The Reformers: A Matt Blake Novel (The Matt Blake legal thriller series Book 2) (25 page)

Chapter 55

The helicopter gunship descended to a landing zone in Erbil, the capital of Iraqi Kurdistan. An assistant opened the door and Bartholomew stepped onto the ladder. The gunship was a Eurocopter Tiger, built in 2003. The NFL purchased the aircraft from a German arms dealer. Six more were on order.

The two men strode into a small building next to the airstrip. Bartholomew felt uncomfortable in this part of Kurdistan. He hated the Iraqi government, and looked forward to the day when he would consolidate the different regions of Kurdistan into one, an autonomous region that he would rule.

The assistant opened the door to the building and they were greeted by a comforting blast of air conditioned breeze. William Cunliffe, Bartholomew’s top aide, awaited him. 

“Good morning, Bartholomew, tea?”

“No, William, I don’t want tea, I want answers. Explain to me, in detail if you will, how our guest, Albert Yamani, has managed to escape.”

“Yamani was in a vehicle with two of our most trusted guards when they came upon an American Army post,” said Cunliffe. “Yamani simply walked over to an American vehicle and climbed in. He hasn’t been seen since.”

“And the two ‘most trusted guards,’ William? Tell me about them.”

“They have been ‘repurposed,’ Bartholomew.” Martin was almost fanatical about people using exact language when giving a description of anything. But he grew fond of the word
repurposed
. It had a much more pleasant sound than
killed
.

“You are aware, William, that Yamani was one of our most valuable ‘guests.’ He had finished the first draft of his new book,
The Impossible War
, a critical part of our educational program. Witherspoon, our new publishing arm, is ready to publish it, and we are going forward with the plans. But Yamani is now gone, along with valuable information about us. We can assume that he has escaped to America. I want the highest degree of surveillance in searching for him. He’s no doubt in the Witness Protection Program. Our sources tell me that the WPP has hardened its security since our two colleagues escorted Yamani and his friends from an FBI safe house to the compound here in Kurdistan. William, finding Yamani is an absolute top priority.”

“I shall personally see to it, Bartholomew.”

***

“William, to change the subject, please talk to me about the American political landscape.”

“Although the election is a year from now,” said Cunliffe, “the poll numbers show you and the Freedom from Terror Party with an amazing lead.”

“The word ‘amazing’ is an opinion, William. “Please give me specific data.”

“The polls from the major networks, as well as the cable networks of CNN and Fox, all show you as number one with 51 percent, leading the closest rival by an average of 14 points. Governor Frank Simon, the Republican hopeful, is second with 21 percent, and Senator Kurt Lysle, the Democratic front runner, in third with 9 percent.”

“Are there any other likely candidates from either party, William?”

“Bartholomew, I know that you don’t like to talk about rumors, but you should hear this. Matthew Blake, a Chicago lawyer and Deputy Secretary of Homeland Security, may be preparing a run for president. This isn’t widely known, and the press hasn’t touched it yet.”

“William,” Bartholomew shouted, “do you know who this man is?” Bartholomew follows a self-imposed rule never to raise his voice, but his emotions let go after Cunliffe told him about Matt Blake.

“I’m sorry, Bartholomew, but I know little about the man. I’m studying him now.”

“Matthew Blake was the attorney for Albert Yamani in that trumped-up mall bombing case,” Bartholomew said. “He also represented Albert in negotiating his first book deal with Random House. I think it’s safe to assume that Mr. Yamani has met with Mr. Blake or is meeting with him right now. So Albert Yamani, a man who knows the secrets of NFL, is now in the confidence of the Deputy Secretary of Homeland Security, a man who may be planning to run for president. William, I want you to present me with a plan to handle this situation. I will meet with you again tomorrow, and I expect a detailed outline of your action steps.”

“Yes, Bartholomew. I know it will start with Mr. Yamani being
repurposed
once we find him. ”

Chapter 56

“Mrs. Blake, your targets are in place. You may commence firing when ready,” said the FBI shooting range safety office.

The last place I expected to be was an FBI shooting range. I’m a pretty good shot with a pistol, having been taught by my father years ago. But I don’t like the feeling of firing a weapon, especially because I knew that it was not a casual exercise. Matt convinced me that I should carry a gun at all times, and even gave me a lovely new shoulder holster for comfort.

Besides the range safety officer, I had my own personal FBI weapons trainer assisting me. The trainer, Agent Gil Fremont, concentrated my efforts on a draw-and-shoot drill. I would start with my back to the target, then draw my pistol from the shoulder holster as I spun around. At the same time I would go into a crouch and fire two shots at mid-torso on the target. I had to admit to myself that I was getting pretty good at this crap. Dear diary—brace yourself.

I never tell Matt anything but the truth. That’s the way it is with us. After more than three years of marriage I love him as much as ever, but now, of course there’s a new dimension to our relationship. I’ve managed to convince Matt to run for President of the United States. And some people, specifically Bartholomew Martin and his lot, hate that idea. That’s what the weapons training was all about.

Two days ago Matt and I met with Max Fleming, Chairman of the Republican National Committee. Max was the man who floated the idea by me first, and he requested that I be with Matt when we met.

Max Fleming could be described as an “old school gentleman,” not some cigar chomping political operative. He’s a tall man, at 6’1,” about 60 years old with gray flecked brown hair. He had a reputation for wearing impeccable designer suits on all public occasions. We met at his office in Washington D.C.

Max walked over to the coffee service and brought a tray to the conference table.

“Matt,” said Fleming, “I know you’re wondering why I floated this idea to you through Diana. I did it for two reasons. First, I know Diana as a sharp-minded intellectual, a gal who knows how to take sensitive information and run with it. Also, it’s an open secret that you two have a close marriage, and who better for me to get to the source with my message? Bottom line, Matt, you’re a man uniquely situated to run for the top office. You’re a war hero, a successful lawyer, a government official, and a terrific public speaker. You’re somewhat unknown, but so was Abraham Lincoln at one time.”

Abraham Lincoln? I thought. Max knows how to get somebody’s attention.

“As you know, as my party’s top official, I can’t openly endorse you—yet. I have to maintain a studied distance between me and any possible party candidate. But that won’t stop me from urging you to run. Matt, sometimes the stars align perfectly, and the stars have aligned on a great guy named Matt Blake. So I’m asking you, and of course this is unofficial for the time being, do you want the job?”

“Yes, I do,” Matt said in his strongest voice while grabbing my hand. 

Fleming stood and reached his hand across the table. He and Matt shook hands, staring into each other’s eyes.

“Matt, someday I look forward to addressing you as ‘Mr. President.’ As I’ve said, I can’t endorse you yet, but I sure as hell know how to put out information. I suggest that you and Diana stay here in D.C. overnight. You’re going to be spending a lot of time on the telephone. I suggest that you make your official announcement tonight on the Fox News program
Special Report
with Bret Baier. Fox has a sound studio here in Washington, so Baier will interview you via split screen. I’ll call them now, and they’ll move heaven and earth to book you.”

***

The intercom buzzed. “Mr. Fleming, it’s President Reynolds on line one,” said his assistant. “He wants to speak to Mr. Blake.”

“Good morning Mr. President, Matt Blake here.”

“I knew you’d be there, Matt. Information has a way of reaching me. I also know why you’re there to meet with my good friend Max Fleming. I have one message for you, Matt. Go for it. You’ll make a great president. I’m going to abandon the normal bullshit of maintaining a presidential distance from the campaign. I’m going to openly endorse you and campaign for you. Our country needs a man like you. The last thing the country needs is that fucking nutcase who hangs out in Kurdistan.”

“Mr. President, I can’t thank you enough for your kind words of support. While I have you on the phone, I think it’s appropriate that I resign my position as Deputy Secretary of Homeland Security. It’s a clear conflict of interest for me to be spying on the man who I’m running against for office.”

“I reluctantly accept your resignation, Matt. You’re right, it would be a conflict of interest. You’ve done a hell of a job, and your speech before the Senate committee put you on the political map. I’m proud to know you, my friend.”

***

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, I’m Bret Baier, and welcome to
Special Report
. We have a distinguished guest with us this evening on our split screen from Washington D.C., Mr. Matt Blake, Deputy Secretary of Homeland Security, and well-known trial lawyer from Chicago. Mr. Blake is also a war hero, having served in Iraq as a captain with the United States Marine Corps. He’s the most decorated Chicago resident since World War II. A lot of Americans sat up and took notice of Mr. Blake when he delivered a policy speech for the Homeland Security Department to a Senate committee recently.”

I sat off to the right of the sound stage in Washington, sweating like a beer barrel on a hot summer day. I looked at Matt and felt better. Even though he was under the strong TV lights, he was totally composed, as relaxed with the camera as the seasoned host interviewing him from New York. Fleming knew what he was doing when he tapped Matt. So did I.

“Mr. Blake, rumors have been spreading like wildfire about you this afternoon. Is there something you’d like to say to our viewing audience?”

“Yes, Brett, and thank you for inviting me on your show. I’m announcing my candidacy for President of the United States.”

***

So that was it. It’s official. Matt, my Matt, is a candidate for President of the United States. Gone are the days of planning one project at a time. Gone are our quiet evenings of just being together. Gone is our privacy. So what. Matt is a man with greatness in him, and that’s why I encouraged him to run. Ever since I met him, I knew Matt was a great guy. Now I’m convinced he’s a great man. Our country needs him, and now I’m dedicating my life to making it happen. As good old Bennie Weinberg would say, “That’s no bullshit.”

Chapter 57

I’ve gone through some weird shit in my life. I was wounded and almost killed in Iraq. I lost a beautiful young fiancée to a car accident. Dee and I were almost killed in a terrorist attack while we were in the Witness Protection Program in New York. But I’ve also gone through some wonderful stuff, and it began with the day I met Dee. For a reason I can’t figure out, Dee and I are getting closer. I know this sounds dumb, but I sometimes feel like our souls have blended. Well, why the hell should I try to figure it out? She’s the best part of my life, so let it just go at that.

Now I’m a candidate for President of the United States. It’s been a week since I officially announced my candidacy, and suddenly our lives are in overdrive. That’s fine. Both Dee and I knew what we were getting into, and we realized that just like shaking alcoholism and drug addiction, you take it one day at a time. We’re committed to making it an adventure, to making it fun. We’re also committed to each other. That will never change.

“Honey, you gotta see this,” I yelled to Dee.

It was 6 a.m. and we were both up as usual. She ran into the living room as I was watching TV. The early morning anchor had just announced that new poll numbers were about to be released.

“This is a shock, ladies and gentlemen,” said the announcer on CNN. “Polling numbers that have just been released by Gallup, CBS, and our own CNN, tell us that the upcoming presidential campaign will be the game to watch in the next few months. Just a week ago, Bartholomew Martin from the controversial third party Freedom from Terror, held what looked like a commanding lead, along with House and Senate candidates from his party. A week ago Mr. Martin led with 51 percent in his favor. Then along came Matt Blake, Deputy Undersecretary of Homeland Security. As of today, Martin, while still in the lead, is only one percent ahead of Blake. That’s right, ladies and gentlemen, it’s Martin at 50 percent, and Blake at 49 percent. With an average margin of error between three and four percent, this race is officially a
DEAD HEAT
. What an unbelievable show of catch-up ball. Folks, this is a great time to be a reporter—or a bookie.”

I handed Dee a cup of coffee.

“Should I demand a recount?” I said.

“Don’t be funny, wiseass,” she said as she kissed me. “Matt, I’m confused. This is absolutely amazing. Your campaign staff isn’t even in place yet. You haven’t even attended one fundraiser, and you’ve only been on a few TV shows. Something big is going on, something called Matt Blake. I did notice that a lot of TV shows have been running a clip of your speech before the Senate. That little talk of yours is resonating with the voters. Matt, you can win this election.”

***

“Mr. Blake, Donald Cooper is here to see you, the gentleman you told me about,” said Jerome the doorman over the intercom.

“Mr. Blake? Hey, Jerome, it’s me,” I said.

“I’m just warming up to address you as Mr. President, Mr. Blake,” said Jerome.

Don Cooper was recommended by Max Fleming to be my campaign manager. Cooper is a seasoned professional, having worked on four presidential campaigns and dozens of gubernatorial and senate races. He’s expensive, but he’s worth it, because he knows how to win. He also has a reputation as a cool customer, a man not easily rattled, which is a good trait for a man about to run a close presidential race. Don is about 5’11,” 60 years old, with blondish gray hair. His nose is decidedly crooked from a fall he took while camping as a kid. The fracture wasn’t set in time, so he now looks like a boxer. He looks like a guy you don’t want to mess with. He’s thin, which tells me he either stays in shape or burns calories with nervous energy. Dee thinks he looks like Paul Newman, except for the crooked nose.

“Matt, Diana, it’s a pleasure to meet you folks, and I thank you for your confidence in hiring me. In all my years of managing campaigns, I thought I’d seen it all, but this morning’s poll numbers have my head spinning. Matt, you’ve gone from nowhere to contender in a week, and we’ve barely started the campaign. You’re a hell of a candidate, Matt, and I look forward to the day when I replace ‘Matt’ with ‘Mr. President.’ It can happen, and I’m going to make it happen.”

“Don, I want to ask you a question,” I said. “Diana is and always has been my most trusted advisor. As you know, she’s a professor of political science at Northwestern and is the author of a widely used textbook on American politics. I hope you don’t see Diana as a source of conflict. I’ve heard that campaign managers like to call all the shots.”

“You will soon understand something about me, Matt, that I consider myself a learner, not just a teacher. I know all about your wife, and I look forward to working with her, not having her work for me. I am open to any and all comments and suggestions. Diana will have a speed access number on my cell phone, and the line will always be open to her. I don’t often get to work with somebody with Diana’s credentials.”

“I’m glad we got that out of the way, Don. I think you’ll find that my lovely wife is also easy to get along with.”

“As long as Matt obeys me,” Dee said, after which I grabbed her in a playful headlock. When she said that, I noticed look of concern on Cooper’s face. Don Cooper will soon get used to Dee’s wiseass sense of humor.

Don spread a stack of papers before us on the dining room table, going over the basic breakdown of a campaign, including finances, scheduling, and basic organization.

“As you folks know, fundraising is critical. You’re starting off with a loan from the RNC, but it’s just a loan, standard procedure for a new candidate who doesn’t have a campaign chest behind him yet. I have a group of social media whiz kids on my staff who will scour the Internet for donations, but the big dollars will come through your efforts. Matt. I’ve heard you talk, and I’ve studied your efforts with your charitable foundation. I think you will have no problem shaking the money trees. And shake them we must. Our opponent has oil wells and gold mines at his disposal. I’ve already given instructions to Amy Townsend, my scheduling director. She’s the best there is, and has a contact list like the Manhattan phone book.”

We spent the next three hours delving into the upcoming campaign. It felt great to see some solid items on paper replacing my queasy feeling over the past week that I didn’t know what I was doing.

After Don left, Dee put her arms around my waist and looked at me.

“The Blake for President Campaign is officially under way, honey,” Dee said. “The next few months are going to be exciting as hell.”

And, knowing Bartholomew Martin as I do, scary as hell, although I didn’t share that thought with Dee.