The Means Page 23

  “You have Monica Morris’s confession,” says Ken.

  “And that’s all I have, so we need to report it carefully.”

  “Are you a lawyer or a reporter?” says Ken.

  “She’s a damn good reporter,” says Mueller for her.

  “You’re not seriously questioning whether or not we go with this?” says Ken.

  “It’s a hell of a thing to go with the day before the debate,” says Mueller.

  Samantha says, “I think we go with all of it but tread lightly around the hit-and-run.”

  “We have a responsibility to go with it,” says Ken.

  They all nod. Decision made.

  Samantha leans back. She takes a deep breath through her nose and holds it, then forces it out the way people do when trying to raise courage. “There’s one more wrinkle I need to tell you about.”

  “Hang on.” Mueller interrupts, standing with remote in hand to come around and sit on the front of his desk. He turns the volume up on UBS. The reporter is reading a text message from her producer inside the courtroom.

  “Guilty.”

  Ken Harper says, “They’ll probably hold sentencing in about a week. Now it’s just a question of life or death for her.”

  “Jesus,” says Mueller. There’s a head shot of Meadow Jones up on the screen, looking like a beautiful little girl, and Mueller is trying to reconcile that picture with a murderer who used a steak knife. He mutes the TV. “What’s the wrinkle, Sam?”

  THE DEBATE

  49

  “Gin.”

  “Jesus.” Tom lays his cards down on the coffee table in front of him. “Alison, you know you’re supposed to be pumping me up before I go out there. Don’t you know how to tank a damned card game?”

  Alison stands from a leather armchair that a staffer had pulled to the other side of the coffee table and comes around to sit next to Tom on the sofa. The walls are bare. The room is a rectangle, thirty feet by twenty. There are a leather sofa and chair, both cheap, and a dozen folding chairs that are metal with a plastic-covered pad on the seat.

  Their son and daughter are in a corner of the room drinking soda. Tom and Alison drink water and stay calm. Peter Brand and eight others from the campaign staff drink coffee as fast as it can arrive to the room and try to project confidence in their man.

  An hour before the debate, Brand ushers in a camera crew to take still shots behind the scenes. Tom’s family knows what to do at this point of the campaign. They get on the couch together the way they would for a Christmas card photo. They make sure the playing cards are visible. Then they try for some candid-looking shots. The kids stack the cards to a three-level house, then they all laugh when Tom huffs and puffs and blows the house in. Perfect.

  Peter Brand thanks the three-person camera crew and ushers them back out. He refills his coffee and sits next to Tom on the couch. Alison sits on Tom’s other side, their hands clasped together and resting on the top of Tom’s thigh.

  “You’re ready,” says Peter. “You’re as ready for this moment as any candidate I’ve ever seen. You have all the talent and all the preparation. Go out there and execute, and you will change the face of this election.”

  “Thanks, Peter. I feel ready. I’m relaxed, I have all the information and I have conviction.”

  Peter nods. He slaps Tom’s knee. “You know, there’s a moment when I knew you had it. That you could be in a debate in the general for the White House.” Peter sips his coffee and looks at the wall across from them like he’s just hit the switch on a projector so they can all watch the moment replay together. “The greatest gift of a politician is knowing how to handle the moments with strangers who know him. You have that gift. We were at a campaign event at Durham High School and a man came up to you and told you he’d lost his job the year before and the bank was foreclosing on his home. You asked that guy what his job was, what he’d been doing to find a new one, how his wife and kids were doing, where the home was, what changes they were making in their grocery shopping. The whole time you were looking him in the eye and you really wanted to know the answers. By the end of it, you knew more about that guy than his own brother would. I watched the whole thing and I knew you’d be our next governor and I was pretty sure you’d get to be right here.”

  “I remember that conversation. It feels like a couple decades ago.”

  “You’re the better man on that stage tonight, Tom.”

  Tom sips his water.

  “Now listen. No home runs. Just get out there and swing nice and easy. Let it come to you and you’ll probably hit one or two out of the park anyway. Just stay firm the whole ninety minutes. Don’t do any on-the-one-hand-on-the-other-hand bullshit. For the first time you’re going to stand onstage next to the president of the United States. You need to stay strong. Stay decisive. Stay presidential. If he doesn’t push you around and you can stay tough, you win and you win big. Tonight will elevate you to presidential status. This is a simple, conservative game plan that gets a big win.”

  “Got it.” Tom sips more water. His last coffee was three hours ago because he doesn’t want to be jittery onstage and caffeine can do that to him.

  At 8:50 p.m. Tom gives his kids a kiss then walks with Alison down the hallway behind the stage of the Tampa Convention Center. The children will take their seats in the audience where Alison will meet them, then after the debate they’ll all surround Tom onstage. The hallways have naked concrete floors with a shine and are empty except for security and debate commission personnel telling people where to go.

  Tom doesn’t realize how hard he’s squeezing Alison’s hand and she refuses to tell him. They get to the west side of the stage and Tom gives her a hug and kiss and waits to be called out by the moderator.

  50

  Evelyn feels that her husband shouldn’t have to stoop to a debate with this young man from North Carolina. Pauley’s presence on the same stage as Mitchell is an undeserved badge of honor that she would never have bestowed, and for Mitchell actually to have to defend his record of four years is so distasteful that the mere act of it is a political downside. And it’s just a pain in the ass. They belong in the White House, not in some godforsaken convention center in Florida, forced into a circus to answer challenges from a novice from the cheap seats.

  Evelyn and Mitchell sit on a couch in a room identical to Pauley’s but on the other wing of the backstage hallway. They both have legs crossed, his elevated foot pointing away and in the opposite direction from hers. They’re not in love but they’re loyal as hell in other matters. It’s a partnership and it’s effective and they both have decided it’s more than many marriages have.

  It’s 8:30 p.m. Thirty minutes to go. “Remember who you are, dear.”

  Mitchell knows exactly how she means this. It’s not a reference to a moral compass or values or anything in his character. It’s a reference to a title. You’re the goddamned president of the United States. Go out there and act like it and send this charlatan back where he came from. It’s the kind of support that Mitchell expects and appreciates from Evelyn.

  None of the aides approach Mason. He’s made it clear over the years that at moments like this he doesn’t want anyone in his ear. They all have had plenty of time for that and now he wants an hour of quiet and calm. He sits up straight and closes his eyes and experiments if he can think of nothing at all.

  “Ten minutes, Mr. President,” says Ron Stark from the doorway. He says it in the lowest possible tone and there is complete silence from the dozen people in the room so his voice carries to the president.

  Mason nods and keeps his eyes closed. He waits two more minutes, then stands, kisses Evelyn, and takes quick steps to the door. Evelyn will go directly to the seats in the audience and Stark will walk with Mason to the east edge of the debate stage to wait for introductions.

  Stark says, “Randy Newhope’s piece will run tomorr
ow so we’re out in front of that issue. Given that and what we have on Pauley, it should be a nonissue for us going forward.”

  Their dress shoes knock the concrete floors as they pass Secret Service who whisper into their jacket lapels. Mason and Stark stop at the edge of the stage and look across the empty podiums to see Pauley and his wife already waiting and holding hands at the opposite edge of the stage.

  The lighting is dim but enough to make eye contact. They do, and after a moment of a stare down that Mason is determined not to lose, Pauley winks at him.

  “That cheeky little son of a bitch,” Mason whispers to Stark.

  “Sir, remember, this is likely to come up early. You need to jam him, right up front. Jam him hard. Outraged and indignant.”

  Mason nods. That wink was plenty enough to outrage him.

  51

  “We welcome President Mitchell Mason and Governor Tom Pauley,” says the debate moderator, David Hennings. The crowd stands for their one chance at applause. There are twelve hundred folding chairs arranged in the auditorium which is a lot for a general election debate audience but not many for this room to hold. It allows plenty of space for media equipment and security buffers.

  The two men advance from opposite sides of the stage and shake hands with the right and also grip each other’s right biceps with the left. They manage to coordinate an untangling of this, then shake hands with Hennings, Mason first.

  The format is for the two men to stand at podiums with David Hennings seated at a table in front of them. Hennings asks a question and each man is given two minutes to respond, followed by five minutes of discussion before the next question. The candidates alternate who gets the first two-minute response. A coin flip has determined that Mason will respond first to the first question.

  “Mr. President, this question is new to the campaigns, and I’m going to give you the opportunity to address it here and now. About an hour ago, UBS released the byline for a story they will run tomorrow detailing allegations that you were involved in a hit-and-run incident some thirteen years ago that led to a fatality. Would you please comment on these allegations and on what impact this may have on your presidency?” Hennings and his team had been in shouting matches for the last hour about whether to use this question. It is sensational and maybe a cheap shot, but it is from UBS and real news that’s out there and he felt he had an obligation to address it. It would also guarantee the greatest debate moment in history.

  Tom’s face muscles go slack and his lips part as his jaw relaxes. He looks from Hennings to the president. His mind is no longer debating. He’s a spectator like everyone else. What the hell is going on here?

  Mason leans into the podium. He looks ready to strike and happy about it. “First of all, David, let me say that the idea that you would open a national debate for the presidency of the United States with such a baseless and scurrilous allegation, thereby giving it credence, is disgraceful.” He stops and points right at Hennings. “You should be ashamed of yourself. As for UBS, both their timing and their reporting are shameful and irresponsible. This is not journalism.”

  The president is rolling. The words are coming easily but don’t sound rehearsed. He sounds pissed off. He continues, “Second of all, let me do a bit of journalism for you. This report was concocted by Samantha Davis at UBS-24. The same Samantha Davis who is a former litigator at Davis Polk.” Mason turns and stretches an upturned palm toward Tom to introduce him to the conversation. “My opponent, Governor Pauley, is also a former litigator at Davis Polk. David, you’ve given me no choice but to level this true charge to defend myself against a false one. It is a fact that Governor Pauley and Samantha Davis were lovers. I can’t comment on the present.”

  The president changes his tone from indignant to compassionate. His shoulders back off the podium a few inches. He lifts his eyebrows and looks apologetic. “I’m not interested in anyone’s personal affairs, but I will not be a victim of such outrageous media bias.”

  The president nods to Hennings, giving back the floor, satisfied that seventy million people around the country are as stunned as Hennings and Pauley. UBS had disclosed in the report that Samantha Davis and Tom Pauley briefly dated during their time together at Davis Polk. Samantha had called the Pauley campaign to give them notice that this disclosure would be made. Samantha had left four messages with campaign staff and had stressed that the message was urgent but the messages were treated the same as the many other calls from media organizations that want time with the candidate. Pauley’s staff never passed on the message and figured he’d return the call when he wanted to make an appearance on UBS.

  Hennings’s job is easy. “Governor Pauley?”

  Poor Tom actually has to have a response. What the hell just happened? He was still replaying the words hit-and-run fatality in his head when he got clobbered by the Samantha Davis affair.

  “Well.” He clears his throat, even bringing a fist to his mouth as he does it. He knows he’s already lost the composure war. The president looked sure of himself and indignant. Tom looks lost and confused. Regardless of facts, people will walk away with that visual. “I can’t comment on the hit-and-run allegations. I’m sure authorities will pursue a thorough investigation and the facts will come out. If in fact President Mason has committed a homicide, we’ll deal with that eventuality but there is no sense in hypothesizing on such a matter at this point.” Tom is glad he got the word homicide into his response.

  Tom sips his water then looks back at Hennings. “Regarding the other matter, Samantha Davis was an excellent lawyer and, to my knowledge, is a fair journalist. I’ve had no contact with her in many years. She and I had a friendship and briefly dated many years ago.” This has the same evidential effect on the audience as playing the sex tape. Given that Samantha is an on-air reporter with a well-known face, the imagery is complete.

  It’s the truthful answer and Tom believes that should be the end of it but knows it won’t be. He’s never mentioned Samantha to Alison because it wasn’t worth mentioning. They both met people after law school and before they were married and neither Tom nor Alison wanted to give or receive a full accounting of that period. Now he’s angry about the humiliation he knows she must be feeling only a couple dozen feet away from him.

  He and Samantha haven’t spoken but had been on good terms and he’s angry that she didn’t let him know this was coming.

  Hennings is back in control. “Thank you, gentlemen. We will forgo the five-minute discussion period on this topic and move right to the next question.”

  The debate moves to the economy where Pauley presses that the number of unemployed and people on welfare is up and that the economy is stalling. Mason counters that the price of gas is down, the stock market and GDP are up, and that the economy is strong.

  On foreign policy, Pauley argues that our military is less capable and that our alliances around the world are less close. Mason argues the opposite.

  Nobody cares. Pundits are already halfway through the draft of their editorials and viewers are still recovering and it’s all about the first two minutes of the debate.

  52

  “What the fuck, Peter! What the fuck!” Tom has kicked everyone out of the backstage room at the convention center but it makes no difference. They can hear his shouts from the hallway. He takes the seat back of a metal chair and flings it into the wall, losing his balance like a bad golfer. “Why was I the only asshole out there who didn’t know what was going on?”

  “I’m sorry, Tom. I’m sorry. The UBS thing hit late. Hennings had it. I don’t know how Mason was prepared.”

  “Should I tell them my dog ate my homework, Peter?”

  “Okay, okay.” Peter has both hands up with palms forward like he’s trying to push Tom’s anger into a box. “There are two issues here, so let’s think this through. First is the hit-and-run with Mason. The president could face jail time if this is real. I�
��ll make sure we’re completely informed on the investigation.”

  “Good.” Tom is pissed but he’s done throwing chairs.

  “The second matter is this thing with Samantha Davis.”

  Tom sits and breathes hard out his nose.

  “What was the nature of the relationship?”

  “We dated for about three weeks; it started while we were working a case together. It was before I was married, she wasn’t married, it was innocent fooling around.”

  “Okay.” Peter crosses his arms and walks in a wide circle. “Okay.” He keeps walking then stops by Tom. “Tom, I have to say this is an area where you could have been more free with the information.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, she’s in the media now. We might have booked an interview with her and we should know that ahead of time.”

  “I would have said something before it came to that. We’re not booking a lot of interviews with freshman correspondents.”

  “Have you had any correspondence with her in the last several years?”

  “None.”

  “Mason’s going to try to show that you have.”

  “Let him try.”

  “Alright. Look, the press will have some fun with this for a while, but there’s no impropriety so it’ll blow itself out pretty fast.”

  “Fine.”

  “So let’s drop that for now. All of this is out of our hands. His scandal is the much bigger issue and the facts are going to fall, but probably not until after the election.”

  Tom’s mind hadn’t worked its way around to that yet. “True.”

  “So this election will hinge on whether or not that scandal is believable. And which campaign can spend more to make it so.”

  Tom nods. Everything the election was about two hours ago no longer matters.