The Plan

Chapter 22.

THE TWELVE O'CLOCK PRESS CONFERENCE WAS A VIDEO rodeo. Power cables spaghettied around the crowded hotel ballroom.

Vidal Brown was on the stage in front of a microphone podium as correspondents screamed for hard news on Haze Richards.

Ryan was watching from the back of the ballroom thinking somebody has to stop this! And then A. J. Teagarden's voice was in his ear.

"I need the documentary. I got a deal with ABC. They're gonna run it on Nightline unedited."

A. J. had slipped up beside him in the milling crowd of blow-dries. "Come outside," Ryan finally said.

He led the wonk out of the ballroom and they found a small alcove in the hotel where the din was manageable.

"I'm not sure I like what's happening here," Ryan said.

"What's happening is Haze Richards. Where's the tape?" The wonk leaned in and pushed his bushy face toward Ryan. "Gimme the tape, Ryan. I need footage on Haze. I'm cutting deals on that tape. We've got networks fighting for it. They can't just run clips of the debate; they wanna know who he is… the man from Providence, the Prairie Fire. Where is it?"

"This guy is just hype. He doesn't stand for anything." "That's the system. Reagan wasn't overwhelmed with original thought, either. Now give it to me."

"Why is the underworld backing Haze?"

A. J. had been leaning forward, trying to get in Ryan's face. The question froze him.

"The underworld isn't involved with this candidate. It's horseshit."

"The Alo family is supporting Haze. I overheard you tell Mickey on the phone that cash was coming in from the Bahamas. If the mob is backing all this, what does Haze Richards have to give back once he gets in the White House?"

. A. J.'s face turned to stone. His expression told Ryan he had scored a bull's-eye.

A. J. Teagarden spun away, leaving Ryan in the little alcove, alone.

Ryan moved to the elevator and pushed "7."… He rode up alone while "Sons of the Pioneers" warbled through the Muzak. He got out, went down the hall, and opened his room. The edited master tape was on the desk. He grabbed it, along with three other tapes of raw footage it had been cut from and one duplicate master he'd made. He put them away in his suitcase, locked the case, and moved quickly out of his room: He took the stairway down to the mezzanine and handed the overnight bag to the concierge. "Could you put this in your lockup for me?"

While Ryan was locking up the tape, A. J. Teagarden was across the street from the hotel on a pay phone talking to Mickey Alo. Mickey had flown back to Manhattan and was in a restaurant where he was having lunch with Bud Rennick, president of the local Teamsters.

"It's A. J."

"Can this wait? I'll call you back on a hard line."

"You better hear it now. I gotta get back inside. We're having a feeding frenzy. I got press crawling up my ass, and I got nothing to chum the water with. And this old friend of yours, this Ryan guy-he'sgot the tape but he won't give it over."

"I'll look into it," Mickey said slowly.

"Another thing… I thought you told me nobody but me, Haze, and Malcolm were gonna know you were involved in this."

"Nobody else does."

"Ten minutes ago, Ryan Bolt told me that the Alo family was financing Haze. This guy could scuttle the whole deal. You gotta wave him off."

"I'll take care of it. Thanks." And Mickey hung up. "Everything okay?" Bud asked.

"Yep." Mickey made two quick decisions and then he turned his full attention back to Bud. "You invite Governor Richards to New York, let him solve it, but you gotta cave on your hourly wage demand."

"You guarantee you'll give it back to me somehow later, I'll sell it to my board."

Outside the restaurant, Solomon Kazorowski had heard the call from A. J. to Mickey Alo. He had borrowed an ICOM scanner that could intercept cell phone calls from a friend. When Mickey's phone had rung, he eavesdropped on the call. After A. J. hung up, Kaz picked up the picture of the blond man who had come to the Alo house with Lucinda. He pulled a Magic Marker out of his pocket and wrote the name "Ryan Bolt" under the picture. And then, after a moment of thought, he put a question mark next to it.

The first Iowa post-debate poll came in at six P. M. A. J., Ven, and Van were in Malcolm's suite, which was on the tenth floor of the Savoy. A. J. was in the bedroom getting results over the phone. He hung up and came through the door, grinning.

"That was my guy at UBC. Haze is on the map. We're polling ten percent. From zero to ten percent in one day. Fucking unbelievable."

Malcolm got to his feet. "Let's hear the rest."

A. J. looked down at the slip of paper. "Okay, this thing in Iowa is gonna be between us and Skatina. Forget the other three. They're already dust. People aren't quite ready to say they'll vote for Haze yet, 'cause they just heard about him yesterday, but the internals are amazing. Haze is leading Skatina three-to-two on integrity. Skatina has a three-to-one edge on 'Qualified.' We'll have to build on that. Haze scored big on the farm program. That was fucking brilliant if I do say so myself." He bowed at the waist before going on. "The question, 'Does the candidate care?' we're solid winners. Leadership'-we're ahead. `Trust in a crisis' they don't know Haze, so Skatina is still the guy they'd trust with the bomb, but I'll figure out a way to overcome that. Get this… When asked, 'Which candidate excited and inspired you?'-it was Haze by fifty-two percent." He dropped the paper on the table.

"We need to follow this up with that documentary. Where the hell is it?" Malcolm asked.

A. J. wondered what Mickey had in store for Ryan Bolt.