No Safe Place Read Online Free PDF

world were as Kerry Kilcannon wished.
    The ballroom was jammed. Glancing about, Clayton saw that everything was in order: the signs were painted on both sides, the better to be seen on television; there were young people rather than local officeholders on the platform, to underscore Kerry as the candidate of tomorrow; two more members of the Service detail stood at the base of the platform, between the press pool and the Minicams. Noticing the Service was a habit Clayton had formed weeks earlier. “Somewhere there’s some nut out there,” he had said to Peter Lake, the special agent in charge, “oiling up his gun so he can go for the doubleheader.”
    Kerry walked to the podium. When the crowd quieted for him, he thanked his principal supporters by name and uttered a few pleasantries about Dick Mason. Then he began the part of the speech which was truly his—that of the outsider, the reluctant hero, called upon to tell his fellow citizens how things are and how they should be.
    Kerry had no notes. Twelve years before, in his first speeches, he had awkwardly read words written by others, feeling like an impostor. But he had learned. Now the sea of faces in front of him—college kids, professionals, old people, more minorities than Oregon was known for—were the source of strength, a quiet elation.
    “Kerry …,”
they began chanting.
    Kerry smiled. “That’s me.”
    There were laughter and cheers, and then Kerry held up a hand. “There’s still a lot to do,” he said, and the crowd was quiet again.
    “There’s still a lot to do,” he repeated, “when people believe that their government has been bought by special interests, when they watch those running for office barter their integrity—dollar by dollar, donation by donation, cocktail party by cocktail party—in a system of quasi-legal bribery …”
    The crowd cheered; this allusion to Dick Mason’s recent problems with the tobacco lobby had not been missed. Pausing, Kerry did what he always did: began to focus on a few faces in the crowd—a young Asian girl, a middle-aged man in a union jacket—until he felt he could almost touch them.
    “There’s a lot to do,” he said, “and, together, we will do it.
    “We will train mothers and fathers for meaningful work, help educate their children instead of standing idly by while their children’s futures go up in smoke.
    “We will protect our right to choose in the deepest and broadest sense. For it is not just
women
who deserve a choice; it is everyone who chooses to work for a better job and a brighter future …”
    Watch it,
Kerry warned himself. But the crowd seemed almost giddy now.
    He paused again, and then found the words he wanted. “It is every mother, father, son, or daughter who refuses to lose one more person they love to a coward with a gun …”
    The crowd erupted.
    Minutes later, Kerry was at last able to finish, with his signature line: “Give me your help and your vote, and together we’ll build a new democracy.”
    Clayton Slade watched from one side of the platform.
Don’t do it,
he silently instructed Kerry. But, of course, Kerry did: stepping from behind the podium, he went down the steps from the platform and plunged into the crowd. As they fought their way beside him, the phalanx of Secret Service agents wore harried, tight expressions.
    Damn you,
Clayton thought.
    The energy of a thousand people cut through Kerry’s fatigue. He took each hand, each face, a moment at a time, looking into the eyes of the person in front of him. “Thank you,” he kept repeating. “Thank you.” To the Asian girl he said, “We’ll make it, I think”; finding the man in the union jacket, he touched his arm and said, “Thanks for staying up with me.” Next to him, the Service and the camera people and Kevin Loughery jockeyed for position.
    “Senator,”
a young NBC correspondent called out, pushinga microphone between two well-wishers. “Will Dick Mason’s new emphasis on abortion