“Not yet. But don’t worry, chief, they’ll get her,” Bucky said.
The president shook his head. “It’s a damn nightmare freak show. Just what we need, a goddamn thirty-year-old blond fugitive. Why the fuck did I let you and Cohane talk me into this?”
“Sir, she’s not going to get away. There are ten thousand police and federal agents searching for her.”
The president was back to watching the screen. The scroll at the bottom read, THOUSANDS OF ARRESTS IN “BOOMSDAY” MELEE ON MALL…
Cass and Terry made it to Union Station, where they caught the Red Line metro all the way to the end of the line, a place aptly, Cass thought, called Shady Grove.
They found a bar not far from the metro stop that had a TV.
“Well,” Terry said, “this’ll do wonders for business. ‘I’m sorry, Mr. Tucker is not in today. He is a fugitive from justice. May I take a message and give it to him in the event he is apprehended?’”
“Don’t worry,” Cass said. “We can always go to North Korea. I’m sure they’ll take us in.”
They sat in the corner, an eye on the TV.
Cass said, “This would be the moment when our faces pop up on the screen and the bartender reaches for the phone.”
“We should call Allen.”
“Good idea.” Cass took out her cell phone.
Terry said, “Bad idea.”
“Do you remember how to use a pay phone?”
“I think you put coins in it.”
After several attempts, they reached Allen Snyder, Esquire. He told them that the FBI did not normally tap the phones of lawyers. He said he’d find out what he could and call them back on the pay phone. He called back an hour later and said that there was a warrant out for Cass’s arrest but not for Terry’s. “You can come in from the cold,” he said, adding, “Do I even need to point out that if you assist Cass, you’re aiding a fugitive?”
Cass and Terry made their arrangements. Terry headed back to the Shady Grove metro stop.
They said good-bye in the shadows by the parking lot.
“It’s going to be cold tonight,” Terry said. “And you’d better not try checking into a hotel.”
“I was in the army, remember?” Cass smiled.
“Okay,” he said, “but avoid minefields.”
Randy had been barred by the Federal Election Commission from participating in the debates. But he had managed to turn this to his advantage by conducting shadow debates on the Internet, acting as if he were there onstage with the other candidates. The media were only too happy to include him. Just as the debate was getting started, he went online and denounced the president-this time avoiding four-letter words-for “criminalizing a peaceful demonstration” and demanded that he lift the fugitive warrant on Cass. Just for good measure, he called on him to resign.
Judy Woodruff of CNN, moderator of tonight’s debate, had her laptop in front of her.
“Sir,” she said to the president, “just a few minutes ago, Senator Jepperson, who is not allowed to be here, accused you of deliberately undermining a peaceful demonstration on the Mall. According to various legal experts, it is not clear that burning a Social Security card is a federal crime. Did you personally give the order to the police to intervene in the PASS demonstration?”
The president looked as though he himself were on the verge of deploying the f-word. “Judy, I came here tonight to this wonderful state of South Carolina to debate the issues, not to comment on an ongoing law enforcement matter. And that,” he said, grinding his teeth, “is what I plan to do.”
It was the consensus of those who watched the debate that the president did not acquit himself particularly well. Gideon Payne-of all people!-criticized the government’s tactics at the demonstration and demanded that the president intervene personally to lift the warrant on Cassandra Devine. The president, now drawn in, called Cass a “saboteur” and even hinted that she was an agent of North Korea. This last assertion drew laughter from the debate audience, which, under the debating rules, is not supposed to express emotion. All in all, the president looked, as one observer said afterward, as though he were about to pass a kidney stone. He did not linger after the debate for the usual faux display of onstage collegiality and chitchat with the relatives of his opponents. Meanwhile, Randy, who had conducted his interview from a trailer outside the hall, waded into Spin Alley, where he was mobbed by delighted reporters.
Three days later, Gideon Payne won the South Carolina primary. Randy came in second; Peacham, third. Randy’s strong showing was attributed to the state’s historical predilection for rebels.
Chapter 38
Cass had her hair cut and dyed black at a salon and wrapped a scarf around her head. She bought a sleeping bag at an outdoors store, lifted a shopping cart from a supermarket, and became a bag lady, sleeping in parks and woods. A few days later, Terry dropped off, at a predesignated point, cash and a “clean” PDA of the kind used by intelligence agencies, called a “StealthBerry” (supplied by Randy’s guy Mike Speck; it was difficult to trace its transmissions geographically). Now she could communicate with her followers as well as certain members of the media. Her fugitive status had greatly enhanced her celebrity.
There is no opportunist like a politician. Randy, sensing a very good thing, plunged in. He denounced the government for driving “the woman I love” into hiding. Cass, listening to this on her SB, rolled her eyes. Randy further demanded the resignations of the “little tyrants in the White House”-this was assumed to be a reference to Bucky Trumble and Frank Cohane. As a final flourish, Randy boasted that he would happily render Cass aid and assistance-“if she asks for it,” which got him off the legal hook. Thumping the podium, Randy said, “If President Peacham wants to have me arrested, I say to him”-the audience braced for another expletive-“you know where to find me!” The line received tremendous applause and wide reportage. Everyone on the Jepperson campaign staff was happy to retire STFU.
The little and big tyrants in the White House now found themselves in a difficult if not downright intractable position. A warrant had been issued. If the warrant were withdrawn, it would look as if the government were caving in to popular pressure, for the second time, in the case of Cassandra Devine. A great many midnight hours were spent deliberating over this, at the very highest levels of government.
“Why don’t we just pardon her?” Bucky suggested.
“I can’t pardon her when she hasn’t been convicted of a damn crime,” the president growled. His mood was worse than ever. Everywhere he went, he was asked, “When are you going to stop persecuting that poor young woman?”
Frank Cohane, the father of the poor young woman, was finding himself, too, beset by a hostile media.
“I’m not involved in any of that.” He grinned tightly. “I’m just trying to concentrate on helping to reelect a truly great president.”
Against Bucky’s counsel, he had accepted an invitation to go on Greet the Press.
“Is it true that you pressured the president to go after your own daughter?” Waddowes asked. Frank froze. If you’re trying to get yourself appointed secretary of the Treasury, this is not an ideal question. Frank tried to California-smile his way out of it but found himself confronted by a look of curdled contempt on the face of Glen Waddowes. Waddowes had good sources in the White House and was not known to ask frivolous questions.
“Uh…of course not,” Frank said. Should he mention that he had recently received a Stepfather of the Year award? “I…she’s…well, my Cass has always, ha ha, been an independent sort of person. Why, as a little girl, she used to-”