No Rules, Ridge King [the snowy day read aloud TXT] 📗

is that they will only go so far,” said the Russian, standing up behind his desk and leaning over it towards his colleague.

“Well, they can be ruthless enough when they want to be. Perhaps the current cast of characters is a trifle timid.”

Kornilevski came from behind his desk and paced up and down the room, pounding one clenched fist into the other palm, his lips tight and tense.

“But something must be done to see that this man does not stand in our way!” shouted Kornilevski with passion, turning on Ellsworth.

“Calm yourself, sir.  We won’t make any progress if we lose our heads.”

“If we lose this election because of this one man, my lord, consider what the world will lose!”

“I’m sure,” said Ellsworth, regarding the Russian with apprehension and dismay.  “If only there was something we could do without their knowledge….”

Kornilevski crossed his arms over his massive chest and drummed his foot on the carpet.  Finally he walked behind his desk and sat down facing the Englishman, who was shaking his head sadly, looking down at the floor.

“We must think of something, Lord Ellsworth.  You’ve met this man, this Hawkins.  Tell me what he’s like.”

Ellsworth shrugged slightly.

“Oh, I don’t know. He’s a very likable chap—young, handsome, but not too awfully impulsive. Quite level headed, if you ask me. I think he’s a man of conviction.”

“Could you speak to him? We must decide on some course.  See him, I urge you. See him in private.  Let no one know.”

“All right, I’ll see what I can do.”

“We must make some decision.  If the Democrats will force the Congress to adjourn for a Christmas holiday, we haven’t much time.”

“No,” agreed Ellsworth soberly, “not much time at all.”

* * *

Jesse Epstein came over to Thurston’s apartment that afternoon. Together, they went over the state delegations, figuring and re-figuring possible outcomes, papers strewn out on the study floor as they sat in the middle of them with their legs crossed, pens in hand.

“We’ve done it and re-done it and done it again,” said Epstein finally.  “No matter how you figure it, you can’t say who it’ll come down to. Kellerman of Nevada, a Republican; Fulton of Oklahoma; these Republicans and hell, they haven’t caucused so who can tell?”

“You’re right, Jess.  But what about this Hawkins? I’ve met him once or twice but never really sat down with him.  Is he still holding for us?”

“Far as we know he is.  I haven’t heard anything over the grapevine.”

Thurston frowned and took up a fresh list of the crucial members.

“If you cross out the ones who’ve been cold to me recently,” he began. He drew lines through names. “Let’s see, Fulton hasn’t spoken to me but once and he used to brag about supporting me like he was rubbing salt in Jeffrey Norwalk’s face. Kellerman saw me coming down a hallway and turned around and went the other way. Ernest Rylsky left town recently and somebody told me he’d been nervous for a few days but nobody knew what was on his mind.  Aaron Macklin has been acting strange, too.”  He crossed through several other names. “If you consider that these men were approached and brought over to St. Clair, Slanetti’s getting pretty close to the magic number of twenty-six, and just about the only name left on the list we can say anything about one way or the other is Matt Hawkins of Wyoming.  Curious, don’t you think?”  He looked at Epstein, who shrugged.

“I guess so, but you’re not going on much.”

Thurston drove his pen into the carpet like a knife.

“Shit!  If there was just some way I could talk to these men!”

“You can only approach them indirectly.”

“There won’t be time when the new House convenes, not the way the timetable goes.”

“After they certify the electoral votes, they go into immediate session, right?” asked Epstein.

“Yeah. They don’t even take a break, but call for a vote right away. If there’s no winner on the first ballot, Lamar told me they’ll break for a hour and then vote again. Outsiders won’t be allowed in to lobby the members on the floor.”

“Like some kind of Papal Enclave, right?”

“Yeah, but no white or black smoke.”

“Call Matt Hawkins.”

“I will. I might meet with him tomorrow night for a while.  It couldn’t hurt to pay a little attention to him.  Maybe he’s been approached on something but’s afraid like all others.”

“Why wouldn’t he be?”

Thurston narrowed is eyes and looked at his manager.

“I don’t know. He’s young. He’s new. They’re different.”

“You’re no old man.”

“But I’ve been around this town too long.  He hasn’t.”

“You ought to be spending time with people like Fulton—somebody with some swing.”

“If this thing ever boiled down to some individual—like a single member delegation like Hawkins—Fulton may not be as important as we think he is.”

“Still…” said Epstein, conscious of the value of time.

“I know.  I’ll meet with the others, too.”

“They’ll be surprised when Niles moves to adjourn.  That’ll help us a little.”

“I know.  That’s a big plus in our favor.  As long as Slanetti doesn’t know about the early recess, he won’t be able to adjust his timetable and maybe we can screw him to the wall.  Only Niles, me, you, Stan and Lamar know about it.”

“So we’re safe.”

“Yep.”

Chapter 11

THE CALL

There was nothing for Matt to do the next morning when he went to his suite in the HOB. He’d let the staff off and everybody had returned to Wyoming for a Christmas break. He was the only one there besides a temp manning the phones.

The only call that came through, however, was from Jack Houston St. Clair asking him to lunch. They arranged to meet back at the hotel.

As he was leaving his office, Senator Bill Dumaine