In his barren office—no window this time—Addis looked at the unpacked boxes. The latest staff shuffle had been prompted by his own suggestion. With Hanover drawing no competition from within the party, the primaries had gone too well. Hanover’s reelection campaign, predictably, was attracting little attention from the media. Instead, the press was obsessed with the surprising rise of first-term Florida Governor Wesley Pratt, Hanover’s likely opponent in the November election. A onetime country-western singer who had entered politics merely five years ago, the handsome, silver-haired Pratt had won the Iowa caucuses of his party, with the backing of religious activists, and had gone on to sweep most of the subsequent contests. To counter Pratt’s momentum, Addis had in mid-spring proposed moving his party’s suspense-free convention from the sleepy days of August to the weekend of July 4. Changing the date would bring more attention to the event, the party, and the President.

It was, Addis recognized, a tacky idea: a rip-roaring, red-white-and-blue convention on America’s birthday. Satellite connections to Fourth of July celebrations across the country. Country singers—who were not for Pratt—rock stars, orchestras, marching bands. And fireworks, plenty of fireworks.

Hanover embraced it. The mayor of Chicago, the hotel owners, and others screamed about the hardships of moving the date. But Hanover said to do it. Several White House aides were transferred to the campaign office, replacements were appointed, and a series of office roulette had ensued since then. Somehow Addis had lost both his office window and his assistant in the most recent shift. Another assistant, the daughter of the ambassador to Portugal, was due to start tomorrow.

Addis reread the latest memo from Chief of Staff Brewster McGreer. A reporter from a second-rate newspaper in Pittsburgh had been calling the White House press office, asking about an old land deal in Louisiana involving the Hanovers. No one on the staff knew anything about it. The President had provided McGreer the basic details: It had been a straightforward property investment. We were in and out, he said. Picked up some money, declared it all. In his personal papers, Hanover had located some records. McGreer had forwarded the documents to Addis. Sort it all out, McGreer instructed Addis: “Probably not much, but I’m a worrier. Go to New Orleans. See who’s saying what.”

Shit, New Orleans. Addis thought about his two previous trips to New Orleans. Nearly five years ago, the phone in his cluttered one-bedroom Washington apartment had rung past midnight. Governor Bob Hanover of Louisiana was on the line with an invitation. Could Addis drop by his office in New Orleans tomorrow? A reservation already had been arranged for a morning flight, and Hanover had checked with Addis’s boss, Hugh Palmer, the Senate majority leader. “He’s all for it,” Hanover said with a laugh.

Addis didn’t have to ask what was on Hanover’s mind. He said he would be there.