The Means Read online

  “Please tell us the idea, Jack,” says Stark, saving Mason the trouble.

  “Randy Newhope at Newsweek.”

  “Heard of him,” says Stark. “Why him?”

  “Because I happen to know something about him.”

  The three men are sick of pulling the information from him so they wait.

  “I know that he’s married,” says Jack. “I also know that he’s taken up with a hot little gal following the Pauley campaign.”

  “How do you know it?” asks Ted Knowles.

  “Doesn’t matter. I know it. It’s certain.”

  “So you want to use this?” asks Stark. Stark will take over the questions so Mason doesn’t have to speak while the plan is formed. It doesn’t absolve Mason, but it’s something.

  “I’ll just let Randy know in a very kind and humorous way that I know he’s having a good time. I’ll then let him know that the Standard is planning a story about the president having a good time. I’ll give him some good ideas for a story to come out in the next twenty-four hours. Maybe that the days of the media judging a president by his personal life are long over and that only hacks do that. Maybe that citing unnamed sources in an administration is classic bullshit journalism. We’ll craft a few things. Then I’ll remind him that I met his wife at a reception one time and what a nice lady I thought she was.”

  Mason stays staring at Booth with his expression unchanged but nodding.

  Knowles puts his palms flat to the table. He’s angry. “Blackmail? Your plan is to blackmail Randy Newhope?”

  Nobody wants to put words to the affirmative, but Jack nods yes. He’s certain this is three to one against Knowles.

  “Mr. President,” says Knowles, “this is a very dangerous strategy. If this backfires, we’re screwed.” Knowles is smart enough not to argue this on moral grounds, even though that is what persuaded him.

  Stark answers instead of Mason. “Like Jack says, it all depends on how we present it to Randy Newhope. It doesn’t have to be blackmail. Newhope is having an extramarital affair right now. This could be just a meeting of the minds that an affair is not such a big deal, especially when it comes to judging a sitting president on his job performance.”

  “Wow,” says Knowles. He never says “shit” or “Christ” at any time. It’s a self-discipline he practices so that he doesn’t say those words in a White House press briefing in front of the media.

  All four are silent. The case is laid out and they’re waiting for the verdict from the boss.

  After a moment, the president leans back in his chair, clasps his hands across his stomach, and looks at the ceiling. “Ted, let me tell you something about politics.” He loves not to look at a person when he talks to him. “This is something I know to be true.” He makes a closed-lip smile to himself. “In the beginning, a young person will come to a campaign because he believes in a cause. If that cause doesn’t move forward, there will be real harm to the country. So he believes. He’ll volunteer for a campaign because he’ll find the candidate who can champion that cause. Soon, he’ll come to think that only this candidate can be the real champion for the cause. He’ll love his cause and his candidate equally, and put them first.”

  The president pauses for water then continues. “This young man will be dedicated to victory. Remember, his guy needs to win or the whole country’s in trouble. This young man will come to believe in the philosophy of whatever it takes. That in elections for which the country is at stake, the ends justify the means. You see, the ends are what we all live with every day. Who wins the election, what makes it to the news headlines. It’s what everyone sees and lives. Only a few of us get to see the means. And have to live with it.

  “So our young man who was cause-driven and wide-eyed and innocent at the start will come to face a series of moral decisions, a series of crossroads. He will cross them. Believe me. People on Pauley’s campaign are crossing them right now. Derek Hamilton, our own budget director, is crossing over one right now. You, Ted, need to cross over.” Mason sits forward to look right at Knowles. “Barack Obama won elections because people around him wanted it more. They felt a moral duty to get him elected and they placed that moral duty above all other moral duties. David Axelrod is not a wimp.”

  Boothe and Stark look back and forth between the president and Knowles. They’re not sure if they’re watching an education or an execution. Knowles looks uncomfortable.

  The president breaks the silence. “Let me tell you something else! And this is something I’ve never told anyone. There’s more to it, because the craziest thing happens next.” He sips his water again. “The candidate comes to believe he’s the only person who can serve the cause. And he crosses over. I crossed over. I don’t mean crossing over on little moral issues. I mean crossing over to true indoctrination. Self-indoctrination.” Mason looks across the three of them. He knows this must sound crazy but he tries to sound calm and not crazy.

  They stare back until Mason laughs again. “Everyone who has ever held the nomination of his party has crossed over. Reagan, Obama, both Bushes. Clinton, both Clintons actually. The only difference among us is self-awareness. I know I crossed over. The Bushes knew. Bill Clinton crossed and kept going. He thinks he’s the fulcrum point in the history of mankind, but he knows he’s crossed. I don’t think Obama knows. Hammermill either.”

  Now everyone is uncomfortable. It’s fascinating but nobody wants more of this. But one thing in common that the three listeners think at once is that the man is fucking honest.

  The president brings the conversation back to the main point. “Ted, what do you think is the relationship between our political system and human nature? Is it containment? Is it promotion? Is it a bad system rescued by good people? Or, Ted, is it the best we can do given who we always turn out to be?”

  Ted Knowles hopes this is all rhetorical and he can wait it out and not have to answer. Boothe knows that his plan is approved and that Knowles will support it. Time to speak with Randy Newhope.

  46

  Jack Boothe can get the cell phone number of anyone in the press through the aid that manages media relations. He sends a text message to Randy Newhope.

  Room 1507. 11 p.m. tonight. Keep it quiet. Jack Boothe

  Jack likes how cloak-and-dagger it seems, though it could also seem gay. None of the press has rooms on the fifteenth floor but they’re always trying to get meetings with campaign officials, so if anyone sees Randy on fifteen at a weird hour they’ll assume that’s all he’s doing there.

  At exactly eleven p.m. Randy knocks on Jack’s door. Randy has on jeans and an untucked dress shirt. Jack says, “Take a seat.” He’s in a suite with a writing desk and sofas for meeting that are separate from the bedroom. “Before we get started, you should know that the president doesn’t know anything about this meeting. This is coming from me.” Jack’s words are clipped. There’s nothing social or friendly.

  Randy sits and keeps his eyes on Jack. He’s been in the business long enough to know that the president might know at least the intent of what’s about to be said, if not the details. People lie a lot. “Okay.” He sits and leans forward. He doesn’t want to look cocky yet.

  Jack keeps standing. He has a drink and doesn’t offer one. “Randy, where do you stand on the topic of infidelity?” He pauses to watch the expression go blank. “Of presidents?”

  Randy shrugs. “I don’t think about it much. I don’t know if there’s been a president who didn’t play around, so it doesn’t factor in, really. Unless it’s egregious.”

  Jack doesn’t look at Randy. He paces back and forth with slow steps like each footfall has a plan. Randy is at the edge of what he knows to be the inner sanctum and would like to be let in. He’s the junior man of the two and would like a handout. Jack likes how the meeting has started. He sips his scotch and says, “I think that’s right. It’s a nonissue. I’m glad to hear you sa
y that.” He points at Randy when he says this as though directing a stenographer to put Randy on the record.

  Randy would like to point out that he made a caveat for egregious behavior but doesn’t. He’d like a glass of scotch too.

  Jack says, “Some media have made a fuss with speculations about the president’s fidelity, but it’s only those who want to attack him. They don’t like where he stands on the real issues so they go after him on a nonissue. Wouldn’t you agree that’s a distraction?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Good.” Jack takes another sip and sits down on the sofa across from Randy. “You have a chance to do something positive for the national conversation. You can get out in front with a piece that reminds everyone to keep their eyes on the ball and exposes the cheap games that some media frauds play.”

  Randy now knows there’s no nugget of information coming to him. Boothe just wants some help. Randy feels more power so he takes his forearms off his knees and sits back in the sofa. “I don’t know, Jack. It’s a busy news cycle now on campaign issues. I’ve got a bunch of other pieces in the works and I don’t have room for a highbrow opinion piece like this. I don’t think I’m your guy for this.”

  Jack expected this and says, “This topic may come to the front of the news cycle very soon and you have a chance to get in front of it. You like a drink?”

  “Sure, I’ll have what you’re having.”

  Jack stands and walks to the mini fridge behind the desk. He puts three ice cubes in a short glass and empties an airplane-sized bottle of Dewar’s into it. From the desk he picks up a manila folder then hands the glass and the folder to Randy.

  Randy drinks and holds up the folder. “What’s this?”

  “I would consider it a favor, Randy. It’s some copy that could help you with a piece like this. I’ll be well placed over the next four years and I remember favors.”

  Randy puts the folder down on the desk in front of him and finishes the scotch in a large drink. It’s not the nervous drink of a person who needs the edge off. It’s a show of dominance. “Jack, that’s crazy. I’m not even going to open that folder. You can have it back.”

  “You won’t do the piece?” says Jack.

  “I will not. I’m a journalist. This whole conversation is inappropriate.”

  Jack crosses his legs and looks over the room as though musing until he’s sure Randy is about to excuse himself. “It’s interesting that you use the word ‘inappropriate.’”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You remember I met your wife one time, don’t you? What’s her name?”

  Randy doesn’t say anything.

  “Emily, isn’t it? Emily. She seems very nice. Kids?”

  “Two,” says Randy.

  “She’s a lobbyist at Parks and Solomon, right? I’ve done some work with that firm.”

  “What’s this about?” says Randy.

  “Has Emily ever met Tara Altman?”

  Randy is forward on the edge of the sofa now. “You’re an asshole.”

  “Randy, I’m not judging you. I think your fidelity has nothing to do with your job performance. Don’t you see the parallels here?”

  Randy is thinking about what leverage he has that he can throw back at Boothe. He keeps coming up with nothing and his anger rises. “This could ruin me.”

  “When you say this, which of your problems are you referring to?”

  “This,” and he picks up the folder. “This.” He has no play with Boothe, just anger. He stands and throws it hard overhand but it’s only a few papers and it flaps in a frantic pattern then lands back at his own feet to mock his powerlessness. Randy looks for something heavier and finds the phone. He takes it in both hands, then spins like a discus thrower and hurls it across the room. He raises a ceramic lamp over his head, then crashes it to the floor.

  Jack still sits with legs crossed. He knew this could happen too. Everyone’s under a lot of stress and underrested. Randy needs to feel strong and in control for a moment while he takes his emasculation.

  There’s a knock at the door which freezes Randy. Jack opens the door only a few inches and says, “Everything’s fine, just a slip.” Jack closes the door and says, “Secret Service. They’re very good.”

  Now he’ll reposition the issue with Randy to make it easier to swallow. Jack picks up the empty glasses and fills them while Randy stands, breathing heavy and uncertain.

  He hands the scotch to Randy and they stand next to each other. “Randy, I don’t see any problems here. This is a story you believe in, you said so yourself. Your readers might like a story like this and I’d still like to look at this as a favor.”

  “With a gun to my head,” says Randy.

  “There is the unfortunate situation that I know your wife and I have this other information.”

  “And you’d use it.”

  “I need something, Randy. My campaign does. You put yourself in this position.”

  “If this gets out, I’m done as a journalist.”

  “It won’t get out. Anyway, moving on from journalism might be a good thing. I told you I remember favors. If you raise your hand, you might get a nice spot in the next administration.”

  “Like what?”

  “I can’t make any promises, but I’ve always thought Ted Knowles is a pussy.”

  Randy’s felt too many emotions in the last five minutes to think clearly.

  Jack says, “Why don’t you take the drink with you?” He bends down to pick up the folder and hands it to Randy. “And don’t forget this.”

  47

  Mason is sick of reading notes in his hotel suite. It’s eleven p.m. “Call down and have them fix a cheeseburger medium with fries.” An agent picks up the phone for the restaurant. Mason changes into jeans and a sweater and puts on shoes. He leaves the suite and walks to the elevator and the agents follow without a word.

  The elevator doors open to the lobby level and as Mason steps forward a shopping cart with four cases of beer pushes him back inside. He looks at the hands on the shopping cart handle and follows the arms up to Jack Boothe’s face. “What the fuck are you doing, Jack?”

  Boothe can’t get out a word. He backs up the cart to make room for the president to leave the elevator. “Excuse me, sir.”

  Mason steps out and stops by the side of the cart. “You’re a little old for this, Jack. And a little too senior in my staff.”

  “Sorry, sir. Just getting this up to some of the younger folks.” The idea that Jack won’t be in the center of the drinking is so clearly bullshit that they both just leave it right there.

  Mason walks on to the Shula’s restaurant in the hotel and Boothe escapes to the elevator wishing he could do over the last two minutes.

  Steps from the door to the restaurant, Mason’s personal cell phone rings. Incoming calls are rare and he answers it.

  “Hello, Ron.”

  “Sir, I have some troubling news.”

  “Let’s get it out.” Mitchell stops walking and covers his open ear with his free hand.

  “You know who Samantha Davis is.”

  “UBS-24.”

  “Yes. She’s been a bit underground the last couple months, working on a story.”

  “So?”

  “You’re the story.”

  “How much more of this infidelity crap are we going to deal with?”

  “This one’s different. I’m hearing that she has enough that the executives at UBS have decided to go with it. It likely hits in a few days. Maybe right after the debate. Maybe before.”

  “Jesus Christ, Ron, how bad can it be?”

  “We need to talk.”

  48

  “The jury’s back with a verdict.”

  Samantha Davis, Ken Harper, and David Mueller are in Mueller’s office. Mueller is behind his desk and can see the mute
d television screens on the wall behind Samantha and Ken. Mueller reads the lower third of the screen again. “The jury reached a verdict in less than three hours.”

  “That’s not good for Meadow,” says Samantha.

  Every network had given over hours each day to cover the trial. The state had made a strong case against her though the media reported that she had developed an in-courtroom flirtation with one of the jurors. A three-hour deliberation indicates there was nobody speaking up for her, though.

  “Not at all,” says Mueller. “It’ll be twenty minutes before they all get seated and read through everything. Let’s get back to it.”

  “Take us through what you have, Samantha,” says Ken Harper.

  “I have the affair. Plenty of details from Monica Morris and this is corroborated by letters, emails, eyewitness accounts, and photographs.”

  “Okay, fine,” says Mueller.

  “I have them in Florida, together, on the night of the hit-and-run. Again, plenty of details from Monica and there are emails that back up that exact night. The restaurant manager is still there today. He doesn’t have reservation records going back that far but he remembers Mason as governor of New York, coming in with Monica, and says that date makes sense.”

  “Alright,” says Mueller.

  “That restaurant puts them fourteen miles from the hit-and-run, which occurred around midnight that evening. The route from the restaurant to Jupiter would have taken them right along US One where the hit-and-run happened. There aren’t eyewitnesses or records addressing it but everything Monica Morris says is plausible.”

  Both men exhale. “Christ,” says Mueller.

  Ken Harper says, “I think I know how Woodward and Bernstein’s editor felt. It’s like we just crested the highest part of the roller coaster and are looking down. It’s supposed to be fun but I feel like I’m going to throw up.”

  “The only thing I don’t have is the two of them at the hit-and-run at the time of the hit-and-run.”