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Vice President Louis Cardoza received a visitor late one December evening at the Vice President’s House on Observatory Circle in Washington, D.C. The Secret Service detail did not detain the visitor long: Senator Donald Taunton, M-Va (Middle Class Party, Virginia). Taunton was an important committee Chairman. The Senator got out of his car and lumbered through the early dusting of snow on the asphalt driveway. Snow glittered yellow-orange under street lamps.
Meredith Cardoza and the children were at home—at the moment, the house was in an uproar because the Cardozas were getting ready for their annual Christmas vacation in the Cascades Mountains, courtesy the Middle Class Party. Party founder Robert Lee Hamilton had donated a large chalet there on private land to the Party Steering Committee, to be used for VIP vacations and various planning functions.
At three p.m., Senator Taunton rolled up in his black limousine. Meredith was chasing around the house after one or another of the children while maids scurried about and butler-types carried suitcases down into the garage.
Louis, wearing sweats and thick fur slippers, stepped down into the entrance way wiping his hands on a kitchen towel. "Oh, Senator. I am just making applesauce pancakes at my daughter’s demand." He noticed that Taunton looked tense.
"We need to talk, Louie." Taunton was a heavy set 70ish man with straight white hair that hung just over his ears without seeming messy or too long. As always, he wore conservative clothes—a dark suit and a white shirt, neither of which seemed to fit very well, and a dark red necktie.
“Of course.” Louis led him upstairs into his small library on the second floor. He waited until Taunton was inside before closing the thick, sound-proof door.
“I know this is unexpected,” Taunton said, shifting his bulk uncomfortably in a large, ugly brown leatherette easy chair that Louis hated and never used because it made his skin sticky.
“Not at all, Senator. I appreciate your visit.” He sat down and waited.
It became clear after a minute that Taunton was under some great stress. His skin was flushed, his breathing was thick, his eyes seemed wide and glazed.
“Let me get you some water, Senator.”
“Yes, please.”
Louis felt puzzled as he stepped to the wet bar, went through the motions, and handed a clean glass full of ice cubes and water, veiled in condensation, to Taunton. He noticed Taunton’s hands trembled as he coaxed a sip to his mouth.
Taunton nearly dropped the glass. He set it down abruptly and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “Well, I’d better get to the point of my visit.”
Louis plopped into his chair. “Take your time.”
“There isn’t time.” Taunton took a pair of heavy-rimmed glasses from his inside suit pocket. He fumbled with the glasses, opened them, propped them on his nose. “You have to do something.” He pulled some folded papers from his other inside suit pocket. A small recording disk fell out and rolled across the carpet.
“You keep that,” Taunton said sharply. “It’s priceless information, but only if you act in time.”
“Senator, this is very puzzling.” Louis scooped up the silvery plastic disk.
“I know. Look at these papers.” He extended the oft-folded sheets to Louis—three of yellow legal pad paper, three of standard letter size laser printout paper.
Louis glanced at the documents, some written, some typed. “And this is—?”
Taunton stirred in jerky motions, unable to settle down. “Important enough, I think, that you go patch things up with your old party and get to the President. I think you’re the only one who might really make an impression on him. He likes you even if his party has you roasting slowly on a spit.” Having spoken, the Senator fell back in a tired slump.
Louis read the documents slowly, and sat gaping as their significance became apparent to him. “I have to say I agree with you, Senator,” he said after a long silence.
Taunton said: “I envy you, because you have been kept in the dark. You’re not part of this. I’m in over my head, and I didn’t realize how serious this was until I found out that I’ve outlived my usefulness. Hamilton’s not giving me another term. I’m out the door like a worn out shoe, and it makes me pretty bitter. But I’m beyond that now.” He pointed to the documents. “I got that through another member of a committee I belong to. My source is unimportant, because he was killed in a car crash this morning, and I don’t know if it was an accident.”
Louis gasped. “Senator, are we down to—?”
Taunton nodded funereally. “I’m afraid it’s come to that.”
"Then it is the moment truth," Louis said, setting his apron aside. Just as quickly he picked it up again and dabbed at the sweat on his forehead. He looked at the disk. "Those are the names?"
"All of them," Taunton whispered. "Every one of the top players."
"Geez." Louis felt something icy in his gut.
"Louie," Taunton wheezed, "this is where you show your true colors."
Louis nodded. "I thought I had it all under control. Turns out I was riding a tiger and didn't realize..." He and the President were a split ticket, from opposing parties. He'd been isolated like a cyst within this Administration, which had gone its own way on most things.
Taunton chuckled darkly. "Robert Lee Hamilton has kept us all walking into walls for too long." He referred to the founder and guiding light of the Middle Class Party, which had the President into power. Louis was a New Democrat, and an uneasy fit the MCP's bridge between Old Conservatives and Moderate Republicans.
"What will be the tipping point?" Louis asked.
"The Constitutional Convention, CON2, next year. First one was in 1787, and there hasn't been one since. Too risky. It's allowed per Article V, but theoretically the convention could rewrite the whole thing. The people on that list are going to strike during CON2."
Louis saw it now. "The list of names. Hamilton put bumbling old Cliff Bradley and me in office. He destroyed the Democrat and Republican Parties so he could put his Middle Class Party in place. But he's had bigger designs all along. That list of generals, admirals, huge corporate CEOs, media moguls, and billionaire hillbilly televangelists can only mean one thing."
Taunton nodded. "Hamilton's going to seize power. Or set someone up to do it."
Louis lowered his face into his hands and nearly wept. All his life he had built up this career of his. The first Hispanic in the Executive, a heartbeat away from the Presidency. The President himself was a nonentity in all this, an elderly caretaker pope with little personality, manipulated by his party and given to spending his days on the golf course. Louis had taken California by storm as a Hispanic, as a Progressive, riding hot on health care issues. He'd quit the Democrats and gone over to MCP at Robert Lee Hamilton's personal invitation. It had been a huge gamble, and it had seemed to pay off, but his term in Washington turned out to be stymied and powerless at a time when the Legislative branch had seemed to coalesce into the nation's primary power. In a sense it was the perverse penalty of the States' Rights delusion. It was a time of decentralization and disorder. The nation was weakened on the international front, Calcuttafied as jobs poured out and debt poured in, as the Third World rose and the First World sank. Actually, it was the ghettoes of the First World that blossomed and came into their own now that Americans were on the outside, looking in, in their own country, noses pressed to the window while foreigners ate in the best restaurants and held jobs and drove cars fewer Americans could ever hope to own. It was a time, as a leading economist put it, of "back to back serial recessions with no relief in sight." In that chaos, opportunists inevitably rose to the surface. Robert Lee Hamilton had succeeded in destroying the old order, but now it was chillingly apparent MCP and business as usual were not going to be his new order.
"He has used us," Louis said of their party's leader.
"He is a thoroughly evil man," Taunton agreed.
There was a silence, in which they could hear the Cardoza children running in the hallways and Meredith's cheery but sharp voice calling them to order.
Louis said: "I will make a decision up at the chalet."
"You do that," Taunton said. He rose and extended his hand. "Good luck, Louie."
Louis rose and shook the old man's hand. "Thank you, Senator, for being my friend."
Taunton smiled grimly. "I know you will make the right decision, Louie, for yourself, your family, and your country. You know what you must do, and I believe you have the courage. Only you have the clout."
"Thanks for coming." Louis absently picked up his apron and saw the Senator out. The Senator was chauffeured out of the Naval Observatory complex in his limousine. Louis waved, then returned to the kitchen to join his children in their laughter and fun. x
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