The Resurrectionist [antikvár]

ON Flanagan Aboard Flight 957 Screw the bastards'?" said Larry Constantino in a whisper touched with alarm. "Is that what I just heard you say, Tom?" "You heard me right," said Thomas Flanagan, the popular Republican senator from Maryland. "Screw The. Bastards. Which word didn't you understand?" "But they're your constituents. They think you're their representative." "What is this, Larry? A tenth-grade Civics class?" "You can't just lie to them, at least not now . ." Constantino looked at his friend, then around the cabin to see if anyone was paying attention to them. Tom stretched out in his first-class seat on Flight 957 out of Washington National. He was scheduled to land in Miami around 8:00 P.M. It had been a long day, and he desperately needed to catch an hour's nap before facing the press at the airport and then limoing off to the National Governors' Convocation at the Miami Beach Hyatt Regency A little sleep would be nice, but he knew he wouldn't be getting any as long as he had Larry sitting next to him. Aide-de-camp, campaign manager, confidant, and all-around best friend, Lawrence Constantino had served him for fifteen years with the dedication of Gunga Din. They had yet to nail dovm the major points of his impending speech to the governors, but Larry would get the job done because he was the best in the biz and because he was a major pain in the ass.