Murder Inside the Beltway - Margaret Truman [19]
Their Secret Service detail piled into two nearby cars. The chief agent assigned to the Colgate campaign had lobbied to have at least one agent in vehicles with the candidate and his wife at all times, but Colgate adamantly disagreed. “I need some private time,” he’d said, “and the backseat of a car provides it. No agents with us in cars!” He prevailed.
“Went well,” he commented after he and Deborah were in the secure confines of the limo.
“Did you expect it not to go well?” Deborah asked, her eyes fixed on the scene outside as the vehicle inched through the crowd.
“You never know,” he said, grabbing her hand. “Loosen up, Deb. We’re on a roll.”
She slid her hand from beneath his and said absently, her attention still focused on the passing scene, “I have a luncheon to get to. What’s next for you?”
“Interview at the Post.”
“They’ll ask about us.”
His laugh was forced. “They always do, and the answer is always the same.”
“Yes, it always is, isn’t it?”
He dialed Jerry Rollins’s number on his cell phone. “I thought you were planning to be at the teachers’ endorsement,” Colgate said sharply.
“I had a meeting come up at the last minute. Sorry. I saw some of it on TV. Looked like a home run, Bob.”
“I need to talk to you.”
They arranged to meet at Colgate’s Georgetown home at four.
Deborah was dropped off at the Ritz-Carlton in Georgetown, while her husband proceeded to the Washington Post’s offices on 15th Street, NW, where his press secretary, Linda Chu, waited with others. The interview lasted an hour. As expected, the question of whether there was a serious, potentially terminal rift in the Colgate marriage came up.
Colgate responded through a smile: “Deborah and I love each other and are totally committed to our marriage. She’ll make a terrific first lady, and I’m looking forward to enjoying the White House together for the next eight years.”
He returned to the house, went to the library, draped his jacket over a chair, kicked off his shoes, and dove into a new set of briefing papers and talking points provided by members of his staff. He was due to leave the following day for a two-day campaign swing through the Midwest. After an hour of digesting the material, he turned to the New York Times and Washington Post. A speech on the economy delivered by President Pyle received front page coverage in both publications, with the Post devoting two full columns. The reporters covering the speech pointed to inconsistencies in some of Pyle’s claims, which pleased Colgate and led him to a moment of introspection.
Colgate couldn’t imagine a weaker opponent to run against than the incumbent, Pyle, whose administration was viewed as perhaps the worst in modern history. The president’s approval numbers were in the mid-twenties, and there recently had been calls for his impeachment. While Pyle’s vulnerability was pleasing to Colgate from a pragmatic view—he’d have to stumble badly to lose to Pyle—it also served to reinforce his belief that he was the best person to lead the country and to undo the series of blunders made by the Pyle administration. There were no moments of self-doubt in the middle of the night, no questioning whether he was up to the job of president of the United States. As many voters and pundits said, anything—anyone—would do a better job of setting America back on course than Burton Pyle, a paranoid man whose visions were, at best, shortsighted and whose brain was putty in the hands of advisors.
He’d just started to peruse the inside pages when a personal assistant came into the library to tell his boss that he’d almost finished packing for the Midwest trip but had a few questions. He started to ask them when the housekeeper interrupted: “Mr. Rollins is here, Governor.”
Rollins replaced the assistant in the room, closing the door behind him.
“Good day, huh, Bob?” Rollins said, shedding his jacket.
“Yes, it was. But I’m concerned about the debate next week.”
Rollins frowned