Chapter 33

By the time we got to my office at The Evil Empire’s office complex – sorry, I meant the executive offices of Exxon International – the message light was flashing on my phone. I sat down and pushed the code to retrieve the message. I looked at the clock: 10:00 a.m.

“Hello, Miss White Owl. I’m a friend of the man you had breakfast with this morning and I’d like to meet with you. You said you could come down to my boss’s ranch this afternoon? It should take you an hour or so to get here, so we’ll be expecting you anytime after 1:00, at your convenience. See you then.”

Well, that was short and sweet. No names, other than mine. Red reported that the candidate’s bus tour was scheduled to be in Oklahoma City for a press meeting this evening at 1900 hours. It was about a seven hour drive from Crawford to OKC, so he’d have to leave at about noon. I wasn’t going to helicopter down to NOT meet with W.

I walked out, with my three traveling companions, outside to the atrium for a breath of fresh air. These days, Jim was nearly a permanent part of my crew. He could ‘scout the perimeter’ as well as Alex used to do. Undoubtedly, she would be better now, but she was tied up in large animal anatomy these days, I think.

I popped my special, encrypted phone out and called Malcolm Rush. Ring ... Ring...

“Hello, Rush here.”

“Hi Malcolm. I just got a mystery phone call from someone who claims to be a friend of yours. He wants me to fly down to his boss’s ranch this afternoon. When his boss will be on the road to Norman, Oklahoma. I can meet W at...”

[The Marriott in Norman.]

Thanks, Red.

“... the Marriott in Norman at 2000 hours tonight, after his meet and greet with the local press. Or I can just meet with Al Gore, in Atlanta, tomorrow morning.”

“There must have been a misunderstanding. Mr. Plum wouldn’t call you to come to a meeting if the Governor wasn’t going to be there. We don’t need to bring the Democrat candidate into this ... A misunderstanding, I’m sure that’s what it is.”

“Mal ... I can call you Mal, right?”

“Sure.”

“Mal, don’t bullshit a bullshitter. Dub-ya is getting on the bus now. ’Mister Plum’ knew that when he called. He said to meet him any time after 1300 hours. That’s 1:00 p.m. If you don’t know. You can have SOMEONE ELSE call me within the hour if the meeting is on for tonight. I’m through with Sylvester Plum and his phony meetings.

“If you assholes can’t figure out what to do when somebody offers you $150 million, you don’t deserve to win in November. I’m sure that Gore will ... One hour. Call me on my regular cell. Good bye, Mal.”

My crew was in earshot. “Well, we better get back to the ranch and fire up the Whirlwind Two. We’re probably going to Norman, Oklahoma, and from there on to Atlanta, tomorrow.”

Rock asked, “What’s in Norman?”

“George W. Bush is having a rally there tomorrow,” said Jim, who was eavesdropping on my call.

“Oh,” said Rock. “And Atlanta?”

“Really, RockDad. Keep up with the news, why don’cha? Al Gore is speaking to the Urban League convention tomorrow.” That was Jim again.

“So, who’re we gonna back? Bush or Gore?”

“Exxon is gonna back both of them. We won’t tell them that, of course. But a big company can’t afford to pick sides,” I explained. “After Atlanta, we’re going to Washington.”

“Somebody else running for president that we don’t know about?” asked Bear.

“No. But somebody else IS president. I thought I might drop in and see if I could thank him for getting us all out of that recession mess.”

“I smell something brewing,” Bear mused.

“As Buffy the Vampire Slayer said, ‘Boys, being quiet is an important part of sneaking,’” I said.

“What? You actually watched Buffy when Alex and I watched?” Jim exclaimed.

I just looked at my teen-age son and smiled, enigmatically, I hoped.

...

Ring ... Ring...

We were in a ‘copter going back to the Whirlwind Ranch in Denton, TX.

“Hello?”

“Ms White Owl, this is Haley Barbour. Do you know who I am?”

“Excuse the noise, I’m in a helicopter. Yeah, Mr. Barbour, you’re the GOP Chairman.”

“I can hear you fine, Ms White Owl.”

“Lexi ... please.”

“Good. And please call me HR ... I’m with Governor Bush, and we’re on the way to Norman.” He sounded like he was speaking in a hushed tone, like he didn’t want to be overheard.

“Lexi, we seem to have had a mis-communication. The Governor would be more than pleased to meet with you, whenever and wherever is convenient for you. I want to be clear about that.”

“Well, HR we’re on our way to Atlanta, but I want to give y’all first crack at things. How’s about I meet you after your press party tonight. We’ll be in the lounge at the Marriott in Norman.”

“That’ll be fine, Lexi. You seem to be very up-to-date on where we’re gonna be.”

“Just from what I read in the papers, HR. Just reading the papers. We’ll see you tonight.” The tomorrow papers, that is.

’What’s up mom?’ Jim again. Good thing I’ve managed to build a little wall around some of my thoughts.

’Nothing much, Jim. We’re just gonna make an illegal donation to a Presidential Campaign.’

...

We Gulfstreamed up to Okla. City and took a rental van up to Norman. It looked like a fairly nice town, if you can call it a town. There were more people here than in the entire Navajo reservation. The Ford van didn’t have any navigation system – the ubiquitous GPS system was still several years in the future. It did have room for eight, however. We found the Marriott and got four rooms: in addition to our G-men (Rob Yar and Cap), we’d brought D2 and Fingers, and of course the four of our family. Rock, Bear, and I took one look at the two queen-sized beds and quickly rearranged furniture until the two queens made one super double-queen – with a crevasse in the middle that would challenge Edmund Hillary. We decided to sleep across the two mattresses; that way we’d all have a chance to dump our asses into the crack. Why we didn’t just sleep two on one bed and one the other..., but we didn’t.

By 1900 hours we finished a light supper: I had a chef salad and did NOT even try the Sooner Special. It looked hideous: an orange and white cake thing, named after the college’s famous football team, shaped into a mini-football shape. Not worth it, with no chocolate. Anyway, we retired to the bar, pushed a couple of tables together and were enjoying the atmosphere.