Bill Ford called Molly in her room the minute Sam’s interview was over. He was off again someplace; Molly couldn’t recall where but she knew he’d left the city earlier that day. So many balls in the air, so little time until November. Sam had also called Molly as he was leaving the studio, reminding her to tune in. Molly had declined to go to the taping, coming back to the hotel to work on the next day’s itinerary instead. She’d been in a skirt and heels all day and when she got back to the room she changed into track pants and a T-shirt.
“It’s a masterful performance,” Sam had told her.
“Well,” she said now to Bill Ford. “Was it masterful?”
“I wouldn’t have chosen that particular word.” The cell connection wasn’t good; maybe Bill was in the mountains or in his jet. “But it was effective. He’s only got one note but he hits it every time. Doesn’t he?”
“He does.”
“What’s this about several different people claiming to have the little girl?” Bill asked. “Is that true?”
“Not that I’m aware of. One woman has called, a couple of times.” She told him about the incident earlier, Sam having his phone off.
“He doesn’t want to talk to her because he doesn’t want it resolved,” Bill said after considering the information.
“But we knew that.” Molly had ordered dinner from room service earlier and eaten half of it. Now she walked to the cart and poured herself a half cup of lukewarm coffee. “Christ, does he really think he can put this off until after the election? Like it’s a trip to the dentist he doesn’t have time for?”
“The only way he wants to resolve it now is if they give up and return the girl,” Bill said. “That makes Sam the hero of the piece. He stood his ground.”
“I can’t see them doing that,” Molly said. “Not when they’ve come this far. Keep in mind that the FBI is stumbling around in the dark on this. None of their high-tech investigative shit is working here and it is pissing them off royally. And it’s not just the phone calls from the mystery woman. They haven’t the slightest idea who the guy is who grabbed the girl to begin with. Add to that the fact that Sam has his cellphone turned off when the woman tries to call, and it’s a real clusterfuck over there.”
“So where are they now—sitting around, waiting for another call?”
“I didn’t tell you. The woman called Sam’s wife. A couple hours later.”
“She did?”
“Yeah. And she rattled off all the contact numbers on the girl’s cellphone. You know, as proof she has the kid. Sam said that doesn’t prove anything.”
“What was the wife’s reaction?”
“She believes it,” Molly said. “I mean, she wants to believe it so badly. Wouldn’t you?”
“She can’t be very happy with Sam then.”
“I would call that an understatement.” Molly had a sip of coffee. “So what does this do for us? You can bet that Barton’s people are going to be screaming about his name being tossed around in a kidnapping investigation.”
“Which means the clip is going to get played over and over. And keep in mind that Sam insisted that Barton is not involved.”
“Well, after a fashion,” Molly pointed out.
“I say we put the whole interview on the website,” Bill said. “Let people decide what he said and what he didn’t say.”
Molly gave up on the coffee. “When Sam called after the taping, he claimed there were a bunch of young guys outside the studio, holding up No Surrender signs and chanting his name. You believe that?”
“Possibly,” Bill said. “But if they had signs, I guarantee they got them from Sam, or somebody working for him.”
“What good is that though? We’re not after the New York vote. I have to admit he’s got some momentum going over this abduction. Even you couldn’t buy exposure like this, Bill. But we should be riding this wave back in Wyoming. How would it look if we went out there for a couple days, with the investigation ongoing? And would he go for it?”
“He might,” Bill said. “It gets him away from the thing he’s trying to avoid in the first place. As for how it would look, we’d have to finesse it. He’d have to make a statement, how he’s in constant communication with the FBI, etc. It’s doable.” He paused. “We’ll need some more graphics—signs, T-shirts, buttons. No Surrender, with Sam’s image underneath, looking defiant.”
“We could make up a poster,” Molly said. “Put him on the wall at the Alamo, with Crockett and Bowie and Travis. Of course, that might lose us the Mexican vote.”
“There’s Mexicans in Wyoming?”
“That was a joke, Bill,” Molly said.
As she ended the call, the phone rang in her hand. It was Sam, calling from the limo, wanting to know if she’d watched the interview. He was like a puppy, waiting to be praised for not pissing on the carpet. She skipped the expected kudos and told him about the plan to go back to Wyoming.
“I’m coming over,” he said.
When he walked in the room fifteen minutes later, he went straight to the bar and poured himself a half a glass of scotch. For a man who presented himself as the ultimate maverick, he was as predictable as the sunrise. He plopped into a chair and indicated her wardrobe.
“Looking casual there, Molly.” He sipped the drink. “Gotta say, you can pull it off.”
Molly had no interest in making small talk with him. “How would you square it with the FBI, heading back to Wyoming?”
“I wouldn’t square anything. I’ll just tell them and they can like it or lump it.”
Molly sat down on the couch across from him. She would have liked a drink herself now, or a cold beer, but she decided against it. She didn’t want him to get the impression they were socializing, especially after his remark about her clothes.
“It definitely opens up more media opportunities,” she said, thinking out loud. “The people who’d rather not hear about your politics might be interested in your daughter’s story.” She paused. “Although you might have to temper your message.”
“What’s that mean?”
“The interview tonight was a tad fanciful, don’t you think?” she asked.
Sam had a drink, smiling. “In what way?”
“You know the answer to that. Lincoln said that you can fool some of the people all of the time but you need to think about the rest. The Washington Post had Trump lying two thousand times during his first year in office alone. The number now is around fifteen thousand and his approval ratings are the lowest in history. You might keep that in mind.”
“I don’t lie.”
Molly let it slide. She knew there was a very good possibility that Sam believed he didn’t lie. Molly wasn’t going to lose sleep over it either way.
“How soon can you be ready to go then?” she asked. “I can start setting things up.”
“Why not tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow is good.” Molly opened her iPad and made a point of checking the itinerary. She was quiet as she did and after a few moments Sam took the hint. Finishing his drink in a gulp, he got to his feet.
“I’ll leave you to it,” he said.
She stood and walked with him to the door. “I’ll charter a plane for tomorrow afternoon, give you time to do whatever you need to on the home front.”
“The home front can take care of itself,” he said, smiling needlessly.
He stopped before opening the door, not looking at her at first, and then suddenly he turned and tried to kiss her, his right hand cupping her breast. Some instinct had warned her it was coming and she immediately struck him in the face with an open hand hard enough to send him backwards against the door.
“Don’t ever fucking touch me,” she said.
He covered by laughing. “Women nowadays. You don’t know how to take a compliment.”
The statement was so idiotic that Molly didn’t bother to respond. She told him to get out and he did, still holding the smile, as if what had happened was no more than a prank gone awry. When he was gone, she drank a vodka and tonic and then another as she sat there, wondering what to do. At one point she dialed Bill Ford’s number before hanging up.
By morning, she had decided not to quit. She was working for the Ford brothers, not Sam Jackson. She had taken the job and she would see it through. Whatever had happened was already in the past. She was quite certain it wouldn’t happen again.
Not with her anyway.