degree from Columbia after Vietnam and had risen over the years to head the legal department at Quinn Industries.
He didn't marry until he was in his thirties. Her name was Monica, and she was the daughter of family friends; it was a marriage of convenience. Their daughter, Helen, was born in 1979, and it was around that time that he decided to follow his grandfather's dream, and entered politics. He put all his financial interests into a blind trust and ran for an open congressional seat, won by a narrow margin, and then by ever greater margins, until finally he challenged the incumbent Senator, and won there, too. Congress began to wear upon him after a while, though: the backstabbing and deal-making and constant petty crises, and then, when his grandfather died in a private plane accident, he began to rethink all his priorities.
He wanted out, he decided. He wanted to do something more with his life. And it was at that point that his old friend, fellow veteran and now-President, Jake Cazalet, came to him and said that if Daniel wanted to give up his seat, he understood. But he hoped Daniel was not forsaking public service. He needed someone like Daniel to be a troubleshooter, a kind of roving ambassador, someone he trusted absolutely. And Daniel said yes. From then on, wherever there was trouble, from the Far East to Israel, Bosnia, Kosovo, he was there.
Meanwhile, his daughter followed family tradition and went to Harvard, while his wife held the fort back home. When she was diagnosed with leukemia, she didn't tell him until it was too late--she hadn't wanted to interrupt his work. When she died, the guilt he felt was intolerable. They held a funeral reception at their Boston home, and after the guests had departed, he and his daughter walked in the gardens. She was small and slim, with golden hair and green eyes, the joy of his life, all he had left, he thought, of any worth.
"You're a great man, Dad," she said. "You do great things. You can't blame yourself."
"But I let her down."
"No, it was Mum's choice to play it the way she did." She hugged his arm. "I know one thing. You'll never let me down. I love you, Dad, so much."
The following year she won a Rhodes Scholarship for two years at Oxford University, at St. Hugh's College, and Quinn went to Kosovo to work for NATO on the President's behalf. That was where things stood, until one miserable March day when the President asked to see Quinn at the White House, and Quinn went...
WASHINGTON LONDON
Chapter 2.
W ASHINGTON, EARLY EVENING, BAD MARCH WEATHER, but the Hay-Adams Hotel, where Daniel Quinn was staying, was only a short walk from the White House.
Quinn liked the Hay-Adams, the wonderful antiques, the plush interior, the restaurant. Because of the hotel's location, they all came there, the great and the good, the politicians and the power-brokers. Daniel Quinn didn't know where he fit in on that spectrum anymore, but he didn't much care. He just liked the place.
Quinn stepped outside, and the doorman said, "I heard you were here, Senator. Welcome back. Will you be needing a cab?"
"No, thanks, George. The walk will do me good."
"At least take an umbrella. The rain might get worse. I insist, Sergeant."
Quinn laughed. "One old Vietnam hand to another?"
George took an umbrella from his stand and opened it. "We saw enough of this stuff back in the jungle, sir. Who needs it now?"
"That was a long time ago, George. I had my fifty-second birthday last month."
"Senator, I thought you were forty."
Quinn laughed, suddenly looking just that. "I'll see you later, you rogue."
He crossed to Lafayette Square, and George was right, for the rain increased, sluicing down through the trees, as he passed the statue of Andrew Jackson.
It gave him the old enclosed feeling--the man who had everything: money, power, a beloved daughter--and yet, too often these days, he felt he had nothing. It was what he called his "what's-it-all-about" feeling. He was coming to the
He didn't marry until he was in his thirties. Her name was Monica, and she was the daughter of family friends; it was a marriage of convenience. Their daughter, Helen, was born in 1979, and it was around that time that he decided to follow his grandfather's dream, and entered politics. He put all his financial interests into a blind trust and ran for an open congressional seat, won by a narrow margin, and then by ever greater margins, until finally he challenged the incumbent Senator, and won there, too. Congress began to wear upon him after a while, though: the backstabbing and deal-making and constant petty crises, and then, when his grandfather died in a private plane accident, he began to rethink all his priorities.
He wanted out, he decided. He wanted to do something more with his life. And it was at that point that his old friend, fellow veteran and now-President, Jake Cazalet, came to him and said that if Daniel wanted to give up his seat, he understood. But he hoped Daniel was not forsaking public service. He needed someone like Daniel to be a troubleshooter, a kind of roving ambassador, someone he trusted absolutely. And Daniel said yes. From then on, wherever there was trouble, from the Far East to Israel, Bosnia, Kosovo, he was there.
Meanwhile, his daughter followed family tradition and went to Harvard, while his wife held the fort back home. When she was diagnosed with leukemia, she didn't tell him until it was too late--she hadn't wanted to interrupt his work. When she died, the guilt he felt was intolerable. They held a funeral reception at their Boston home, and after the guests had departed, he and his daughter walked in the gardens. She was small and slim, with golden hair and green eyes, the joy of his life, all he had left, he thought, of any worth.
"You're a great man, Dad," she said. "You do great things. You can't blame yourself."
"But I let her down."
"No, it was Mum's choice to play it the way she did." She hugged his arm. "I know one thing. You'll never let me down. I love you, Dad, so much."
The following year she won a Rhodes Scholarship for two years at Oxford University, at St. Hugh's College, and Quinn went to Kosovo to work for NATO on the President's behalf. That was where things stood, until one miserable March day when the President asked to see Quinn at the White House, and Quinn went...
WASHINGTON LONDON
Chapter 2.
W ASHINGTON, EARLY EVENING, BAD MARCH WEATHER, but the Hay-Adams Hotel, where Daniel Quinn was staying, was only a short walk from the White House.
Quinn liked the Hay-Adams, the wonderful antiques, the plush interior, the restaurant. Because of the hotel's location, they all came there, the great and the good, the politicians and the power-brokers. Daniel Quinn didn't know where he fit in on that spectrum anymore, but he didn't much care. He just liked the place.
Quinn stepped outside, and the doorman said, "I heard you were here, Senator. Welcome back. Will you be needing a cab?"
"No, thanks, George. The walk will do me good."
"At least take an umbrella. The rain might get worse. I insist, Sergeant."
Quinn laughed. "One old Vietnam hand to another?"
George took an umbrella from his stand and opened it. "We saw enough of this stuff back in the jungle, sir. Who needs it now?"
"That was a long time ago, George. I had my fifty-second birthday last month."
"Senator, I thought you were forty."
Quinn laughed, suddenly looking just that. "I'll see you later, you rogue."
He crossed to Lafayette Square, and George was right, for the rain increased, sluicing down through the trees, as he passed the statue of Andrew Jackson.
It gave him the old enclosed feeling--the man who had everything: money, power, a beloved daughter--and yet, too often these days, he felt he had nothing. It was what he called his "what's-it-all-about" feeling. He was coming to the
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