The Beverly Wilshire Hotel provided the perfect setting for John Franklin’s latest fundraiser. Its magnificent Italian Renaissance facade exuded all the qualities he wished to portray to the American electorate: history, power and wealth, with a touch of glamour.
It was regularly visited by the likes of ex-presidents and high-profile celebrities. In a bygone era, some of its grandest, fifteen-hundred-dollar a night, suites had served as a permanent home for the likes of Elvis Presley, Warren Beatty and John Lennon. Franklin stood in the opulent Wintergarden reception room, alongside his campaign chief, Cathy Douglas, and surveyed the high-powered guests who were enjoying the champagne and canapé reception.
“John, there’s a hell of a lot of money floating around in here. Some very big hitters. The team thinks we might raise thirty million tonight.”
“Cathy, you’ve all done an amazing job getting these guys together under one roof and the speech Leon’s put together looks really good. I went through it with my father last night, who always comes up with some great one-liners, so we’ve added a few bits. Let’s hope it plays well.”
Cathy put her arm around her candidate. “They’ll love it, John, they always do but, right now, it’s time for you to mingle and do some one-on-one schmoozing.”
Franklin nodded and headed off to hunt down some prospective donors.
John’s father, Richard, was already in the thick of the fray, holding court in the centre of the room, entertaining three of California’s highest-profile businessmen whom he figured were all good for at least one-million-dollar donations to his son’s campaign.
“John’s going to be the best thing that’s happened for business in this country since Reagan was in the White House. He’ll put American business first and impose new tariffs on foreign goods that threaten our domestic businesses. But he’ll also sort out health care and welfare reform for the people, which makes him the perfect unifying candidate.”
Franklin was in full flow when his phone buzzed. He looked at the screen and immediately recognised the Argentinian area code.
“Gentlemen, will you please excuse me, I need to take this.”
The dedicated phone in his office had an automatic divert to his mobile if it didn’t pick up after five rings. As he walked out of the reception room towards one of the vast lobbies, he took the call from Matias Paz.
“Señor Franklin, I have some encouraging news for you. We have made astonishing progress in a very short time.”
“Paz, don’t bullshit me. Have you got the contents of my box back yet?”
“No, Señor, but we managed to persuade Gonzales to give us the names and locations of his two associates and, in the next few hours, we will be visiting both of them.”
Franklin paused to think for a moment. “I assume Señor Gonzales is no longer a danger to us.”
“That is correct. We took the appropriate action.”
Paz could sense that Franklin was starting to calm down. “That’s good work, Matias. Have there been any other casualties along the way?”
“Yes, Señor. There has been some collateral damage in the course of the investigation.”
“How many?”
“Two.”
“Okay. Where are the police on all this?”
Paz was hoping for this question and came back with his prepared response. “They are playing catch-up. We have a highly placed insider who keeps us constantly informed. They have no idea what we are up to. We’ll have the materials back very soon and all three of the thieves will be taken care of, so the trail will go cold. The inspector running the case will look a hero because he will recover the stolen property but he’ll have no way of knowing that the contents of one of the boxes is missing.”
“Okay, Matias. Let me know the moment we have it.”
Franklin ended the call and tucked his mobile inside his dinner jacket. His mind drifted back to the campaign and the hundred and fifty million dollars he personally had pumped into it so far. The American public had been bombarded by a relentless TV campaign that had driven his son to the top of the national polls. He had groomed John for this moment all his life and now he was just a few months away from being the father of the most powerful man on earth.
The dinner was a spectacular success and the affluent guests ate their way through a foie gras starter, a twenty-eight-day-aged rib of beef main and a delicious dessert of white chocolate and raspberry cheesecake, all washed down with some of California’s finest wines. The waiters were serving coffee and liqueurs as the man of the moment made his way to the back of the stage in preparation for his rallying speech. Waiting for him behind the black drapes was his father. The two men hadn’t managed to speak all evening, but now, for the first time, they were alone. They both could sense the elephant in the room. John spoke first.
“Dad, please tell me that Paz’s guys have found the contents of the box.”
“Not quite, but they are very close. They’ve got their hands on the thieves who carried out the robbery and expect to have everything in their possession in the next few hours. I told you it would all be okay, and it will be.”
John let out a huge sigh.
“That’s great news, Dad. Thank you. But until we actually have it in our grasp—”
“John, relax, it’s all in hand. Now it’s time for you to kill them out there with that motherfucker of a speech we worked on last night.”
Richard turned away from his son, walked through the break in the drapes onto the small stage, and headed towards the podium where the microphone was set.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome to the stage my son, the next president of the United States.”