The man stretched. Despite his apparently robust health, he looked tired. But then Talese had worked with three presidents and they were perpetually tired. The job simply tuckers you out.
“The polls... It’s going to be a coin toss in November.”
“Close. Yes.”
“Good CEOs don’t last — business or government. And I don’t mean good as in talented and efficient. I mean as in doing good.” Boyd rose and poured himself coffee. He lifted an eyebrow. Talese shook his head. “You ever see the movie
“Long time ago. Our bombers get a message by mistake to nuke Moscow. Are we worried about war?”
“No, no. I’m thinking of that scene where the president asks the American ambassador in Russia to sacrifice himself, so they’ll know that Moscow’s been destroyed.”
“He stays on the phone until it’s destroyed in the blast. The Russian ambassador in New York does the same.”
They traded the two cities to avoid all-out war. Like swapping queens at chess.
A chilling flick.
Talese continued, “Melted ambassadors. This is not a very auspicious conversation, Mr. President.”
“My infrastructure bill, Edward...”
“Ah.” And Talese saw what was coming and was suddenly aware of the concept of seeing his life pass before his eyes. In this case, his political life. “Only just a bit more popular than nuclear holocaust, I’ll give you that.”
A laugh.
Boyd’s legislation would be a massive overhaul of the country’s roads, bridges, tunnels, airports, railroads and the like. Improving safety and employing tens of thousands of workers.
Opponents, all of them vehement, said that bill might bankrupt the country.
Talese was looking down at the bird’s-eye maple coffee table.
Boyd: “You’ve read the drafts. What do you think?”
“In theory, it might work.”
With a coy tone in his voice, the president said, “I’ve heard some feedback... Off the record, of course. You like the idea.”
Where
“Edward, help me get this off the ground.”
“Mr. President...”
Boyd leaned forward. “Your clean water legislation? I’ll make sure it happens.”
Jesus.
That would be a miracle...
The senator sighed. “Dinner the other night? I mentioned that the water bill was coming in at one point two billion. And Sammi said, ‘Guess somebody left the faucet running.’ ”
A chuckle. “We need more twelve-year-olds in Congress.”
Just like Boyd to know the names and ages of his oppo’s grandchildren.
“I vote for it, it’ll be the end of my career.”
“Ah, you’re not up for four years. Voters’ll forget.”
“My party won’t. After this term I won’t be able to get any job short of dogcatcher.”
Talese looked out the window as the sun cast its relentless light on the magnificent city.
Not impulsive as a politician, not impulsive as a husband or father or grandfather, Senator Edward Talese of New York did not act impulsively now. His quick mind ordered facts and consequences and said, “I’ll do it, sir. You’ve got my vote.”
Dogcatcher...
The president rose quickly and took Talese’s hand in both of his.
“I’ve been thinking of a title for when I write my autobiography,” the senator mused. “Or, when my ghostwriter does. I’ve got it now:
The president laughed his famous laugh.
The two walked to the door.
Talese said, “That movie? The one where the two ambassadors got nuked? At least they avoided World War Three. That was something.”
Lincoln Rhyme’s email inbox flashed with a Zoom request to join a meeting five minutes from now.
The host was the homeless billionaire Willis Tamblyn.
This would be a follow-up to their prior conversation a half hour ago.
After the developer had shot down their theories about the Watchmaker’s motives, Rhyme had wondered if the developer could help in another way.
“Six months?” Tamblyn had muttered.
“What?” Rhyme had asked.
“How long it takes to get that reservation at Lucien’s.”
Rhyme had asked, “Will it still be in business six months from now, do you think?”
There’d been a pause. “Jacques won’t be happy. What do you need?”
Rhyme had said, “A developer has to know a lot about the history of the city, its geography, I assume.”
“Are you joking? Someone once wrote that nobody knows more about New York City than Willis Tamblyn. I took offense. Saying ‘nobody knows more.’ That puts me on an equal footing with every Tom, Dick and Loser of developers. The right way to say it is simpler and doesn’t involve a negative. I know more than any other living person about the city.”
“Then maybe you can help us find a location. It’s where the co-conspirators met in the crane attack.”
“Conspirators,” Tamblyn had said slowly, savoring either the word or the concept itself. Perhaps both.
“This is what our officers found in the soil.” And he had sent a picture from the murder board.
