Bloodless (Aloysius Pendergast #20)(71)

The bus came to a halt with a hiss of brakes. Senator Drayton exited his private wood-paneled sitting room in the rear of the bus. He found his chief of staff, communications chief, and campaign chief seated around a table in the main section of the bus, talking strategy. They all rose when he came out.

“I want to personally review the setup,” he said.

“Yes, Senator,” replied the campaign chief.

An advance man helped the senator down the steps. He stood at the edge of the park and looked around. People were already gathering along East Park Avenue: big crowds of followers, many wearing the signature blue-and-red cap of his campaign with its STAY WITH DRAYTON slogan, many carrying placards with the same message, dressed in red, white, and blue. He heard their distant roar, and it gladdened his heart.

He looked at his watch. Five thirty PM. The rally was scheduled to begin at eight, but as usual he’d actually start at nine: he’d learned that, for political rallies at least, the anticipation of the wait—with supporters chattering excitedly among themselves—brought their energy to a fever pitch. The weather report said scattered thunderstorms, but only a 20 percent chance. The sky was mostly clear; things were looking good.

Across the great lawn, at the foot of the Civil War monument to the Confederate dead, a stage had been set up and draped in bunting. On the vast expanse in front, thousands of chairs were being placed, with plenty of open lawn behind and on either side for the overflow crowd. Drayton began strolling toward the stage.

As he walked, he noticed the chairs were not being arranged as he would have liked.

“Hey, you!” He veered from his route toward a heavyset man who appeared to be a supervisor.

The man turned toward him with an annoyed expression, saw who it was, and changed his look right fast.

“Look here,” said Drayton, “are you the one in charge of this?”

“Of setting up the chairs, yes, Senator.”

“Then what do you mean by arranging ragged lines such as all these?”

“I’m sorry, Senator.”

“Straighten them up. I want them to look crisp and even—not wandering all over like a line of recruits on the first day of boot camp.”

He laughed and looked around at his staff, and they all laughed, too.

“Get them nice and straight.”

“Yes, Senator, right away.”

The supervisor nodded and went off, yelling and gesturing at the workers who were unfolding and setting up the chairs. Drayton watched as they started adjusting them. Hell, if they’d set them up right the first time they wouldn’t have to do it again.

He continued to the stage and mounted the steps. A podium, draped in more bunting, stood in the middle, with a row of twenty-one flags forming a backdrop. Above were two giant screens that would project Drayton’s tanned and smiling face to the distant parts of the crowd. Now they displayed a still picture of Drayton, gesticulating from the Senate floor, with the tag line Georgia, Stay with Drayton.

The engineers were still setting up the last touches of the sound system—two towers of Voice of the Theatre speakers, powerful enough for a rock concert—taping down cables snaking every which way. On the far side, a police sergeant was talking to a group of about thirty cops, apparently issuing assignments.

Drayton turned to his chief of staff. “Where’s the commander?”

“You mean Delaplane?” the chief said. “I haven’t seen her.”

Drayton descended the steps on the other side of the stage and went over to the sergeant, who broke off his talk.

“Welcome, Senator,” he said. “Looks like it’s going to be a big evening.”

“Well, maybe,” said Drayton. “Where’s your commander?”

“She’s not here.”

“I can see she’s not here, Sergeant—” He peered at the man’s ID. “Sergeant Adair. What I want to know is, why isn’t she here?”

“I believe she’s tied up with that case, but we’ve got everything under control, I can assure you.”

“I am not assured. The top person should be here, supervising. This is the most important security concern in the entire city of Savannah right now. So why the hell isn’t she here?”

“Senator, I can inquire if you wish.”

“Yes, I wish. Jesus.”

Sergeant Adair took out his radio and called headquarters. Drayton could hear the dispatcher telling the sergeant that Delaplane was not available.

“Ma’am,” said the sergeant, “Senator Drayton is here and wants to, ah, know why she’s not supervising the event in person.”

After listening to some more back-and-forth, Drayton started to lose his temper. “I want to talk to her personally,” he told Adair. “Hand me the damn radio.”

The sergeant, his face growing red, spoke to the dispatcher. Drayton took the radio. “This is Senator Drayton. I want to speak to the commander, now.”

After a long moment, he was finally put through.

“Commander? I’m wondering why you’re not here in person, supervising security for the rally. Don’t you realize there are people out there threatening to protest and maybe even cause violence? I’ve got almost half a million dollars invested in this rally.”

“Senator, let me assure you, we’ve got over a hundred officers working security, we’ve set up portable scans at six entry points—we’ve got everything under control.”