[b]Hartwell, GA[/b] Russell Reed sat on his deck overlooking Lake Hartwell with a drink in hand. He grew up not far from here in Lavonia, the only son of an upper middle class family. His daddy was a banker who dabbled in politics and fancied himself as something of a kingmaker in Franklin County. He found out the truth when he tried a run at the state legislature. The men who took Jonathan Reed’s money hand over fist were not pleased to see him actually enter a race. He was slandered throughout Franklin County as a man who cared for nothing but cash, they said once he was in the state house he would work with the big interest to take farmer’s land, they said he had changed his name and was actually Jewish. Who, they asked, would vote for a greedy Jew in the pocket of big business? When Election Day came, Jonathan Reed only got five percent of the vote and retired from politics all together. For ten year old Russell, the lessons his father’s failed campaign taught him were extremely valuable. At twenty-five Russell beat a six man field and was elected to Georgia’s Ninth Congressional District. The victory was the result of nearly six years of hard work, Russell traveling around the district and meeting people. He talked not to the old pols that ran the counties, but the people on the outs with them and the young ones eager for their shot. Five years consolidating power and votes in the district laid the groundwork for an organization that would one day spread around the state. The organization and Russell campaigned tirelessly day and night across the district, any place where a registered voter might be he went out and met them. He refuted the old claims of his Jewish blood, showing a crowd in Habersham his family tree traced all the way back to England. Twenty years in congress, twenty years climbing the rungs of the ladder while his statewide influence grew. Russell started to run unopposed after his third reelection to office, the opposition in the Ninth gave up. He was elected Speaker of the House just as civil war broke out, the old fault lines of north and south ripping apart into a new conflict. Unlike most of his southern brethren, Russell stayed in DC and continued to act as Speaker through the war. He knew the war would be temporary, but the gavel was something he had wanted his entire life. Five years later he was proved right when the south was brought back into the fold. Soon after he announced his intention to run for the Senate and faced an uphill battle. The people of Georgia called him traitor and Yankee sympathizer, the old Jew claims were brought back with a vengeance. What the people of Georgia didn’t count on was the loyalty of his organization, the men he had cajoled and horse-traded with for over twenty years, the men who proved they would do what it took for Russell. With a razor thin margin of just a thousand votes, he was elected into the Senate. From there the journey repeated itself. Now Russell was majority leader of that body. He ran the old chamber with an iron fist. That institution that for so long was seen as inept and slow moving now ran like a well-oiled machine. He used his gifts for politicking and manipulation to get the ninety-five other men under his control. Where Jonathan Reed had failed miserably under the misguided notion that he was a kingmaker, Russell was king. And he was just on the second leg of his journey. This plan was something hatched long ago, something he never spoke about aloud with anyone. Slowly but surely he had been acquiring contacts across the country, men who could control and influence delegates and electoral votes. In the Midwest and small pockets in the northeast they were working for him. Depending on how the meeting he had scheduled today went, he could use those men as both weapon and bargaining tool. “Senator, sir?” Willy, Russell’s assistant, stood at the edge of the deck with his arms behind his back. Russell stood and nodded to Willy, his signal for the younger man to leave. Behind Willy stood the impressive figure of Michael Norman, all medals and stars. The general wore his military uniform with the cluster of five stars on the shoulder and rows of ribbons and medals on his chest. For his part, Russell wore khaki pants and a button-up shirt. “General,” Russell said with a smile. “Welcome to my home. Won’t you have a seat?” Norman took a chair next to Russell and looked out at the lake, commenting on the impressive view and lovely house. A moment later Willy appeared at their side, passing the general a drink. Russell sent Willy away again and watched Norman sip his beverage. “General, I want to congratulate you on that magnificent performance last week in Washington. You held the whole world in the palm of your hands and managed to bring some sanity back to the situation.” Russell had watched from outside DC, watching on the television as they showed Norman walking into the city, alone and unarmed to speak to the rogue military men who occupied it. The country watched all night, waiting for news before he emerged just before noon the next day with the soldiers withdrawing from Washington and allowing free elections to take place without force. “Thank you, senator. Sending in more troops would have just escalated it. What those men in Washington needed was to listen to reason.” “Mmm,” Russell said with a mouthful of bourbon. He swallowed it and looked towards Norman. “And I bet they also needed a candidate, someone who would listen to their needs. Someone who can sympathize with their position, someone who shares their same background.” He smiled when he saw Norman shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “When do you announce your candidacy, General?” “Soon. Within the next few weeks at the earliest and a month before the convention at the latest. Running was something I had been considering, but recent events forced my hand.” Russell nodded and took another sip of his drink. He knew what was coming next, but he couldn’t prompt Norman. That was the way he handled favors. He would not suggest or propose. If someone wanted something from him it was their job to ask. No, the general had to ask himself. “If I want this to succeed I’ll need your help, senator.” “What do you need from me?” “Several things. I need the south in my corner if I plan on making a serious run for the White House. I’m experienced in military politics, but I’m a novice in other political arenas. I need your help in courting delegates and political bosses.” “Why do you need my help with delegates? You’re Michael Norman, war hero and now peacetime hero. You’re from the south.” “I’m from Virginia, but to a farmer from Alabama that may as well be Boston. My political agenda could ruffle many feathers in the south, civil rights chief among those items. I can get votes across the country, but I need the south to stay solid for me, and I need you to do it.” “The quid pro quo, General? A cabinet post?” “Vice president.” Russell scoffed and took another sip. “I think it was Daniel Webster who was offered the same role and said ‘I don’t propose to be buried until I’m dead.’ Why would I give up all the power I have in the Senate to sit around all day, twiddling my thumbs.” Norman gently placed his drink on the glass table between the two men and nodded to himself before he spoke. “I’ve heard of your reputation, senator. The way you can read politicians like an open book. Nobody is better than you are in political warfare. But I also have a talent for reading men, but my battlefield is an actual battlefield. I’ve conducted strategy on a massive scale. I think I can read your intentions and strategy pretty well. You want to be president. You have never stated it, but everyone in Washington knows it’s true. The only problem is where you’re from. Zachary Taylor was the last southern president elected, and that was in 1849. The first civil war caused the streak, and now the second one has caused at least another hundred years before one is elected. I’m from a border state, I fought for the US in both wars, and I can overcome the Southern taint through my record in the war. You can’t, and it doesn’t matter that you were loyal during the war, all that matters is that little GA next to your name on the ballot. Then there's the glamour of running the Senate, or lack thereof. The real poltico insiders know who you are and what you can do, but John Q. Citizen has no idea who you are. Ask ten people on the street who you and they'll all say who? If you’re my vice president you’ll be a key adviser in my administration with a place in the national spotlight. I’m afraid I can’t give you any true power without throwing off the balance of the three branches, but you voice will be heard and you will help make decisions. At the end of my presidency, four years or eight however I feel, you will be the heir apparent with the endorsement of the former president, the Democratic Party’s infrastructure, and your own talents and people at your disposal. Senator, you can’t lose.” Russell took his time replying, finishing his drink and staring off at the lake in silence while Norman watched him decide. He shook the ice cubes and placed the empty glass on the table before extending a hand to Norman. “When do we start?” [b]Houston, Texas Two Months Later[/b] Russell leaned back in his seat while the men talked. The six men gathered in the smoky hotel conference room were informally known as the Lords of Texas. They were comprised of media moguls, oil barons, and political bosses who each own their own fiefdom of political power and influence in the state. If anyone running for statewide or federal office in Texas wanted to be taken serious, they needed the support of one of the Lords. What Russell was asking for was support from them all. “Gentlemen,” he said, holding a hand up to quiet the din. “I don’t like what I’m hearing.” “Well, that’s your own little wagon,” said one of the men. Jerry “Buck” Buchannan was the undisputed boss of South Texas. Six counties near the border were under his control. They were heavily Mexican and heavily corrupt. They voted how the jefe wanted, as many times as the jefe wanted. “You shouldn’t have hitched your horse to a goddamn liberal bleeding heart,” said Charles Mayhew, owner of sixteen major papers and television stations across the state. “We don’t give a flying fuck what he did against Canada. His talk is too socialistic for my taste. I don’t want those goddamn bastards back in control of this country.” The men broke out into general rabbles of agreement with Mayhew, one after the other rallying against the Norman’s liberal policies. Russell let the men talk while he stood up and fixed himself a glass of water. When he returned to the table, he stood and talked while cradling the glass. “So, you don’t throw your influence and money into the Norman campaign to elect him president. What you do is throw your influence and money into the Norman campaign to elect me Vice-President. He has given me his assurance and I believe him to be true when he says I will be a key and close advisor in his administration. I can stop him from getting too liberal with his agenda.” “Seems simpler to me to elect the other fella,” grunted Dallas oilman Pete Smith. “Your promises and assurances won’t be a damn thing if he wins and you and Norman ain't in the White House.” “Oh, no,” Russell said softly. “You want to do everything in your power to get General Norman in the White House, at the very least do everything in your power to make Texas go his way in the election. Do y’all want to know why?” He drained the glass of water and held it in his hands as he spoke. “A Norman loss in the election sends me back to the Senate, back to the spot of majority leader where I can continue to work hard. Where I can work hard on those bills that will help our country so much, bills like the FCC media monopoly bill that will force any one company from owning more than three newspapers, radio, or television stations to sell every media outlet to get them at or below the maximum. The chairman of the FCC was appointed by the Senate, after my approval as Leader of course.” Mayhew shifted in his seat and played with his necktie while Russell walked around the table. He stopped by Pete Smith and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Or what about that big natural gas pipeline they want to put in Texas, the one that’s going to go all the way to California to provide so many people with good Texas gas? That bill is in committee and a word from me to the chairman, a Democrat who is chairman by my good graces, and it dies in committee like a toddler strangled in the crib.” Russell took his place back at the head of the table and met Buck Buchanan’s gaze. “Or the very important work the Justice Department’s doing, investigating voter fraud across the country, and particularly in the South. The steering committee that decides where they go is chaired by my Whip. You see, y’all fail to realize that the power you hold is so delicate.” He banged the glass on the wood table with a loud thud. It held together and Russell showed it to the men. “It’ll survive a thud or two, but an all out assault on that structure?” He snarled and tossed the glass across the table, where it crashed against the far wall and shattered into a dozen pieces. “You call yourself Lords of Texas, but I am the Lord of the US Senate. If Texas goes to the Republicans, or if Texas goes our way but I still sense anything less than complete devotion to the cause, I will do everything in my power to make sure you all pay.” Russell took a deep breath and straightened his tie before smiling at the stunned men. “General Norman’s people will be in touch. Y’all have a good day, and remember to vote Democrat. “ [b]Washington DC Election Day[/b] “Repeat after me: I, Michael Benjamin Norman.” “I, Michael Benjamin Norman—“ “Solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute the office of President of the United States--” “Solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute the office of President of the United States—“ Russell stood off to the side with his wife, watching as Norman took the oath of office. He cut quite a dashing figure, the president-elect with his full head of steely gray hair and tall figure with a rugged jaw line. Like a Hollywood ideal of what a president should look like. He wore a black suit with a blue tie. An American flag pin was on one lapel of his suit, a five-star pin on the other lapel. For his part Russell wore a similar cut suit but with a black tie. He took his oath of office minutes earlier and accepted the polite applause that came from the assembled crowd. Nobody came to see him sworn in. Norman carried Texas and the entire South all the way up to Maryland. He also took California and the entire West Coast, the Southwest, New York, and the Northeast. If not for Vice President Mitchell's strong Midwestern base, Norman would have won every state's popular vote and electoral college vote. It was the largest presidential margin of victory since James Monroe was reelected unopposed one hundred and sixty years earlier. “So help me God.“ “So help me God.“ A cheer went out from the nearly one and a half million people gathered at the capitol. President Norman shook hands with the Chief Justice and smiled, hugging his wife and sons before taking to the podium to give his inaugural address. Russell had a hand in the speech he was about to give, but just a slight edification or two. Like that meeting on the lake back in the summer, Russell was slightly surprised at Norman’s speech writing skill. That was the second time he had underestimated the president, something he was learning the hard way not to do. The crowd quieted as Norman looked down at his speech and then back up at the crowd. “Potential. We are a nation filled to the brim with it. Ever since 1776, it was said that it would only be a matter of time before the United States became one of the great powers of the world. Years of territorial expansion and civil war led to a realization of that dream after the Spanish-American War. We were poised to become one of the greatest nation states of all time, so worried was the rest of Europe they called our country The American Peril… but we faltered. When the world was consumed with war, we turned our backs on our destiny and we have paid the price. Potential has been squandered through mismanagement; potential has been delayed due to threats both foreign and domestic. This nation has been battered by war twice in the last fifty years, two wars I saw the horrors of first hand. Damage has been done, and the scars of internal strife have yet to heal. Only through growth can we heal. This is why we must finally reach out potential, we must finally manifest our destiny, and we must heed the call and take our place on the world stage, a place we have been destined to take for two hundred and four years. We will rebuild this country and set it on a path that will show the world that we are ready to become something more than an also-ran, and the next century to come shall be called the American Century.” The crowd wildly applauded while the president paused, the supporters behind him rising to give him a standing ovation. Russell was among them, smiling as he clapped his hands and saw the mass of people clapping along with the new president’s agenda, a plan to get the country back on its feet and back on the path that had been laid down so long ago.