“It looks like a Currier and Ives Christmas card,” said Tami.
She and Jake were riding in a chauffeured black sedan through the snowy hills west of Nashua, toward a rustic hotel next to the campus of Daniel Webster College, near the state’s capital.
It was late afternoon, but cloudy, dark, ominous. By five p.m. it would be black as night, Jake knew. The land was blanketed with snow, although the road had been plowed down to the bare paving, and it was warm enough inside the sedan so that both Jake and Tami had unbuttoned their heavy winter overcoats.
Senator Tomlinson was giving a televised speech in Nashua. He and Patrick Lovett would rendezvous with Jake at the hotel at six p.m., then the three of them would be driven to the home of Senator Sebastian’s friend, farther out in the hills.
“Hope it doesn’t snow again,” Jake said, peering up at the cloudy sky.
“Weather forecast doesn’t call for snow,” said Tami.
Jake nodded absently. He was still thinking about General Harmon’s revelation. They’re fighting a battle in orbital space. A silent, undeclared, contest. But it’s real. We’ve got to be prepared to protect ourselves in space. Damn!
“When is Senator Sebastian showing up?” Tami asked.
“Six thirty or so,” Jake replied. “He’s flying in from a rally in Boston. The house where they’re meeting has an airstrip.”
Tami’s brows rose. “Convenient.”
With a tight grin, Jake started, “Rich or poor…”
“… it pays to have money,” Tami finished. They both laughed.
Jake and Tami took a light dinner at the hotel, then Lovett showed up at the entrance to the dining room, looking almost like a local in a heavy British thorn-proof coat and a ridiculous-looking fur hat with earflaps jammed down over his head.
Jake dabbed at his chin with his napkin, got up from his chair, and leaned over to kiss Tami. “Remember,” he whispered, “this is all not for publication.”
With a bit of a grimace, Tami whispered back, “I know. Deep cover.”
“Loose lips sink ships,” Jake quoted inanely, then he hurried toward the waiting Lovett.
The ride out to the designated country estate was quiet, tense with expectation. Tomlinson, Lovett, and Jake sat squeezed into the rear seat of the sedan. Jake recognized the driver as one of the Tomlinsons’ servants, from the senator’s house in DC.
“Hope it doesn’t snow again,” Lovett said.
Favorite topic of conversation in New Hampshire, Jake thought.
The house was a rambling old wooden structure, only one story high except for a sort of turret poking up near the front entrance. The owner himself—a lanky, balding New Hampshireman—led them through the front entrance, past several closed doors, and finally into a spacious recreation room in the back of the house. Pool table, ping-pong table, bookshelves along one wall that held mostly magazines, a cold and dark fireplace, and a single wide window that looked out onto the snowy woods.
“I’ve known Brad Sebastian since we were in the infantry together, back in Afghanistan,” their host said, in a twangy New Hampshire drawl. “Good man. He’ll make a fine president.”
“He’s not here yet?” Lovett asked.
As if in answer, the drone of an airplane’s engines came throbbing through the dark sky.
Their host smiled cannily. “Right on time.” And he hurried across the room to turn on the gas-fed fireplace. Suddenly the room seemed cheerier.
About fifteen minutes later Senator Bradley Sebastian entered the room, with Manstein and another youngish man flanking him.
The host left the room, almost tiptoeing, and closed the door firmly behind him. Jake, Tomlinson, and Lovett stood facing Sebastian and his two aides. Jake got an impression of the Earps and the Clantons at the O.K. Corral.
Senator Sebastian broke the silence. “I’m glad you could come.”
Tomlinson gave him a guarded smile. “Good of you to invite us, Brad.”
Sebastian gestured to the big leather sofa and scattering of chairs on the other side of the pool table. “Let’s be comfortable. Do you want anything to eat? Drink?”
“We’ve had dinner,” Lovett said as he started toward the chairs.
As they sat—Tomlinson’s trio on the sofa, Sebastian’s on the armchairs facing them—Lovett asked, “So we’re all in our places. What do you want to talk about?”
“The campaign, what else?” Sebastian said.
Jake saw that Manstein seemed a bit uptight; his usual knowing smirk was nowhere in sight.
“It’s getting interesting, isn’t it?” Tomlinson said. He seemed relaxed, at ease. “I had a good audience this afternoon in Nashua.”
Sebastian looked tired, Jake thought, like a grandfather who’d been working too hard. He was actually perspiring. Can’t be the fireplace, Jake told himself. It’s all the way over on the other side of the room.
“I want to bring the party together,” he said, his voice calm, reasonable. “It’s a fatal mistake for the two of us to be competing against each other. We’ll be handing the White House to the Democrats if we can’t find a way to work together.”
“I’m not so sure of that,” said Tomlinson. “After all, the primaries exist so that the voters can see the candidates, listen to their ideas, make up their minds about who they want to represent them.”
“We should be looking at the November election, not trying to slit each other’s throats.”
Before Tomlinson could reply, Lovett put a hand on the senator’s arm and asked Sebastian, “What do you have in mind?”
Sebastian blinked once, twice, then licked his lips. “You withdraw your candidacy and I’ll support you for president eight years from now.”
With a crooked grin, Tomlinson said, “You’re assuming you’ll be reelected next time around.”
“If you win this time in November,” Lovett added.
“That’s right,” Sebastian replied. “If the party’s united we can beat whoever the Democrats run next year.”
Breaking into a knowing grin, Lovett said, “Our incumbent president isn’t doing very well, is she?”
“She’s not running.”
“Good thing, too. She’s made a mess of everything she’s touched.”
“We can beat whoever the Democrats put up,” Sebastian insisted. “If our party is united. We can’t afford to be fighting each other.”
Tomlinson shook his head. “Seems to me that the polls show both you and I are comfortably ahead of whoever the Democrats choose.”
“That doesn’t mean much,” said Sebastian’s aide.
“I want a united party,” Sebastian repeated. “That’s the way to win next November.”
“A united party,” said Tomlinson. “With you at its head.”
“Yes! I’ve earned the right! I’ve put in my years. I deserve the nomination.”
Tomlinson leaned back in the softly yielding sofa. “That’s for the voters to decide, isn’t it?”
For a long moment Sebastian remained silent, staring hard at Tomlinson. Jake could hear the soft whooshing of the gas-fed fireplace all the way across the big room.
Very softly, reluctantly, Sebastian said, “I could knock you out of the race, you know. I could ruin your career entirely.”
Tomlinson’s chin went up a notch. Turning his eyes toward Manstein, he replied tightly, “Maybe.”
“Why can’t you be reasonable?” Sebastian asked, almost pleading.
“I made my father a promise, on his deathbed,” Tomlinson answered. “I can’t go back on that.”
And Jake thought, Even from the grave, Frank’s father is manipulating him.
Manstein spoke up. “Death cancels all debts, you know.”
“No, it doesn’t.” Tomlinson looked as if he wanted to get up and slug Manstein.
Jake broke in. “If you go public with your little story, we’ll demand that you take a lie detector test. In public. Whose reputation will be ruined by that?”
Manstein waved a hand in the air. “I will simply refuse to answer any questions about what took place after my private little dinner with your charming wife. After all, a gentleman does not kiss and tell.”
Lovett actually grabbed Tomlinson’s arm, holding him down on the sofa.
“Nothing happened and you know it!” the senator snapped.
“I know it,” said Manstein, with his irritating smirk. “You know it. But will the public accept that idea?”
“They will if you tell the truth.”
With a sad shake of his head Manstein retorted, “Ahh, you Americans with your touching faith in the will of the people. Don’t you understand that the more I deny anything happened the more your precious public will believe the worst?”
Tomlinson yanked his arm free of Lovett’s grasp and jumped to his feet. “Go ahead and shoot your mouth off! Say what the fuck ever you want. You tell your story and Amy and I will tell ours and to hell with you!”
Senator Sebastian raised both his hands in a placating gesture. “Frank, Frank, be reasonable. There’s no need for getting angry.”
“The hell there isn’t,” Tomlinson barked. “This slimy son of a bitch is trying to ruin my wife and you’re helping him to do it!”
Lovett stood up beside Senator Tomlinson. “Cool it, Frank. Don’t let your temper get the better of you.”
Sebastian, almost pleading, said, “Frank, don’t you realize I’ve been keeping this whole matter quiet? I’ve kept everything under wraps.”
“For now,” Tomlinson said.
“For as long as I need to,” Sebastian replied. “All I’m asking from you is to step aside gracefully—and I’ll find a place for you in my cabinet. Maybe secretary of the interior. Or commerce, if you prefer that.”
Tomlinson shook his head. “I appreciate it, Brad. But no thanks. I’m in this campaign until the bitter end.”
Manstein’s smirk turned into a pitying smile. But he kept his mouth shut. Good thing, Jake thought as he got to his feet. For two cents I’d punch out the bastard myself.
Tomlinson turned to Lovett. “Come on, Pat. This has been a waste of time.”
And he stalked past Sebastian, who remained in his chair, looking like a grandfather who was bewildered by his grandson’s impolite behavior.