Read Online The Race by Richard North Patterson - Free Book Online Page A

anyone whose success, as did Marotta's, required a measure of human warmth. Shrugging, Rohr told Marotta clinically, "The old model was that news is fact, and objectivity the ideal. Today's truth is that 'news,' like anything else we sell to the public, is a product.
    "Our news product isn't some abstract notion of truth, or even reality. It's a story—consistent and repetitive, with a message that's emotionally fulfilling to the viewer." He flashed Marotta a smile that was no smile at all. "We mislead no one. Turn on Rohr News, and you're getting exactly what you want. I can help you feel better about this war, or fighting terrorists, and you don't have to think about them anymore. If we also use that power to promote our friends and advance our interests, so be it. News is a business, not a public service."
    Looking directly at Marotta, Price cupped his Pepsi in both hands. "Fortunately for us all, Rob, Alex's interests and ours are aligned. Your interest is in becoming president." Price allowed himself a wispy smile. "Through Rohr News, millions of Americans will begin to
see
you as a president—principled, rooted in deep religious values, and Churchillian in your resolve to save America."
    The sardonic undertone nettled Marotta; listening to these two pragmatists discuss his future, he felt less like a senator than a bottle of shampoo. Seeking to restore the balance, Marotta asked sardonically, "If I'm Winston Churchill, who do you get to be, Alex? Citizen Kane?"
    "Kane wanted to be president," Rohr replied with imperious calm. "All I care about is an economic policy that rewards my enterprise, and a political system that respects my interests."
    Price shot Marotta a cautionary glance. "Nothing wrong with that," Price said easily. "Alex helps because we believe as he does. And because he's in a position to help."
    Nodding, Rohr gave Marotta the same cool smile. "News, as Magnus often tells me, is the software of his message machine."
    Marotta glanced at Price. With his sloping belly, thin sandy hair, and mask of shrewd self-satisfaction, Price reminded Marotta of the archetypal sly southern lawyer of film and fiction, except that he was far more dangerous—including, whatever his exceptional gifts, to Marotta himself. "And the purpose of that machine," Price elaborated in an amiable tone, "is not to persuade our opponents, but to shrink their nuts to the size of raisins. That means pounding home the message that they're weaselly and effete; godless; spineless and morally lax; beholden to deadbeats, gays, illegals, and, worst of all, liberals; pathetically cowed by Arab murderers; utterly unable to defend our country or our families; and, altogether, the losers in Darwin's lottery. I mean, who would want to be one of
them
?"
    Rohr laughed softly. "Message," Price continued with a smile, "takes money, organization,
and
ideas. We've got them all: two hundred foundations and four hundred advocacy groups spending almost one billion dollars a year to advance the ideas we all believe in: lowering taxes, curbing lawsuits, fighting environmental extremists, ending affirmative action, and, critically, turning conservative lawyers into judges who'll control the American legal system for decades to come." Price smiled approvingly at Rohr. "Alex is helping us change the legal, political, and economic landscape of America."
    "Christy," Marotta pointed out, "doesn't seem all that enamored with your vision."
    Price sat back, taking in the nighttime panorama lit before them. "Christy," he said at length, "is my only mistake in an otherwise inspired notion—to persuade Christian voters to help underwrite our power by focusing on issues that don't cost the likes of Alex a fucking dime.
    "Prayer in school—if we ever get it—is free. So's a ban on abortion. Alex doesn't run honeymoon cruises, so banning gay marriage won't dent his bottom line. But all of that means so much to these pious folks that it would ruin your day to deny