Richard Hawke's 'House of Secrets,' reviewed by Patrick Anderson

HOUSE OF SECRETS

By Richard Hawke

Random House. 351 pp. $25

There are two things to be said about Richard Hawke's political thriller, "House of Secrets." First, it is quite well written; Hawke produces graceful sentences, nice descriptions, a fast pace and a good deal of suspense. Second, his story is lurid, sordid and largely implausible. Still, in his defense, let us note that it concerns a prominent political figure's affair with a young woman and that in real life those things often seem lurid, sordid and largely implausible -- it's hard to believe that the men could be so damned stupid. So what's the bottom line? I confess that in time I surrendered to Hawke's skillful storytelling even as I noted that much of his plot was way, way over the top.

Andy Foster, a young U.S. senator from New York, is handsome, smart, articulate, blessed with a lovely wife and daughter, and clearly a man with presidential prospects. However, early in the novel, he ventures to a beach house owned by an attractive young publicist who helped manage his last campaign. Soon the two are happily making whoopee, unaware that a hidden camera is recording their fun. Even worse, a huge psychopath with an iron pipe breaks into the bedroom, kills the woman and leaves the senator bleeding and unconscious. On awakening, he flees, unaware that both the lovemaking and the murder have been transmitted to Dimitri, a drunken Russian thug who has been monitoring the show from a nearby motel.

Meanwhile, back at the White House, a new Democratic president has taken office and is angered by leaks charging improper business dealings by his vice president, who clearly has to go. A search begins for a successor, and Senator Andy is high on the list, but only because no one knows that he has just witnessed the murder of his mistress and is receiving calls from a drunken Russian demanding money. We meet the senator's loving wife, Christine, whose frustrations with her husband's political career almost cause her to fall in bed with a handsome sculptor who sells her cupcakes in a bakery. We also meet Christine's father, an ex-governor and onetime presidential hopeful himself, who still dreams of being a kingmaker.

The nutcase who killed the mistress has kidnapped Senator Andy's adorable 7-year-old daughter, because he doesn't think Andy is a fit dad. At the same time, other bodies are dropping right and left. We also meet Christine's mother, the ex-wife of the state's scheming governor, who proves to be the ex-wife from hell -- the lady has a sharp tongue -- but her ex-husband is proving not to be such a prize himself. As the maneuvering for the vice presidency continues, various secrets emerge. The ex-wife from hell has some surprises to relate about her sexual adventures in her younger days. The nutcase has a mother as crazy as he is. Senator Andy confesses to previous affairs, including one with a newspaper reporter and another with an aggressive saleswoman in a Georgetown jewelry store.

Amid all this gore and duplicity, the reader soldiers on. We wonder if the kidnapped daughter will be saved. After two cops are gunned down by the psycho, we fear for a female officer we've come to like. Most of all, we wonder if Senator Andy -- who, despite his indiscretions, remains the most likable of the politicians we've met -- can possibly survive this mess and become vice president. Or should he? And we wonder if his marriage can survive -- because, despite everything, he and Christine do love each other and are brought back together by the ordeal of the kidnapping.

The novel's most dubious leap has Andy being groomed not just for the vice presidency but the highest office itself. Still, Hawke (the pen name of Tim Cockey) has an unsentimental view of politics and some nice lines on the subject: "The Republicans smelled blood, and on the Sunday talk shows the thirstiest of them showed off their gleaming incisors." "In the world Andy moved in, mere suspicion spelled total calamity." The president asks, "How many eons do you suppose it is going to take before the best and the brightest finally stop also being the stupidest?" Ultimately, "House of Secrets" is what George Orwell liked to call a good-bad book. You can label it slick entertainment or high-grade trash. One reader might think it absurd and another praise it as great fun. Both could be right.

Anderson regularly reviews thrillers and mysteries for The Post.