Born to Run

like a Bruce Willis or a Yul Brynner. Keyes, however, seemed to be on track for the comb-over, preferring to hide as long as possible the Gorbachev-like birthmark at his vanishing hair line.

Jack and Harry took the seats facing the president, and the chief of staff stood quietly to the side.

“How is-”

“Harry,” the president said before he could ask about Grayson, “how long have you and I known each other?”

Harry had to think about it. “I’m sure we shook hands long before this, but the first real sit-down-and-get-to- know-each-other conversation I can recall was at the national governors’ conference in Milwaukee.”

“And I recall taking an immediate liking to you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Much the same way I felt about Sunny Phil.”

Sunny Phil was the nickname Harry had given his friend for his “always sunny” disposition. “He hated that name,” Harry said, smiling.

“But it fit.”

“Yes. As long as I’ve known him.”

“You boys go way back,” said the president. “Both of you All-Southeastern Conference athletes in college, I understand.”

“Well, different decades, and definitely with different loyalties. He was a Georgia Bulldog. I was a Florida Gator.”

The mention of a “gator” just hours after the vice president had been plucked from the Everglades triggered a moment of awkward silence. The president dug into the bowl of cashews on the tray table, then thought better of it. He had the body of a man who exercised and watched his weight.

“I’m sorry to tell you this, Harry. But Phil Grayson has passed.”

Jack felt goose bumps, and instinctively he took his father’s hand. It was shaking. Harry started to speak, then stopped to gather his composure. He was normally not one to express emotions, but it was as if the events of this overwhelming day-hunting alligators, battling the Everglades, working through a friend’s medical emergency, and now his death-had struck him down. For the first time in his life, the sixty-four-year-old former governor truly looked old to his son.

“Sorry,” said Harry, reeling in his emotions. “How’s Marilyn?”

“Twenty-eight years of marriage. About what you’d expect.”

Jack said, “Are you okay, Dad?”

Harry nodded.

The president said, “The White House will release a statement in about twenty minutes. I’ll make a public television address from the East Wing this evening. I’ll order flags to fly at half-staff for thirty days. It’s appropriate that we mourn as a nation. But I don’t want that period of mourning to turn into national anxiety over Phil’s replacement. The Twenty-fifth Amendment to the Constitution doesn’t say how quickly I have to move, but I plan to make an announcement on a vice presidential designate as soon as possible.”

Jack bristled. Talk of a replacement so soon after death was a bit unseemly. But most everything about Washington struck Jack that way.

“That’s wise,” said Harry. “As you know, I’m retired from politics, but if I can be of any help formulating a short list, I’d be honored.”

The president cast a half smile in the chief of staff’s direction. “Didn’t I tell you Harry’s the most humble guy around?”

“You did, sir,” she said.

The president said, “You’re a good man, Harry. You were certainly a huge help in delivering Florida for the Keyes-Grayson ticket in the last election.”

“That was my pleasure, sir.”

“Hard to believe we’re less than two years away from another election. Florida will be a key state again.”

“It’s the political story of the twenty-first century: Florida, Florida, Florida.”

“You’re one of the most popular governors that crazy state has ever had. If it weren’t for term limits, I would have put my money on a third term for you.”

“Thank you for saying that, but I have no regrets about moving on.”

“Well, you have certainly kept moving. As you should. You’re a young man.”

“Not as young as you, sir, and getting older every day.”

“Hell, you’re not even eligible for Medicare yet. The bipartisan leadership role you’ve played in disaster relief efforts since your exit from politics has been nothing short of amazing.”

“It’s fulfilling work.”

“Not to mention high-profile. Everyone from Floridians and their hurricanes to Californians and their earthquakes has taken notice.” The president leaned forward in his chair, looking Harry in the eye. “Voters have taken note.”

“Sir-”

“The work you and Phil were doing in the Everglades shows your commitment to the environment. And who knows more about dealing with the burdens of immigration and illegal aliens than a former governor of Florida? Another hot-button issue.”

“Sir, I’m retired, and I-”

The president silenced him with a slow but firm shake of his head.

“I’m not taking no for an answer, Harry. I went through this short-listing exercise a year ago when Phil had his heart surgery. My list hasn’t changed since then. I want Governor Swyteck to be my new vice president.”

“Whoa-” said Jack. It was purely a reflex.

“Double whoa,” said Harry.

Chapter 5

Washington was dressed in black. Flags were flying at half-staff. The country was in an official period of national mourning.

It had nothing to do with Jack approaching forty.

“The nation has lost a great and faithful servant,” President Keyes said in a televised address from the White House, “and I have lost a dear friend.”

William Grayson was the eighth U.S. vice president to die in office, only the second since the passing of President McKinley’s would-be successor in 1899-and the first to be chomped by an alligator. The official cause of death was myocardial infarction, which gave his loved ones the comfort of believing that he’d probably never felt the removal of his right foot and ankle.

Funeral services began the following Monday on Capitol Hill, where Grayson’s body lay in state in a flag- draped oak casket atop the Lincoln catafalque. Family, friends outside the Beltway, and a short list of dignitaries assembled on Thursday to pay their final respects in the vice president’s hometown of Madison, Georgia. The flu kept Mrs. Swyteck from traveling, so Harry brought Jack.

“Name, please,” the Secret Service agent said.

Jack and his father were standing where the taxi had dropped them, outside an iron gate at the entrance to a long and winding brick driveway.

Madison was the historic Georgia town that Union general William Tecumseh Sherman had refused to burn in his march to the sea. The Graysons lived in one of the surviving antebellum mansions, and it was mildly ironic that Phil Grayson became the first vice president to die in office since James Sherman, a relative of the scorched-earth general who had spared the Grayson home. It was a handsome Greek revival-style mansion with a sloping front lawn that was a leafy blanket of kudzu beneath a forest of oaks, magnolias, and dogwood trees. Jack imagined that in spring it would have been a colorful setting, but today’s skies were fittingly gray, and a cool mist in the air was turning colder by the minute. Jack had heard that north Georgia could be balmy even in December, but there must