CHAPTER 5
Harrison Campaign War Room
Baxter Road, Nantucket
“What the fuck were you thinking?!” Coleman Harrison’s campaign manager, Walter Fitzgerald, screamed. Harrison watched as Fitzgerald’s face flushed and spittle flew from his mouth. “You selfish fucking bastard, you have fucking ruined the entire fucking campaign!”
After almost ten years, the senator had withstood many of his campaign director’s legendary tirades, but he had never seen Fitzgerald so angry.
“She wants what?” Fitzgerald hissed. He was almost apoplectic after hearing Harrison relay his press secretary Aimee Sullivan’s demand.
“I hope like hell you enjoyed yourself,” the campaign manager spat as he frantically paced the room. “You tell that bitch that it takes more than her tits, ass, and a Princeton degree to get a seat on the National Security Council!”
Harrison was careful not to make eye contact with the possessed man in front of him as Fitzgerald poured himself three fingers of scotch without offering any to the senator. He took a sip.
“Tell Aimee I want to talk to her. Just the three of us. You sit there and keep your mouth shut unless I tell you to speak.”
Harrison watched Fitzgerald undergo a familiar transformation as the velvety liquid slid down his throat.
The campaign manager’s features softened as he went into hunting mode.
Harrison, Fitzgerald, and Sullivan all agreed on one goal: Getting Coleman Harrison through the gates at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue in a position of power.
Secrecy was at a minimum in the political world, especially when all eyes were on the campaign trail.
But Harrison had deluded himself into thinking that Fitzgerald would succeed in keeping the senator’s affair with Sullivan under wraps.
Fitzgerald would fix the problem and, in a few days, probably even press Harrison for some of the sordid details.
“When do you want to see her?” Harrison asked with new enthusiasm.
“Give me about twenty minutes, then bring her in. I have a few phone calls to make first.”
The senator was already walking out the door when he realized that Fitzgerald had basically just dismissed him from his own office.
* * *
Coleman Harrison held the door as Aimee Sullivan walked confidently into the meeting. She carried herself like a woman in a strong bargaining position.
Walt Fitzgerald was sitting behind the large mahogany desk, cleared of all but a single sheet of paper.
“Aimee, please have a seat.” He gestured to an overstuffed chair. “We’re here to talk about how we can keep you engaged with our team.”
“Walt, where I want to be is the true power center of this country,” Sullivan said. “I want to broker policy options for the president. That means a significant position on the National Security Council. I will accept nothing less.”
Fitzgerald leaned forward at the desk.
“Aimee, I mean no disrespect, but your limited credentials would not withstand the vetting process.” He spoke softly, almost like a father talking with his daughter, looking to find her way in the world.
“None taken, Walt. My résumé is as good as any other member on the staff. I studied at the Kennedy School and my internships more than support the fresh blood mantra that we’ve been pushing the past year. You’ll think of something, Walt. I have confidence in you.”
She never blinked an eye.
Fitzgerald shifted his body and paused, as if deep in thought. Then he rose from the desk and handed her the sheet of paper.
“This is a nondisclosure agreement between you and me, Aimee. Though Senator Coleman is present, he can never be mentioned as a witness to anything we discuss today.”
Sullivan started to speak, but he held up a hand to silence her.
“We will guarantee you a position on the National Security Adviser’s staff under the following conditions.
First, you agree to accept the position of a deputy undersecretary and promise to execute your duties with total support for the Harrison administration.
Second, your personal relationship with the senator is officially over, as of now.
Third, you agree never to mention this agreement.
Got it? That’s it. You sign it and we’re all friends.
But, Aimee, I must warn you: If you renege in any way, shape, or form, I will personally see to it that not only will you never work in politics again, you will spend a very long time in prison. ”
Walt Fitzgerald let his last comment linger, then smiled before breaking the silence.
“You’ve done great work, Aimee, and we want you with us for the next eight years.
None of us can afford a slipup now. Our team is strong, and we’ll work hard to get you up to speed in the switch from press to national security.
In fact, let’s do that on Friday. We’ll also make an announcement of your new role at that time. Are we all in agreement?”
Beaming, Aimee Sullivan scribbled her signature and handed the agreement to Walt.
“Thanks for taking care of this, Walt. I’m excited to work for the president. And since we’re all being honest here, you should know that I do have a video—you’ll get it when we win. And by the way, I went to Georgetown, not Princeton.”
She smiled at both men and left the room.
* * *
Aimee Sullivan walked through the elegant living room of the Nantucket cottage on Baxter Road, pulled out her cell phone, and tapped a number. A female voice answered.
“We’re all set. Friday night. I’ll give you the details later.” Sullivan ended the call and headed to the kitchen in search of some coffee. There was a lot to do before the debate.
* * *
The woman who took Sullivan’s call immediately made another call relaying the identical information.
The man in Paris said nothing.
Elise Courville hung up.
* * *
Walt Fitzgerald walked over to the door and slammed it shut. He stood over the cowering senator and fumed.
“You are a fucking idiot.”
“I didn’t know she had a video, I swear on my life.” Coleman Harrison was almost in tears.
“Never mind,” Fitzgerald said in disgust. “Asking you to grow a backbone is like asking a fish to use its feet. Get your head out of your ass and try to go one goddamn day without fucking me over, okay? I’ve got this taken care of. Just do your thing at the debate so we can get on with everything.”
Harrison had a moment of clarity. “I still don’t understand.
How on earth can we pull off getting Aimee the job?
There’s no way in hell she’ll pass confirmation.
” His personal life might have been a disaster, but Coleman Harrison did know his politics.
“How are we possibly going to get this to work?”
“I don’t think you really want to know, Coleman.”
“Of course I do.”
Fitzgerald moved in front of the senator and looked him directly in the eye. “Easy: We kill her.”
“What?!” Harrison felt his stomach drop. His chief of staff was ruthless, but this was insane. “Walt, this has gone too far—I won’t allow it!”
Fitzgerald poured himself another couple of fingers of the brown liquid. He looked at Harrison with icy contempt, took a long pull from the tumbler, and smiled.
“Listen, Coleman, here’s the deal: Your girlfriend is a drug addict.”
“What? That’s bullshit, Walt. What the hell are you talking about?”
“There are two kilos of Colombia’s finest inside her apartment in Boston at this very moment. Believe it or not, she has it hidden in her closet—right next to all those toys you’ve both enjoyed so much.”
Fitzgerald smiled as he watched the senator’s incredulous look.
“That’s right. See, what’s going to happen is that your luscious lassie seems to have double-crossed some drug-dealing bandits—who, incidentally, have been sending all their cash back home to support the cause. Maybe the IRA. My guess is that they’ll want to settle up on Saturday.”
The speed of events Fitzgerald had set in motion plunged Harrison into shock. He needed a drink. He reached for the decanter and poured himself a stiff one. He took a long draw, swallowing hard as the liquid scorched his throat.
“We desperately need to get Elise back on the campaign trail with us,” Fitzgerald continued.
Harrison looked up from his chair. “Who?”
“Your wife, you moron—that’s who.”
Fitzgerald sighed.
“Look, Coleman, you have two choices: One, you decide to be a stand-up guy all of a sudden, putting the White House out of reach, plus Elise cuts you off from her money and kicks you to the curb, leaving you with two things—jack and shit. Or two, you follow my plan, play by my rules, get what you want, and no one gets hurt. Well, almost no one.”
Walt Fitzgerald laughed and drained his drink.
It took Senator Coleman Harrison exactly three seconds to make his decision.
“Tell me what I need to do.”