused on his backup plan, which was medical school. That was the direction that Allie had chosen for herself, as well. Allie wound up at the University of Chicago, and Jason enrolled at Baylor in Houston. Their long-distance romance continued all through medical school. Following graduation, they were finally able to settle in the same city, as they both entered residency programs at Northwestern University Medical Center in Chicago. Despite the grueling hours, they made their time together a priority. Their shared residency experience served as a bond that drew them even closer together. Now, two years out of medical school, they were husband and wife.