Mia wasn’t one for conspiracy theories, and she told Liam Noonan so. “You sound like an ultra,” she said. “You’re better than that.”
He walked away with a shrug. Oligarchy, she thought. Heck of a word.
* * *
The reception finished and Mia stayed to collect donor information and attendance sheets. The married bankers went home to the far townships or to uptown co-ops, the single bankers out to dinner and drinks. She was boxing up a stack of remaining campaign brochures, mentally sorting through her takeout options, when Roger Tran approached to ask if she wanted a ride home.
“I’m fine, thank you. Short subway trip.”
“General’s orders. Town car’s out front.”
Mia nodded and touched the top of her belly. It was still slight, but she’d been showing for a couple of weeks. Nothing wrong with taking a break from subway steps, she thought.
Two Sheepdogs stood near the town car, fingers looped around their belts, as if to suggest they were armed. They weren’t, Mia knew, at least not here. Lehman Brothers had insisted. One opened the rear door for Mia and inside she found General Collins on a call. She signaled to Mia with a raised index finger that she’d be done in a minute. Mia took a seat in the middle row, facing the other woman.
“Wonderful,” the general was saying. “So glad he’s coming along. More to follow.”
She closed her cell. “Apologies,” she said. “Some good news for the campaign.”
“Donor related?”
“Could be. Down the line.” General Collins wore a black suit with a notched collar, and against the black leather interior and the tint of the windows, Mia could only make out her body’s outline. It protruded from the seat in a right angle. The general rubbed at her temple, her West Point class ring glinting like a dark star. “Numbers from tonight?”
“A hundred and forty K, maybe one fifty. Securities and Investments manager verbaled another fifteen. We’ll see, though.”
General Collins sighed and rubbed at her temple again. They’d been hoping to clear two hundred. “Nothing’s ever easy,” she said. “Reminds me of the time in the Barbary Coast with the Salafists. Remember them? Desert rebels with the crossed-Kalashnikovs flag? Bunch of pests. We had all the intel in the world saying eight council princes would be meeting at a rice farm. First time in years they’d come together. Special Forces hit the farm like lightning. But they could only find six.”
“Then what?” The general didn’t tell war stories just to pass the time.
“Told them to search again. Nothing. And again. Nothing. Then again. Even the best need prodding, sometimes. They found one hiding in the well. Then the last one dressed as Grandma. Got all eight. Effectively snuffed out fanaticism in that pocket of the Coast with one raid.”
Mia thought about what she was being told. She needed to get better at direct asks with donors. She was a Tucker. People wouldn’t tell her no. “I’ll follow up tomorrow with some folks,” she said. “We’ll make it happen.”
“That’s my girl.” The general leaned out of the shadows to light a cigarette. The flame from the lighter snapped the spell of darkness, then blinked out just as quickly.
“Sorry for that draft question. We’ll start screening Q-and-A’s.”
“Not a problem.” General Collins took a long drag and waved away Mia’s concern with her free hand. “Goose-steppers are everywhere. Might as well get used to them. And hey—they vote.”
Deep, muffled voices approached the car and the door opened again, slivers of incandescent light rushing in. Roger Tran climbed in, sitting next to Mia and diagonal from the general. In the dim, the bones in his face cut even more precise.
After considering it some, she hadn’t mentioned Britt Swenson’s bouncer to anyone on the campaign, nor his claim about the mystery man in a tuxedo who let in the Mayday Front to the ballroom. Mia had decided the chances of him being mistaken were much, much higher than anything else. Besides. What was done was done. They had a White House to win.
“We’ll drop off the general first since she’s got an early TV spot,” Tran said. “Then you, Ms. Tucker.”
The engine started and the car began moving. Mia sensed a strain she didn’t recognize. She wasn’t sure where it was coming from, or who from.
“How’s everything?” General Collins asked, cracking a window to let out the cigarette smoke. “Health-wise.”
“So far so good,” Mia said. “If the kid remains this well behaved through life, it’ll be a dream.”
She’d been seeing a government OB the Bureau had recommended. “Healthy and normal,” the OB had said earlier in the week. Which meant no sign of superpowered complications. Mia was still trying not to get attached to the life, or almost-life, growing inside her. She knew she might have to do the right thing by it if those superpowered complications came to be. Women without them lost babies often enough—some of her friends had, at seemingly all stages of pregnancy. But “healthy and normal” was affecting her inner calculus. She’d spent that morning looking at cribs online.
General Collins and her husband had adopted their daughters, one from Vietnam, one from Lebanon, relatively late in the children’s lives. Which means nothing, Mia thought. She’s been a mother in ways you can’t even comprehend. You’re being reticent because Roger is here. No other reason.
Still, Mia felt that strain again through the black of the car, rolling through the silent night of Empire City. She didn’t think it had anything to do with pregnancy or birth, or motherhood or adoption. She held to the quiet. It always forced others to their intentions.
“Where are you now, Mia?” General Collins asked. She took one last drag and tossed the butt out the car window. “You’re doing excellent work. No need to be humble. You know it, I know it, Roger knows it. You’ve proven indispensable.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I appreciate that.”
“Do you like the campaign?” Tran interjected. “Politics? Know it’s been a change.”
Mia considered her options. She wasn’t sure where this was coming from—perhaps they’d noticed her annoyances at the frenzied pace, something that had not abated with the jump to the presidential race. No, she thought. They’re asking because they need me.
Mia liked being needed.
“The campaigning, no,” she said. “I’ve never been one for spectacle. Politics, though—yes. Absolutely.” Then she repeated a line from the first time she’d met the general, crossing her legs and squaring her shoulders to better face the other woman. “War without bloodshed.”
That brought a smile to General Collins’s face. “One of my favorites. You’re good at this. Once we get to the White House, you’ll have options. I want you to start thinking about it. And I’m not just talking staff positions. You’ll make a fine candidate yourself, someday. Sooner than later, if I had to bet.”
Mia tried to look surprised. But she’d already thought about it. Congress needed more bold centrists in its ranks. To lead from the front. To bring the country back from the brink.