The Reformers: A Matt Blake Novel (The Matt Blake legal thriller series Book 2) (32 page)

Chapter 77

“Good morning, Ronald, please have a seat.”

President Bartholomew Martin met with Ronald Fleischman, his Deputy Chief of Staff. Fleishman was one of his colleagues from Amazon, and had been with Martin since he began Midtown Metrics. Like all of Bartholomew’s associates, Fleischman was a man who was guided by data.

“Good morning, Mr. President. I have the numbers that you requested. This data includes all of the members of the new organization known as the Heritage Party. Because of the constantly changing size of the organization, these numbers are not up to the minute but are close within a week. The total membership is 973,450. It includes 723 former congressman, 579 former senators, 387 retired judges, 925 retired generals, 838 retired admirals,1,103 former cabinet members, and 3,399 former or current law enforcement personnel. The remaining rank and file are former and even some current members of the military as well as civilians from various occupations.”

“How many lawyers, not counting judges, are included in the ‘various occupations?’ ”

“No fewer than 650,000 are lawyers, Mr. President. There is no doubt about it, sir, the Heritage Party is a formidable organization. I know you see the word ‘formidable’ as an opinion, but I believe it is backed up by the numbers I just gave you.”

“And does all of this data lead you to a conclusion, Ronald?”

“Yes, Mr. President. The Heritage Party will soon begin to choose candidates for the next election, which is only three years away.”

“And who do you expect to be their standard bearer, Ronald?”

“Although I have no data to back this up, Mr. President, my prediction is that the presidential candidate will be none other than Matthew Blake himself. As you know, he was out-polling you substantially right up until the unfortunate attacks on the amusement parks.”

“Yes, those attacks were indeed unfortunate, as you put it, Ronald. Please give me an outline of our plan of action going forward from this point.”

“I will have a complete outline for you in two days, Mr. President, but for now I can inform you that your election committee members from last year’s election are being contacted, and we’ll soon have in place a national campaign just like the last one. And we will have a lot of work to do. From the profiles we have on the current membership in the Heritage Party, their fundraising capabilities are awesome.”

“Awesome? Thank you for your opinion, Ronald, data-free as it may be. When you give me your next report, please show me how our Freedom from Terror campaign will be ‘awesome’ as well.”

Chapter 78

Matt and I have grown accustomed to taking life as it comes. As a couple of former drunks and drug addicts, we’ve learned that you have to take life one day at a time. Shit happens, but that doesn’t mean you have to let yourself down, to crumble, to give up. Our marriage is the thing in our lives that sustains us. We’ve long since learned that when you love someone, you have to give an inch to gain a foot. Matt and I have been married for over four years now, but it seems like it was yesterday when we took our vows.

The biggest event that ever hit our marriage was Matt’s run for the presidency. Yes, it was me who convinced him to go for it, and I don’t regret it. Matt’s campaign was the most exciting time of our lives.

And now, a group of powerful people want him to do it again.

I think General Will’s assessment of the current state of our country is spot-on. We now live in a dictatorship, and like any totalitarian regime, it grows daily in its control over people’s lives. Will is right. Between now and the next presidential election is a small open window to get our old country back. One more election cycle with Bartholomew Martin at the controls, and the window will close. We’ll probably never see another election cycle. That’s the way Mussolini did it—win an election and then declare yourself the law. Right now we still have some solid remnants of our old democratic institutions. The government, although infested with Martin’s thugs, still houses a lot of people who believe in a republican democracy. The press, although heavily influenced by Martin’s publishing and media buy-outs, still has a voice. But that voice will get softer and will eventually disappear the longer Martin is in control.

After our meeting with Will Cummings, Matt and I needed to be alone. Although Matt’s bug-detecting and disabling device seems to have worked, we no longer feel that our apartment is entirely private. We sat and sipped coffee in a corner of the noisy cafeteria at the University of Chicago, a couple of blocks from Will Cummings’ house, a good venue for a private chat. The noise of the room masked our words. We leaned in to hear each other.

“So what do you think, Dee? Should we give it another shot?”

“Matt, I think you know my feelings. You’d make the best president this country has ever seen. You’re the man the country needs right now. Will Cummings is right—the window is closing. A few more years of those thugs and people will adjust to living under a dictator. The three years leading up to the next election may be the last shot at preserving, or I should say recovering, our democracy. I have one concern, and only one.”

“What’s your concern honey?” Matt said.

I started to cry. Shit, I hate to do that. I have nothing against emotions and even letting them show, but sometimes it’s best to keep your feelings to yourself, especially in a crowded cafeteria. I blew my nose, wiped my eyes, and apologized to Matt.

“No need for an apology, Dee. Just tell me about your big concern.”

I took a deep breath. “My concern is that you’ll be killed, Matt, assassinated by a pack of sociopathic pricks. I care about our country, babe, but I don’t want to live my life without the most important person in the world in that life. I love you, honey, preferably alive and breathing.”

A loud crash about 25 feet from our table interrupted our chat. A student busboy sheepishly smiled at us as he picked up the contents of the tray he dropped.

“I won’t be assassinated, Dee. I think Will Cummings is on target when he said that being out in the public insulates me—and you—from danger. I think Martin is starting to realize he’s overplayed his hand. A lot of people have been ‘repurposed,’ as Al Yamani put it. But if he whacked me that would probably spark a rebellion. I know that a rebellion wouldn’t be armed because of the gun confiscations, but according to Will Cummings, a lot—an overwhelming majority—of law enforcement and military people are still on the side of freedom. No, I don’t see Martin being so dumb as to kill me, even though he may want to. Look at it the other way. If I retreat to private life and remain out of the public sight, I can be quietly ‘repurposed.’ Will’s right. Safety, mine and yours, is in the public eye.”

Matt can be annoyingly logical at times. It’s annoying because it’s hard to dispute him when he explains things. But I have to agree with him. For both Matt and me to stay out there in front of the cameras and reporters actually provides safety in this strange new world.

***

We finally went to our apartment at 5:45 p.m. Even though Matt had disabled the bugs with his magic FBI thingy, we both felt a bit on edge. Suddenly our edginess proved called-for. There was a
knock on the door
.

“Good evening folks, Wayne Tomlinson from the Asset Protection Agency.”

Mr. Tomlinson was a wiry little snit wearing a bad off-the-rack suit. His hair was greasy and spiked, an apparent attempt to look cool.

“We’ve noticed that your security devices appear to be malfunctioning, and I’m just here to replace them. It will only take a minute.”

He walked around the apartment and replaced each of the four bugs that Matt had disabled.

“Is it really necessary to have a device in our bedroom?” I inquired.

“Whoops, sorry, of course not. I’ll move it to the kitchen area.” The Asset Protection Agency aims to please.

“Okay folks, all done,” said Tomlinson. “You’ll find these devices are a big improvement over the previous ones. You don’t have to worry about an intruder disabling them because they’re tamper proof. You’ll feel a lot safer with these new devices.”

“I feel safer already,” I assured the skinny little prick.

“Have a pleasant evening, folks.”

Matt and I have a healthy love life. You may even describe it as frisky. Sometimes we’d begin an evening of love making by taking our clothes off in the kitchen, or the hallway entrance, or the dining area. Now, all sex would begin and end in the bedroom, or one of the bathrooms. The Asset Protection Agency was kind enough not to bug the bathrooms as well as the master bedroom. I grabbed Matt by the hand and led him into the bedroom, not that I felt particularly amorous, but I wanted to talk to him. I put my face next to his ear and whispered.

“How strong are these devices?” I asked. “Can the one in the hallway pick up sounds from here in the bedroom?”

“Feeling in the mood, honey?” Matt whispered.

“That isn’t why I asked, wise guy” I whispered. “I want to talk to you about something sensitive. Let’s take a shower.”

I remember reading a terrific book,
Gone Girl
, in which a paranoid woman insisted on talking about sensitive matters to her husband by whispering in his ear while they showered. But in the novel, the woman was genuinely crazy. Now, Matt and I, two sane people, are talking about having a private conversation in the shower. We took off our clothes and entered the shower. The shower stall was large, about five by eight feet with a bench at both ends and all kinds of wall-mounted bars to hold onto. Definitely a great place for sex—and for private conversations.

“Hey, honey,” I said, “slow down. I don’t mean stop, I just mean that I want to tell you something first. I want you to run, Matt. You and Will Cummings have convinced me that it’s safer to be in public than in private. The country needs you honey, now more than ever. So let’s get ahold of Cummings and tell him we’re ready for Round Two of Blake for President.”

“Agreed, babe,” Matt said, “Let’s do it. But for now, let’s do some other stuff.”

I think of Matt as a magical communicator. Sometimes his magic goes far beyond speech-making. Far beyond. He began to run his sudsy hands all over my body.

“Right there,” I advised, “oh, my God, right there. Yes, yes, yes!” I didn’t bother whispering. We dried off and continued our happy journey into the bedroom. I still felt uncomfortable about the strength of the listening devices, and whether the one in the hallway could pick up sounds from the bedroom. Fuck it (literally). If the people monitoring our bugs haven’t heard a woman scream happily in ecstasy I’d give them an earful. Maybe, as I climaxed, I should shout out: “Long live Bartholomew Martin.”

Maybe not.

Chapter 79

Blake for President–Round Two began exactly three years before the next election. That was almost three years
ago
. The election is now two weeks out. I ran under the banner of the Heritage Party. Will Cummings, the party leader turned out to be one sharp guy, although his political experience was thin. He had some great advisors in the party including the former heads of the DNC and the RNC. On my recommendation we hired my old friend Don Cooper, the political war horse who ran my last campaign. Don ran an impeccable campaign, and were it not for the amusement park bombings, he would be running my
re
-election campaign.

In the beginning of the race, the polls were close, although I held a consistent lead. But in the past year my ticket pulled way out ahead. My running mate, Roland Benton, was a retired Navy admiral who once commanded SEAL Team Six in Virginia Beach. Don Cooper and my other advisors suggested a running mate who had strong national defense credentials. Rolly Benton and I were named the Heritage Party nominees on the first ballot at the party convention in Miami. Exactly two weeks before the election my ticket was in the lead by 20 points.
Twenty points
. A lot of pundits said that my lead was insurmountable, but they also said that the last time around. Then came the bombings of the amusement parks.

Dee, no surprise, kept detailed notes of the campaign for her upcoming book.
Running for President—The Second Time Around.
Dee’s new agent, Harry Feingold, had already lined up a publisher. The details of a book deal awaited an event—my winning.

Former President William Reynolds was released from custody two years ago. It’s still a mystery why he was arrested. Martin and his people had no comment nor, oddly, did President Reynolds himself. He did call me once and said that he’d divulge the full story—once I got elected.

It’s no exaggeration to say that everyone in my campaign, not to mention the vast majority of voters, was worried. We all worried about the same thing—another terror spectacular, one that would give Martin’s Freedom from Terror Party the ability to run ads asking, “Are your children safe? Are
you
safe?” It had become almost unanimous among pundits that the amusement park bombings were connected to the last election. Many commentators, and a lot of people in law enforcement, were of the opinion that the bombings were indeed staged, and “staged” meant one thing—mass murder. I’d been briefed that the FBI and CIA have been gathering evidence that the NFL, Martin’s band of creeps, was the organization responsible. Former FBI Director Sarah Watson confided in me from her inside sources that the evidence was mounting and that indictments would soon be coming down. Although no longer in office she still had close contacts with FBI people. Assuming I win, Sarah Watson will be my attorney general.

I called Imam Mike, the mole with the best eyes and ears ever to serve this country.

“Anything new, Mike?” I said.

“Matt, and I hope to soon call you Mr. President,” said Imam Mike, “things are quiet. I haven’t heard anything about any planned attack. I think Martin realized that he overplayed his hand, and is resigned to your winning the election. I look forward to serving the Blake Administration.”

As the polls continued to hang tough in my favor, I began to spend a lot of time with my transition team, even though we’d have over two months of transition planning between the election and when I took office. I can’t help myself. As a lawyer I’d been trained to prepare carefully and well in advance. Former Vice-President Gary Morgan headed my transition team. Morgan is a gifted political strategist and a great guy to work with. Along with Gary Morgan, the key player on my transition team was my most trusted advisor and my best friend, Diana Blake. Gary, Dee, and I sat at a conference table at the Blake for President Headquarters in Chicago.

“I think we’re in excellent shape, Matt. Most of your picks are experienced in government, so the vetting process should be smooth. We have in place the most critical positions, except one, secretary of state. What are your thoughts, Matt?”

“Diana Blake,” I said without hesitation. Dee choked on her coffee and spit it across the table when I said that. I patted her on the back and looked at her. “I say that for one reason. You’re by far the best candidate.”

“Guys, I’m leaving the room,” Dee said. “I’m not saying it’s a good or bad idea, but I’ll let you two hash it out without me in the room.”

“Matt, I have to disagree. God knows your lovely wife is a brilliant and accomplished woman, but as we say in politics, the
optics
suck. You’ll spend valuable ‘honeymoon time’ on Sunday morning talk shows defending the choice of your wife as secretary of state.”

“Gary, hear me out,” I said. “You just referred to Diana as a brilliant woman, and that’s one thing all of the Sunday morning talking heads will agree on. She’s bright, articulate, and is well-known in the States as well as around the world from the last election campaign. Hey, people won’t be stupid enough to say I’m just giving my old lady a job. Nepotism will be a non-issue. The only issue that will be up for discussion is whether she’s qualified. She’s not just a political scientist, she’s an historian and has written no less than five books on American foreign policy, as well as hundreds of articles. I’d like nothing more than to have my wonderful wife hanging around the White House as a charming and beautiful First Lady, but the country needs more of her talent. If she’s not the best pick, tell me who is. Go ahead, Gary. Who’s more qualified than Diana Blake?”

“Matt, and I hope to call you Mr. President soon, you have a well-earned reputation as a persuasive man. I have five names in front of me, but to answer your question directly, no, I don’t know of anyone more qualified than your wife. It just looks bad, that’s all.”

“Hey, Gary, after Bartholomew Martin and that bunch of fucking nuts, politics in this country has changed. I think people will applaud her as a pick. Of course there will be critics. Shit there will be critics of everything I do. Look, you know Diana, you’ve seen her in action. Besides her brains and beauty she has a decisiveness about her. I’d love to see Vladimir Putin try to give Dee some of his bullshit. Won’t happen. She’s the best, Gary, and you know it.”

“Okay, Matt, you’ve convinced me, but may I make a suggestion?”

“Sure, Gary, what do you suggest?”

“I think we should get the candidate, the lady that you and I agree on, and see what she thinks about the idea.”

I pressed the intercom button on my phone which rings on Dee’s cell phone. “Dee, baby, come in here please.”

“Matt, if I may suggest, you may not want to refer to Madam Secretary as ‘Dee baby.’ ”

“God, you can be a stuffy guy, Gary,” I said laughing.

“ ‘Dee baby’ reporting for duty, guys,” she said.

“Gary has already corrected me on that, hon. How about Diana Darling? Gary agrees with me. You’re the most qualified candidate on the list for secretary of state. I haven’t won the election yet, but I’m offering you the job. Please say yes. The country needs your talents at the highest level of government.”

“Gary,” said Dee. “Would you please give Matt and me some time together?”

Gary Morgan looked relieved. He got up and left the room.

“Matt, honey, I’m flattered and honored.” Dee said.

“Hey, babe, it’s not my intent to either flatter or honor you. It’s my intent, and Gary Morgan agrees, that you’d make the best secretary of state out of all the possible candidates. Just say yes.”

“No, Matt, I can’t. When we began your life in politics, we both agreed that we’d do nothing to hurt our unique relationship. If I became Secretary of State, it would be the end of our marriage as we’ve grown to love it. You will be the Commander in Chief. What if I insist on a course of action and you disagree with it, which will be likely? Will you make a decision based our love for each other or based on what’s best for the country? Can’t you see the tension? It will be a tension between your office and our marriage. Hey, you always call me your most trusted advisor. So why change that? I will still be your advisor, but not with a cabinet office to back it up. No, baby, don’t ask me to take this job. I love you too much.”

I pulled my chair next to hers, put my arm around her and kissed her on the neck.

“I think you’re right, Dee, after the way you put it. You’re absolutely the most qualified candidate for the job, but our marriage is more important. I love you.”

I called Gary Morgan back into the room.

“Diana and I agree that the appointment would have too many problems, Gary. Your initial objection is noted. Diana will not be Secretary of State.”

“It’s the best decision for the country, Gary,” Dee said.  

Gary Morgan, in all of his years in politics, had grown accustomed to seeing people jump at high level jobs, a shot at a piece of history. He didn’t expect to hear what Dee said. I saw a tear actually run down Gary’s face. Dee can have that effect on people.

“I want my wife and me to get together with you two,” said Gary.