Mounting Fears

27

VICE PRESIDENT MARTIN STANTON HAD HOPED FOR AIR FORCE TWO TO WING HIM west, and he got that, but not in the form he had expected. Air Force Two turned out to be not the Boeing 747 he had anticipated but a Gulfstream III. His disappointment must have been apparent when he alit from his limousine, because the Air Force pilot had rushed over, introduced himself, and apologized.

"Mr. Vice President," the man said, "I'm very sorry about the equipment today, but one of our 747s is down for an unscheduled engine change and the other, of course, has to be held for the president, should he require it."

"Of course, Colonel," Stanton replied. "I understand perfectly, and I'm sure I'll be quite comfortable." Stanton walked up the stairs to the airplane, turned, and waved to the crowd, which consisted of two mechanics in coveralls and a pool television cameraman, there in case he should die on the way to the airplane.

Stanton briefly inspected the tiny private cabin at the rear of the airplane, which contained a single bunk and an uncomfortable-looking chair, then took a seat at a desk just outside the cabin. At least, he thought, this was an improvement over his California State aircraft, a short-legged Citation that had to stop and refuel on its way across the country.

Stanton took a look at the papers. Then, as the jet climbed to cruising altitude, he learned that he was not, even in the smaller airplane, incommunicado. The phone on the desk in front of him rang. He hesitated, then picked it up. The pilot must be calling him.

"Vice President Stanton, this is the White House operator," a woman's voice said.

"Good morning," Stanton replied, surprised to be in touch with Earth.

"I have a gentleman on the line named Jacob Friedman, who claims to be your attorney and who insists on speaking with you."

"I know him, I'll take the call," Stanton replied.

There was a click, then a male voice said, "Hello?"

"Hello, Jake," Stanton said.

"Oh, Governor?"

"Not anymore."

"Sorry, Mr. Vice President."

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry to disturb you when you're… Where are you, anyway?"

Stanton looked out the window. "I guess that's Virginia down there."

"Then you're on Air Force Two?"

"In a manner of speaking."

"Wow, that must be impressive."

"What's going on, Jake?"

"Henry Wilcox-that's Mrs. Stanton's attorney-has just written to me, saying that they're appointing a forensic accountant to go over your finances."

"Yes, Betty told me that last night."

"This is not a good thing, Gov… Mr. Vice President."

"You can call me Marty, Jake."

"It's not a good thing, Marty. This could hold up a decree for months while this guy runs up as many billable hours as he can, all to no avail, of course, since you reported all your assets and liabilities on your financial statement." He paused. "You did report all your assets, didn't you?"

"I did. If I think about it hard, though, I might be able to come up with a few more liabilities. Tell Wilcox that Betty can have half of those."

"Heh-heh, very good. I'll put that in my petition."

"What petition?"

"My petition to the court to suppress the appointment of a forensic accountant."

"On what grounds?"

"Ah, too late in the process, no evidence of hidden assets, harassment, unreasonable delay, that business about new liabilities, and, of course, malice. A woman scorned and all that."

"Don't mention malice and a woman scorned. Let's not make her angrier than she already is."

"Frankly, Marty, I think what's behind this is Wilcox is trying to get more for her than they had agreed to in the draft settlement. Maybe if we give them something else they'll go ahead and sign, and we can get this thing over with."

"Did you have something in mind?"

"Well, Wilcox obliquely referred to that old Cadillac, the one you were born in."

"Betty said something about that last night. She seems to think it might be worth a lot of money."

"I did some checking around. A mint Cadillac of that vintage might bring as much as fifty grand at the right auction."

"I was going to donate it to a car museum in L.A. and get a tax deduction of twenty-five grand," Stanton said.

"So all it would cost you would be whatever the tax savings would have been. That would be a good deal to get us out of this."

"Oh, hell, if it will get her off my back, give it to her, but be cagey. Tell Wilcox how reluctant I am to part with it and how it might bring a hundred grand at auction, because of the connection to a vice president."

"Gotcha. I'll call him back as soon as we're off the phone."

"Don't be hasty, Jake. Let him stew until tomorrow."

"Okay, Marty. I'll get back to you when I know more. In the meantime, do I have your permission to file the petition?"

"Sure, go ahead whenever you think the time is right."

"Bye-bye, Marty. Say, does Air Force Two have a bedroom?"

"In a manner of speaking," Stanton replied. "Good-bye, Jake." He hung up.

Stanton, for the tenth time that morning, thought about Barbara Ortega-specifically, Barbara Ortega naked in his bed. He reflected that the past few weeks had been the longest time in his life that he had gone without sex, but he had suspected that Betty had put detectives on him, so he had been good, as much as it had hurt. Now he was going to see Barbara at Rivera's swearing-in, and he was going to have to work hard not to seem to want her. It was going to be tough.

He hoped to God that Betty took the Cadillac; he had been paying five hundred bucks a month to garage it, since there wasn't room for it at the mansion, and he couldn't afford it anymore.