he made his way diagonally across the garage on foot, Sexton glanced at his watch.
11:15 A.M. Perfect.
The man with whom Sexton was meeting was always touchy about punctuality. Then again, Sexton reminded himself, considering who the man represented, he could be touchy about any damned thing he wanted.
Sexton saw the white Ford Windstar minivan parked in exactly the same spot as it had been for every one of their meetings — in the eastern corner of the garage, behind a row of trash bins. Sexton would have preferred to meet this man in a suite upstairs, but he certainly understood the precautions. This man's friends had not gotten to where they were by being careless.
As Sexton moved toward the van, he felt the familiar edginess that he always experienced before these encounters. Forcing himself to relax his shoulders, he climbed into the passenger's seat with a cheery wave. The dark-haired gentleman in the driver's seat did not smile. The man was almost seventy years old, but his leathery complexion exuded a toughness appropriate to his post as figurehead of an army of brazen visionaries and ruthless entrepreneurs.
'Close the door,' the man said, his voice callous.
Sexton obeyed, tolerating the man's gruffness graciously. After all, this man represented men who controlled enormous sums of money, much of which had been pooled recently to poise Sedgewick Sexton on the threshold of the most powerful office in the world. These meetings, Sexton had come to understand, were less strategy sessions than they were monthly reminders of just how beholden the senator had become to his benefactors. These men were expecting a serious return on their investment. The 'return,' Sexton had to admit, was a shockingly bold demand; and yet, almost more incredibly, it was something that would be within Sexton's sphere of influence once he took the Oval Office.
'I assume,' Sexton said, having learned how this man liked to get down to business, 'that another installment has been made?'
'It has. And as usual, you are to use these funds solely for your campaign. We have been pleased to see the polls shifting consistently in your favor, and it appears your campaign managers have been spending our money effectively.'
'We're gaining fast.'
'As I mentioned to you on the phone,' the old man said, 'I have persuaded six more to meet with you tonight.'
'Excellent.' Sexton had blocked off the time already.
The old man handed Sexton a folder. 'Here is their information. Study it. They want to know you understand their concerns specifically. They want to know you are sympathetic. I suggest you meet them at your residence.'
'My home? But I usually meet-'
'Senator, these six men run companies that possess resources well in excess of the others you have met. These men are the big fish, and they are wary. They have more to gain and therefore more to lose. I've worked hard to persuade them to meet with you. They will require special handling. A personal touch.'
Sexton gave a quick nod. 'Absolutely. I can arrange a meeting at my home.'
'Of course, they will want total privacy.'
'As will I.'
'Good luck,' the old man said. 'If tonight goes well, it could be your last meeting. These men alone can provide what is needed to push the Sexton campaign over the top.'
Sexton liked the sound of that. He gave the old man a confident smile. 'With luck, my friend, come election time, we will all claim victory.'
'Victory?' The old man scowled, leaning toward Sexton with ominous eyes. 'Putting you in the White House is only the first step toward victory, senator. I assume you have not forgotten that.'
14
The White House is one of the smallest presidential mansions in the world, measuring only 170 feet in length, 85 feet in depth, and sitting on a mere 18 acres of landscaped grounds. Architect James Hoban's plan for a box-like stone structure with a hipped roof, balustrade, and columnar entrance, though clearly unoriginal, was selected from the open design contest by judges who praised it as 'attractive, dignified, and flexible.'
President Zach Herney, even after three and a half years in the White House, seldom felt at home here among the maze of chandeliers, antiques, and armed Marines. At the moment, however, as he strode toward the West Wing, he felt invigorated and oddly at ease, his feet almost weightless on the plush carpeting.
Several members of the White House staff looked up as the President approached. Herney waved and greeted each by name. Their responses, though polite, were subdued and accompanied by forced smiles.
'Good morning, Mr. President.'
'Nice to see you, Mr. President.'
'Good day, sir.'
As the President made his way toward his office, he sensed whisperings in his wake. There was an insurrection afoot inside the White House. For the past couple of weeks, the disillusionment at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue had been growing to a point where Herney was starting to feel like Captain Bligh-commanding a struggling ship whose crew was preparing for mutiny.
The President didn't blame them. His staff had worked grueling hours to support him in the upcoming election, and now, all of a sudden, it seemed the President was fumbling the ball.
Soon they will understand, Herney told himself. Soon I'll be the hero again.
He regretted having to keep his staff in the dark for so long, but secrecy was absolutely critical. And when it came to keeping secrets, the White House was known as the leakiest ship in Washington.
Herney arrived in the waiting room outside the Oval Office and gave his secretary a cheery wave. 'You look nice this morning, Dolores.'
'You too, sir,' she said, eyeing his casual attire with unveiled disapproval.
Herney lowered his voice. 'I'd like you to organize a meeting for me.'
'With whom, sir?'
'The entire White House staff.'
His secretary glanced up. 'Your entire staff, sir? All 145 of them?'
'Exactly.'
She looked uneasy. 'Okay. Shall I set it up in… the Briefing Room?'
Herney shook his head. 'No. Let's set it up in my office.'
Now she stared. 'You want to see your entire staff inside the Oval Office?'
'Exactly.'
'All at once, sir?'
'Why not? Set it up for four P.M.'
The secretary nodded as though humoring a mental patient. 'Very well, sir. And the meeting is regarding…?'
'I have an important announcement to make to the American people tonight. I want my staff to hear it first.'
A sudden dejected look swept across his secretary's face, almost as if she had secretly been dreading this moment. She lowered her voice. 'Sir, are you pulling out of the race?'
Herney burst out laughing. 'Hell no, Dolores! I'm gearing up to fight!'
She looked doubtful. The media reports had all been saying President Herney was throwing the election.
He gave her a reassuring wink. 'Dolores, you've done a terrific job for me these past few years, and you'll do a terrific job for me for another four. We're keeping the White House. I swear it.'
His secretary looked like she wanted to believe it. 'Very well, sir. I'll alert the staff. Four P.M.'
