Worst Case Scenario Read Free Page A

reveal something was obvious. What Michaelson couldn’t figure out was why he wanted Michaelson to disclose it to Jeffrey Quentin instead of to Pilkington himself.

Chapter Two
    â€œHow do you square your criticism of administration policy with your support of U.S. forces deployed pursuant to that very policy?”
    â€œOnce American troops are on the ground,” Wendy Gardner said, “ties go to the president.”
    All right, she thought as she rose from her seat on the dais and shook hands with the five other hopefuls who’d shared it with her, so it isn’t Edmund Burke. These aren’t the sheriffs of Bristol, either. And don’t forget, Burke lost that election.
    She didn’t intend to lose hers. That was why she was here, auditioning for people who controlled soft money and rich contributors and party resources that could make the difference in a tight race. That was why she’d asked Michaelson to come, to lend the heft of his foreign service reputation and Brookings affiliation to the credentials of a candidate barely over the minimum constitutional age for the office she was seeking.
    Among other things, the CPD Conference was a cattle call, open casting, pick your metaphor. Show time for wannabes who thought they could knock off an opposition incumbent or, like Wendy, outrun an anointed heir apparent for an open seat. Sort of a low-rent, legislative-branch version of the famous Renaissance Weekend in North Carolina, but scruffier, dispensing with intellectual pretension, pure politics.
    Wendy made her way through the milling crowd, offering eye contact and a smiling nod in response to murmured compliments, some perfunctory and some with real meaning. Then, as she reached the last row of seats, a woman approached her more aggressively.
    â€œThat was great,” she said, reaching out and tentatively touching Wendy’s arm. “You give good sound bite.”
    â€œThank you.”
    â€œI’m Sharon Bedford. I sent you my résumé a few weeks ago. I was hoping to meet you here this weekend, so I brought another copy.”
    â€œI appreciate that,” Wendy said. She glanced at the two proffered pages long enough to see National Security Council staff, then slipped them into a thin briefcase she was carrying. “I will look at this the minute I have time. I know how important good staffers are, and I make all staffing decisions myself. It’s months away and miles to go, but if I win, I’m going to want to hit the ground running.”
    â€œThat’s actually something I was hoping to talk to you about if you could give me two minutes,” Bedford said. Her eyes shone with quiet intensity, and a tone of controlled urgency colored her voice. “I know you need to blitz the hospitality suites and network some more, but if you were planning on hearing Dr. Marciniak, he’s in this room in less than twenty minutes. We could talk here a little while we wait.”
    Wendy checked her initial impulse to brush Bedford off. For one thing, Bedford was right: Wendy had circled Marciniak’s presentation on her program, and in the few minutes before it began she couldn’t see running around like a sorority pledge during rush week.
    On top of that, Wendy found Bedford’s eagerness engaging. Wendy knew how hard it was for Bedford to walk up to her cold, risking a coffin-plate smile and a world-class blow-off. The CPD was brimming with twenty-three-year-old cynics, precocious Washington veterans with hard eyes and downy cheeks. Bedford wasn’t one of them. Whatever Bedford was after, she really wanted it and she wasn’t afraid to show how important to her it was.
    â€œSure,” Wendy said. “Let’s talk.”
    They sat down in the back row.
    Bedford looked like she was in her early thirties. She had striking chestnut hair, somewhat curly, as if it had been permed, say, a month ago. She was within an inch or so of Wendy’s