Adams paused, then continued. “Now I must tell you of a personal decision which was speeded by the events of today. As you will have heard, my wife underwent surgery yesterday at Walter Reed. The surgery was a success, and she is doing well. Her full recovery and her continued enjoyment of our life together is, of course, very important to me. Last year I let it be known that I would be a candidate for my party’s nomination for the presidency, and many of you have been kind enough to offer your support. However, my wife’s illness, combined with the incapacitation of the president, has caused me to make the irrevocable decision to withdraw from the race. I shall not be a candidate for my party’s nomination. I shall, instead, devote myself to the work of acting president until the president recovers, and to my wife’s full recovery and future happiness.
“I know that there are other able men and women of my party who may have been kept from the presidential race because of my presence in it. I now leave the field open to them, and I encourage them to take their ideas to the American electorate with enthusiasm and without delay. In order to have the fullest and widest-ranging discussion of the issues by all the qualified candidates, I have decided that I will not endorse another candidate before the Democratic convention in August. At that time, depending on the circumstances, I may or may not choose to do so. I ask all members of my party to respect my wishes in this matter.
“Now, it remains only for all of us to extend our heartfelt sympathies to the first lady, to pray for the president’s full and speedy recovery and return to office, and for me to ask for your prayers in my execution of the work ahead.
“Thank you, and good night.”
Will stared blankly at the TV screen.
“That went very well,” Tim said. “I think everybody is going to be reassured.”
“Will,” Kitty said, “what’s wrong?”
Will’s consciousness returned to his surroundings. “Nothing,” he said. “Joe’s speech was good.” And now, he thought, we have a president of the United States who has Alzheimer’s disease.
16
Will was discussing Joe Adams’s TV address with Tim, Kitty, and Sam Meriwether, when his phone buzzed. He picked it up. “Yes?”
“Senator,” his secretary said, “the president is on line one.”
“What?” Could he have dreamed all this?
She repeated herself.
Will picked up the phone. “Hello?”
“Will,” Joe Adams’s voice said, “I’m sorry I couldn’t call you before now, but you’ve no idea what it’s been like around here today.”
“Mr. President,” Will replied, “that’s quite all right; I understand perfectly.”
“You’ve got a scrambler on that phone, haven’t you?”
Will had a scrambler because of his membership on the Senate Armed Services Committee. “Yes, sir.”
“Turn it on.”
Will pressed the button. “It’s on,” he said.
“Good; I don’t want this to go any further.” Adams took a deep breath. “The president is in a deep coma; he may well be dying.”
“I see,” Will said, conscious that others were in the room.
“I took his doctor aside and had a frank talk with him. The president’s chances of survival are poor, in the short term.”
“I see,” Will repeated.
“That means that I have to start planning right now. I want you to know that, if the president dies, I’ll appoint you as vice president. I would expect the Senate to confirm you without delay.”
“I see,” Will said.
“Will, are you alone?”
“Not exactly.”
“Oh. I was wondering about your reaction. Don’t say anything else, except yes, you’ll accept.”
“Yes, of course I will.”
“Good. My first impulse was to install you in my EOB office right away, so we could get your feet on the ground as soon as possible, but on reflection, I think it would be better to wait until we have more word on the president’s condition. The next few days are, apparently, going to tell the story.”
“I see.”
“And the president has a living will, in which he requests a do-not-resuscitate order be issued, in the event of something like this, so he won’t be put on a respirator.”
“I see.”
“I think you should go ahead with your campaign announcement, just as you had planned. I hope being vice president will give you a big leg up on the nomination.”
“Thank you, sir. I appreciate your statement on television. That will make it much easier for me to proceed.”
“Then go to it, boy!”
“I will.”
“Good-bye until later. I’ll let you know if there’s a change in the president’s condition.”
“Thank you, sir. I hope Sue continues to improve.”
“She’s coming home tomorrow.”
“Give her my love.”
“I will. Good-bye.”
“Good-bye, Mr. President.” Will hung up.
“Which president was that?” Sam Meriwether asked.
“The new one,” Will said.
“And what did he have to say that needed scrambling?”
“I can’t go into it,” Will replied. “He did say that we should proceed with the campaign announcement as planned.”
“Great! And because of what he said on television, nobody can fault you for jumping in.”
“Along with a number of others,” Will said. “Now we all have a lot of telephoning to do, so let’s get started.”
Everyone left to return to his or her own office.
Will took a handwritten list from a desk drawer and began dialing. He called Tom Black first.
“Yeah?” Tom said into the phone.
“It’s Will. Saturday at noon, on the Capitol steps, I’m announcing for the presidency.”
“Hot damn!” Tom yelled.
“We’re busing a bunch of folks up from Georgia for background and to staff a Washington campaign office.”
“Great! I’ll have a camera crew there to film the announcement. We can use it in commercials. Let’s you and I get together tomorrow and go over your actual words, so I can lift some sound bites.”
“Let’s do it Saturday morning,” Will said. “Come to the house for breakfast at seven.”
“I’ll be there.”
“By the way, Sam Meriwether is campaign manager.”
“Good choice; I can work with him.”
“Keep this as close to the vest as possible. Word is bound to leak, as I start calling people, but I don’t want Saturday to be an anticlimax.”
“Right.”
Will said good-bye and hung up. The phone rang, and Kate was on the line.
“I don’t want to talk right now,” Will said. “I’ll bring you up-to-date at home tonight, okay?”
“Okay,” she said, and hung up.
He thought about who his next call should be to, and he dialed the number.
“Yes?”
“Mason Rutledge?”
“Yes.”
“Mr. Rutledge, this is Will Lee; how are you?”
“I’m very well, Senator,” Rutledge replied. “I hope you are, too.” The voice was slow and patrician.
“I am, thank you. I’m calling you because I’ve decided to run for president this year.”
“That’s good news,” Rutledge said. “I think you’ll make a fine candidate.”
Will noted that he had not said “fine president.” “Thank you, sir. I’ve called to ask for your help.”
“Well, I’m not a rich man, Senator, but I suppose I could manage something.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t intend to ask you for a contribution to my campaign — at least, not a financial one.”
“What sort of contribution would you like me to make?”
“One I believe would not take you away from Harvard Law or your duties there. I want my campaign to be on a firm legal and ethical footing from day one. I want someone to consult on campaign financing issues and to offer advice on ethical matters. I’d be very pleased if you would serve that function in my campaign.”