Georgia on My Mind {Part XXI}
Cyrus readies for the day wiping the sweat from his brow desperately trying to breathe normally although his adrenaline continues to push all bodily functions to the breaking point. The election is three days away and there are a million things to accomplish and not enough hours to get it all done. The energy of the campaign is electric. Any campaign manager would experience inhuman stress but he compounded his situation by willingly participating in a conspiracy to commit treason.
In addition to coordinating surrogates; responding to press requests; and allocating resources he is desperately destroying evidence. The night before he snuck down to the main headquarters to shred documents and dispose of them in the dumpster behind a seedy motel a few miles away. He also used the opportunity to drive over his burner phone twice and smash the broken pieces with a hammer. He breathed a sigh of relief at the time but he had no guarantee if his efforts were enough. Fake it 'til you make it. He chanted to himself before exiting the room.
Fitz closes the blinds to his office before sauntering over to lean against his desk and wait. Moments later the door opens and he looks up when he hears the lock engage. "You are late. I believe punishment is in order," he speaks up with a roguish smile.
"I think that hideous tie is punishment enough. Honestly, are you doing this on purpose," she gestures around his neck.
He stands removing the tie and raising the collar of his crisp white shirt. Olivia pulls a light blue tie with the thick and thin navy and black diagonal strips around his neck expertly executing the perfect Windsor knot. His hands rest on her hips; his eyes roaming her face in fascination. We are going to start every morning just like this.
"So…I spoke with the networks and we can cut costs if we do the interview live. The advertisers will engage in a bidding war which pads the big three's profits; not to mention the buzz and momentum created for you candidacy leading up the vote. What do you say…ready to show the world just how big time you are," she challenges.
"Hmm," he pretends to ponder. This woman knows how to get me going…mind, body and soul. "I assume this will require late night prep sessions and deep de-briefing with my Communication Director," he offers seductively.
"Obviously my schedule is wide-open for any and all of your needs leading up to the climatic event," she banters back smoothing the fabric of the tie before looking up at him with wide eyes.
Fitz leans down and whispers in her ear, "Thank you future First Lady."
She blushes with a bashful smile, "You are exceedingly welcome Mr. President," she whispers in return.
Harrison waits in the rental car parked between two 18-wheel trucks located behind a big box store. The light tapping on the window draws his attention causing him to exit the vehicle. "Agent Webster," he greets moving toward the trunk of the non-descript sedan.
"Mr. Wright, what was so urgent," she replies.
He opens the trunk and hands her a large, black garbage bag. "Mr. Beene disposed of this bag of shredding last night. Doesn't your agency have staff that can re-constitute the documents?"
Her head snaps back in surprise, "I must say your team is impressive but I should expect nothing less from Olivia Pope. Our surveillance had stalled in recent days but destruction of evidence is all the catalyst we need to initiate the 'no knock' warrants," she explains.
Harrison freezes, "Thanks for the heads up," he pivots rushing back to the car dialing Huck at the same time.
Olivia commands the press core from the podium fielding questions; changing the narrative; hinting at leads she hopes they follow. She prepares to close the briefing when Abby enters and whispers in her ear. They share a look and a nod before Liv returns her full attention to room full of eager hands. "I have one last announcement…Governor Grant agreed to a live event tomorrow night…we are not providing details at this time but we recommend you keep your schedule open. Thank you all for coming," she moves from behind the podium and out the door. The reporters shout over each other and push forward trying to pry a detail out of her retreating form.
The group turns to Abby, "Do not even waste your breath…I got nothing I am willing to give up," she retorts. Their shoulders deflate as they gather their items to proceed out of the room. After half the group is gone Abby makes her move, "Novak, please follow me," she gestures with her head.
James looks around the room watching the journalists that remain observing the verbal exchange. He moves quickly juggling his bag and phone, "What is going on?" he whispers once he reaches her side. She does not respond but he follows with trepidation. Do they know?
Hollis Doyle may be an old country boy but he is not a new fool. He could smell the bad coming and he was getting out before the stench got on him. "Listen to me, prepare my plane…international flight plan…keep it open-ended," he orders the private plane service provider. He dials the next number on the list, "Don't ask a lot of questions. I need as much of my assets as possible off shore and liquid in the next 24 hours…wait for my call," he hangs up before hearing the response. He calls out to the household staff, "Am I packed yet?" They do not respond. He moves down the stairs and his boots skid to a stop.
"Hollis Doyle," the female African American agent hands him a document. "You are hereby served with a federal warrant to search all of your residences and places of business. All domestic and foreign financial accounts are frozen. Please hand over all electronic devices. You have a right to remain silent…"she continues but he does not hear anything but the cascading thoughts of destruction in his head. How the hell did this happen?
James follows Abby entering the Governor's campaign office. His eyes roam the room searching for clues trying to decipher what is coming next. A strong baritone voice interrupts his musing, "Mr. Novak, thank you for taking my request," Fitz greets.
"Your request?" he stammers in confusion.
"Yes, I would like to you to accompany me to Virginia. I have a surprise campaign event and an exclusive story opportunity if you are interested," he shares.
"Excuse me if I am skeptical but why me?" he pushes.
"You and I both know why. Are you in or out?" he states.
James pauses and his brain runs at warp speed. Holy shit…they know everything. How much did they orchestrate? "I'm in," he replies eagerly.
Fitz nods, "Harrison," he gestures with his head.
Harrison moves out of the shadows in the corner of the room. "Grab your things and meet me at the freight elevator. We leave for the airport in 45 minutes you will be briefed you in the car," he explains quickly crossing to the door.
Fitz launches into his closing remarks. "Remember 218 & 60…those are the votes we need to put America back to work and reform our justice system so we can create a more perfect Union," he declares into the microphone. "Susan Ross is one of the 60…a vote for her is a vote for you. A vote for her is a vote for your paycheck…your community…your state. Send Susan Ross to the Senate," he projects. The crowd chants in response…Grant! Ross! Grant! Ross!
Susan Ross joins him on stage. He takes her hand raising both their arms in triumph. They exit the stage. "Good luck Susan…I have great faith in you," he shares.
She releases a bizarre laugh, snort, giggle, "This is surreal…don't you think this is weird? I mean you are going to be POTUS and you want me to be a senator. Why? I still do not get it…do you?" she questions.
He stares at her for a beat too long. She is a complete neophyte. "Susan, our party needs to be better and do better. In order for that to happen we need better candidates with authentic values…you are that kind of candidate," he re-assures her.
James observes the exchange writing frantically in his notebook. Susan Ross is an anomaly. She was not on anyone's radar yet the possible President-Elect left his trail to campaign for her. Why? He interviewed her campaign staff including the manager. Leo Bergen...a big dog campaign manager that does not take a phone call without a check attached. There is more to this picture.
They are secure in the SUV moving down the interstate when Governor Grant addresses the intrepid reporter directly. "The Putney name in politics is legendary…until now. Charles Putney is a violent, misogynist that can no longer be a member of my Republican Party," he explains. Harrison hands over a sealed folder. Fitz continues, "Your skill plus the accumulated evidence should make for an explosive expose. Do your worst…I do not expect him or his father to come back from this ever. Am I clear?" his voice his menacing and his eyes are dark.
James gulps, "I will not let you down Sir," he stammers.
"I do not believe you will. Harrison stays with you and serves as my proxy," he states as the car slows to a stop at the executive airport.
Cyrus grips his left bicep repeatedly. The tingling sensation will not subside. He continues to search frantically with his eyes. He has not seen Harrison, James or the Governor for most of the day. He stands in the middle of the main campaign hub. Volunteers phone bank; aides deliver lawn signs; and surrogates return from campaign events flush with endorphin highs. The path to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue could not be more clear…victory is within reach. "Has anyone seen the Governor?" he shouts into the room of chaos.
"According to the schedule change he is on his way back from Virginia," an unknown voice responds.
"Yeah Cyrus," Abby appears at his side. "He, Harrison and James spent the day in Virginia participating in a candidate rally and an exclusive story."
The tingling intensifies. "Exclusive…I thought we agreed to let Virginia work out their internal party battle without our interference," he questions.
Abby shrugs, "New candidate is a reliable part of the 60 and Novak is doing a personal favor for the Governor. Given the endorsement fiasco seems smart to keep him receptive to our message. Would you not agree?" she taunts.
Exclusive story…James' byline…Virginia…Mellie is in Virginia…Cyrus' breath is labored…his chest tightens…his line of sight narrows…his hearing is muffled. He can feel himself falling but neither his body nor his mind function. The last thing he hears clearly, "Someone call 911…Cyrus is having heart attack."