The Prodigal Daughter Read online

  As the chairman pressed forward with each state—Utah, Vermont, Virginia—the network computers were already flashing up on the screen that there would be no winner on the first ballot, but it was ten forty-seven before Tom Brokaw pronounced the first round verdict: 1,522 for Senator Kane, 1,480 for Vice President Parkin, 189 for Senator Bradley and 140 for favorite sons.

  The chairman told the delegates that Senator Bradley would now address them. Another eleven minutes passed before he could speak. Florentyna had talked to him on the phone every day of the convention and steadfastly avoided asking him to join her ticket as Vice President, because she felt such an offer would smack of bribery rather than a conscientious choice of him because she felt he was the right man to succeed her. Although Ralph Brooks was the favorite for the post in the Parkin camp, Florentyna couldn’t help wondering if Pete Parkin had already offered Bradley the chance to join him.

  At last the senior senator from New Jersey was able to address the convention. “My fellow members of the Democratic Party,” he began. “I thank you for the support you have given me during this election year, but the time has come for me to withdraw from this Presidential race and release my delegates to vote the way their conscience guides them.” The hall fell almost silent. Bradley spoke for several minutes about the sort of person he wanted to see in the White House but did not openly support either candidate. He closed with the words: “I pray you will select the right person to lead our country” and was cheered for several minutes after he had returned to his seat.

  By this time, most people in Suite 2400 of the Baron had no nails left; only Florentyna remained outwardly calm, although Edward noticed that her fist was clenched. He quickly returned to work on the green section of his master printout, which showed only the Bradley delegates, but there wasn’t much he could do while they were all on the floor except phone the chairman of each state committee and keep them working. The phones came ringing back; it seemed that the Bradley delegates were also split down the middle. Some of them would even continue to vote for Bradley in the second round in case the convention became deadlocked and had to turn to him in the end.

  The second roll call vote started at eleven twenty-one with Alabama, Alaska and Arizona showing no changes. The balloting dragged on from state to state until the Wyoming decision was recorded at twelve twenty-three. At the end of the second round, the convention was still undecided, with the only important change being that Pete Parkin had taken a slight lead—1,629 to 1,604—while 98 delegates had remained uncommitted or faithful to Senator Bradley.

  At twelve thirty-seven the chairman said, “Enough is enough. We’ll start the roll call again tomorrow evening at seven o’clock.”

  “Why not first thing tomorrow morning?” asked one of Florentyna’s sleepless young aides as he was leaving the arena.

  “As the Boss pointed out,” said Janet, “elections are now run for the benefit of the networks, and tomorrow morning just isn’t prime time.”

  “Are the networks going to be responsible for which candidate we choose?” the aide asked.

  They both laughed. The sleepless aide repeated the same comment twenty-four hours later—when neither of them laughed.

  The exhausted delegates slumped off to their rooms, aware that on a third ballot most states freed their delegates from their original pledges, which meant that they could now vote any way they pleased. Edward and his team didn’t know where to start, but they picked up the printouts and went through each delegate from Alabama to Wyoming for a third time that night, hoping they would have a plan for every state by eight o’clock the next morning.

  Florentyna hardly slept that night, and at ten past six she walked back into the living room of her suite in a robe to find Edward still poring over the lists.

  “I’ll need you at eight,” he said, not looking up at her.

  “Good morning,” she said, and kissed him on the forehead.

  “Good morning.”

  Florentyna stretched and yawned. “What happens at eight?”

  “We speak to thirty Bradley and undeclared delegates an hour all through the day. I want you to have spoken to at least two hundred and fifty by five this afternoon. We’ll have all six phones manned every minute of that time so that there will never be less than two people waiting to speak to you.”

  “Won’t eight be a little early?” asked Florentyna.

  “No,” said Edward. “Because of the time zone difference, the East Coast delegates will wake early as usual and I won’t bother the West Coast delegates until after lunch.”

  Florentyna returned to her room realizing yet again how much thought Edward had put into her whole campaign and she remembered Richard saying how lucky she was to have two men who adored her.

  At eight o’clock, she started work with a large glass of orange juice by her side. As the morning proceeded, the team became more convinced that the first roll call that evening would give the majority to their candidate. The feeling in that room was turning to one of victory. At ten-forty Bill Bradley rang to say that if his delegates caused a deadlock again he was going to recommend that they vote for Florentyna.

  At eleven twenty-seven Edward passed Florentyna the phone again. This time it wasn’t a well-wisher.

  “It’s Pete Parkin here. I think we ought to get together. Can I come and see you immediately?”

  Florentyna wanted to say “I’m far too busy” but only said “Yes.”

  “I’ll be right over.”

  “Whatever can he want?” said Edward as Florentyna handed him back the phone.

  “I have no idea, but we don’t have long before we find out.”

  Pete Parkin arrived via the freight elevator with two Secret Service agents and his campaign manager.

  After unnatural pleasantries had been exchanged—the two candidates hadn’t spoken to each other for the past six months—and coffee poured, the contenders were left alone. They sat in comfortable chairs facing each other. They might as well have been discussing the weather, not which one of them should rule the Western world. The Texan got straight down to business.

  “I am prepared to make a deal with you, Florentyna.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “If you withdraw I’ll offer you the Vice Presidency.”

  “You must be—”

  “Hear me out, Florentyna,” said Parkin, putting up his massive hand like a traffic cop. “If you accept my offer, I’ll only serve one term if elected and then I’ll support you for the job in 1996 with full White House backing. You’re five years younger than I am and there is no reason why you shouldn’t complete two full terms.”

  Over the previous thirty minutes Florentyna had thought of many reasons why her rival might want to see her, but she had not been prepared for this.

  “If you don’t accept my offer and I win tonight, I’ll be giving the number two spot to Ralph Brooks, who has already confirmed that he is willing to run.”

  “I’ll call you by two this afternoon” was all that Florentyna said.

  Once Pete Parkin had left with his aide, Florentyna discussed the offer with Edward and Janet, who both felt that they had come too far to give in now. “Who knows what the situation might be in four years’ time?” Edward pointed out. “You might be like Humphrey trying to recover from Johnson; and in any case, we only need a deadlock at this time and Bradley’s delegates will push us comfortably over the top on the fourth ballot.”

  “I wonder if Parkin knows that,” said Janet.

  Florentyna sat motionless listening to her different advisors and then asked to be left alone.

  Florentyna phoned Pete Parkin at one forty-three and politely declined his offer, explaining she was confident that she was going to win on the first ballot that night. He made no reply.

  By two o’clock the press had got hold of the news of the secret meeting, and the phones in Suite 2400 never stopped as they tried to find out what had happened. Edward kept Florentyna concentrating on the del