Mabus shakes his head. “You need to prepare now, son. Let me give you a for instance. My boy Lucien’s a fucking genius. I ain’t shittin’ you, kid’s only three, and he already knows how to surf the Internet. I’m raisin’ him to take over Mabus Tech by the time he’s sixteen. We play our political cards right, and he’ll be a goddam trillionaire by the time he’s your age. Point I’m trying to make is that all of us gotta be ready long before opportunity knocks, and for you, it’s already knocking. Take this upcoming Russian-Chinese military exercise. A lot of registered voters are pissed off—making it just the sort of squabble that can make or break a presidential candidate.”

“Pete’s right, Pierre. The way the public perceives your command presence during the next few months could help determine the outcome of the next election. They need to see a take-charge kinda guy, a hawk who’s not about to let the goddam Russkies or sand niggers dictate the way we run our country. Hell, we haven’t had a strong presence in the White House since Bush left office.”

Mabus is close enough now for Borgia to smell what the man had for lunch. “Pierre, this conflict gives us a great opportunity to show the public your strength of character.”

Borgia leans back. “Understood.”

“Good, good. Now, there’s one last item on our agenda, something we feel needs to be cleaned up.”

Mabus picks at a hangnail. “Sort of a skeleton in your closet.”

Randolph nods as he lights a cigarette. “It’s this Gabriel character, Pierre, the one you had committed after your accident. Once we announce your nomination, the press is gonna start digging. Won’t be long before they find out about what you did to manipulate things in Massachusetts. Could be real messy.”

Borgia’s face turns red. “See this eye, Mr.Mabus. That crazy motherfucker did this to me. Now you want me to release him?”

“Pay attention, son. Pete didn’t say nothing about you letting him go. Just tie off the goddam loose end before the campaign starts. Hell, all of us worth a shit got skeletons in the closet. All we want you to do is take ‘em out and bury ‘em—Mr.President.”

Borgia takes a calming breath, then nods. “I understand what you’re saying, gentlemen, and I appreciate your support. I think I know what has to be done.”

Mabus offers his handshake. “And we appreciate you, Mr.Secretary. We also know that when the time comes, you won’t forget who your friends are.”

Borgia shakes Mabus’s sweaty palm. “Tell me honestly, gentlemen, my family’s political presence aside—when I was chosen, how heavily did it weigh that Senator Chaney just happens to be black?”