Cut and Thrust (13 page)

S
tone and Ann rode in the presidential limousine with the president and first lady. The gate guard at Centurion Studios was ready for them and waved the three-car motorcade through the big front gates. A few yards behind them were more cars, carrying Secret Service agents, the president’s secretary, and a physician—and a young naval officer carrying a valise called “the Football,” which contained the codes for initiating a nuclear attack. The limousine glided to a halt in front of the production company’s bungalow, the passengers got out, then all the vehicles pulled into the parking lot across the street and waited.

Peter and Ben greeted them at the door as Hattie and Tessa waited inside. The two partners took the group through the various rooms—Hattie’s studio, with its Steinway concert grand piano, the editing suite, and the offices, where they shook hands with Billy and Betsy Burnett. Finally, they emerged onto a recently constructed rear deck that offered a sweeping view of the sprawling studio lot. A large round table was set for lunch, and waiters hovered nearby.

Leo Goldman Jr. showed up, greeted everyone, and joined them for lunch.

Before Stone could begin to eat, his cell phone went off. He checked the caller ID: Dick Collins. Stone excused himself, went inside, and answered the phone.

“Stone, it’s Dick Collins.”

“Good morning, Governor—or, rather, good afternoon.”

“I didn’t want to call Kate directly, but you can tell her that, after many phone calls this morning, Sam Meriwether and I now put her delegate count at a hundred and thirty-five.”

“Exactly what’s needed to nominate?”

“Exactly.”

“No margin for error, then.”

“We’ll be working the rest of the day to move undecideds in other delegations to Kate’s side and we hope to come up with as many as half a dozen more.”

“Will you keep me posted on that?” Stone asked.

“Certainly.”

“It’s going to be an exciting evening,” Stone said.

“I hope not too exciting,” Collins said, then hung up.

Stone went back to the table and leaned between the president and first lady. “Dick Collins says you have a hundred and thirty-five delegates, and he and Sam will be working all day on rounding up, maybe, another half dozen.”

“Thank you, Stone,” Kate said. “Now, let’s try to enjoy our lunch.”

Stone took his seat next to Leo Goldman, who was sitting next to Kate.

“How’s the vote count going?” Leo asked him quietly.

“Close,” Stone said.

“Close good or close bad?”

“Ask me late tonight.”

Leo nodded and went back to talking movies with Kate and Will.

After lunch, a tram waited, led and followed by Secret Service vehicles. Everyone boarded, and they set off on the tour. Leo Goldman gave a running account of the history of Centurion and showed them the famous New York City street standing set, which had been featured in dozens of movies, then they visited the costume department and were admitted to the studio’s largest sound stage, where three different sets had been constructed and dressed, among them a Fifth Avenue apartment.

“I could move right into this place,” Kate said. “It’s bigger than our apartment at the Carlyle.” Leo opened the doors to the master suite dressing room, which was stuffed with expensive women’s clothing, with shelves of handbags and shoes. “I don’t know who this woman is,” Kate said, “but she has a
much
better wardrobe than I.”

They visited the Centurion armory, where Kate and Will got to fire a few rounds from a Winchester Model 73, assisted by the armory gunsmith, Harry Gregg. They posed for a picture with him, and Kate shook his hand warmly. “I’m told you served with Special Forces in Afghanistan and I want to thank you for your service,” she said. Harry blushed. Then they went on to the big garage where the studio’s collection of vintage vehicles was kept, along with a stock of contemporary cars and trucks.

They finished up at the studio commissary, where dessert and coffee were waiting for the party. As they entered, they got a standing ovation from the assorted producers, directors, writers, technicians, and actors who were lunching there, many of them familiar faces to any moviegoer.

After dessert and coffee and much handshaking, they got back onto the tram and toured the back lot, with its lake and its western town and small-town-square sets.

Stone’s cell phone rang again. It was Ed Eagle.

“We’ve just come out of a caucus, Stone, and something’s going on. Pete Otero wasn’t there, and it’s the first caucus he’s missed.”

“Do you know where he is?” Stone asked.

“No, and he’s always been very visible to his delegates.”

“Ed, do you think any of your delegates might break for Kate on the first ballot?”

“I doubt it. Pete won our primary, and it might be politically dangerous for anyone to cross him at the convention. He’s still got two more years in his second term, and he knows how to reward his friends and punish his enemies.”

“Does that include you?”

“He and I are pretty good friends. As much as I like Kate and Will, I won’t break from Pete on the first ballot.”

“What do you think Otero might do if he learned, before his delegation is called on to vote, that Kate was looking the likely winner?”

“I’m not sure,” Ed said.

“Is he politically astute enough to get behind her if it looks like he’s losing?”

“He’s certainly politically astute,” Ed said, “but I’m not sure what it would take to convince him that he can’t win. I mean, Kate’s not likely to have all the votes she needs when the voting gets down to the
N
s, is she?”

“We think she’s likely to have enough without New Mexico and Virginia,” Stone said.

“I’m going to have to do some arithmetic,” Ed said, “then see how the voting is going before New Mexico is called on. Are you going to be on the floor?”

“No, I’ll be in the skybox, but my cell works there.”

“I’ll call you if I have news.”

“Thanks, Ed, I’d appreciate that.” Stone hung up and got back onto the tram with the others.

“What’s going on?” Ann asked.

“Looks like Kate is right on the edge,” he said.

“Oh, God, I don’t know if I can take the balloting,” Ann said.

“Will you be in the skybox with me?”

“Sure. I can’t do anything back at the hotel.”

“You’ll be only a phone call away from Kate.”

“I think that she and the president may want to be alone anyway. If she wins the nomination, they won’t have much time together again until after the election.”

“Just tell her you’ll be with me. She can always reach you if she needs to.”

“All right, I’ll do that.”

L
ate in the day, Billy Burnett was returning from the set to the offices in his golf cart when he passed a construction site for a new sound stage. The construction crew worked from seven
A.M.
to three
P.M.
, so the site was deserted. Except it wasn’t.

Billy stopped his cart and watched as a familiar figure strode across the site. The young man stopped, looked around, and didn’t see Billy. It was Harry Gregg, the gunsmith at the Centurion armory whom Billy had hired and trained the year before, and there was something furtive about his actions.

Sure that he was alone, Harry began doing something to the door lock on the construction shed in which hand tools and explosives were stored. Billy glanced at his watch, then waited patiently until Harry emerged from the shed. He had been there for a little less than two minutes and he was carrying something in a brown paper bag. He watched as Harry got into a golf cart and drove back to the armory.

Billy drove back to his office, lost in thought. He’d have a word with Harry tomorrow. The young man always came in early to get a head start on his work.

—

HARRY TOOK HIS
paper bag into the now-deserted armory and went to his workroom. He weighed the bag: six and a half ounces. Plenty. He molded the malleable plastic explosive into the desired shape, then unwrapped a throwaway cell phone he had bought at his neighborhood supermarket and plugged it in for charging. The battery was already eighty percent charged, so he didn’t have to wait long. He cut a piece of wire, stripped the ends of their insulation, secured one end to a detonator he had taken from the construction shack, and pressed the detonator into the soft explosive, then he used duct tape to fix the cell phone to the explosive, satisfied that it had a sufficient charge. He did not fix the detonator wire to the phone—not yet. Safety first, he told himself.

Harry put the completed bomb and some tools and duct tape into his tin lunchbox, then went home. As he walked into his apartment, his phone was ringing and he picked it up.

“This is your client,” a woman’s voice said. “The gentleman you seek will depart at nine
A.M.
the day after tomorrow, not tomorrow. All other arrangements are the same. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” he said, and she hung up.

—

STONE AND ANN
arrived at the Staples Center with the Bacchettis in an Arrington SUV and, after the usual security procedures, took the elevator up to Stone’s skybox.

The bartender brought them drinks, and Stone picked up a pair of binoculars and stood at the big window, panning around the convention floor. He found the New Mexico delegation—only five delegates, but with various spouses and hangers-on seated with them they came to fifteen or twenty, including Ed Eagle, who stood head and shoulders above the rest. Pete Otero was not in sight.

Stone kept panning until he found the Virginia delegation—bigger than that of New Mexico, with thirteen delegates. Senator Mark Willingham was not among them.

He did the same for the huge California delegation. With its fifty-five delegates and their hangers-on it came to more than a hundred people. Governor Dick Collins stood in the midst of them, shaking hands and buttonholing delegates, whispering intently into an ear here and there.

Stone called Ed Eagle, who answered immediately. “Hi there, I’ve got binoculars on you.”

Ed turned and looked up at the skybox and waved.

“Where’s your governor?”

“I don’t know—not here, though.”

“Funny, Willingham isn’t with his delegation, either.”

“Train your binoculars to the right, under the first balcony. There’s a bar.”

Stone panned right. “Got it.” Ah, there were the missing pols, in earnest conversation. “Otero has Willingham by a lapel. I’ll bet he doesn’t like that, but he’s nodding, so they must be in agreement. Powwow is breaking up now. Your governor will be with you in a moment.”

“I’d better go,” Eagle said and hung up.

Stone watched Otero work his way across the floor, shaking hands, smiling, slapping a back here and there, pecking women on the cheek. Then he found Willingham, rigid in his pin-striped suit, greeting men—only men. He apparently didn’t have much use for women, and it didn’t take him long to rejoin his delegation.

“Well,” Stone said to Dino, who stood beside him, “all the players are where they’re supposed to be.”

The convention was being hammered to order by the chairman, who was shouting at the delegates to take their seats.

Stone took a seat next to Ann, found a remote control, and turned on the TV sets to get the play-by-play.

—

BACK IN THE
library of The Arrington’s presidential cottage, Will and Kate Lee sat, having dinner off trays. Kate put her fork down. “I don’t think I can eat.”

“Funny, I’m starved,” Will said, shoving a slab of steak into his mouth and sipping from a glass of Cabernet.

“Well,” Kate said, “that’s the difference between an office seeker and an officeholder—and a lame duck at that.”

—

CHRIS MATTHEWS WAS
holding forth on the balloting. “Kate Lee has taken an early lead,” he said. “Arizona, whose delegates Martin Stanton won in the primary, went solidly for her, but Alabama and Alaska went for Willingham. California has put the first lady ahead—she got forty-two of her fifty-five delegates. And Otero got the rest.”

—

STONE SAT UP.
“Thirteen went to Otero? Dick wasn’t able to swing them all.”

“That could hurt us later in the balloting,” Ann said, chewing her lip and taking a swig of her martini. “God, I hate this part.”