It was an image he clung to.

Gus and his sister Amanda had kept the house and grounds of the northern Virginia estate much as it had been when they were children and lived here with their famous parents. And the Texas ranch, too. Both were monuments to another time.

Gus looked through the open doors at the portrait of his parents that hung above the mantel. What a striking couple they had been. And tragic. An irresistible mix-beauty and tragedy. Even after all these years, people still made their way to the gate of the estate to leave tacky little bouquets of flowers and silly little messages, especially in remembrance of his and Amanda’s mother. Amanda read the messages and had a secretary respond if there was an address. Each address was added to the mailing list for the Alliance of Christian Voters, and the writer was extended an invitation to join the organization and help bring the God of our fathers back to American life and government. If an individual made a large enough donation to the Alliance or a clergyman brought his congregation into the fold, he or she would be invited to a retreat or seminar at Alliance headquarters in Washington, D.C. And depending on the size of the gift, that person might even be invited to a reception or a dinner here at Victory Hill and meet Amanda Hartmann in person. Gus never attended these affairs, but he did sometimes stand in the shadows of the upstairs hallway and watch Amanda receive guests, all of whom seemed to have a pathological need to shake her hand and gush about how important her books had been to them and how much they had enjoyed her appearances on Oprah or Regis and how they remembered her mother with such awe and admiration. Even corporate moguls and those elected to high political office fawned over Amanda, and those who were old enough to remember her father told her what a fine man he had been, what a great president he would have made. And, of course, there would be a photographer waiting to take each guest’s picture with Amanda. Such photographs were autographed and mailed to the visitor with a personalized letter.

The only gatherings Gus attended were board meetings and private dinners for a small group of powerful men who had a vested interest in making sure the correct side of the political spectrum maintained a firm control of the nation’s destiny. For, like his father before him, Gus was a political animal. Unlike his father, however, he was not a politician.

Jason Hartmann had been the youngest governor in Texas history. He was midway through his first term when he married Mary Millicent Tutt, who was already known to millions for her inspirational books and her nationally syndicated newspaper column and her television and radio shows. Their wedding had been a media event. Pictures of the bride and groom appeared in countless newspapers and on the covers of magazines. The accompanying stories usually pointed out that Jason’s gubernatorial election had been financed by his whiskey-drinking, cigar-smoking billionaire father, Jonathan “Buck” Hartmann, who had struck it rich wildcatting for oil and claim-jumping in western Texas, and that Mary Millicent was the daughter of Preacher Marvin Tutt, an old-time tent evangelist who died after being bitten by one of the poisonous serpents that he sometimes wrapped around his neck during his hellfire-and-brimstone sermons. In spite of their notorious fathers, the bride and groom were heralded as Texas “royalty.”

Gus had no memory of the governor’s mansion or his father’s election to the U.S. Senate. His first memories were of the Texas ranch and this house, where his family had lived during his father’s Senate years. Jason Hartmann had been on track to be nominated as his party’s presidential candidate when he was stricken with a malignant brain tumor. Gus had been eight years old at the time and his sister Amanda ten. They went with their parents to the Texas ranch and watched from the sidelines while their father languished and finally died. Their mother became even more beloved as she traveled around the nation bringing millions of lost souls to the Lord and launching the Alliance of Christian Voters as a memorial to her late husband. The Alliance was dedicated to returning the United States of America to its staunch Christian roots. Many of Mary Millicent’s supporters wanted her to run for political office, but she preferred to endorse candidates rather than become one. She’d often told her son that it was the kingmakers who ruled the world and not the kings themselves. But, of course, she realized that political office was out of the question for Gus.

Americans have a penchant for electing tall candidates, and Gus was a very short man. He stood barely five feet tall and, having been diagnosed as an infant with a rare form of dwarfism, achieved that height only because he had been treated with growth hormones throughout his childhood. He was not only exceptionally short, his head was overly large for his frame, his arms and legs too short.

Gus and Amanda had grown up knowing that he would someday administer both the Alliance and the oil company founded by their grandfather Buck Hartmann and that she would eventually take over their mother’s ministry and become the spiritual leader of the Alliance.

Gus left the limelight to his sister. If people had heard of him at all, it was as the brother of Amanda Tutt Hartmann. Only the most astute observers of the political scene realized that he had played a pivotal role in the current president’s rise to the White House and was perhaps one of the most powerful men in the country. Gus refused to be interviewed when contacted by the occasional perceptive reporter who realized that the reclusive chairman of both the vast Alliance of Christian Voters and Palo Duro Oil and Gas was more than what he seemed. Nevertheless, every few years an article about Gus would appear in one of the nation’s more astute publications. A photograph almost never accompanied such articles, for almost no photographs of him existed in the public domain. He never appeared at public events. Never appeared in public at all. Palo Duro and Alliance board meetings were generally held at Victory Hill or the ranch or via teleconferencing. Whenever he went to the White House, he entered through a back entrance used mainly by delivery people and servants. If he wanted to speak with the president from his home, all he had to do was punch a button on his phone. Gus spoke to the president almost daily to remind him of his priorities and that he had run for office as a devout Christian and damned well better do nothing to destroy that image.

His sister, however, was quite well-known and continuously sought after by reporters and photographers, and her face was often on the covers of magazines. Amanda was as elegant and well-spoken as their mother had been and had inherited their mother’s skill with the written word but carried a softer message to her flock. Amanda’s God was more loving and forgiving than her mother’s had been. Amanda’s book, Peace from Within, had been an international best seller. And, like her mother before her, she was a frequent guest on talk shows, and there would be standing room only at the rallies and revivals she held all over the country, during which she urged attendees not only to give their heart to Jesus but to register to vote and to use their vote to bring the United States of America back to God.

Gus realized that his sister had always assumed he shared her religious faith, and he never bothered to tell her otherwise. For him, religion was now and had been throughout history a way to control the masses. He placed his faith in power-in political power-and religion had become the defining force in American politics. Gus had masterminded the president’s election by bringing together the power and wealth of giant corporations and the religious right. Under Gus’s direction and Amanda’s ministry, the Alliance of Christian Voters had become a powerful political action group.