Holly Barker saw Stone’s message on her cell phone but waited until she had some free time before returning it.
“Hello, there,” she said.
“And to you. How fast do I have to talk?”
“I’ve got a few minutes.”
“I’ve got some interesting gossip, and I’ve got a campaign offer for you. Which do you want to hear first?”
“The gossip, but I warn you, I’ve probably already heard it.”
“Hank Thomas is putting twenty million dollars into Joe Box’s campaign through a PAC.”
Silence.
“You need to apply a squirt of oil to your brain, Holly. I can hear the wheels turning from here.”
“All right, I’ll buy that, and it’s pretty obvious why. Hank wants to wreck the Republican Party so he can have a clean shot as an independent in four years — maybe as the leader of a new party.”
“Consider yourself lubricated,” Stone said.
“What’s the campaign thing?”
“I had a conversation with Peter Rule yesterday, and he asked me to tell you that he’d like very much to be your running mate.”
“That’s surprising this early in the campaign,” she said.
“He also told me to tell you that if politics dictate a different choice, he’ll step aside and help.”
“I’ve always been very impressed with Peter,” Holly said. “Tell me, has Kate weighed in on this?”
“He told me that he has not discussed this with either of his parents and does not intend to, unless they bring it up, in which case he’ll tell them he’ll get back to them.”
“Do you believe that?”
“Peter is a young man who has never had to lie to get what he wants.”
“I think that’s an accurate assessment. I hope it lasts. You can tell Peter I’m interested — no, I’ll tell him myself. I need a few people — surrogates, I guess you’d call them — who can speak on my behalf when I can’t make a venue. I’ll invite him to join that group, then assess him as we move along.”
“That’s a good move,” Stone said. “If you want him, I think you’ll need to get him in front of the electorate often enough and with enough good material that, by convention time, a large pack of them will be clamoring for you to select him.”
“Make him the obvious choice?”
“If you want him. Don’t string him along, if you’re not interested.”
“I’m interested, and I’ll tell him so.”
“Then my work is done,” Stone said. “Try not to get us into any wars before November.” They both hung up.
Rance Damien sat across the table from a middle-aged woman in a diner. “What do you have for me, Florence?”
Florence Heath was a New York — based member of the recruiting committee for Harvard and had seen the résumés of thousands of applicants over the years. She passed Damien a large envelope. “Before you sit down and read this, let me give you the CliffsNotes version.”
“All right.”
“He has just finished his doctorate work in political science, and his dissertation knocked it out of the park. I’ve had my eye on him since he applied as a junior in high school. It was heavy lifting to get him accepted at that age, but I did it.”
“Why is he the right guy for me?”
“There isn’t a better brain in the country for what you want, but he comes up short in the personality area. In fact, he may be somewhere on the spectrum. For example, the board loved his dissertation but not his orals; they thought him excessively blunt with his elders and betters, though they gave him high marks. Where he excels in communication is through his writing, both for publication and for speaking. He gave an address at his graduation ceremony that is still remembered, but he read every word of it from a script. He also wrote some witty columns for the Crimson, under a pseudonym.”
“What are his current circumstances?”
“In spite of his achievements, because of his personality, he has been unable to find a university teaching position. And since he comes from a modest background, he has a quarter of a million in student loans. He’s working as a teaching assistant, but only for the summer program, so he’s about to be homeless and broke.
“His name is Ari Kramer. His contact information is in his file.”
“Florence,” Damien said, pushing an envelope across the table. “You’ve done well. I may call upon you again.”
She took a peek in the envelope. “Please do,” she said. “Anytime.”
Damien went back to his office and read every word of the file. He thought Ari Kramer was just what he was looking for.
28
Holly Barker was at home in Georgetown, in the beautiful house that once belonged to Will Lee, but for which Stone had traded his Santa Fe property, and then made available to the State Department for her residence. She buzzed her secretary who worked with some others, including campaign workers, in storerooms adjacent to the commodious downstairs garage.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Please call Senator Peter Rule’s Washington office, and tell him or his secretary that there is a package being delivered to him as we speak. Ask her when he has a free moment, and to ask him to unwrap it and wait for a call.”
“Right away, ma’am.” She called back. “The senator is waiting.”
Holly took her throwaway phone and pressed a button.
“This is Peter, Holly,” he answered.
“Good. Stone Barrington has relayed to me your expression of interest in running for higher office. I was very interested to hear it.”
“Thank you, I’m pleased to hear of your interest.”
“Stone has also told me that, should a political necessity arise, you’re willing to step aside.”
“That is correct. I’m not running for reelection to the Senate for another two years.”
“Peter, I’ve asked a small number of prominent Democrats to act as surrogates and give speeches and talks on my behalf at times when I have a scheduling conflict, or the event doesn’t quite rise to the level of a major campaign appearance. I’d like you to join that group.”
“I’d be delighted for the opportunity,” Peter said, realizing immediately that, even if he wasn’t selected as her running mate, he would be speaking to the same people whose support he would need at a later date.
“Do you have personal transportation available?”
“I have an enormous SUV and a smaller airplane that will hold nearly as many on fairly short flights.”
“Very good. You can bill the campaign for your fuel costs, but we can’t cover damage, maintenance, insurance, garaging, or hangaring.”
“Understood. I’ll set up a bank account separate from my own to handle campaign expenditures and receipts and keep accurate records.”
“Fine. I’m messengering over to you a packet of position papers, which you should commit to memory, if possible. Before each appearance you’ll get a briefing paper that includes specific talking points and a list of important people you’ll be meeting at the speaking locations. The campaign will handle hotel arrangements and, if necessary, airline tickets for you and an aide or two. A campaign advance man or woman will be assigned to each venue to select auditoria and other speaking places, such as the rear of a flatbed truck, and to see that an audio and video system are up and running. We’ll keep recordings of each event for the DNC and posterity, which will help keep us from being misquoted. We’ll have four Dixieland bands on the road, and one of them will usually play what we might call preludes and recessionals for each event. Do you have any questions?”
“To whom do I report?”
“To Senator Sam Meriwether, the campaign chairman, and anyone else he may designate. If something really important comes up that I need to know about immediately, you may call me, but only on the phone I sent you. My private number is on the contacts list. There is also a custom-made holster for the phone, which you will wear on your belt, and you must never lose the phone or loan it to anyone else, even for a single call. If, God forbid, you should lose the phone, call Sam or his designee, and it will be wiped clean remotely and made unusable by anyone who should steal it or find it.”