The Power Broker (25 page)

Allison moved back to the door. “Have you thought about who wants you to leave Everest Capital the least?”

“No.”

“Well,
I
have. Quentin Stiles.”

“I’ll always take care of Quentin,” Christian said quickly.

“What do you mean, ‘take care of’ him?” Allison asked.

Christian shrugged. “He’s my best friend. I’ll take him with me to Washington.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’d
love
that. Making seventy thousand a year again as a government employee.”

She had a good point. “Then he’ll stay at Everest.”

“Christian, let’s be honest. Quentin’s your special projects guy. Without you here, there isn’t nearly as much for him to do.”

“You or Nigel would take care of him.”

“Speaking of Nigel,” she said, raising her voice, “he’d have a lot of incentive to call Faith, too. If Nigel can convince you that I’m not really interested in a romantic relationship with you, that I’m just using you, then he thinks maybe you’ll react by giving him the chairman job, not me.”

“You’ve got it all figured out, don’t you?”

“I’ve learned from the best over the last few years.” Allison smiled coyly, pointing at Christian. “This I do know,” she said, opening the apartment door. “Quentin really wants you to stay.” She moved out into the hallway. “And so do I.”

“JUST PULL IN THERE
beside the Escalade,” McDonnell directed, leaning over the front seat and pointing at the big white SUV his wife drove. It was parked to the right of the four-car garage. “You’re spending the night, right?” he asked nervously. He’d made his play and he didn’t want his family to be unprotected—especially tonight. The more he thought about it, the more he didn’t trust Mace Kohler. The guy had been a Green Beret. He’d take revenge if he figured out what had happened.

“I’m staying,” the bodyguard assured McDonnell. “I’m with you twenty-four seven. Those were Mr. Hewitt’s orders.”

The bodyguard had shown up at the limousine no more than thirty minutes after Hewitt had placed a call requesting security. McDonnell hadn’t bothered to ask how Hewitt could arrange something like that so fast, he’d just been glad Hewitt could. Still was. “Good.” As he got out of the car, McDonnell glanced around at the trees surrounding the huge house. It would be so damn easy for someone to sneak up on them.

“Could you go over the house’s alarm system?” the bodyguard asked as they moved quickly to the back door. “I’m assuming you have one.”

“Yes, yes we do,” McDonnell said, glancing over his shoulder one more time before moving inside. He could have sworn he saw something moving in the trees.

18

ELIJAH FORTE
made certain he was very careful seeing Jesse Wood. He didn’t get together with Jesse often—twice a month, max—but the meetings were meticulously planned so
no one
outside the inner circle knew about them. As the Shadows had told Jesse in the beginning, it wouldn’t do him any good to be publicly associated with them, or vice versa. They were all very careful about getting together with him, but none more than Forte. It was for this reason that Forte found himself sitting in Room 14 of a no-name motel on the outskirts of Cleveland, Ohio.

Jesse had been campaigning heavily in Ohio in advance of the Democratic convention—now just a few weeks away. He had the nomination locked up, that was clear. But he hadn’t won the Ohio primary back in the spring, and the state was going to be a key to victory in November. One of those three or four swing states the political pundits had already declared would decide the election—as if voters in all the other states across the country didn’t really need to bother going to the polls.

“How much longer? When are you guys going to get here?”

Forte glanced over at Heath Johnson, who was talking on his cell phone to one of Jesse’s bodyguards. He and Johnson were the only people in the motel room.

“Got it,” Johnson said curtly. “Jesse should be here in less than ten minutes,” he informed Forte, hanging up. “They just finished the rally at the convention center downtown. Great turnout, too.”

“What about Jack Daly?” Daly had won the Ohio primary, then dropped out of the race when it was obvious Jesse would win the nomination. “Was he onstage with Jesse?”

Johnson nodded. “Gave Jesse his full backing. We didn’t know if he would until the last minute, but he did. Party headquarters twisted his arm.”

“Good.” Forte was tired of waiting, tired of sitting in this dingy room that looked like it was rented out by the hour more often than for the night. He’d answered all the e-mails he had the patience for and slashed through several quarterly reports from companies he owned—dashing off terse notes to a couple of the CEOs on how they could improve operations. “How many people does Jesse have with him?”

“Just two.”

“Not Osgood and Stephanie, right?”

“No. Just the two security people, like you wanted.”

Forte could tell that Johnson didn’t like the idea of Jesse having only two bodyguards. “Jesse’ll be fine, Heath. Don’t worry.”

“We’ve put a lot of time and energy into Jesse Wood, boss, and we’re finally on the brink of making history. We should be more careful about protecting him from now on. He’ll be a target, you know that. There’s plots being hatched out there right now, no doubt, by people who understand that Jesse will probably be the next president of the United States. We shouldn’t get careless or cut corners this late in the game.”

“I
never
get careless and I
never
cut corners,” Forte answered firmly. “You know that.”

“Until Jesse is officially the Democratic party’s nominee, he doesn’t get Secret Service. Until then, it’s up to us.”

“This has to be
at least
the fiftieth time you’ve told me that. I understand, believe me. Like I said, he’ll be fine.” Forte needed to get Johnson thinking about something else. He was starting to obsess about Jesse Wood’s personal safety, which could get in the way. “A while back you told me the one big thing you didn’t like about Christian Gillette being Jesse’s running mate was that we might be handing the Oval Office back to a white man eight years from now.” Forte watched Johnson ease back into his chair. “Right?”

“Yeah, I said that.” Johnson crossed his arms over his chest defensively. “Christian Gillette has star power. He could easily get elected after Jesse’s done. The other thing is, we don’t know how Gillette’s going to react to the platform yet. He’s got a lot of friends on the other side of the fence, in Whiteyville, and he might not like some of the things we want Jesse to do. Gillette might not be wild about Puerto Rico becoming a state, might not want us trying to restructure voting districts so blacks have more power and whites have less, might not like us raising the capital gains tax rate, naming as many black judges as we can, taking away big business deductions in the—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Forte said, waving away Johnson’s concerns. “Jesse isn’t going to tell Christian about any of that at their meeting, and once we’re in the White House we’ll keep Christian on the road. He’ll be nothing but a goodwill ambassador. He’ll be in Africa, Asia, Europe, South America. He’ll have more miles on him than the space shuttle, and he’ll be completely in the dark. He won’t know what we’re doing until he reads it in the newspaper.”

“That doesn’t solve the first problem,” Johnson pointed out. “Him being elected president when Jesse’s done. What about that?”

“I’m gonna do the same thing to Gillette I’m doing to Jesse. Except in Gillette’s case, I’ll actually use what I find.” Forte chuckled. “Or claim I find. The way I see it, we’ll feed it to the press halfway through the second term. Gillette will be forced to resign and Jesse will name a black man as Gillette’s replacement. That’ll give the country two years to get comfortable with whoever we bring in.” Forte chuckled. “I told you, Heath, don’t worry so much. I’ve got it all under control.”

“What’s the
it,
boss?”

“What do you mean?”

“What are you going to find out about Gillette?” Johnson asked.

“Don’t know yet, but we’ll find something. Maybe him talking bad about blacks
while he’s actually in office.
Using the
N
word a few times.”

“Gillette would never be stupid enough to do that, not in front of a camera, anyway.”

“You probably would have said that about Jesse before you saw the clip.”

Johnson nodded grudgingly. “You’re right.”

“We’ve got six years,” Forte said confidently. “You know me. I’ll find something.” Forte glanced over at a bureau in one corner of the room. Atop it was a portable combination television/CD player Johnson had brought with them from California. “Everything ready?” he asked, standing up.

“Yeah.”

Forte walked to the window, pushed up one of the slats of the closed blind, and peered out at the gloomy day. It had been raining off and on since last night. Through the drizzle he saw a gray sedan approaching. As he watched, it turned into the motel parking lot and rolled quickly toward him. Jesse Wood hopped out of the backseat and sprinted for the door. Forte opened it just as Jesse reached for the knob.

“Hi, guys,” Jesse said enthusiastically, brushing water from his jacket as he moved into the room. He pumped Forte’s hand, then Johnson’s. “God, we just had a great rally, guys. I mean, it was awesome.”

Forte pointed to a chair in front of the bureau. “We need to talk.”

Jesse’s mood soured instantly. “Let’s not get into the bad stuff now, Elijah,” he pleaded. “I don’t want to talk about firing Stephanie and Osgood. I’m on a real high. God, I think we might actually carry Ohio after all. You should have seen the people down there, thousands of them, a lot of them with tears in their eyes. And not just blacks.”

“That’s fine, Jesse, just fine. But the mark of a truly great politician lies in his ability to handle any situation, moment to moment, good or bad, and stay calm. This is one of those tough situations. This will be good training for when you’re actually president.”

Jesse shook his head. “
I told you, Elijah,
I’m not firing Stephanie or Osgood, and that’s
final.
I’m not getting rid of two people who’ve been so loyal to me over the last few years. You’re just going to have to accept that.” He hesitated. “I’m not sure I’m going to accept your choice of vice president, either,” he said, his voice strengthening when Forte didn’t try to cut him off. “Nothing against Christian Gillette, he seems like a decent guy. But I want someone else, someone I choose. I’m in charge now. I’ve made decisions, and I’m not going to change them. Not for anything or anyone.”

Jesse had become empowered, Forte saw, caught up in the euphoria of the rally downtown, starting to think he could call his own shots now. “Really? Not for
anyone
?”

Jesse stuck his chin out defiantly. “Nope. Not even you.”

Forte glanced down, trying to seem discouraged.

“You’ve been good to me, Elijah,” Jesse continued, “and I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. And of course I’ll always listen to your counsel when I’m president. But it’s time for me to take over. It’s the natural progression.”

Forte took a deep, defeated breath, then motioned to Johnson. “Heath.”

Johnson moved to the portable television and turned it on.

“What’s going on?” Jesse asked, watching Johnson. “What’s this?”

Forte sat down beside Jesse and put his hand on Jesse’s knee. “This, Jesse,” he said in a quiet voice, “is your smoking gun. Your Monica Lewinsky, your Watergate, your Waterloo. The good thing for you is that no one knows about it except me and Heath. Not yet, anyway. And no one else ever
will
know about it, as long as you play ball. As long as you don’t get cocky on me ever again.”

The screen cleared and images rolled. The same ones Forte and Johnson had watched at Johnson’s house. Jesse, Osgood, Stephanie, and Jefferson Roundtree standing in a tight group; Jesse starting his Whitey diatribe; the others chiming in.

When it was over, Forte pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to Jesse. “Here.”

“Thanks,” Jesse mumbled, dabbing at the beads of sweat covering his forehead. “Can I have something to drink?” he asked, like a man condemned.

“Heath, could you get Jesse some water please?”

“How did you get that?” Jesse asked, his voice barely audible.

“It doesn’t matter
how
I got it, I got it.”

Johnson was back quickly from the bathroom with a glass of water. Jesse took it and finished it in several gulps.

“More?”

Jesse wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “No.”

“What we have here is a game of chicken, Jesse,” Forte said calmly, nodding at the television. “You might think I’d never show that clip to anyone. You figure I won’t, because then I’d lose everything I’ve worked so hard for: a black president. So you start thinking you can do whatever you want to at this point. That you’ve got me by the balls.” He held his palm out flat, then slowly curled his fingers until he’d made a tight fist. “But what you need to understand, Jesse, is that this isn’t just about having a black president for me. It’s about more than that, much more. It’s about having a black president who does what I want when I want. Frankly, without that control, I don’t care much, I really don’t.” Forte gathered himself up in his chair, then put a hand on Jesse’s shoulder, ready to deliver the final, fatal blow. “You disobey me in any way from this moment on, and I release that clip to the press. You know what will happen then? It’ll become one of the most-played videos in history, it’ll become part of our national lore. You’ll be destroyed, you’ll become an outcast. I’ll go back to being a billionaire, but you’ll end up resigning from the Senate and begging your ex-partners to let you practice law again so you can put your kids through college. But your ex-partners won’t want you.
No one
will. You’ll sell your story to the History Channel for one of those sad biography documentaries, but that’ll be the end of the road. After that, you’ll be begging on street corners. Or selling some racquet you claim you won the U.S. Open with on eBay just to make a few bucks. It’ll be pathetic.” Forte leaned back and smiled over at Johnson behind Jesse’s back. Jesse had his face in his hands. His defiance had disintegrated. “Just do what I tell you, Jesse,” Forte said softly, “and everything will be fine.”

Jesse swallowed hard.

Forte smiled thinly. He loved it when a plan came together. He’d waited for just the right moment to go for the throat. When Jesse was on a high, when Jesse could just about taste and smell the Oval Office. Forte checked his watch. Almost four o’clock. “Don’t you have a fund-raiser back downtown tonight?”

Jesse nodded.

“Well, you better get going.” Forte was about to get up but hesitated. “There’s something at the end of the clip I want to ask you about.”

Jesse looked over. “Huh?”

Forte nodded at Johnson. “Play it back, Heath.”

“Sure.”

“There,” Forte said, pointing at the screen. Pointing at Jesse touching Stephanie’s thigh. “What’s that all about?”

“Nothing.”

“It’s not the kind of gesture I’d expect you to make to a coworker.” Forte raised one eyebrow. “Or a friend. Anything going on with you and Stephanie I should know about?”

“No.”

“Or maybe your wife should know about?”

“No, I swear it, nothing. Please, Elijah.”

Forte loved it. Jesse was back on his side, right back where he was supposed to be, as malleable as he’d ever been. Forte pointed at the television again. “What the hell were you thinking about when you said those things?”

Jesse’s expression turned glum. “Obviously, I wasn’t.”

TODD HARRISON
stared at the photograph he’d taken from the frame in the kitchen of the lodge on Champagne Island. In it were nine men, two of whom he’d recognized immediately from newspaper pictures: ex–United States senator Stewart Massey and former Federal Reserve chairman Franklin Laird. And then there was that third face.