Benjamin Lombard heard and saw none of it. He sat in the back of one of the limousines, always a different limousine, reviewing his schedule for the coming week. He was aware of his staff’s anticipation but took his time. He was accustomed to people waiting on his decision. Their time was, in point of fact, his time. Eventually, he made several minor corrections and thrust the itinerary back to one of his aides.

He was tired and more than a little frustrated. Over the last twenty-five days, he’d watched Governor Anne Fleming eat further into his lead in the polls. What had begun as an amusing sideshow was becoming a real threat. A recent political cartoon depicted him as a hare sleeping under a tree while Fleming, the tortoise, passed him. He’d gone from the chosen one to the butt of jokes on late-night television. A year ago, the first-term governor from California hadn’t even been a name in the presidential conversation. Lombard had been such a heavy favorite that even major names in the party had chosen to sit out the election. And now he was running neck and neck with a novice. His advisers dismissed Fleming and believed she would fade, but he wasn’t so sure. So far she’d countered everything they’d thrown at her like an old pro and made him look foolish in the process. The big donors were starting to wake up to it. If she wasn’t neutralized now, the convention in Atlanta would be a dogfight.

“Tell Douglass to scrub the Santa Fe leg,” Lombard said. “I want to go straight to the airport after the fund-raiser tonight.”

Leland Reed shifted in his seat. “Ah, sir, Douglass feels it’s important to put in an appearance tomorrow if we want Governor Macklin’s support. We won’t be out here again before the convention.”

Leland Reed was the vice president’s chief of staff. Now in his midfifties, Reed had a reputation as an unflappable operative—a problem solver. He’d earned his bona fides, time and again, over a thirty-three-year career on the Hill and innumerable campaigns.

Lombard thought highly of his chief of staff. After Duke Vaughn had committed suicide, Lombard had chewed through two replacements before settling on Reed. Reed spoke his language and shared his unblinking determination, but he was no Duke Vaughn. Not that that was something to be ashamed of—Duke Vaughn had been one of a kind. Duke would have known instinctually, as Leland Reed did not, why Santa Fe was a bad idea. Duke saw the same pieces on the board as everyone else did, but he’d played the game many moves ahead. He’d taught Lombard much of what he knew about politics.