Conspiracy (5 page)

Taylor rested her head on her hand and stared through the window, feeling glum. Outside, a light mist was falling, coating the first leaves of autumn on the ground. An expression popped into her mind: Snatching defeat from the jaws of victory.

Over her shoulder she heard the senator calling them back to the kitchen. He looked harried. Under Sally's watchful gaze, he announced, "The day after that Chicago speech, I want to go to St. Michaels for the weekend."

Pretending that Kendrick hadn't tipped her off, Taylor acted stunned and upset. "You can't do that. Friday morning you're supposed to be in Charleston, South Carolina. Friday afternoon there's a fund-raiser back here for Washington lawyers. Then Saturday and Sunday we have to closet ourselves in your house in Georgetown and get ready for the debate Monday night."

"We don't need two full days to get ready."

"This debate will probably decide the election. We've worked too hard and come too far to let it slip away." She was pleading with the senator with her eyes.

"I have to agree with Taylor," Kendrick chimed in. "She's right."

"She's always right about everything," Sally said, looking at Taylor and Kendrick and shaking her head. "I can't believe you two. I really can't. How can you be fighting against Charles's going to the country for the weekend?"

"We're trying to run a campaign," Taylor said.

"Oh, you certainly are. The two of you want Charles in the White House because that way you get the big jobs in government. You don't care how tired he is," she snapped.

"That's enough," Boyd said.

But Sally wasn't finished. "Jesus, Charles, when you wanted to come to Washington, I sold my business. Now I've got my gallery so that it's almost as good as one of the top New York places. All I'm asking from you is one weekend in the country. One lousy weekend. Is that so much? If you're around, I'll be able to land Emilio Cipriani for his new showing."

"For God's sake," said Boyd, who had been sick of her for years, "I can't get into all of this now. Bob and I have to fly up to New York. I've got people waiting."

"I don't care who's waiting. For the past year I was willing to take all of your stuff and theirs as well, and to be on call for your presidential campaign because at least you made an effort to be half decent to me. I figured if you won, it would be exciting for us in the White House. But ever since the convention, you don't even know I exist. I've had it. I've had enough with a capital E!"

Sally stormed out of the room, leaving Taylor horrified. They needed her to make campaign appearances with the senator. They'd be dead without her. Moving quickly, Taylor cut her off in the living room before she could go upstairs.

Sally's jaw was set. Her blue eyes had a glint of steel. "You don't get it. You really don't. So I'll make myself clear with a capital C. Either Charles comes to the country this weekend, or I'm leaving him. It's as simple as that. Now you decide."

Taylor hesitated for a second. Looking at Sally, she knew this was no bluff. "He'll go to St. Michaels."

Back in the kitchen, without signaling Kendrick, Taylor said wearily, "I'll change the schedule. We'll be able to do the debate prep in St. Michaels."

Boyd nodded in approval. "Crane can go to Charleston for me."

"He doesn't play well in the South," Taylor said matter-of-factly.

"Then why'd
you
want him on the ticket as vice president?"

She was taken aback by his testy tone. "Because you had no other way to get the nomination."

"He'll have to do the best he can. And you can talk to the Washington lawyers Friday afternoon. They're your clan anyway." He looked at Kendrick. "Get our stuff together. We've got a plane to catch."

Once Boyd was upstairs, Kendrick shared a commiserating look with Taylor. "You'd better tell me where you're going to be for the next couple of days in case I have to reach you and can't get through on your cell phone."

"I'll be at campaign headquarters today, and tomorrow at my office at Blank, Porter, and Harrison."

Kendrick scowled. "Why are you still spending time at the law firm? From here on out the campaign should be a full-time job for you."

"C'mon, Bob. My deal with the senator has been fifty-fifty all along, and you know there's been no problem. Every speech and every position paper's been ready on time."

"That may not be good enough anymore. We're down to the short strokes now."

She could understand his frustration. It was a feeling she shared. She would have liked nothing better than to be working full-time for the campaign, but she was already in trouble at the law firm for spending so little time on firm business. Kathy, her secretary, had reported hearing partners grumble in the corridors: "Why are we paying her half her salary?" The nineties were over. Lawyers in large firms were expendable these days, and Taylor couldn't afford to sever her relationship with the firm.

"What are you worried about?" she asked.

"Shit happens at the end of every campaign. Things come flying out of left field at a thousand miles an hour. You've got to move fast or they'll knock your candidate out of the ballpark."

* * *

The furnace room at campaign headquarters was going full blast when Taylor arrived. It looked like a makeshift temporary office. Battered metal desks and chairs, hastily rented, had been tossed almost at random in the large center bull pen and a series of small offices along the outside walls of the building. The constant
click, click
of word processors and the humming of laser printers filled the air. Members of the brain trust, all of whom Taylor had handpicked, mostly in their twenties, hurried around with papers in their hands, composed memoranda and speeches in front of computer screens, or assembled in twos and threes to argue about an idea and how to formulate it. As Taylor made her way to her corner office, she greeted the staffers. Someone had mounted on her wall a blowup of the results of the day's
Post/
ABC poll that showed the senator leading Webster by three percentage points.

Taylor worked at her desk through the noon hour, eating a yogurt while making notations in the margins of the briefing books for next Monday's debate. She had just turned a page when the sound of the intercom jarred her. "Saul Cooper from the
L.A. Times
on line one."

Taylor picked up immediately. "Coop, if it's tennis, I'm sorry I can't play this evening. I'm buried here."

"I wish it were tennis."

She detected a grim edge in the normally jovial Cooper's voice. "What's up?"

"We better talk in person. For certain conversations, I hate using the phone. You never know."

"I'm tight on time today. Can we do it tomorrow morning?"

"This can't wait."

Cooper was not prone to exaggeration. He had something urgent to tell her. "Where and when?" she asked.

"How about a park bench in the center of Franklin Square? I can get there in fifteen minutes."

"It's raining, Coop."

"It was raining this morning. It stopped. Don't you ever look out your window?"

"I've been busy."

"Fifteen minutes?"

"I'll be there, Coop."

She marked her place and grabbed her coat, taking an umbrella just in case. But Coop was right: The storm had passed.

She arrived first, sat down, and watched him approach from K Street, cutting diagonally across the park with long strides. Cooper, a widower at forty-seven, was tall and wiry with graying black hair that was thinning in front. He was carrying a white paper bag and wearing a dark blue raincoat that was so beaten up, she'd bet it was the only one he had ever owned.

Sitting down on the bench, he opened the bag. Inside was a pint of Ben & Jerry's ice cream, which he pulled out along with two plastic spoons. "Cherry Garcia, your favorite."

She smiled. "You know how I love ice cream, Coop. This is a treat. It's also the nicest thing anybody's done for me all week."

For several minutes they ate in silence. Taylor tuned out the campaign and watched the pigeons sturdily pacing among the golden leaves. Finally she said, "I guess you didn't drag me down here to eat ice cream."

"Unfortunately not."

"Okay, give."

"I want to tell you something as a friend."

His solemn tone set off alarm bells. "You've got my attention."

"About half an hour ago I got a call from Ed Dawson, one of our reporters who works out of the San Francisco office."

"And?" She was holding her breath.

"Ed told me that there's some serious digging going on up in Napa about Senator Boyd's past. Rumors are starting to surface that there's some skeleton in Boyd's closet that could hurt him and change the election."

Cooper's words shook Taylor to the core. A scandal at this late stage would wreak havoc on the campaign. It took her a few seconds to recover her composure. "Who's doing the digging?"

"I asked Dawson. He said that he doesn't know."

"Then how'd he find out about it?"

"First he got an anonymous tip. Then he made some calls to check on what he'd been told. He's just begun his own checking."

Taylor cried out, "C'mon, Coop. An
anonymous
tip?"

"Hey, don't shoot the messenger. At this point we don't know much. I wanted you to have everything I did ASAP."

"Skeletons in the closet," she said in an angry, bitter voice. "That type of character assassination finds its way into every presidential campaign sooner or later. You know that, Coop. You've been in this town a long time. President Webster and his distinguished attorney general and campaign manager, Hugh McDermott, must be behind it. McDermott's a sleaze, and they're getting desperate. So they'll plant stuff like this. You guys in the press always take the bait."

The veteran newspaperman shook his head. "For your sake I hope you're right, but it's a little more complicated than that."

Wide-eyed, Taylor stared at him, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"Dawson also heard in this anonymous call that the U.S. attorney's office in Washington will be launching an investigation of the senator."

His words rocked Taylor back on the bench. Even the existence of an investigation like that would destroy the senator's chances of winning. She tried to keep up a brave front. "Well, they won't find anything. He's a good man. That's why I'm working with him."

She bit down on her lip. "It's all so damn frustrating." She squeezed her fingers together, breaking the plastic spoon in two. The ice cream that had tasted so good a few minutes ago was curdling in her stomach. "We've run our campaign on the high road, concentrating on the issues, presenting a program for change and improvement for the American people. Now that we're winning, this is how Webster and McDermott respond."

"Did you really expect anything else?"

"I suppose not, but still I won't get into the gutter with them and start slinging mud."

"I'm not telling you how to run your campaign. So far you're doing better than I ever imagined."

She hesitated for a second. Then she gulped hard and asked, "Will your paper publish tomorrow what you told me about the rumors in Napa?"

Cooper waved off the idea. "We don't have enough for a story. Not yet, anyway. I don't think it would be responsible journalism to publish what we have now. Fortunately, as the head of the Washington bureau, I get a veto on a story like this."

She breathed a sigh of relief. "I'll let you know if I hear anything else."

"Thanks, Coop. You're a real friend. Anytime, day or night, get to me."

 

 

 

Chapter 3

 

Closeted alone in his office, Cady read every document in the brown envelope four times. If they were all accurate, there would be a powerful case against Senator Boyd.

In any other situation, he'd set off with zeal on the investigation, but he was still bothered by the way in which the materials had arrived in his office and Doerr's immediately backing off. He needed a sanity check before he fell into a trap. He'd consult with his longtime mentor before taking the next step.

He checked his watch before calling. By this hour of the afternoon, he expected the Chief to be working at home.

Betty answered the phone.

"I hope I'm not disturbing you," he said.

"C. J. Cady! We haven't seen you in ages, since our party in June. You should be ashamed of yourself, neglecting your old friends like that."

Her words made Cady feel guilty. In the past he had visited Betty and her husband, Chief Justice Gerhard Hall, every couple of months. Since the summer, he had been swamped. Now he was calling when he needed something.

"Well, you're forgiven anyhow," she said. "I know how busy all of you boys are. Let me find Gary for you."

While waiting for Hall to come to the phone, Cady thought about his wonderful relationship with the chief justice over the last sixteen years. It began when Hall had hired Cady to be one of his four law clerks, working in the chambers of the chief justice in the Supreme Court building. Cady was one year out of Yale law school at the time and clerking on the D.C. circuit. The year he spent working for "the Chief," as Hall was affectionately called by his clerks, was the most enjoyable and stimulating of Cady's life. Since then he had maintained a close relationship with the jurist.