130
THE WHITE HOUSE
THE WHITE HOUSE
Republican National Committee Chairman Raleigh Van Sythe was essentially guaranteed immediate access to the President. That would have meant something had there been others wishing to see him. The guest list was becoming uniformly individuals who had come to Washington, D.C. to warm him of an impending UFO attack and hand wringing do-gooders who wanted him to pass a law requiring someone else to support their cause. Fewer and fewer of them wanted to appear in a photograph with him. Robert Haskill's ship was sinking for lack of interest. He had barely convinced his wife to remain with him through the campaign.
"Good morning, Mr. President. I just came from a meeting with the Republican Congressional leadership. I thought I'd drop in and bring you up to speed." Van Sythe was dressed as only a top end Republican can be. A minimum of five thousand dollars hung on his lean frame, including, of course, a three hundred dollar power tie.
"You mean the breakfast meeting? The one on television? Notice they didn't invite me." Haskill complained.
"Well, yes. Actually we had another meeting afterwards. A private meeting." Van Sythe said.
"Oh boy." Haskill groaned.
"We felt we had to act now to try to save some of our House and Senate seats. We're losing all across the board -- everywhere. The straw poll estimated as many as one hundred seats in the House alone. The damned UCFC is quietly approaching our Congressmen with the proposition of joining the party and getting elected or facing a full force UCFC opponent in their district. FCRAP is making roughly the same move in districts they control." Van Sythe explained quickly. "It's the same with the Democrats. Neither of us has the registered voters to resist them. Hell, in half the districts we are going to have to circulate a petition to get the Republican Party on the ballot! The UCFC is making an end run around us and that half-wit Stratton is taking everything that's left."
"Well, to hell with the UCFC! At least they lost their tax status. Now there's one we won! I like to think that will a part of my legacy, don't you?" Haskill said expansively.
"Frankly, thanks to that move, your legacy is going to be the destruction of the two party system. I don't need to tell you that the Republican Party has some very powerful friends who were counting on us to keep things running in their favor." Van Sythe spoke with the authority of a man who had spoken to those very powerful friends. "The polls are showing that you still have nominal control over eight per cent of the registered voters. We think you should withdraw in favor of Martha Stratton. Tell your loyal followers to vote for her. You heard what good old Buck said he was going to do to you."
"What the hell? I know the numbers look bad right now, but just wait until old Bob Haskill hits the campaign trail, starts warming the flesh. Then we'll see who can get the vote out!" the President looked hopeful and insipid simultaneously.
"No! There's not going to be any campaign trail! We already know who can get the vote out -- anyone with a last name of Stratton, that's who! The National Committee doesn't want you to make any public appearances -- none. Hell, we'd have to hire actors just to have a crowd to meet your plane." Van Sythe was clearly delivering someone else's message but he was doing it well.
"You mean we're not even going to try?" President Haskill whined dejectedly.
"That's right. You're going to support Martha Stratton. Your going to throw your support over to her, as if she needs it." Van Sythe insisted.
"I did try one thing since the last time I talked to you. I called Jerry Oxford. I wanted to ask him if he was interested in sharing my ticket." Haskill reported to the seemingly busy little man before him..
"What did the high and mighty Democrat candidate say to that?" asked Van Sythe, his voice dripping with sarcasm and indulgence.
"He hung up. He was drunk. Can you imagine that? Answering his own phone, drunk at ten o'clock in the morning?" Haskill was near tears.
"Yeah, I can imagine that. He's finished, too. Like you. I'll bring your resignation speech tomorrow. We need to get that done before things get worse." Raleigh Van Sythe was already on his way out of the Oval Office.
President Robert Haskill sat morosely at his great desk, under the Seal of the President of the United States, between his flags, staring at a gothic and depressing painting from the Lincoln era on the wall facing him. "Well, at least I'm still President. That's something."
After a few minutes of political meditation of the worst sort, the President lifted his face from his hands. "Old Bob Haskill may not have much of a punch left, but he can still bite. Pay backs are hell you Holy Nobody!"
"Good morning, Mr. President. I just came from a meeting with the Republican Congressional leadership. I thought I'd drop in and bring you up to speed." Van Sythe was dressed as only a top end Republican can be. A minimum of five thousand dollars hung on his lean frame, including, of course, a three hundred dollar power tie.
"You mean the breakfast meeting? The one on television? Notice they didn't invite me." Haskill complained.
"Well, yes. Actually we had another meeting afterwards. A private meeting." Van Sythe said.
"Oh boy." Haskill groaned.
"We felt we had to act now to try to save some of our House and Senate seats. We're losing all across the board -- everywhere. The straw poll estimated as many as one hundred seats in the House alone. The damned UCFC is quietly approaching our Congressmen with the proposition of joining the party and getting elected or facing a full force UCFC opponent in their district. FCRAP is making roughly the same move in districts they control." Van Sythe explained quickly. "It's the same with the Democrats. Neither of us has the registered voters to resist them. Hell, in half the districts we are going to have to circulate a petition to get the Republican Party on the ballot! The UCFC is making an end run around us and that half-wit Stratton is taking everything that's left."
"Well, to hell with the UCFC! At least they lost their tax status. Now there's one we won! I like to think that will a part of my legacy, don't you?" Haskill said expansively.
"Frankly, thanks to that move, your legacy is going to be the destruction of the two party system. I don't need to tell you that the Republican Party has some very powerful friends who were counting on us to keep things running in their favor." Van Sythe spoke with the authority of a man who had spoken to those very powerful friends. "The polls are showing that you still have nominal control over eight per cent of the registered voters. We think you should withdraw in favor of Martha Stratton. Tell your loyal followers to vote for her. You heard what good old Buck said he was going to do to you."
"What the hell? I know the numbers look bad right now, but just wait until old Bob Haskill hits the campaign trail, starts warming the flesh. Then we'll see who can get the vote out!" the President looked hopeful and insipid simultaneously.
"No! There's not going to be any campaign trail! We already know who can get the vote out -- anyone with a last name of Stratton, that's who! The National Committee doesn't want you to make any public appearances -- none. Hell, we'd have to hire actors just to have a crowd to meet your plane." Van Sythe was clearly delivering someone else's message but he was doing it well.
"You mean we're not even going to try?" President Haskill whined dejectedly.
"That's right. You're going to support Martha Stratton. Your going to throw your support over to her, as if she needs it." Van Sythe insisted.
"I did try one thing since the last time I talked to you. I called Jerry Oxford. I wanted to ask him if he was interested in sharing my ticket." Haskill reported to the seemingly busy little man before him..
"What did the high and mighty Democrat candidate say to that?" asked Van Sythe, his voice dripping with sarcasm and indulgence.
"He hung up. He was drunk. Can you imagine that? Answering his own phone, drunk at ten o'clock in the morning?" Haskill was near tears.
"Yeah, I can imagine that. He's finished, too. Like you. I'll bring your resignation speech tomorrow. We need to get that done before things get worse." Raleigh Van Sythe was already on his way out of the Oval Office.
President Robert Haskill sat morosely at his great desk, under the Seal of the President of the United States, between his flags, staring at a gothic and depressing painting from the Lincoln era on the wall facing him. "Well, at least I'm still President. That's something."
After a few minutes of political meditation of the worst sort, the President lifted his face from his hands. "Old Bob Haskill may not have much of a punch left, but he can still bite. Pay backs are hell you Holy Nobody!"
