The Governor's Wife (25 page)

"The hell you are! I found them! They're in Texas—and I'm the goddamned governor of Texas!"

"I don't care if you're the fucking king of Canada! Those kids are coming with us!"

"Prime minister," the Professor said. "Canada has a prime minister, not a king."

The ICE agent gave Jim Bob a "fuck you" look then said to Bode, "These kids belong to the federal government."

"The hell they do," Bode said.

Governors of the fifty states hate natural disasters like hurricanes and tornadoes and wildfires that tear a swath of destruction across the land, and man-made disasters like an offshore oil rig blowout that dumps millions of barrels of oil into pristine waters, and Wall Street gamblers who play high-risk games with the world's economy and lose, busting state budgets in the process; but they reserve their highest degree of hatred for the most arrogant, self-righteous, and overbearing bastards to walk God's green earth.

"Fucking Feds," Bode said.

Texas Governor Bode Bonner and Texas Ranger Hank Williams put their big bodies between the Feds and the kids. They remained in a Mexican stand-off until Jim Bob made a few calls to Washington. The secretary of the Department of Homeland Security worked for a politician, so she sided with politics. The last thing her Democratic president (who wanted Latino votes in the next election) needed was thirteen Mexican kids shown on the national news being perp-walked out of the lodge like criminals by ICE agents under her command. She ordered the agents to stand down. They weren't pleased, particularly when Bode gave the head agent a parting, "Fuck you and the horse you rode in on." ICE departed in defeat, Bode, Jim Bob, and Hank shared high-fives all around, and Rosita and Pedro searched the lodge calling out to the kids in Spanish: "Please come out, children. ICE is not going to take you away. The governor is going to take you on the airplane to Austin. You will live in the Governor's Mansion.
La mansión del gobernador de Tejas
."

Legal custody of thirteen Mexican children was now vested in the governor of Texas.

The Professor's idea. He said the political lesson learned from Kennedy was that if you surround a handsome politician with cute children the voting public will form a favorable impression of him even if he's screwing Marilyn Monroe on the side. The man didn't have a Ph.D. in politics for nothing. So they had all flown back to Austin Sunday morning in the Gulfstream. They put the kids in the spare bedrooms in the Mansion, but the boys kept running outside to pee on the south lawn. Turns out, they had never before used an indoor bathroom. Bode gave them a Toilet 101 lesson; fortunately, there were no bidets in the Mansion. Once the boys discovered the kitchen—"
¡Cocina interior!
"—and learned that the chef would cook whatever they wanted upon request, they had eaten around the clock while watching Mexican
fútbol
on cable. Mandy signed on as camp counselor, and Lupe adopted them like the children she never had. They laughed and smiled and seemed like normal kids who didn't speak English, not kids who had been held captive for a year on a remote marijuana farm in West Texas.

Except Josefina. She did not laugh or smile.

They were now scrubbed clean and sporting new clothes from the Gap. Mandy and Hank had taken them shopping the day before and charged $3,000 on the campaign credit card. But the kids would look nice on national TV. Because the governor of Texas was about to do what you do in America when you win the lottery or lose a reality show or claim a politician sexually harassed you or get banned from the prom for being a same-sex couple or kill three bad-ass
hombres
in West Texas: you go on television and tell the nation how you "feel," that being critical information all of America needed to know before breakfast—along with that Kardashian girl's latest love fiasco, of course. Bode had always experienced the urge to puke his oatmeal at the pathetic people parading their emotions on the network morning shows, desperate for their fifteen minutes.

Now he was about to join the parade.

The local station's producer came over and said, "George is wrapping up his interview with the couple that got kicked off
Dancing with the Stars
last night. You're up next." He sized Bode up then turned and shouted, "Make-up!" Back to Bode: "New York will run a setup piece then you'll go live with George."

The make-up lady arrived and gave Bode a once-over through her red reading glasses. She then patted a powdery pad on his forehead.

"That'll keep the glare down. Not much I can do about the hair."

Lupe had brushed and sprayed his hair to perfection that morning. The make-up lady stepped away, leaving Bode to stare at Jim Bob in the corner fiddling with his phone. Texting. Twitting. Tweetering. Whatever. Immediately after the shooting on Saturday, the Professor had commenced orchestrating a nonstop media blitz for the coming week. The shooting had made front-page headlines in every major newspaper in the country on Sunday—they called him an "American Hero"—and the Mansion switchboard had been overloaded with calls from media outlets across the country and around the world. Everyone wanted a piece of Bode Bonner. Jim Bob Burnet held the hottest news story in America in his hands, and he was using it to Bode's best advantage—because in the 24/7 news cycle that was life in America today, anyone could become someone in twenty-four hours.

Bode Bonner was now someone.

Jim Bob stepped over to Bode with the phone held high and said, "You got over two hundred thousand followers now, more than Romney. Course, he's a Mormon. How exciting could his life be? Oh, you made the nationals."

"I did?"

"You did. The Rasmussen tracking poll puts you at ten percent among Republican voters, Gallup at twelve. You're in the game now, Bode. America saw you for the first time this weekend and they liked what they saw—a rugged, handsome, action-hero."

He paused as if pondering the mysteries of the universe.

"What are the odds? We go out to John Ed's ranch that day, we're on that ridge and you're already sighted in at the exact moment the girl tries to escape—right place, right time, right gun. If I were a religious man, I'd say it was God's will. But I'm not, so I'd say you are one lucky SOB. And one thing I've learned from gambling in Vegas—when you're on a lucky streak, don't quit."

"Ride the wave."

"All the way to the White House. The 'Bode Bonner for President' campaign starts right now. I've plotted out a media tour for the next seven days, starting with the network morning shows. After that, we fly back out to John Ed's ranch for the
60 Minutes
profile. Tomorrow we fly to L.A., then Chicago, New York, and wrap up the week in D.C. on
Fox News Sunday
. One week from today, you'll be the presumptive Republican candidate for the presidency of the United States of America. If you don't fuck it up."

"How?"

"By saying something stupid on national TV."

"No. How will I be the Republican presidential candidate in one week?"

"Because you're fixing to catch the biggest wave in politics since Reagan in eighty. He was bigger than life, and you're about to be. This is a game changer, Bode. The sort of thing that can put a Texan back in the White House."

"How do you know?"

"Because this is what I do."

What he did was make Bode give up the Armani suits. "Italian suits and French cuffs won't sell in Iowa and New Hampshire." So the governor of Texas was wearing a starched, buttoned-down, long-sleeved, pearl-white shirt with the athletic cut to accentuate his impressive physique, jeans, a black cowboy belt with a sterling silver Great Seal of Texas buckle, and black cowboy boots. The Professor was frowning.

"Did Lupe spray your hair this morning?"

"Of course."

"Well, don't do it anymore. Man using hair spray, evokes vanity and femininity. Voters don't want their president to be vain or their commander-in-chief to have a feminine side."

"You never complained before."

"You never had a chance to be president before."

His eyes hadn't left Bode's hair, and the frown hadn't left his face. He reached his hand up with his fingers spread wide to Bode's head—but he froze in midair.

"Where's Mandy?"

Bode nodded toward the back corner where Mandy stood with little Josefina, whose arms were wrapped tightly around herself. She was only twelve and slight of build and looked more like a skinny boy than a girl. When Mandy reached out to touch her shoulder, she recoiled. Jim Bob called out to Bode's aide and mistress.

"Mandy!"

She broke away from Josefina and arrived with a frown.

"Josefina's terrified of being touched by anyone. We need to get her a therapist. I'll ask mine if he counsels children."

"You have a therapist?"

She shrugged a yes.

"I'm taking the kids to the pediatrician this afternoon," she said.

"Check their eyesight. A couple of the boys sit two feet from the TV. And take them to the dentist, their teeth are terrible. Take Lupe to translate."

"Can I use the campaign credit card?"

"Sure."

The Professor's eyes had returned to Bode's head.

"Mandy, run your fingers through Bode's hair."

She eyed his hair then Jim Bob.

"But his hair looks perfect."

"Exactly."

She shrugged and stepped close enough to Bode that he could inhale her scent. He felt a stirring, then he felt guilty. His wife knew about his mistress, but he still felt guilty. His mistress now ran her fingers through his hair. Jim Bob observed the result in his professorial mode.

"Again."

She repeated the maneuver. This time Bode felt strands of hair fall onto his forehead. Jim Bob framed Bode's face with his fingers.

"Audience for these morning shows is female, so you've got to appeal to women. Mandy, look at this man. As a woman—and God knows, you are a woman—do you want this man?"

"Every day. Every time I see him. In fact, right now. God, I love it when he wears those tight jeans."

Her face flushed as her body temperature spiked, and she licked her red lips then took a step toward Bode as if to embrace him.

"Downshift your engine, girl," Jim Bob said. "We got cameras in the room."

"Oh … yeah."

She blew out a breath and shook her head at the opportunity lost then returned to the kids. Bode and Jim Bob looked after her—her firm bottom encased in the tight form-fitting knit dress—and Jim Bob said, "Naturally horizontal."

"We're live in ten seconds!" the TV producer said. "Children, quiet down."

They were chattering
muy rápido
in Spanish.

"I feel like I'm at a bullfight in Juarez," Jim Bob said.

"Mandy, give them some more donuts."

She passed out donuts, and the kids quieted down. Jim Bob went back to the corner, and Josefina took her place at Bode's feet.

"We're live!" the producer said.

On the monitor, Bode saw the anchor in New York addressing the camera.

"As all of America knows by now, this past Saturday Texas Governor Bode Bonner went on what he thought would be just another hunting trip on an isolated game ranch in the desolate Davis Mountains of West Texas—but unbeknownst to him, he was about to stumble upon a scene straight out of an action movie."

The setup piece played on the monitor, a rehash of the shooting with video of the ranch and the valley where he had shot the Mexicans, the dead bodies splayed on the ground, and the children looking filthy and pitiful in ragged clothes at the marijuana camp. The video lingered a long moment on Bode surrounded by the kids almost clinging to him, and then the screen switched to Bode surrounded by the kids in the living room of the Governor's Mansion.

"Now, live from Austin, Texas, we're joined by Governor Bode Bonner and the children he rescued
.
Welcome, Governor."

Bode tousled the hair of the nearest boy—he thought that'd be nice touch on national TV—then smiled into the camera and said, "Morning, George."

"Governor, you look like you're having fun."

"Oh, we've kind of adopted the kids here at the Mansion, fixing them pancakes in the kitchen this morning, playing out on the lawn … and, boy, they love cable TV. And donuts. Like Carlos here."

He patted the boy's head again; the boy looked up and said, "
Soy
Miguel."

"Oh, Miguel. Sorry." To the camera: "Thirteen kids, I haven't gotten their names down yet."

George laughed. "You know, Governor, I knew very little about you before this weekend, and all I had seen of you was a tough-talking, tea-party Texan. But we're seeing a different side of you."

"I'm the governor, George, but I'm also a father. I can only imagine how much these kids' folks back home are worrying about them. We're working fast to get them back to their mamas in Mexico."

Bode's usual public voice was not twangy like a country singer or Deep South like the Mississippi governor, but just a soft drawl—of course, since Bush a Texas drawl had not proved popular anywhere but Texas.

The smallest boy turned to Bode and said, "
¿Mi madre?
"