Chapter 118

118
THE WHITE HOUSE

Tom Hanneman saw the President looking down the hallway expectantly. That meant that the man was worried. The political advisor walked in the Oval Office still muttering to the unseen person on the other end of his head set. The fact that they were meeting in the Oval Office was, in and of itself, revealing. Haskill always sought after the reassurance of that room when he felt he had to be extra Presidential. The additional fact that the politician was not concerned with the meeting being taped was another revelation. President Robert Haskill was desperate, and that meant that he had started taking chances -- the worst possible development for his main handler and political advisor. With Robert Haskill, chances meant mistakes.

"Tom, why is this happening to me? Why does all this have to happen now, while I'm President?" he asked nervously. The President was holding the morning report from the election headquarters.

"I saw it. You've managed to hang on to an eighteen per cent approval rating. Taking on the UCFC didn't help that much, I guess. As for the national registration numbers, the Republican Party is down to thirty-one per cent of registered voters. Oxford still has about forty-five per cent, but every day the UCFC continues its voter registration drive, the lower he's going to go, too." Hanneman answered.

"But they're a damned third party! How can a damned third party candidate be pulling over half the votes a week after she announces? Who in the hell are all these people voting for a damned woman anyway?" Haskill asked.

"I think you brought this on yourself, Mr. President. What you ordered to be done to the UCFC was not all what we talked about. Why did you do that?" Tom Hanneman asked.

"I guess I just got frustrated with the whole Goddamned thing. The guys at Justice were all for it. In fact I think we ought to blame the Mark of God bunch over there for the whole fiasco. That would get my approval back up wouldn't it?" President Haskill pleaded.

"That won't work. If you even have a thought of being in politics again, you should consider resigning." Hanneman spoke with an ominously straight face.

"What kind of advice is that? It's just that they have all turned on me. I've been a damned good President. The legacy I'm leaving will prove that. Yeah. Think of my legacy!" the President was referring to a soft question interview six months ago. When that interview was happening he actually did have a legacy. "Another thought I've had is to ask Jerry Oxford to run as my Vice. That could consolidate both parties against this thing."

"Mr. President, think of what you're saying." Hanneman cautioned.

"She's just not president material. She's just rabble from a goddamned trailer park. All of this isn't any more than her fifteen minutes of fame for Christ's sake. The whole lot of 'em is nothing but trouble. Even her lunatic husband is after my ass."

"He's her lunatic ex-husband." Hanneman corrected.

"I know. I'll increase the pressure from Justice against the UCFC." President Haskill looked lost.

"You're already applying maximum pressure against the UCFC. There are murderers and rapists sitting in jails across the nation waiting for a prosecutor. There's no one left at home in the US Attorney's office to go handle their cases." Hanneman explained.

"God! I can see why Buck Stratton dumped her. What a bitch!" Haskill pounded his fist on his massive desk. "Tom, you have to tell me. What am I going to do?"

"You're going to lose the election. Then you're going to drift into the cobwebs of Presidents who accomplished nothing. You made an incredibly stupid mistake. You declared war on someone you couldn't beat. You're never going to accomplish the destruction of the UCFC. You're never going to win an election against Martha Stratton. You're so lost in your own dreams right now, you may never catch a glimpse of reality before you die of old age." Tom Hanneman stood up to move closer to the astonished President. "You won't be needing me for your final plunge into the depths of dull and forgettable history. I don't want the school boys of the future to hear my name while they endure the torture of studying Robert Haskill, the most boring President of all times. As of right now, I quit. Now maybe I can spend some productive time with my other clients."

"You have other clients? How can you have other clients? You're the Presidential advisor." Haskill said angrily. "Anyway, you can't quit. I have you under contract."

"That's right but you don't have a copy. It's hard to enforce a contract you don't have. Anyway, I wrote it myself. It can't be enforced. Not even by God at the Pearly Gates." Tom Hanneman walked as far as the doorway of the Oval Office. "Good day Mr. President. Oh, yes. Good luck!"

Robert Haskill said to himself, "So this is what it looks like to watch them desert a sinking ship. What incredibly bad luck I'm having!" The President of the United States sat alone in his office, toying absent mindedly with a fountain pen. In better times he might have done something important with it.