Kane and Abel/Sons of Fortune Read online

  “Don’t you feel that twenty-six is a bit young to be telling us how we should be running our lives?” asked a young lady seated in the second row.

  “Same age as I was,” said Harry, “and your father never complained.” One or two of the older hacks smiled, but the young woman wasn’t quite so easily put off.

  “But you had just returned from a world war, Senator, with three years’ experience as an officer at the front, so may I ask, Mr. Davenport, did you burn your draft card during the height of the Vietnam War?”

  “No, I did not,” said Fletcher, “I was not drafted, but had I been, I would have served willingly.”

  “Can you prove that?” the journalist snapped back.

  “No,” said Fletcher, “but if you were to read my speech at the Yale freshman debate, you would be left in no doubt of my feelings on this subject.”

  “If you are elected,” asked another member of the press, “will your father-in-law be pulling the strings?”

  Harry glanced across and saw that the question had annoyed Fletcher. “Calm down,” he whispered. “He’s only doing his job. Stick to the answer we agreed on.”

  “If I am fortunate enough to be elected,” said Fletcher, “it would be foolish of me not to take advantage of Senator Gates’s wealth of experience, and I will stop listening to him only when I consider he has nothing left to teach me.”

  “What do you feel about the Kendrick Amendment to the finance bill currently being debated in the house?” The ball came swinging in from left field, and it certainly wasn’t one of the seventeen questions they had prepared for.

  ‘That’s a bit rough isn’t it, Robin?” said the senator.”After all, Fletcher is …”

  “In so far as the clause affects senior citizens, I believe it discriminates against those who have already retired and are on fixed incomes. Most of us will have to retire at some time, and the only thing I remember Confucius saying was that a civilized society was one that educated its young and took care of its old. If I am elected, when Senator Kendrick’s amendment to the bill comes before the Senate, I will vote against it. Bad laws can be drafted in a legislative session, but then take years to repeal, and I will only ever vote for a bill that I believe can be realistically administered.”

  Harry sat back in his chair. “Next question,” he said.

  “In your CV, Mr. Davenport, which I must say was most impressive, you claim you resigned from Alexander Dupont and Bell in order to run in this election.”

  “That is correct,” said Fletcher.

  “Did a colleague of yours, a Mr. Logan Fitzgerald, also resign around that time?”

  “Yes, he did.”

  “Is there any connection between his resignation and yours?”

  “None whatsoever,” said Fletcher firmly.

  “What are you getting at?” asked Harry.

  “Just a call from our New York office which they asked me to follow up,” replied the journalist.

  “Anonymous, no doubt,” said Harry.

  “I’m not at liberty to reveal my sources,” the journalist replied, trying hard not to smirk.

  “Just in case your New York office didn’t tell you who that informant was, I’ll let you know his name just as soon as this press conference is over,” snapped Fletcher.

  “Well, I think that just about wraps it up,” said Harry, before anyone could ask a supplementary question. “Thank you all for joining us. You’ll get a regular shot at the candidate in his weekly campaign press conferences—which is more than I ever gave you.”

  “That was awful,” said Fletcher as they walked off the stage. “I must learn to control my temper.”

  “You did just fine, my boy,” said Harry, “and by the time I’ve finished with the bastards, the only thing they will remember about this morning was your answer on the Kendrick Amendment to the finance bill. And frankly, the press are the least of our problems.” Harry paused ominously. “The real battle will begin when we discover who the Republican candidate is.”

  29

  “WHAT DO YOU know about her?” asked Fletcher as they walked down the street together.

  There wasn’t a lot Harry didn’t know about Barbara Hunter, as she had been his opponent for the past two elections, and a perpetual thorn in his flesh during the intervening years.

  “She’s forty-eight, born in Hartford, daughter of a farmer, educated in the local school system, and then at the University of Connecticut, married to a successful advertising executive, with three children, all living in the state, and she’s currently a member of the State Congress.”

  “Any bad news?” asked Fletcher.

  “Yes, she doesn’t drink and is a vegetarian, so you’ll be visiting every bar and butcher in the constituency. And like anyone who has spent a lifetime in local politics, she’s made her fair share of enemies on the way, and as she barely won the Republican nomination this time around, you can be sure that several party activists didn’t want her in the first place. But more important, she lost the last two elections, so we paint her as a loser.”

  Harry and Fletcher entered the Democratic headquarters on Park Street to find the front window covered in posters and photos of the candidate, something Fletcher still hadn’t become used to. The Right Man for the Job. He hadn’t thought a lot of the slogan until the media experts explained that it was good to have the words “right” and “man” in the message when your opponent was a Republican woman. Subliminal, they had explained.

  Harry walked up the stairs to the conference room on the first floor, and took his seat at the head of the table. Fletcher yawned as he sat down, although they had only been campaigning for seven days; and there were still twenty-six to go. The mistakes you make today are history tomorrow morning, your triumphs forgotten by the early evening news. Pace yourself, was one of Harry’s most repeated maxims.

  Fletcher looked around at the assembled group, a combination of pros and seasoned amateurs, with Harry no longer their candidate, but instead pressed into being campaign chairman. It was the only concession Martha had allowed, but she had told Fletcher to send him home the moment he showed the slightest sign of fatigue. As each day passed, it became harder to keep to Martha’s instructions, as it was Harry who always set the pace.

  “Anything new or devastating?” Harry asked as he looked around the team, one or two of whom had played a role in all seven of his election victories. In the last encounter, he’d beaten Barbara Hunter by over five thousand votes, but with the polls now running neck and neck, they were about to find out just how much of that vote had been personal.

  “Yes,” said a voice from the other end of the table. Harry smiled down at Dan Mason, who had been with him for six of his seven campaigns. Dan had started by working the copier, and was now in charge of press and public relations.

  “The floor’s all yours, Dan.”

  “Barbara Hunter has just issued a press release challenging Fletcher to a debate. Presumably I tell her to get lost, and add that it’s a sign of someone who is desperate and knows they are going to lose. That’s what you always did.”

  Harry was silent for a moment. “You’re right, Dan, I did,” he eventually said, “but only because I was the incumbent and treated her as an upstart. In any case, I had nothing to gain from a debate, but that situation has changed now that we’re fielding an unknown candidate, so I think we need to discuss the idea more fully before we come to any conclusion. What are the advantages and disadvantages? Opinions?” he said. Voices all started speaking at once.

  “Gives our man more exposure.”

  “Gives her the center stage.”

  “Proves we have the outstanding debater, which because of his youth will come as a surprise.”

  “She knows the local problems—we could look inexperienced and ill-informed.”

  “We look young, dynamic, and energetic.”

  “She looks experienced, canny and seasoned.”

  “We represent the youth of tomorrow.”