Carolyn saw Warner’s friend, Senator Richard Young of Georgia, coming toward her. A tall man with jet-black hair, cut military style, and dark brown eyes, he wore a colorful cummerbund and bow tie, giving him an air of confident youthfulness. The bright blues and reds stood out against the conservative lines of the tuxedo. She had to admit he was strikingly handsome.
“Hello, Carolyn.” he said. “How are ya’ll?”
She smiled broadly, concealing her discomfort. Just his “hello” put her on edge, though she wasn’t sure why. “Just fine, thank you. And you and your family?”
“We’re all fine. One of the kids has the flu, though. So Dixie had to stay home tonight.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Carolyn realized that regardless of Warner’s friendship, being objective about Young was impossible. Whether Warner admitted it or not, he was their biggest obstacle in running for the presidency.
But this was a good chance to get to know the competition. Carolyn reminded herself. She clicked through her mental catalogue of information on Young. His family had a longstanding history in politics. That fact alone gave him a serious political edge. His father and grandfather had both been senators. He had much of the party brass on his side and a great political image. Moderate in his political positioning, he and Warner shared many ideals. Their voting records in the Senate were almost identical, both supported welfare reform, cutting defense spending, increasing funds for education, environmental protection, and lower taxes for middle America.
Strategically, she had to admit. Young was the clear front-runner for the nomination.
Somehow, she realized, his voter appeal needed to be neutralized, although she had no idea how to accomplish that feat. First, she needed to know and understand more about their adversary.
As Carolyn and Young talked, they were joined by a man she’d never met. She gauged him to be about five foot nine, with thinning dark hair slicked back, cold gray eyes, and angular features.
“ Carolyn Lane. I’d like to introduce you to Winston Cain,” Senator Young said.
“It’s nice to meet you. Mr. Cain.”
Their eyes met. They’d never been in the same room together, had never even spoken directly, but each was well versed on the other. Edmund Lane made sure of that.
“The pleasure is mine, Mrs. Lane.”
“And what do you do?” Carolyn asked, knowing his resumé already. According to Edmund and Warner, Cain had some of the finest retired intelligence operatives in the world on his payroll.
“Oh, a little of this and a little of that.” Winston responded, laughing. Richard laughed with him.
Warner joined them, handing Carolyn a glass of champagne.
“Good evening. Richard.” Warner shook Cain’s hand warmly. “Winston, how’ve you been?”
Winston met Warner’s gaze. “Well, thank you. How’s your father?”
Surprised by Warner’s familiarity with Cain, Carolyn watched as the three men talked. They appeared to be a very cozy group of cronies. But the true enigma remained Richard Young. Carolyn promised herself that she’d figure him out. She couldn’t afford not to.
Jack ran his finger along the inside of the collar of his tuxedo shirt, then took another sip of his club soda.
Carrie Masters, a twenty-something correspondent, strolled toward him with a glass of champagne in one hand.
“Quite a party,” Carrie said. “It always amazes me to see so many power brokers all in the same room. It has to be a security nightmare.”
“I’d say so.” Jack agreed as he surveyed the crowd, taking note of who was talking to whom. Lead stories often started with an overheard sentence or phase.
“Did you have a tough time getting in?” Carrie asked. “Scratch that. With your family history, you probably don’t have a hard time getting in anywhere.”
Jack shrugged. He’d given up long ago explaining that he lived in the trenches with the rest of the media troops, scrapping for a story, spending years cultivating sources. What did it matter, anyway?
“I guess they’re used to seeing me periodically.” His father had nothing to do with his A-list party invitations. If anything, due to his insistence on reporting the full truth, many politicians considered him a traitor. He’d worked doubly hard to be accepted and receive invitations to most Washington functions. Now, with his journalistic reputation well established, he was rarely overlooked. “How about you?”
“My editor had to pull some strings.”
Jack knew her type all too well, a pretty face with a mind like a bulldozer when it came to news. She was relatively new to the Washington scene, but Jack had no doubt that her ambitions would take her far.
