Born to Run Read Online Free PDF Page B

these recommendations, and yesterday afternoon I returned to the White House with my mind made up."
    Chloe reread the e-mail. It would be one hell of a story-- her biggest about a White House she'd been attacking since her abrupt dismissal. There was just one hitch: she had to convince her editor to pay for it. More money than they'd ever paid before. Much more.
    "Two hundred fifty thousand," the e-mail read. "Final offer."
    "My fellow Americans, it is my pleasure to tell you that my nominee to be your next vice president of the United States is my good friend, one of the most fair-minded men I have ever met, the former governor of Florida, Harry Swyteck."
    Chloe switched off the television. It was time for something truly newsworthy.
    She picked up the telephone, took a deep breath, and started to dial her editor. Then she hung up. She knew the answer would be a firm NO. "Find out if there's a story," her editor had told her, "and if it's as big as this joker claims it is, pay him twenty grand-- not a dime more."
    Twenty thousand dollars. Her editor was an idiot. This story was too big to let a dolt like him screw it up. She'd made that mistake before, putting her trust in people far less capable than herself. Never again. It was time for her to take charge of her own life, play by her rules--not someone else's.
    She banged out a short reply to her source's e-mail and hit SEND.
    "Let's meet," was all it said.

    Chapter 7
    "Some party, huh?" said Jack. "Sure," said Andie, "if you call a press party without Playgirl a party."
    They were standing before the magnificently decorated Douglas fir in the White House Blue Room. Andie was gorgeous in her red dress, even if there were two other women wearing the same design.
    Tonight's party for six hundred members of the press marked the halfway point of a presidential Iditarod of holiday receptions and dinners at the Executive Mansion. As always, the president and First Lady were fully committed to a two-hour block of handshakes, posed photographs, and thirty-second conversations that would test the superhuman strength of their smile muscles. It was a veritable Who's Who in White House press coverage, and Jack's unofficial business was to keep his ears open and find out who his father's friends and enemies were in advance of his congressional hearings. Jack looked off toward the Cross Hall, where guests were streaming through a forest of red poinsettias toward the State Dining Room. The sense of history here was inspiring, but Jack could see in their ambitious eyes that it was mostly about proximity to power. Some would have sacrificed a vital organ for the promise of an invitation to next year's party, and no matter how blase the regulars pretended to be about it, they would for months find a way to work into every conversation a sentence beginning with the words "When I was at the White House Christmas Party. . . ."
    "Happy Birthday," said Andie, raising her glass.
    Jack raised his. "Not a bad way to celebrate my fortieth, even if it is a couple of days late."
    "I still wish you would let me and Theo throw you a party."
    "No. Absolutely not. No party."
    "Crab cake?" asked the server.
    "No, thank you," said Jack.
    Not that the food wasn't tempting. The White House chef had cooked up everything from chicken-fried tenderloin (good with gravy) to marzipan. Even the gingerbread replica of the White House looked good enough to eat. The whole experience struck Jack as somewhere between magical and over the top, from the boughs and lights twinkling in the East Room to the Marine Band playing Christmas songs by the grand piano in the foyer.
    "Would you mind snapping our picture?" said a young man with a British accent.
    "We just got engaged," said his fiancee, flashing her ring.
    "Mazel tov," said Andie. It wasn't a term Jack had heard her use often, but it seemed to pop from her mouth instinctively, as if the Christmas overload had struck an ecumenical funny bone in her body.
    Jack snapped