President Ken Martin's chief advisor and senior strategist were on their way to a meeting. No limousine or gaggle of press accompanied them as Darcy Egan and Zack Walker parked their car a distance away and walked through the alley leading into the dusty courtyard of Meadowlark Gardens. Nippy mid-September breezes tossed Zack's thinning hair and upset the bird's nest that was Darcy's do. Darcy and Zack's dip into the sinkhole of the abandoned housing project contrasted sharply with their climb to nosebleed heights in recent years.
Six years ago, Darcy had been a college teacher with a new book that had failed to break out of its small circle of academic readers, and Zack was an unemployed journalist, fired by Laura Taninger for violating company ethics in his coverage of a Senate campaign. As Darcy and Zack wandered along the backroads of their professions, their paths were soon to cross. When Senator and presidential aspirant Ken Martin discovered them, they received a jump-start onto a superhighway of dreams.
Just when Senator Martin had been searching for a route to the presidency, the headlight he'd found pointing the way was Darcy's book, The New Leader. According to the author, the world was awaiting a New Leader who would completely reshape it. To succeed in ways surpassing any predecessor, the New Leader, Darcy wrote, must possess three qualities. As Ken Martin read Darcy's book, he realized that he himself did not possess all three qualities needed for the New Leader's post. Nevertheless, he could compose a team that fulfilled each role and make himself the figurehead.
First, the New Leader needed a heart to form visionary policies that would best help the people, especially the ones Darcy alleged were victims of society's injustices and needed rescuing. Martin envisioned the heart of the New Leader not in himself, but in Darcy. What better heart could he find than the book's author herself, who would serve as a central pumping station for circulating the visions and policies that the Leader needed?
Darcy's assertions of caring about the people would form the moral basis of his campaign and the emotional appeal of his platform to the public. Did Darcy really have a heart? he had wondered. Then he told himself it didn't matter. It was the alleged caring that made her the heart. By the premises of her book, wasn't the impression all that counted?
Second, the New Leader needed a firm hand to topple the opposition. Nothing gets built up without tearing something else down, Darcy had asserted. The New Leader must have a strong will and an unusual talent to smash any opposition. To achieve noble ends, tactics such as dirty tricks, character assassination, ad hominem attacks, and outright falsities were a legitimate means. Martin had someone in mind for this task. He had taken notice of the Taninger News reporter who had caused the election loss of a favored senatorial candidate whom the newsman attacked with a brazen hit piece, replete with accusations later proven false. This behavior may have cost the reporter his job at Taninger News, but it had made Martin notice Zack Walker. How much of a fist would Zack Walker be, with his wrinkled pants and confused look? Martin had wondered. But Zack's venom-spitting pen rivaled the bite of any python in sapping his adversaries, and Martin's critics feared him, so he was the pick.
According to Darcy, the third quality essential to the New Leader was a charismatic personality to win over the public. The person who would transform society had to be charming enough to gain the citizens' trust and clever enough to articulate the vision in terms they would accept. The New Leader would convince the people that the cure for their ills was his own pervasive presence in their lives. The New Leader would masterfully win the voters' affections and motivate them to turn out at the polls. Thus, he would rise to power. For this quality, Martin's best fit was himself.
His handsome appearance and gift for oratory had turned his campaign into a cult of personality, with stories abounding about his family, his pets, his hobbies, and his famed chili recipes. He appeared on media where his base lived—on contemporary music, comedy, sports, and cooking programs. The entertainment industry was his booster rocket, and the media was his fuel in a campaign that catapulted him to the nation's highest office.
Some commentators had called Martin the fortune cookie president because he was given to making statements which were so vague that people could read into them whatever they wanted. Martin became the champion of their hopes and dreams. When Martin heard the fortune-cookie comment, he'd replied, "I always liked fortune cookies. Thank you."
One commentator had connected the Martin presidency to Darcy's theory of leadership, but in a triumvirate form. The observer noted that Martin alone did not possess the New Leader's three attributes, but in combination with his two closest aides, the three of them covered the ground well. Inferring from remarks Martin had made about the relationship of the three of them, the chronicler pinned Darcy Egan as the heart, Zack Walker as the fist, and Ken Martin as the mouth of a new order. When Martin heard the remarks, he was pleased that his ingenious strategy had been recognized by someone in the media.
"That pretty much summed us up," he'd proudly told his two aides.
"You mean, we have a heart, a fist, and a mouth?" Zack asked. He had not read Darcy's book and was unfamiliar with the traits of the New Leader. "Where's the brain? Who generates the ideas?"
"The ideas don't come from the brain. They come from the heart, and that's me," Darcy said.
"The ideas were spelled out long ago," added Martin. "It's just that the pathway to realize them has been cluttered with dead movements and defeated fighters who couldn't pull it off. We now have what it takes to put our own spin on the old notions."
Awed by thoughts over his head, Zack asked, "What notions?"
Martin explained, "Basically, we're here to fix whatever troubles the people. Whatever their problems are, we're the answer. Right, Darcy?"
"Right, Ken. Got it, Zack?"
Zack nodded.
Martin summed up, "We have to make the old slogans sound fresh and new, while we crush our political enemies and get our people to the polls. That's the ticket."
With this strategy, Martin had hoped to achieve a power beyond that which any past president had ever possessed, a tight-fisted power masked by the engaging, toothy grin of its wielder. As Darcy devised the new order and Zack brought the representatives of the old one to their knees, Martin rallied the people left standing—his people, the ones who worshipped at his altar—and a new country, they'd hoped, would be born.
In Martin's first term, the triumvirate had laid the foundation for the New Leader's America. But now a great threat had emerged. The president's economic advisors and pollsters had reported that the economy was tanking, his programs were ineffective, and suspicions were circulating about his administration's involvement in Spenser's death. These circumstances were causing the polls to turn against Martin in a reelection he had to win.
As they walked to their meeting in the Meadowlark Garden's complex, Darcy and Zack knew that Frank Foxworth, standing in the courtyard waiting for them, was integral to their success. With his hands in his pockets, wearing his trademark sunglasses, he watched them approach as he stood with a laptop bag dangling from his shoulder.
"Velvet," he said, bowing his head slightly to Darcy. He turned to Zack. "Leather." Foxworth had the air of a gentleman at a dinner party, except for the mocking grin.
"Think this is a joke?" Zack snapped.
"Do I rattle you?"
Ignoring their exchange, Darcy asked, "What've you got, Fox?"
The Fox gestured for them to follow as he walked a few steps toward the old picnic table in the courtyard. He sat on one of its benches and opened his laptop. His two companions took the bench opposite his, staring warily at him from across the rusted metal grid on the table's surface. Raising his sunglasses to his forehead for a few moments to enhance his view, the Fox called up various screens of a program. He turned the monitor so all three of them could see and demonstrated maneuvers as Zack and Darcy leaned forward to observe. The screens were polished, complete with visuals, tabs, instructions, and live links, ready for use by the administrators of the program and the public.
"Here's the administrators' home screen, and this is the user interface," the Fox explained. "So far, I've done a bunch of updates and revisions. For example, I made this function easier to use. In this section, I added a few more options that are beneficial to the administrators."
He demonstrated the program changes he had made. His audience listened and watched intently. When he was finished, the Fox closed his laptop and stared at them. Darcy stared back with a look as arrogant as that of their programmer, while Zack avoided his penetrating, mocking glare.
"The modifications I've made so far are to give you cover," said the Fox, returning his sunglasses to their proper position. "If my participation in this program is ever discovered, and you're called upon to explain the work I did, your tech guy inside the Bureau can point to the things I just showed you. They're all legitimate programing modifications."
"Okay," said Darcy.
"But from here on, nothing will be legit."
Darcy and Zack glanced at each other, a thrill of excitement in Darcy's eyes, a hint of ambivalence in Zack's.
"From here on, no one must know about anything I do. From here on, I'll alter the source code in subtle and hidden ways that nobody will be able to track down."
"Surely you've heard—we've got a crazy reporter breathing down our necks with Public Disclosure Requests about the $400 million payout that has no contractor information attached to it, and we've got a Senate oversight committee snooping around, asking questions," said Zack.
"Stall, stall, stall," advised the Fox. "Drag your feet on any disclosure requests. Give out as little information as possible. After the election, you can make documents disappear, and you can stack the Senate committee with more of your friends, who'll say there were no adverse findings and move on. After the election, you'll be home free."
"If you can pull it off," Zack mumbled.
The Fox laughed and said, "Isn't it a little late to have buyer's remorse?"
Darcy refocused the group, asking their technical expert, "What's next?"
"Operation Topcoat kicks in."
"Go on."
"I'll concentrate on crucial districts in swing states, districts that could go either way. I've done extensive studies of the polling data, and I know exactly where to intervene—and to what extent."
When the Fox talked about programming, the sarcasm vanished. His face grew serious, his manner more polished. As he explained his plan, he displayed a command of the technical details and an unwavering confidence that impressed his clients.
"I'll alter the program to randomly give votes to your guy in key districts in swing states that will ensure he has enough to win. On the screen, these randomly selected votes will have been cast for the opponent, and the voters will have no inkling that their choices will be redirected. But when it comes to tallying the results, a percentage of the votes cast for B will go to A, with A being your guy. The tally of the votes will show a different ratio than the actual votes cast, but everything will appear to match up perfectly in any checks done by the program administrators. I'll statistically work out everything, and I'll hide the new programming in thousands of lines of code."
Darcy nodded her approval, while Zack remained noncommittal.
The Fox went on, "Once you pull off this federal control of the presidential election, you can target Congress next. The new law allows you to oversee those races, too, in the coming years. That's when I can apply Operation Topcoat to key congressional contests. I can keep your party in power forever. That's why you can never think of hanging me out to dry. You need me too much, right now and in the future."
"Remember, our tech guy on the inside is keeping an eye on you for us, so you don't wander off the reservation," said Darcy.
"After I make the modifications, he can verify that the program works as I say it will," declared the Fox. "The whole operation will be as smooth as silk."
"It had better be," Zack said in a threatening voice.
"Speaking of silk, we're at the point where I need to meet him."
There was no response.
"That was part of our agreement. I meet Silk," the Fox added.
"We can't risk you two meeting. You'll work with us," said Darcy.
"I can't only deal with foot soldiers on this."
"You'll deal with us and like it," said Zack.
"I need to know that the general in the big tent has my back. I won't stick my neck out for some wild scheme that underlings cooked up. I need to be sure that Silk knows about Topcoat—and he's all in."
"You can't meet him. Absolutely not," Darcy said, shaking her head.
"No way," echoed Zack. "We shield him from swine like you."
The Fox laughed, saying, "What does it say about your project if it hinges on swine like me?"
"Listen to reason, Fox. You know it's way too dangerous for him to ever be seen with you," Darcy said.
"I won't go any further without a face-to-face."