The Race (7 page)

As Rustin emitted a low whistle, a rapt silence enveloped the audience. Looking at Marotta, Corey noted the utter stillness with which he awaited Christy's next pronouncement. But Christy's gaze had fixed not on Marotta, but on someone else. "Nor," he said in a cold, clear voice, "will Christians serve the ambitions of media magnates whose sole concern is lining their all-too-ample pockets." Pausing, Christy stared at Rohr, his voice suddenly filled with anger. "Such men should now be warned: we will turn off your programming, abandon your movie theaters, shun your music, boycott your businesses, and take back our children. And then your grip on our nation will end for good."

Narrow-eyed, Rohr stared back at Christy, ignoring the scrutiny of others. Leaning toward Corey, Rustin whispered, "Bad day for your boy Alex ..."

"It is time," Christy repeated, "for
all
of us to choose. Only last year, your so-called leaders lost effective control of Congress because they ignored the prayers of conservative Christians. So please be warned.

"Days from now, the United States Senate will decide whether to give its blessing to stem-cell research. Some believe that this is a tempest in a petri dish.
It is not
. Every one of these embryos is a human being waiting to be born. It is not our province to
take
life—even if we propose to
save
life." Pausing, Christy said emphatically, "That power belongs to God alone. So to those who would be president, I say, Defeat this law, or step aside."

"Marotta," Rustin whispered to Corey, "had better protect each embryo like it was his first-born child."

Rustin was right, Corey knew; Christy was laying down a marker for Rob Marotta. "Perhaps," Christy continued in a dubious tone, "one of the men you've heard from—or
will
hear from—is the leader Christians are praying for.

"If so, we are blessed. But if not, Christians
will
look elsewhere."

Tense, the audience awaited a pronouncement that, if made, could utterly transform the race. "There are those in our party," Christy told them, "who claim that for a minister to seek high office will only hurt our cause.

"To them I say, Rest easy. For if Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton did not manage to kill American liberalism, conservatism has nothing to fear from
me
..."

As sudden laughter rose from the audience, Corey saw Rob Marotta allow himself a brief, ironic smile. "Perhaps," Christy suggested amiably, "those particular spiritual leaders did not quite match the nation's needs. Or perhaps, in these more perilous times, Americans at last are ready for a different servant of God."

This last phrase, to Christy's credit, was delivered with a certain humor. "For now," he concluded simply, "I implore you to help make our beloved country what God intended it to be."

Abruptly, Christy stopped, his head bowed as if in prayer.

For an instant there was silence. Then applause rose from Christy's listeners, slowly building—perhaps reflecting courtesy, perhaps fear, but perhaps, Corey suspected, a new respect. "Think he'd settle for vice president?" he dryly inquired of Rustin.

"Maybe." Still watching Christy, Rustin's eyes seemed brighter than before. "This much I know: if God wants you to be president, He'll tell the Reverend Christy to run first."

AT A LITTLE PAST ELEVEN THAT NIGHT, SENATOR ROB MAROTTA AND his chief strategist, Magnus Price, met with Alex Rohr on the roof deck of the Hotel Washington. From the outset, Marotta felt on guard: as wary as he was of Rohr, that Price had urged this meeting made him warier still.

Their corner table had a panoramic view of the Washington Monument and the Lincoln and Jefferson Memorials; much closer, the White House was brightly etched against the dark night sky. "Place sure looks noble," Price drawled with a smile. "All that moonlit marble with no people to screw it up. If you're dumb enough, or drunk enough, you'd almost forget this place is the ultimate proof that Darwin was right—only the fittest, and the meanest, survive. To get to be a statesman, you first gotta be a prick."

"So what's Bob Christy?" Rohr asked sharply.

This was a sore point, Marotta understood. "A botched experiment," Price answered with a rueful tone. "Tonight was like watching Frankenstein escape. For thirty years I've busted my ass to bring Christians into the tent—including Christy—and now he's so delusional he thinks he owns the tent."

Price's laconic manner, Marotta knew, belied the man's frustration. In Price's grand design, he was the orchestrator of the Hydra, through which the various tentacles of the party—business, Christian conservatives, right-wing media, and advocacy groups from the gun lobby to the tax cutters—combined to dominate America's politics and culture. "The whole idea," Price continued, "is to make sure each stockholder in our enterprise helps get the others what they want. The rich folks and the Bible-thumpers don't gotta love each other—they just gotta help each other. Nobody's bigger than the whole.

"Problem with the Reverend Bob, Alex, is he's getting himself confused with God. And God don't go to meetings, or work through coalitions. Bob's God, to my lasting sorrow, just isn't a team player."

"So what are you going to do about him," Rohr cut in, "when the senator's running against this bastard in the primaries?"

"If,"
Price amended. "That's where Rob is gonna need all the help you can give him." Pausing, Price smiled across the table at Marotta. "I ran my own little poll after the last election. Rohr News persuaded ten percent of its viewers to change their vote and support the president. Despite his modesty, Alex here's a kind of genius. Maybe he'll treat you to what I call his 'theory of postmodernist media.'"

Rohr did not smile; to Marotta, who knew him only casually, Rohr gave off the chill of a man who disdained anyone whose success, as did Marotta's, required a measure of human warmth. Shrugging, Rohr told Marotta clinically, "The old model was that news is fact, and objectivity the ideal. Today's truth is that 'news,' like anything else we sell to the public, is a product.

"Our news product isn't some abstract notion of truth, or even reality. It's a story—consistent and repetitive, with a message that's emotionally fulfilling to the viewer." He flashed Marotta a smile that was no smile at all. "We mislead no one. Turn on Rohr News, and you're getting exactly what you want. I can help you feel better about this war, or fighting terrorists, and you don't have to think about them anymore. If we also use that power to promote our friends and advance our interests, so be it. News is a business, not a public service."

Looking directly at Marotta, Price cupped his Pepsi in both hands. "Fortunately for us all, Rob, Alex's interests and ours are aligned. Your interest is in becoming president." Price allowed himself a wispy smile. "Through Rohr News, millions of Americans will begin to
see
you as a president—principled, rooted in deep religious values, and Churchillian in your resolve to save America."

The sardonic undertone nettled Marotta; listening to these two pragmatists discuss his future, he felt less like a senator than a bottle of shampoo. Seeking to restore the balance, Marotta asked sardonically, "If I'm Winston Churchill, who do you get to be, Alex? Citizen Kane?"

"Kane wanted to be president," Rohr replied with imperious calm. "All I care about is an economic policy that rewards my enterprise, and a political system that respects my interests."

Price shot Marotta a cautionary glance. "Nothing wrong with that," Price said easily. "Alex helps because we believe as he does. And because he's in a position to help."

Nodding, Rohr gave Marotta the same cool smile. "News, as Magnus often tells me, is the software of his message machine."

Marotta glanced at Price. With his sloping belly, thin sandy hair, and mask of shrewd self-satisfaction, Price reminded Marotta of the archetypal sly southern lawyer of film and fiction, except that he was far more dangerous—including, whatever his exceptional gifts, to Marotta himself. "And the purpose of that machine," Price elaborated in an amiable tone, "is not to persuade our opponents, but to shrink their nuts to the size of raisins. That means pounding home the message that they're weaselly and effete; godless; spineless and morally lax; beholden to deadbeats, gays, illegals, and, worst of all, liberals; pathetically cowed by Arab murderers; utterly unable to defend our country or our families; and, altogether, the losers in Darwin's lottery. I mean, who would want to be one of
them
?"

Rohr laughed softly. "Message," Price continued with a smile, "takes money, organization,
and
ideas. We've got them all: two hundred foundations and four hundred advocacy groups spending almost one billion dollars a year to advance the ideas we all believe in: lowering taxes, curbing lawsuits, fighting environmental extremists, ending affirmative action, and, critically, turning conservative lawyers into judges who'll control the American legal system for decades to come." Price smiled approvingly at Rohr. "Alex is helping us change the legal, political, and economic landscape of America."

"Christy," Marotta pointed out, "doesn't seem all that enamored with your vision."

Price sat back, taking in the nighttime panorama lit before them. "Christy," he said at length, "is my only mistake in an otherwise inspired notion—to persuade Christian voters to help underwrite our power by focusing on issues that don't cost the likes of Alex a fucking dime.

"Prayer in school—if we ever get it—is free. So's a ban on abortion. Alex doesn't run honeymoon cruises, so banning gay marriage won't dent his bottom line. But all of that means so much to these pious folks that it would ruin your day to deny them."

"There's also soccer moms," Marotta responded. "The suburban moderates—the ones who deserted us in droves in the last congressional elections. Strangely enough, they're still looking for a 'kinder, gentler' party than the one you have in mind."

"That's what black Republicans like Cortland Lane are for," Price replied. "You put them in the cabinet—not because black voters will love us, but because it makes white folks of good intentions
feel
so much better. And, once again, it's
free
.

"Though they're a problem, middle-of-the-roaders are still eclipsed by conservative Christians, especially in Republican primaries." Turning to Rohr, Price asked, "You know what the most accurate predictor of voting was in the last two presidential elections?"

Rohr shrugged. "Illiteracy?"

Chuckling, Price shook his head. "Religion. Two-thirds of regular church attendees voted for us. You're not gonna win elections if all you've got is atheists and agnostics. And
I,
to my lasting credit, figured that out in the 1970s.

"Thirty years ago, Alex, conservative Christians were like a seven-foot-tall basketball player with no experience—scary in their potential, but not a real factor in the game. They didn't even vote. But I could see all that potential—if I could persuade the party to reach out to them, we'd change the game entirely." Turning to Marotta now, he said, "Back in South Carolina when I was a kid, the rich folks got the votes of poor whites by pitting them against the blacks. But racism became less cool—blacks started voting, so establishment whites had to pick their spots and speak in racial code. But I ..." Here Price paused, holding one finger in the air, "_I,_ Magnus Price, figured out a whole new and more uplifting way to reach out to ordinary white folks—by signing up their God. Now Christian conservatives are over forty percent of the entire electorate. And
we're
still sitting in the catbird seat unless Christy fucks it up."

Rohr frowned. "How, exactly, can this clown accomplish
that
?"

"Because the whole design depends on keeping Christian conservatives and capitalists like you united. That's the beauty of Rob Marotta's candidacy—he shares your beliefs while being genuinely religious.

"But Christy sees a contradiction: entrepreneurs like you live off the 'debased popular culture' he rails against on television. That's why his speech tonight made me shiver." Price paused, his expression hard. "If Christy runs for president, it'll be mammon versus morality—our nightmare scenario. If Christy beats Rob in the primaries, he'll lose the general election—most voters still won't go for President Elmer Gantry. But even if Rob beats Christy, the party's gonna be divided ..."

"I'll beat Christy," Marotta told him. "And with all due respect, I'd do that with or without the two of you."

"Today you would," Price shot back. "But suppose fucking Al Qaeda blows up Notre Dame stadium at halftime?
That
could unleash a craziness only God could fix. And God, as we know, speaks through the Reverend Christy—"

"So how do we keep him from running?" Rohr interrupted.

"By anointing Rob—endorsements, favorable polling, pledges from donors, the whole drumbeat of inevitability." Price placed a friendly hand on Marotta's shoulder. "_And_ by reminding Christian conservatives that Rob's as committed to them as Christy is. That means fighting gay marriage, promoting prayer in school, and promising judges who know that 'our rights came from God Almighty.' Then we can float the message that the presidency isn't an entry-level job. Trust me, a lot of other evangelists will be glad to hop on board."

"Why?" Rohr asked.

"Think
they
want their chief competitor in the religion-for-profit game to become the president of the United States? They'll help spread our message: 'Bob's running to expand his mailing list,' or 'Bob's confusing himself with God,' or 'What does Bob know about dropping the hammer on fucking Iran?'

"We need Christians to believe that Christy's a self-serving egomaniac and that his candidacy is an embarrassment to the good religious people who just want to protect their families." Eyes fixed on Rohr, Price finished: "You can spread the word through Rohr News, talk radio, newspapers, and whatever else you own. After Christy's performance tonight, you oughta have the motivation. Do you?"

"If Rob wants me to." Rohr turned to Marotta. "All I want, Rob, is what Magnus tells me you believe in—a government that doesn't hamstring wealth creators."