being careless.
As Sexton moved toward the van, he felt the familiar edginess that he always experienced before these encounters. Forcing himself to relax his shoulders, he climbed into the passenger’s seat with a cheery wave. The dark-haired gentleman in the driver’s seat did not smile. The man was almost seventy years old, but his leathery complexion exuded a toughness appropriate to his post as figurehead of an army of brazen visionaries and ruthless entrepreneurs.
“Close the door,” the man said, his voice callous.
Sexton obeyed, tolerating the man’s gruffness graciously. After all, this man represented men who controlled enormous sums of money, much of which had been pooled recently to poise Sedgewick Sexton on the threshold of the most powerfuloffice in the world. These meetings, Sexton had come to understand, were less strategy sessions than they were monthly reminders of just how beholden the senator had become to his benefactors. These men were expecting a serious return on their investment. The “return,” Sexton had to admit, was a shockingly bold demand; and yet, almost more incredibly, it was something that would be within Sexton’s sphere of influence once he took the Oval Office.
“I assume,” Sexton said, having learned how this man liked to get down to business, “that another installment has been made?”
“It has. And as usual, you are to use these funds solely for your campaign. We have been pleased to see the polls shifting consistently in your favor, and it appears your campaign managers have been spending our money effectively.”
“We’re gaining fast.”
“As I mentioned to you on the phone,” the old man said, “I have persuaded six more to meet with you tonight.”
“Excellent.” Sexton had blocked off the time already.
The old man handed Sexton a folder. “Here is their information. Study it. They want to know you understand their concerns specifically. They want to know you are sympathetic. I suggest you meet them at your residence.”
“My home? But I usually meet—”
“Senator, these six men run companies that possess resources well in excess of the others you have met. These men are the big fish, and they are wary. They have more to gain and therefore more to lose. I’ve worked hard to persuade them to meet with you. They will require special handling. A personal touch.”
Sexton gave a quick nod. “Absolutely. I can arrange a meeting at my home.”
“Of course, they will want total privacy.”
“As will I.”
“Good luck,” the old man said. “If tonight goes well, it could be your last meeting. These men alone can provide what is needed to push the Sexton campaign over the top.”
Sexton liked the sound of that. He gave the old man a confidentsmile. “With luck, my friend, come election time, we will all claim victory.”
“Victory?” The old man scowled, leaning toward Sexton with ominous eyes. “Putting you in the White House is only the first step toward victory, senator. I assume you have not forgotten that.”
14
T he White House is one of the smallest presidential mansions in the world, measuring only 170 feet in length, 85 feet in depth, and sitting on a mere 18 acres of landscaped grounds. Architect James Hoban’s plan for a boxlike stone structure with a hipped roof, balustrade, and columnar entrance, though clearly unoriginal, was selected from the open design contest by judges who praised it as “attractive, dignified, and flexible.”
President Zach Herney, even after three and a half years in the White House, seldom felt at home here among the maze of chandeliers, antiques, and armed Marines. At the moment, however, as he strode toward the West Wing, he felt invigorated and oddly at ease, his feet almost weightless on the plush carpeting.
Several members of the White House staff looked up as the President approached. Herney waved and greeted each by name. Their responses, though polite, were subdued and accompanied by
As Sexton moved toward the van, he felt the familiar edginess that he always experienced before these encounters. Forcing himself to relax his shoulders, he climbed into the passenger’s seat with a cheery wave. The dark-haired gentleman in the driver’s seat did not smile. The man was almost seventy years old, but his leathery complexion exuded a toughness appropriate to his post as figurehead of an army of brazen visionaries and ruthless entrepreneurs.
“Close the door,” the man said, his voice callous.
Sexton obeyed, tolerating the man’s gruffness graciously. After all, this man represented men who controlled enormous sums of money, much of which had been pooled recently to poise Sedgewick Sexton on the threshold of the most powerfuloffice in the world. These meetings, Sexton had come to understand, were less strategy sessions than they were monthly reminders of just how beholden the senator had become to his benefactors. These men were expecting a serious return on their investment. The “return,” Sexton had to admit, was a shockingly bold demand; and yet, almost more incredibly, it was something that would be within Sexton’s sphere of influence once he took the Oval Office.
“I assume,” Sexton said, having learned how this man liked to get down to business, “that another installment has been made?”
“It has. And as usual, you are to use these funds solely for your campaign. We have been pleased to see the polls shifting consistently in your favor, and it appears your campaign managers have been spending our money effectively.”
“We’re gaining fast.”
“As I mentioned to you on the phone,” the old man said, “I have persuaded six more to meet with you tonight.”
“Excellent.” Sexton had blocked off the time already.
The old man handed Sexton a folder. “Here is their information. Study it. They want to know you understand their concerns specifically. They want to know you are sympathetic. I suggest you meet them at your residence.”
“My home? But I usually meet—”
“Senator, these six men run companies that possess resources well in excess of the others you have met. These men are the big fish, and they are wary. They have more to gain and therefore more to lose. I’ve worked hard to persuade them to meet with you. They will require special handling. A personal touch.”
Sexton gave a quick nod. “Absolutely. I can arrange a meeting at my home.”
“Of course, they will want total privacy.”
“As will I.”
“Good luck,” the old man said. “If tonight goes well, it could be your last meeting. These men alone can provide what is needed to push the Sexton campaign over the top.”
Sexton liked the sound of that. He gave the old man a confidentsmile. “With luck, my friend, come election time, we will all claim victory.”
“Victory?” The old man scowled, leaning toward Sexton with ominous eyes. “Putting you in the White House is only the first step toward victory, senator. I assume you have not forgotten that.”
14
T he White House is one of the smallest presidential mansions in the world, measuring only 170 feet in length, 85 feet in depth, and sitting on a mere 18 acres of landscaped grounds. Architect James Hoban’s plan for a boxlike stone structure with a hipped roof, balustrade, and columnar entrance, though clearly unoriginal, was selected from the open design contest by judges who praised it as “attractive, dignified, and flexible.”
President Zach Herney, even after three and a half years in the White House, seldom felt at home here among the maze of chandeliers, antiques, and armed Marines. At the moment, however, as he strode toward the West Wing, he felt invigorated and oddly at ease, his feet almost weightless on the plush carpeting.
Several members of the White House staff looked up as the President approached. Herney waved and greeted each by name. Their responses, though polite, were subdued and accompanied by
Similar Books
