Vince D’Agostino, the chief of staff, was a streetwise Italian from the Lower East Side of Manhattan. He had fought his way through New York public schools, went on to New York University where he graduated Phi Beta Kappa, and was then awarded a full scholarship to Fordham Law School, where he was editor of the Law Review. After passing the New York state bar exam, he was romanced with heady offers from several prestigious corporate law firms.

But Vince decided he wanted something else. He worked one year for a Federal Appeals Court judge on the United States Second Circuit. Later he earned a name for himself as a tough litigator, working for the United States district attorney in lower Manhattan. That’s where he had first met Ted Rust.

The two men were thrown together at a political strategy meeting. D’Agostino saw Rust’s political potential and offered to help out in any way he could. He worked on the campaign for the state house, then left his law career to become the new governor’s chief of staff.

When Ted Rust moved to Washington four years later, Vince came too. He was a Catholic, a hard-nosed idealist who wanted a big family when he married his wife, Angie. But, try as they might, they were unable to have children.

As the vice president reached for the bottle to pour a second drink, Vince quickly took both the glass and the bottle away. Before Rust could protest, Vince leapt to his feet, his eyes blazing. “Listen to me, Ted Rust, and you listen good! Millions of grief-stricken Americans are going to be waiting on you when we get back to Washington. They’ve got their eyes on you, watching for some sign of hope. They’ll be looking at you, and they’ll be expecting something from you. They’re going to get it too! Heaven help me, their new president is not going to stand before the American people as a stumbling drunk!”

Rust settled back in his chair, visibly cowed by Vince’s sudden burst of anger.

“We’ll get you a speech,” Vince continued. “We’ll give you something that will touch the hearts of the whole world. We’ll have a Supreme Court justice swear you in. But you are going to pull yourself together, and you are going to give the performance of your life—so help me God. And, if I catch you boozing again, I’m going to kick your butt all over this airplane. Is that clear, Mr. President?”

“Okay, okay!” Rust mumbled. “I’ll do it. You don’t have to be so hostile. You people work out the details. But I’m going up front.” He stood up and moved slowly toward the door. “I’ve got to get myself ready for . . . the performance of my life.”

TED RUST’S CHIEF OF STAFF had his work cut out for him. Vince grabbed the felt-tip pen from his shirt pocket and began jotting down a laundry list of things he had to get done in the next hour and a half: He needed to speak to the judge who would administer the Oath of Office, place a call for the vice president to express condolences to the dead president’s widow, arrange a press conference with the networks, and help frame a short, passionate speech. And that was just for starters. There was too much to do in such a short time, but he had no choice. These things simply had to be done.