A God in Ruins - Leon Uris [23]
It is nearly three o’clock. Nothing makes time pass more slowly than waiting for a cold pot to boil.
“Get me Whipple,” I ordered over the phone.
“Whipple here, Mr. President.”
“What’s going on?”
“Just a few minutes ago the O’Connell people called a news conference for tomorrow at one P.M. Rocky time.”
“Sounds like O’Connell is burning the midnight oil.”
“Yes, sir. The press corps is heading for Troublesome Mesa en masse.”
“Contact my staff advisers. We’ll watch the press conference in the Situation Room. Christ, what’s going on?”
“A lot of rumors. One here is interesting. A New York Times correspondent, June Siddell, spotted someone she knew debarking at the Denver airport. She got to the manifest and confirmed the passenger was a fairly well-known police detective by the name of Ben Horowitz. He was met by O’Connell’s staff, and they headed from the airport in the direction of Troublesome Mesa. Reporters at Troublesome confirm Horowitz’s arrival, where he was taken straight up to the O’Connell ranch.”
“How does all this fit, Whipple?”
“Haven’t got a clue, Mr. President.”
“Have the FBI in New York find out who this Horowitz guy is.” Before Whipple could complain about using the FBI for this, I tried moving on quickly: “Now, where is the veep?”
“Uh, sir, are you sure about the FBI?”
“We’ve got no goddamned time to fiddle-fart. Do it! Now, where’s the vice president?”
“Dallas.”
“Get him.”
Senator, now Vice President, Matthew Hope was my major concession to a very vocal Southern Christian coalition. Matt Hope was one of them, body and soul. Through him I could control that bloc. During the last stage of Clinton’s reign, several Christian denominations, Presbyterian, United Methodist, as well as the Catholic and Jewish clergy had come out with thorough anti-gun proposals. After Clinton left office, the gun lobby awakened and gained back most of their rights. Central to this was Matt Hope’s unquestioned hold on sixteen million Southern Baptists.
“Matt Hope speaking.”
“Matthew, what’s the rumor mill saying down in Dallas?”
“Not much, Mr. President.”
“We’ve got a little change of plans, Matt. Get back to Washington immediately. Be in the Situation Room by two P.M. Before we sign off, I want you to be thinking about some disturbing numbers I received from our pollsters a few hours ago. Since the big debate there has been slippage all over your territory.”
The vice president cleared his throat. “Oh, just a surge. There will be a more favorable adjustment picture as the line flattens out.”
“Bullshit!” I informed him. “There has been a two-point swing to O’Connell in South Carolina and Alabama. A two-and-a-half-point swing in Louisiana, Georgia, and Mississippi. That’s a fucking trend, Matthew.”
“Hell, the Presbyterians are your people, Mr. President.”
“That’s my point, Matthew. The Southern Baptists are your baby. There are sixteen million of them. We are losing ground in Baptist land. Maybe their women haven’t submitted graciously.”
Matthew Hope, my would-be deliverer, waffled and spoke Potomac gobbledy-gook. I hung up. The door to the adjoining room was open, and Darnell came in.
“I thought I heard a lark singing,” he said, “so I supposed you were up.”
“I sent for Matthew. If I can win without the Baptists and get that Baptist gun off my head, I’ll have Matthew Hope shoveling horseshit like a vice president should.”
“My hunch is that what O’Connell announces is going to be a national issue. The South may only be one player.”
“You’re usually right, Darnell. We’ll use Matthew this final week to lock up Texas and Florida.”
Darnell knew my discomfort.
“We’re in very gray territory, Thornton. However, we’ve been in gray territory a good part of our lives. Talk about getting through by the skin of our teeth; we didn’t have a slice of baloney to put in the middle of two slices of bread when we hit bottom. We were sharp, we were bold. We were unethical and bailed ourselves out by our wits. Do you miss those days, Thornton?”
“Hell, no.”
“This election is not over. Something is in the air. I can almost