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Gaza and Beirut. They’re burning American flags.”
    â€œThose are rent-a-riots. They’re bought and paid for by Iran,” Jay said dismissively. “Lisa, we can’t let a bunch of quiche-eating diplomats in pin stripes over at Foggy Bottom run the government. This is a test of whether or not the president has got a spine. If we throw Andy to the curb, he’ll never forgive us and we’ll look weak.”
    â€œLook, this is not my decision,” said Lisa. “I just wanted to give you a heads-up. If you want to stop it, you better call Charlie right away.”
    â€œI’ll call him.” He shifted topics. “By the way, it was great to see you last night. Evans seems like a good guy.” It was faint praise. Jay chose not to mention that the senator had asked Satcha for her phone number before pinching her on her rear.
    â€œHe’s nice,” Lisa replied in a hollow voice. “Looks like you didn’t need me to come with you to the ball after all.” She was twisting the knife.
    â€œWhat, Satcha?” asked Jay. “Oh, that’s just business. Satcha wants an interview with POTUS, and I want the Hispanic vote.” He chuckled. “Like all relationships in Washington, we’re both using each other.”
    â€œThat’s pretty cynical.”
    â€œNo more than being on the arm of the most eligible bachelor in the Senate,” said Jay with a sarcastic laugh. “I thought you were in charge of the press, not congressional liaison.”
    â€œGood-bye, Jay.” Lisa hung up abruptly. Jay felt slightly guilty about saying such a hurtful thing, but Lisa could have been his date and had rejected him. Rather than be honest about his hurt feelings and be vulnerable, he was hiding behind the same toughness that had already contributed to the breakup of his two marriages.
    Jay suddenly felt empty. He couldn’t wait to get on the plane and leave everything behind—the phoniness of DC, his feelings of uselessness now that the campaign was over, and most of all, Lisa. He picked up his garment bag, slung it over his shoulder, and headed to his gate. With his free hand, he speed-dialed Charlie Hector’s number on his BlackBerry. He had to stop the nervous Nellies at the White House from throwing Andy Stanton under the bus.

FIVE

    Jay never saw the interior of the Rome airport. As soon as his plane landed, an attractive brunette airline employee escorted him to a VIP lounge, where he munched on bacon-wrapped figs, drank espresso, and killed time while he cleared customs. He had no checked luggage—he had not checked a bag in years. The same woman then led him to a metal door that led directly to a back stairwell, where they descended into a cavernous garage. Slightly groggy and jet-lagged, Jay’s eyes fixed on a driver wearing a black suit and tie.
    â€œYour car and driver, Mr. Noble,” the woman said, smiling. “He will take you to your destination.”
    Jay made a pistol with his finger and pointed it at the driver, who nodded. “Bonjourno,” said the driver, greeting him in Italian.
    Jay grunted in acknowledgment, embarrassed that he knew no Italian. It struck him that he was now in charge of winning a hard-fought prime minister’s race and spoke not a word of the country’s native language. In fact, he knew nothing about Italy. But that was beside the point. He was the most sought-after political strategist in the world, and people like Lorenzo Brodi were prepared to pay big bucks to have Jay whisper in their ear. The Italians were paying Jay an eye-popping fifty thousand euros a month, which translated into nearly ninety grand in U.S. dollars. (This did not include Jay’s share of the media buy, which was 5 percent, and would earn him another two million dollars.) Besides, Jay reasoned, he was a quick study and could easily fake it when he didn’t know what he was talking about. When all else