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24
Qui
He was standing in the middle of his office when I entered. The room was drab, drearily functional, nothing at all like Lombroso’s awesome sanctum — dark awkward municipal furniture, portraits of former mayors — but today it had an eerie shimmer of brightness. Sunlight streaming through the window behind Qui
He said, “Remember about a month ago you told me new patterns were shaping up and you’d be able to give me a forecast soon for the year ahead?”
“Sure. But I—”
“Wait. New factors have been shaping up, but you don’t have access to all of them yet. I want to give them to you so you can work them into your synthesis, Lew.”
“What sort of factors?”
“My plans for ru
After a long gawky pause I managed to say, “You mean ru
“I don’t stand a snowball’s chance for next year,” Qui
“Yes, but—”
“No buts. The ticket for 2000 is Kane and Socorro. I don’t need your skill at projection to realize that. They have enough delegates in their pockets now for a first-ballot nomination. Then they’ll go up against Mortonson a year from November and get clobbered. I figure Mortonson’s going to rack up the biggest landslide since Nixon in ’72, no matter who runs against him.”
“I think so, too.”
Qui
“Right, Paul.”
“Kane won’t get a second chance. Landslide losers never do. Who else is there? Keats? He’ll be past sixty. Pownell? No staying power. He’ll be forgotten. Randolph? I can’t see him as anything better than somebody’s vice-presidential pick.”
“Socorro will still be around,” I pointed out.
“Socorro, yes. If he plays his cards right during next year’s campaign, he’ll come out looking good no matter how badly the ticket is beaten. The way Muskie did losing in ‘68, and Shriver losing in ’72. Socorro’s been very much on my mind all this summer, Lew. I’ve been watching him move up like a rocket ever since Leydecker died. That’s why I’ve decided to stop being coy and start my push for the nomination this early. I’ve got to head off Socorro. Because if he gets the nomination in ‘04, he’s going to win, and if he wins he’ll be a two-term President, and that puts me on the sidelines until the year 2012.” He gave me a dose of the classic Qui
“I think your projection checks out all the way,” I said.
Qui
“I like it, Paul. I like it a lot.”
“Good. You’re going to be my key man. I want you to concentrate full time on isolating and projecting national political patterns, so you can draw up game plans within the larger structure I’ve just outlined. Leave the little local stuff alone, the New York City crap. Mardikian can handle my re-election campaign without much help. You look for the big picture, you tell me what the people out in Ohio and Hawaii and Nebraska think they want, you tell me what they’re likely to want four years from now. You’re going to be the man who’ll make me President, Lew.”
“Damned right I will,” I said.
“You’re going to be the eyes that see into the future for me.”
“You know it, man.”
We slapped palms. “Onward to 2004!” he yelled.
“Washington, here we come!” I bellowed.
It was a silly moment, but it was touching, too. History on the hoof, marching toward the White House, me in the vanguard carrying the flag and playing the drums. I was so swept by emotion that I almost started to tell Qui
Qui
“Don’t worry,” I told him, Boy Scout fervor creeping into my voice. “This is the last time anything of this sort is going to happen.”