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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.
    Leland Reed was relentless but needed to be pointed in the right direction. In some ways that was preferable. Lombard had grown accustomed to being the smartest person in any room, but there were times when he missed knowing that, if a problem arose, Duke was already on it.
    He fixed Reed with an icy glare.
    “We’re not getting Macklin’s endorsement. He’s going to throw in with Fleming.”
    “But, sir, Douglass feels that Macklin is making overtures.”
    “Macklin was making overtures when I was ahead by ten points. But now I’m ahead by the width of your dick, and he’s going to throw in with Fleming, who he’s known for twenty years and will promise him things that I won’t. Sure, he’ll make me dance for it, but in the end he’s not going to give it to me.”
    “Isn’t it worth it since we’re already out here?”
    “Megan, where is Governor Fleming scheduled to be next Friday?” Lombard asked.
    His aide tabbed over to a schedule on her laptop. “Arizona, sir.”
    “This is a waste of time, Leland. We’re being strung along, so fuck Governor Macklin and fuck Douglass while you’re at it.”
    “Sir?” Reed’s voice remained even and upbeat despite the sudden spike in the vice president’s temper and language.
    “I’m concerned with Douglass and the way he’s reading the terrain,” Lombard explained patiently. “He’s making decisions based on last week’s polls. I need him to get out in front of Fleming. She’s not going anywhere, and I’m tired of hearing him say otherwise.”
    “Yes, sir,” Reed said. “What should I give as a reason for canceling?”
    “Something vague. ‘Needed in Washington’ always has a nice ring. I am still the vice president. He’ll figure it out.”
    “Yes, sir,” Reed said.
    “I want to sit down with Douglass, Bennett, and Guzman first thing in the morning. We’re going to get some things straight. They’re not the only campaign strategists in Washington.”
    Lombard looked out the tinted window at the blur that was Phoenix. Living in this bubble was one of the surreal aspects of the job. For the past eight years, there hadn’t been a single moment where he’d been truly alone, when thirty people didn’t know his exact location. To do this job, and to do it well, was to be in constant motion, surrounded by people, ideas, action. And, by God, he loved it. He’d love being president even more.
    When reporters asked him why he wanted to be president, Lombard mouthed the same elegant clichés that his forebears had uttered—platitudes about service and country and having a vision for the future of the nation. It was nonsense, of course, and he doubted that they had meant it any more than he did. The truth? When else in human history could someone ascend bloodlessly to become the most powerful man in the world? It was the chance to be a civilized god, and he