She looked at him, his eyes dark and intense, his face unmoving. He had tried hard to be with her and she had wanted so much to be with him. They had tried to make it work in several cities and several different ways, full-time and part-time, working and on vacation and they had driven into the same roadblock every time. It was just as Liz had told her in one of their countless blow-outs, though Liz had been more savage than Uri would ever be. An adrenalin junkie with a Messiah complex, that was Lizs latest formulation to describe her sister. Maggie had slammed the phone down, telling Liz she could fuck right off, but the line had stuck. Partly because it was such a good soundbite, and partly because it sounded like a judge handing down a life sentence.
She looked at him, his eyes dark and intense, his face unmoving. He had tried hard to be with her and she had wanted so much to be with him. They had tried to make it work in several cities and several different ways, full-time and part-time, working and on vacation and they had driven into the same roadblock every time. It was just as Liz had told her in one of their countless blow-outs, though Liz had been more savage than Uri would ever be. An adrenalin junkie with a Messiah complex, that was Lizs latest formulation to describe her sister. Maggie had slammed the phone down, telling Liz she could fuck right off, but the line had stuck. Partly because it was such a good soundbite, and partly because it sounded like a judge handing down a life sentence.
She could feel the tears building up, but she desperately didnt want to cry: not here. Looking away, she scanned the faces around her and a sudden loathing welled up inside for the bar, its occupants, for Washington. She couldnt bear to stay in this city a day longer. She had been deceiving herself as much as Uri pretending that she could make it work here.
For a brief moment she remembered the call she had received but not mentioned to Uri from President Williamss Chief of Staff, offering her the job of co-ordinator of the Action for Sudan plan. She could accept it on one condition: that she be on the ground, in Africa.
She had been pushing the thought of that offer away, as if it were a guilty treat she was not meant to open. She could see that now. Perhaps they were right about her, Liz and Uri; maybe they knew her better than she knew herself.
She turned to him, forcing the tears back inside. You know what, Uri? I do need to know that what Im doing matters. And yes, I do go out of my mind if I get within a hundred yards of clocking into a bloody office. And lets say youre right and I do get off on the thrill of danger. Lets say all thats true. Is it such a crime, Uri? Really? Is it such a crime to have seen such terrible things in such terrible places that I want to use every ounce of energy Ive got to make things better? You can call it a Messiah complex if you want to-
I never said anything about-
-but this is who I am. And Im sick of apologizing for it. To you, to my sister, to Magnus fucking Longley. I dont want to be on the couch, I dont want to be analysed. Ive learned how to cope with danger, Ive learned how to solve problems that apparently freak out everyone around me, and Im good at it.
He moved to speak but she held up her hand. I cant be like these people, Uri. She gestured at the lobbyists, lawyers and legislative aides in their Banana Republic uniforms. I cant keep pedaling away on my little hamsters wheel, chasing the next promotion, never breaking the rules, never thinking of anywhere else in the entire world except this tiny little city.
She looked into his eyes. You know, she said. I wanted to be with you, I really did. But I cant be someone else, Uri. Its taken me a long time to see it, but this is who I am. Im sorry.
She leaned across the table to kiss him long and hard on the lips. And then she stood up, quickly gathered her things and strode towards the door before the tears could fall.
Epilogue
That same night
Senator Rick Franklin of South Carolina put aside the memo he had just received, detailing the results of a poll commissioned by CPAC, the Conservative Political Action Conference, which asked likely Republican voters how they rated a series of leading party figures. To his teams delight, he had come in second, just behind the partys rock star former vice presidential candidate who always topped these surveys, if only on the grounds of instant name recognition.
He knew how this had happened. Even if most of the country had been distraught at Stephen Bakers removal from office prompting vigil-like scenes at the White House, as thousands of supporters gathered outside, holding candles and singing old protest songs among the hardcore American right it was a day of celebration and Rick Franklin was rapidly hailed as its hero. He was the man whose persistence had driven Baker from office. The Weekly Standard, the pundits on Fox, the Wall Street Journal op-ed page they were all as one, anointing Senator Franklin as the frontrunner for the Republican nomination to take on the unelected President Bradford Williams in the election that was now little more than three years away.
His supporters were ecstatic; so was his wife. Only he felt a knot of anxiety at all this presidential talk.
He had seen Baker having to confess to those misjudgments from his past. They had broken him. And wasnt he, Rick Franklin family man, poster boy of the Christian right just as vulnerable? His affair with Cindy had gone on for nearly two years; there was nothing they hadnt tried, some of it illegal in several states. He would be destroyed.
It was a good thing she was away for the week, at that conference in Colorado. She would enjoy herself and, when she was back, he would tell her it had to end. She would understand that it was for the best. His mind was made up.
Perhaps twenty minutes later, there was a call from Charleston.
Senator, its Brian. One of his lowlier aides, sounding anxious, his voice wobbling as if he were a high school girl at prizegiving.
What is it, Brian? Come on, spit it out.
Its Cindy, sir. Weve just had a call from-
Whats happened?
Shes dead, sir. In a skiing accident.
Franklin felt his heart thumping. Was he about to have a heart-attack? He put down the receiver slowly and carefully and took several deep breaths. He told himself this pain in his chest was grief and, in part, it was. Hed been very fond of Cindy: she was a lovely girl, with a body shaped by the Lords own hand
But there was more to that tension in his chest than sorrow. A thought was brewing. Was this Providence stepping into the affairs of men, acting to remove the last serious obstacle between him and the White House? Could this have been the work of the same beneficent God who had lent a helping hand at so many other awkward times in his career?
Rick Franklin spent the afternoon making dutiful calls, to Cindys parents and to his staffers, offering to deliver a eulogy at the memorial service. But in between, he stole another look at that memo and those poll numbers.
They really were very encouraging.
In amongst all the calls was one he hadnt expected. It came from that veteran creature of Washington, Magnus Longley, the man whod served as Bakers Chief of Staff and been around longer than the Lincoln Memorial.
To what do I owe this pleasure, Mr Longley?
Senator, I just heard about the loss of your very talented Head of Legislative Affairs.
You are on the ball, Mr Longley: that hasnt even been announced yet, just immediate family and friends.
I believe I was among the first to know. A long pause. He cleared his throat. Anyway, my condolences. I was hoping that we might have a conversation.
Of course. Yes. I-
Let me begin by saying and this may surprise you that my colleagues and I hold you in the highest possible regard, Senator Franklin.
We always have.
Acknowledgements
Once again I have been assisted by friends generous enough to share their wisdom with me. Richard Adams, John Arlidge, Andy Beckett, Laura Blumenfeld, Jay Carney, Steve Coombe, Tom Cordiner and Monique El-Faizy all deserve to be singled out.
Acknowledgements
Once again I have been assisted by friends generous enough to share their wisdom with me. Richard Adams, John Arlidge, Andy Beckett, Laura Blumenfeld, Jay Carney, Steve Coombe, Tom Cordiner and Monique El-Faizy all deserve to be singled out.
For the fifth book in a row, Jonathan Cummings proved himself an indefatigable sleuth for the elusive fact: working with him is only ever a pleasure. At HarperCollins Jane Johnson ably backed once again by Sarah Hodgson was tireless, even keeping the same lunatic hours as I did as she guided this book towards its birth. She was not just meticulous, but sensitive and shrewd. I consider myself lucky to have her as my editor. A word too about Jonny Geller: hes often referred to these days as a super-agent. What fewer people know is that he is a super friend, a constant source of advice, encouragement and understanding.
Finally, my wife Sarah, along with my sons, Jacob and Sam, had their patience tested by this book, as so often before. It kept me from them for more hours than any of us would have wanted. But Sarah was never anything other than full of love, offering just the right word of support at just the right moment. Every day I feel glad that I chose her and that she chose me.
Jonathan Freedland, March 2010
About the Author
Sam Bourne is the pseudonym of Jonathan Freedland, an award-winning journalist and broadcaster. He has written a weekly column for the Guardian since 1997, having previously served as the papers Washington correspondent. He has covered five US presidential elections, including Barack Obamas campaign in 2008.
In the annual What the Papers Say Awards of 2002 Jonathan Freedland was named Columnist of the Year, and in 2008 he won the David Watt Prize for Journalism. His first novel, The Righteous Men, was a Richard and Judy Summer Read and a Number 1 bestseller. His next two novels, The Last Testament and The Final Reckoning, were both top five bestsellers. He lives in London with his wife and their two children.