[center][b]American Interlude[/b][/center]


[h3]Chicago[/h3]

[b]Chicago Amphitheater
8:21 PM[/b]


Bob Baker limped out on to the stage and waved at the standing audience. He'd won by acclamation on the first ballot. Before the start of the convention Baker and Justice Houghton had a sit down between the two front runners to decide conduct. Both men agreed that the winner would win on the first ballot and as quickly as possible. Both of them wanted to be president, but both had their current positions to fall back on, Bob with the governorship in Ohio and Houghton with the Supreme Court. Both men agreed there was always '64 or '68. All the GOP chieftains reluctantly agreed, though some were disappointed that they wouldn't be wheeling and dealing this year. After the shitshow that had been LA, the Republicans wanted to show the voters how a national convention worked. Once Bob started rolling up the early states Houghton saw the writing on the wall. He released the delegates sworn to him and Baker was confirmed by a unanimous voice vote.

"Thank you!" 

Bob's wife and two adult sons stepped on to the stage behind him and joined him. He hugged his boys and kissed his wife before he turned away from them. While they continued to celebrate, he addressed the crowd as they began to settle down.

"I am honored by the confidence the party has in me. I shall do my best to be the good steward this party needs in the coming months and hopefully years. One hundred years ago, in this very city, the Republicans nominated a man who once said that 'a house divided against itself cannot stand.' While his words addressed an issue we no longer face, they are still words that ring true in our modern political climate. We are in the midst of crisis in our government. We still strive for that famous, shining city on the hill that a famous Pilgrim once spoke of. But we have become bogged down in partisan politics and the seeking of power for power's sake. The feeling of unity we faced after the war has faded away and sectionalism is back. 

"I do not believe that there is a Southern America, or a Conservative America, or a Negro America. I think there is only one America. A united America, all with the same hopes and wishes, the same concerns and fears. And as president, that is the America I will work for. That is the America I will fight for. That is the America I will lead into a new era of national and international prosperity. It will be a prosperity that will unite, a prosperity that will raise all Americans up like the rising tide raises all ships. It will be a prosperity that will let the world know that these next forty years shall be years where America leads the way and the world follows." 


---


[h3]Savannah[/h3]

[b]Tybee Island
8:34 PM[/b]


"Bullshit."

Russell Reed sipped scotch from a tumbler and watched the speech in Chicago on a special TV hookup in his hotel room. He was alone in the hotel room. His wife and kids and grandkids were downstairs in the hotel dining room, awaiting his arrival for the farewell dinner. The tenth annual Reed Family Vacation had been truncated to compensate for his campaign schedule. Instead of the usual two weeks on Tybee, they settled for five days while Russell campaigned in the South before and after the trip. 

It wasn't hard campaigning in this part of the country. As a Southerner, there was no way in hell he could lose the Southern vote. Earlier this week he'd stood on the steps of the statehouse in Savannah and promised to re-segregate Atlanta, something that drew a five minute standing ovation. For almost twenty years, Savannah had been the seat of state government because of the federal mandate in Atlanta. Savannah had thrived. By contrast, Atlanta was a giant slum that no white people would ever visit. Negroes from all over America held it up as some kind of paradise, Negrotown they called it. The intentions had been well-minded, but it ended up a complete failure. Time to throw in the towel and admit the experiment hadn't worked. When white people and their money came back, the city would rebound.

Russell turned away from the TV when he heard the phone ringing. He stood and padded across the carpet towards the nightstand.

"Hello?"

"Good evening, Mr. Vice President," said the operator. "I have a direct call for you from... Adidas Bobby?"

"What?" Russell asked. 

"Africa, sir."
 
"Oh," said Russell. "[i]Addis Ababa[/i]. Is it Mr. Bacon?"

"Yes, sir. Shall I put him through?"

Russell said yes and waited several seconds. There was complete silence. Russell began to ask if he'd been disconnected when he heard clicks and a voice on the other end of the line, distant but his thick Southern accent left little room for debate on who it was.

"How the hell are ya, Russ? Congratulations on the nomination!"

"Jeff! Thank you, sir. We're in Savannah, so you know where' doing fine. How's Africa?"

"Something else for sure," he said with a booming laugh. "You need to come here when you're president. You'll get a kick out of all this crazy shit."

"What time is it over there?"

"Getting close to four in the morning. It's late, but I wanted to tell you first before I wired the state department. We brokered a deal with their emperor. As long as the Carnahans live up to their part of the deal, that is."

"I'll walk that bill through Congress myself if I have to," said Russell. "What about the other end of the deal? Their silence?"

"He's agreed to it."

"Do you trust him?"

"His Excellency is an odd duck, that's for damn sure, but he's a man of his word."

Russell breathed a bit easy. It was a dilemma for sure. He debated with his campaign manager about letting the news slip out, a scandal he was already in the process of fixing. We it was announced he brokered a deal, then it would make him look good. But the deal they came to wasn't a good thing. It'd look like a government payoff to Ethiopia for something the Emperor's own damn sister had started. It would make them look weak.

"Good. We can rest easy then. How's the family?"

Russell and Bacon spoke several more minutes about their respective families. He'd known Bacon a long time, they served as junior congressmen together thirty years ago. While Russell chased higher office, Bacon chased the dollars. Eventually he used his connections as a lobbyist and became a major player on Capitol Hill. After the election, he'd used a great deal of that influence to get himself appointed ambassador to the Ethiopian Empire. Of all the countries, that's what he chose. It never made any since to Russell. 

After saying his goodbyes to Bacon, Russell walked across the room and watched the television. Baker and his family were still celebrating on stage. Russell laughed and turned the TV off before starting towards the hotel's door. He still needed to spend time with his family before he started back campaigning. Once he started back, he'd be a ghost for the next three and a half months.


---


[h3]Washington D.C.[/h3]

[b]The White House
12:05 AM[/b]

Michael Norman looked out at the lights of Washington from the Lincoln Bedroom. His wife slept soundly in the four-poster bed while he stood at the window. He'd been warned about how bad D.C. was before he arrived. They were messing with him, he figured. Playing up its image as a cutthroat town to try to get in his head. He'd laughed it off.

But then he lost the nomination. To his own goddamn vice president. The first time it had happened in the history of US elections. He'd also been warned about Russell Reed. He was a master at underhanded schemes and backroom deals. But there was no way Michael could have carried the south without him. So he let Reed become the Veep, but he kept him at arm's length and tried not to let him get too close to events. That distance had given the son of a bitch room to outmaneuver him. Lame duck. That word kept running through his mind. That's what he was. A lame duck. But that didn't mean a lame duck couldn't be dangerous.

With a look back at his wife, Michael shuffled out the bedroom in his slippers and walked through the halls of the White House. The Secret Service agent by the bedroom door followed him through the corridors and downstairs until they were in the Oval Office. Michael sat down behind the big wooden desk Queen Victoria had given to America when Rutherford B. Hayes was president. He found what he was looking for in the top drawer.

Jefferson Davis Bacon's communique from the State Department arrived just as the Normans were finishing up dinner. He read it over and was pleased with the results. The ambassador had adverted a diplomatic crisis and managed to obtain the Emperor's silence. There would be no editorials about America paying off Ethiopia and kowtowing to the African nation. Scandal averted. 

But Michael was a lame duck. Who cared if his administration caused a scandal? It wouldn't hurt him. There was only one person it could hurt: Russell Reed. Michael placed the telegram on his desk and picked up the phone.

"White House operations board."

"It's the President."

"What can I do for you, sir?"

"There's a [i]Washington Post[/i] reporter named Traci Lord. I know it's late, but I need to get in contact with her."