The Return of Elliott Eastman

by Ryan, Ignatius

  “Good afternoon, Potomac Advisors. How may I help you?” Goldie said in a velvety voice.

  “This is Senator Brian Nelson. I received an invitation for a gathering at the Four Seasons two nights from now. The wording seemed a little odd to me. If it is to be a strategy session are wives invited?”

  “I’m not sure, sir. That’s a good question. Can I place you on hold for a moment and find out for you?”

  “Sure.”

  Brian held while Goldie lit a cigarette and blew Backspace a kiss and then scowled. Backspace was busy monitoring three other calls between senators and could only blow her a kiss back and then mouthed the word, not!

  A moment later she was back on the line. “I’m sorry to keep you holding, Senator. I spoke with one of the organizers and apparently this meeting will be a little different than others we have hosted. There will be some sensitive material discussed, so wives are not encouraged to attend.”

  “Oh, alright.”

  Goldie sensed the disappointment in his voice and quickly said, “Senator Nelson?”

  “Yes?”

  “Perhaps it would help soothe any injured feelings if a gift card for dinner for two at the Four Seasons courtesy of Potomac were to arrive at your home address in the next few days?”

  “Yes,” Senator Nelson replied immediately. “That would be very nice.”

  She jotted down his address and wished him a good afternoon.

  Turning to where Backspace was seated at a bank of computers along the far wall she smiled sweetly.

  “Now who is going to pay for that?” he asked.

  “Anyone who can afford this beautiful office should be able to afford a dinner for two at the Four Seasons,” she quipped.

  “We’re seated in my basement,” Backspace replied.

  “Don’t remind me,” Goldie said stubbing out her cigarette.

  Backspace placed a quick call to Elliott. “Better get your best party organizers ready because they are coming.”

  “I’ve already booked a conference room at the Four Seasons. Ask Goldie to call her girlfriends from the cheer leading squad and line up the photographers. It’s a go.”

  After he hung up he had a pang of guilt. He knew what he was doing was certainly not ethical or moral.

  A famous statement came to mind and he found himself saying it out loud. “Ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country.”

  Even though the plan he was contemplating was something that a few years ago he would never have dreamt of doing and today still proved very distasteful to him on many levels, there was the single focus and purpose to his actions that rose above all else, that justified everything. He repeated it for the hundredth time and wondered if it was becoming his mantra. “If we do this right we just might save our country.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  The Lincoln Conference room at the Four Seasons was lit up like Cape Canaveral at the moment of launch. The cavernous room was filled with linen covered tables and plush chairs. Orchids graced the center of each table and pitchers of lemon water stood alongside. Each corner of the room offered a bar with all manner of beverages including a tropical punch boasting a liberal dose of 151 Rum which was proving to be quite popular with the senators. Twelve breathtakingly beautiful women dressed in evening gowns with slits up to their hips and plunging necklines worked the crowd offering hors-d’oeuvres and cocktails. They garnered a great degree of attention from the assembled members of the Senate.

  Senator Nelson leaned over to Senator Milton Whitehouse sitting beside him and whispered, “Wow, those babes could put the Baywatch cast to shame.”

  Whitehouse agreed saying, “I’ve got to get the name of this catering outfit and put them on speed dial.”

  Earlier in the day video cameras had been discreetly installed in the corners of the ceiling to record the event in vivid detail and two roving photographers made the rounds taking the occasional shot of the senators. Dinner consisted of an eighteen-ounce filet mignon served with a light béarnaise sauce and heads of romaine with choice of dressing. Red and white wines of the finest vintage were served in liberal quantities by the same gorgeous women throughout the meal. A fruit sorbet made with the same ingredients as the tropical punch was served as dessert. The speaker was an English stage actor who’d played rolls such as Julius Caesar, Abraham Lincoln and many other stately figures from the past. He had a commanding voice and a face that reminded some of the late great actor Richard Burton. As dinner drew to a close he stepped to a raised dais, the lights were lowered, and he introduced himself as Stewart Pourtnoy, CEO of Defense Analytics Incorporated.

  “Gentlemen, I’d like to thank you for taking time out of your busy schedules to join us this evening. This discussion is not going to be a new one, but it is a discussion regarding something that threatens the very existence of our democracy and it is one that continues to grow. Even though it has reached crisis proportions it is still being discussed in terms that are not near realistic and will not be addressed until it is too late. Our national debt currently stands at over 18 trillion dollars.”

  A faint groan coursed through the vast hall.

  “Now bear with me for a few minutes. Perhaps the girls should offer another round of drinks to make this discussion a little more palatable.”

  A round of applause greeted this suggestion and the women appeared a few moments later.

  “The U.S. Comptroller stated recently that when a country’s gross debt levels tops 90% of Gross Domestic Product economic growth suffers. We surpassed that amount years ago. By 2021 the cost of annual interest payments on the debt alone will top that of the defense budget and consume over half of the government tax receipts. That’s because lawmakers have yet to seriously address how to rein in the country’s long term debt. Of course it has been feverishly debated, but always to no avail.”

  The lovely ladies moved quietly through the assemblage serving drinks.

  “Essentially the two ways that have been proposed to deal with this problem have always been to tweak the tax code and a reduction in spending across the board. The aspect of this problem that has hamstrung the discussions is the growing number of retirees and their demands on Social Security and Medicare. How do you cut our debt burden when those receiving government checks are growing exponentially? We should have, indeed we must have another source of revenue. Our problems cannot be addressed with a few cuts here and there. And this is exactly what SB 1190 does; it provides a huge new revenue source and a path to the future …”

  Mr. Pourtney went on for another forty-five minutes painting a picture so bleak that the senators’ alcohol consumption not only kept apace but actually increased.

  “I will conclude momentarily …” He was instantly interrupted by a loud round of applause. “By asking you to open the slim envelope you have in front of you with your name on it. There is a single question on the enclosed sheet of paper. It requires a yes or no answer. If you would be so kind as to answer the question then we can finish the night with another twenty of these beautiful ladies’ friends joining us for ‘Dancing under the Stars!’”

  Most of the senators answered swiftly. Another bevy of beautiful women entered the room bearing bottles of champagne while a number of workers moved the tables out of the way. An old time rock and roll hit from the Righteous Brothers, ‘You’ve Lost that Lovin’ Feelin’ blared over the speakers. The women had been coached to aggressively approach the men seeking dance partners.

  Two exceptionally beautiful blonds with very revealing gowns had been given explicit instructions and a photographer was dispatched to follow them around the room as they carefully executed the plan. They approached a senator and one would kiss him on one cheek and the other would kiss the other cheek. They were wearing heavy red lipstick which showed up well on the photos. They would generally smooch with the senator, kissing his lips and giggling like schoolgirls as the senators often kissed them in return while the photographer cl
icked away from a discreet distance.

  The tropical punch was always near at hand served by waiters bearing full cups. The girls formed a dance chain, coaxing some of the men to join them as they snaked about the room. The party ended about three in the morning and Operation Anvil had several photo albums worth of very damning images.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  The following morning Elliott awoke feeling as if he’d been the one drinking at the tropical punch bowl. Gazing in the mirror he noted more of his hair was starting to fall out, his eyes were still yellow from jaundice and he felt weak.

  “You look terrible,” he said to the haggard face in the mirror.

  His cell phone rang and he answered it.

  “Backspace here. I just sent you over the photos and videos from last night.”

  “Great. I’ll check them and get back to you.”

  “Call me and we can look at them simultaneously. There are some real beauts.”

  “Okay.”

  After pouring himself a strong cup of coffee Elliott sat down at his computer and opened his e-mail. The messages from Backspace started pouring in. Elliott clicked the first one open immediately and couldn’t suppress a grin. He called Archie.

  As soon as Archie answered the phone Elliott asked, “Is that guy, I think it’s Ron Emanual from Missouri, wearing rouge?”

  “No, he’s been kissed so many times it just looks that way”.

  “He sure seems happy, and the lady in the photo is a real looker” Elliott observed. “And look at those red eyes. He’s had a few too many.”

  “He has.”

  “Wait a minute,” Elliott said. “Emanual’s in favor of the bill. Why was he there?”

  “You wanted everyone we could get. And as you well know they can change their vote at any time,” Archie replied.

  “True,” Elliott replied.

  There were hundreds of photos of men and women in some form of embrace. Several showed the men being kissed feverishly by strikingly gorgeous women. Dozens of others showed senators returning the kisses in an equally feverish manner. Another photo showed Senator Graham with at least a half dozen bright red lipstick kisses covering his face, which also bore a foolish grin from ear to ear. One showed the back of a senator’s head while his face was buried in a woman’s cleavage. She was smiling. Another showed a close up of a man’s hand complete with wedding ring clutching a woman’s buttocks so hard her dress was crumpling beneath his grip.

  There was still a degree of reluctance on Elliott’s part to go this route. He sighed and said, “Well you’ve got the guest log with a photo of each senator as they signed in. Let’s get the photos sent out with the letter I forwarded to you earlier indicating if they don’t vote for SB 1190 the photos will be released nationwide in all forms of media and to their wives.”

  “You know Elliott, I can cut and paste every man in that room into a few of the best shots, but I was thinking. Why don’t we go after the flip side of the coin? Why don’t we go after the lobbyists?”

  “They tried to get a bill passed banning lobbyists in 2006, but it didn’t pass the Senate,” Elliott responded, feeling that tiredness creeping over him again.

  “No, I mean if you can get me the names of the most aggressive lobbyists you’re up against I can copy and paste their mugs on these same photos.”

  “You have a very devious mind. I’ll get a call into Eddie and James and see what they have on file for our lobbyist friends.”

  He refreshed his coffee and typed an email to Eddie requesting photos of lobbyists, but before he hit the send button he paused. Even if they were able to curtail the current lobbyists’ activities, others would simply fill the void. There had to be a more effective way to address the situation and he thought he might just have the answer. He hit send anyway.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The phone rang around midnight. Fumbling for a moment Elliott finally answered, “Hello.”

  It was Archie.

  “It’s Eddie and James. They’re in a D.C. hospital.”

  “What happened?” Elliott asked fully awake now.

  “They were beaten pretty badly.”

  A note was pinned to Eddie’s chest and it read, “There is worse to come.”

  “What’s the prognosis?”

  “They’ll live, but James may lose an eye. Eddie is awake but barely coherent. I could barely understand him. I think they might have drugged him.”

  “Damn,” Elliott growled. “Where were they picked up?”

  “Central Park, but the cops are pretty sure they were dumped there because no one heard a thing.”

  “It’s the lobbyists.”

  “Or Cobbings,” Archie added. “I think they were trying to get some dirt on Cobbings.”

  “Do we have Cobbings bugged?”

  “No, we only did the senators’ offices and not all of them.”

  “Damn.”

  Archie continued, “If they know Eddie and James’ identities they can track them back to you.”

  “And possibly you too,” Elliott countered. “You better pack your stuff and get out of there Archie.”

  “Only if you do too.”

  “They won’t come after me.”

  “I wouldn’t be too sure,” Archie replied. “Do you have any idea what the legislation you’re trying to force through Congress is going to do to the powers that be? This is not just upsetting the apple cart Elliott. This is taking the Titanic by the rudder and throwing it on shore. It’s going to change the way the American people live. It’s going to change bankers’ incomes in a vast and irreversible way. People will kill over the amounts of money we are proposing.”

  “I get the picture,” Elliott said. “Let me think a minute.”

  Archie continued. “Besides, if they come after me they’ll be in real trouble. I’ve got more firepower tucked away here than we had in Iraq.”

  “I’m going to make some calls and get them moved over to Bethesda Hospital. Can you get a couple of the guys over there to provide security?”

  “Yep, and I’m going to track where those guys were tonight and see if I can get a license plate number or some kind of identification on who did this to them.”

  “How can you do that?”

  “We haven’t forgotten all you taught us in Iraq. We watch each other’s backs. I planted some homing devices on their vehicle which should give me a read on where they were. Then all I have to do is hack into the transportation department’s camera network. We might get lucky and get a traffic light camera or a store camera that picked up what happened to them.”

  “I can’t decide whether you are amazing or certifiable.” Elliott quipped.

  “Actually, these days you can track a person by cell phone, but that simply tells you where they are, not where they’ve been.”

  “I’ll take your word for it. Can you get me their hospital info?”

  “Sure, here’s the phone number and room number. I’ll have a couple of men over there in a half hour.”

  “Thanks for the call, Archie.”

  “Take care Sarge.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  The meetings in the Senate Appropriations Committee and the Senate Banking Committee were extremely heated. The Washington Post got wind of the extremely elevated level of debate and ran a front page story entitled, “The Bill that Broke the Senate in Two.”

  Many people in Washington’s power elite were slowly becoming aware that something very unusual was happening on the Hill. When he wasn’t calling the doctors attending to his two injured men Elliott followed the progress of the bill, listening for any mention of it while watching C-SPAN six hours a day and answering reports from his men in the field.

  Stephanie Wells called back two mornings later.

  “Elliott? Hi, this is Stephanie, have I caught you at a bad time?”

  “No, of course not, it’s always good to hear your voice.”

  “I think I have some good news for you.”

&n
bsp; “Great, I could use some.”

  “I spoke to the head of the Association of Advancement for Retired People. He’s very enthusiastic about the bill. And don’t worry, I didn’t use your name. He’s sent out emails to every chapter of AARP instructing them to sign a petition endorsing the bill, but get this. The Florida chapter, which is a couple of hundred thousand strong, has a group called ‘The Minute Men’ which is about ten thousand strong and they have agreed to go to D.C. by RV, car, train and boat whenever the time for the vote on the bill is set. Of course loads of people will come from all over the country. He knows a lot of people in the music industry and is going to get the word out to them. It’s going to be another Woodstock.”

  “That is good news. Nice work Steph.

  “And he also brought up another idea which I thought was a good one.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  “It’s a group called ‘The National Federation of Independent Businesses’, a group of small business owners. I say a group, but there are about six million of them employing two to twenty people on average. They have seen their sales numbers drop off dramatically since the financial meltdowns in 2008 and 2015. Sales haven’t risen much since then, and they are one pissed off bunch of people. Please excuse my colorful colloquialism. They’re angry that the big banks got all this bailout money and have used it to buy influence and they feel like big companies that donate freely to election campaigns get preferential treatment. Companies like General Electric with record profits paying no taxes. I was thinking if we could amend your bill so that when the deficit is paid off and the funding starts for Social Security we could move to end the payroll tax for Social Security. Employees get more take-home pay and the employers don’t have their portion of the payroll tax and all the accounting costs for implementing the Social Security payroll tax. That’s the equivalent of a 4.2% pay raise for the employee and a 6.2% pay raise for the employer. It’s a lot of money Elliott. Employers will likely hire more people as it will cost less, and employees will have more money to spend and thereby jump-start the economy. The National Federation of Independent Businesses would go wild over that idea.”