'No, it's okay.'
The phone was ringing when they arrived at the Bel Air house.
'Is this Matthew Bolt's father?' a woman's voice asked.
'Yes,' he said. 'What is it?'
'This is the Montecito Hospital. Hold on for Dr. Mar-pies.'
And then he was on. A voice Ryan didn't know. 'You have a son, Matthew Bolt?'
'What's going on? What's happening?'
'I'm sorry, sir, but your son was swimming in the surf and he got swept out to sea. . By the time the lifeguards got to him, he'd been under for almost five minutes. We tried to revive him. He died at three-fifteen this afternoon. I'm very sorry.'
Ryan let the receiver fall and looked at Linda. 'Is he dead?' she asked softly.
Ryan could only nod. She sank to the floor and put her head on her knees. He stood there, unable to get his mind to accept it, unable to see his life without his son.
That had been the end of Ryan and Linda. What little cord was binding them had been severed by Matt's death. But one thought never left him. She knew Matt was going to die and she knew when he was dead. At three- fifteen she had stopped struggling against it.
What let her know he was dying while Ryan had no inkling?
Why had he been left out of the cosmic conversation? It was as if he didn't deserve to know.
Chapter 8
Albert James Teagarden was still a bachelor at fifty-five. His belly was beginning to hang over his trousers. He had a permanent stage-three dandruff storm that f ell on his dark suits like Idaho snow. His personal habit s w ere sometimes gross, and he was often seen wearin g f lecks of his breakfast in a bushy beard that was turnin g g ray. It was also rumored that he was hung like a fire hose.
All of this acted as camouflage for the laser weapon that was poised inside his head. A. J. Teagarden had the political instincts of a German field marshal. He understoo d t he system and its players. He was fascinated by powe r a nd the people that wielded it.
He had created a big stir when he charged into the national Democratic party's office in Washington and accused Ron Brown of corrupting the primary system. Ron Brown had just changed the timetable of the southern primaries. The South had always been a fire wall for Democratic politics. The Democrats controlled the South with money and strong precinct organizations. . that is, until Jimmy Carter. The obscure Georgia governor had managed to come out of nowhere usurping the Democratic National Committee's official choice, Walter Mondale. Carter ha d c arried state after state in the South, riding the wave of free publicity created by the network anchors, or 'big feet,' and had swept into the White House without the sanction of the party.
In order to keep this from happening again, the Democrats had created Super Tuesday, when fifteen states all had primaries on the same day, eliminating the chance of a Carter-type sweep in the future.
A. J. Teagarden felt that they had made the system vulnerable to a hijacking, and he charged into their offices and told them so. Security had been called to remove him. He'd been blackballed from national politics ever since.
He now languished in his law offices in Providence, handling real estate zoning problems and dreaming of a comeback. He was what was known as a wonk, a political insider, someone who knew the system and the game-a behind-the-scenes player who would rather die than run for office himself. He hid his weaknesses and fears behind a biting sense of humor.
He was a priest of the process. He was also, deep in his soul, a patriot.
He had received a call from a local mobster named Robert Pelico. 'The Pelican' had demanded a meeting in a motel ten miles east of Providence. He figured that Pelico wanted him to talk to the governor about some legislative changes in the Rhode Island off-track pari-mutuel system that his crime family had been getting fat off of for years.
A. J. had been told, on the phone, to go to room 15, and just walk in. He'd receive further instructions once he got there.
The phone was ringing when he entered the empty room.
'This Teagarden?' an unfamiliar voice said.
'The one and only.'
'Car is pulling into the parking lot. Go.' And the line went dead.
The man driving the car was a bull-necked suitcase with fruity cologne that dulled A. J.'s thought.
New York Tony put the car in gear and pulled out, without speaking. They drove down the road and into a field where there was a bend in a raging river. Most of the snow had melted and the sun was shining. A. J. got out and moved toward a man he had never seen before, who was leaning against a picnic table, his breath fogging the air around his head.
'I'm Mickey Alo,' the unattractive man said.
They stood looking at one another, sizing each other up. A. J. knew a lot about Mickey Alo. He'd heard stories about his ruthlessness. The man in front of him was short and fat, but radiated danger.
Teagarden had been in rooms with some of the most powerful men in the world and had never felt a moment's hesitation speaking his mind, yet something about this pudgy man made him feel awkward.
'What can I do for you?' He was off guard.
'I understand that you have some connections with the governor of Rhode Island.'
'We're friends.'
'How close?'
'Close. Lived on the same street. Took baths together when we were six. Want to see our high school yearbook pictures?' A. J. struggled to regain his confidence.
'We are about to have a conversation that never took place. Are we clear?'
A. J. nodded.
'We're interested in how you feel about running Haze Richards for President of the United States.'
'You gotta be kidding.'
.. Whyr, 'He's got no national base, no name identification, no campaign financing, no state organizations, no staff, no voting record, and no time. The Iowa primary is in three weeks. You guys may be able to move local politicians around like pawns on a board, but the national game is played differently.'
'Let's say we can influence good national news coverage from a major network. Let's say we can guarantee all the campaign money you need. Let's say we can assist you in creating good name recognition. Let's say all of that can be accomplished in three weeks. . What kind of candidate is he?'
'The best.' 'why?'
' 'Cause he does exactly what you tell him. Correct that, he does exactly what I tell him.'
'You can control him?'
'Like he runs on batteries.' They looked at each other, the rushing river the only sound.
'We want you to talk to him about running,' Mickey said.
'Iowa is in twenty days. Skatina and the others have been working the state for months.'
'I guess you're the wrong guy.' Mickey pushed away from the park bench and started toward his car, which was a short distance away.
'Hold it. I didn't say it couldn't be done. It's just. .'
'I just told you we had powerful resources. Name identification? You gotta be shittin' me. . David Koresh became a national figure in two days. It's simply a matter of how hard you want to push and how big the issue is.'
'Where's the money gonna come from?'
'It'll be there. . '
