Cobbings, along with his cronies, made a point of finding seats opposite the instruments of their wrath. They sat glaring at Kathy Morris and Bruce Bennett, while Tom Coryn stared hard at Roger Portman. This was not to be a meeting of amiable counterparts working together towards a common goal. No, this was akin to the Godfather meeting with the heads of the five families. They would speak to each other cordially, but in the end each wanted to spill the blood of the other.
A stenographer recorded every word spoken and began typing as the Chair of the Committee, Carl Nevin, brought the gavel down hard on the circle of rosewood beside him and said, “Pursuant to the Congressional Calendar and concurrent notice, the Conference Committee hearing is now to commence in room D-538 of the Dirksen Senate Building.”
Cobbings leaned across the table and whispered to Bennett, “This is never gonna happen. Do you know what you’re up against? Funding is flowing in for our own attack ads.”
Bennett shrugged. “Whatever.”
Carl spoke loud enough to interrupt the threats being traded between the two warring factions at the end of the table.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, I would like to have your undivided attention. Beside you on the table you will find a summary of the SB 1190. The House and Senate versions of the bill are there for you to review. The House passed the bill as written, but the Senate modified it as specified in bold type.”
Cobbings stood and said, “I rise in opposition to the SB 1190.”
“You may proceed,” Senator Nevin ordered.
“Mr. Chairman, I move that lines 22 through 44 of clause six are stricken from the bill.”
“You wish to eliminate the transaction fee completely?” Nevin asked puzzled.
“Yes, and further I move to strike lines 139 through 217.”
“You wish to eliminate the base reduction entirely?” Senator Nevin asked, inwardly realizing he was seeing the opening salvos of a battle the likes of which a Conference Committee had never seen before. He leaned back from the table and motioned to one of the congressional pages that hovered nearby to approach. The young man took three paces closer and bent at the waist so he could hear the Senator.
“Could you please inform the Sergeant-at-Arms his presence will be needed shortly?”
“Yes sir. Right away sir,” the page replied and hurried away.
Representative Bruce Bennett and Senator Carimendi stood at the same instant and spoke as one voice. “Mr. Chairman, I rise in a Point of Order against the striking of these lines!”
Nevin looked over at the two men and shook his head, ‘This is going to be a very long day,’ he thought.
“Only one of you may speak.”
“I yield my time to my esteemed colleague from California, Mr. Carimendi,” Bruce said.
“Thank you, Representative Bennett. Mr. Chairman, pursuant to Rule XXVIII the striking of the entire subtext which Representative Cobbings has delineated is outside the ‘Scope of Differences’. As we all know, implicit in the rules of both chambers is the requirement that conferees resolve differences by reaching agreements within the scope of the original bills sent to them. The House agreed to the original graduated flat fee arrangement while the Senate rewrote it with an across the board ten cent flat fee. Any proposed amendment must be within those extremes; therefore a complete elimination of the transaction fee is outside the scope. I might add the same statement applies to the base closures. The House accepted 400 and the Senate reduced the number to eighty. The Conference Committee must stay within those parameters.”
The Sergeant-at -Arms quietly entered the room and stood by the door observing the proceedings.
Representative Bainer stood.
Carl recognized him.
“I request a voice vote of the yeas and nays on the Point of Order.”
Bainer knew if the Point of Order could be overruled the amendments in question could be modified in almost any fashion they liked.
The vote was immediately initiated and Senator Nevin declared, “The yeas have it. The Point of Order is sustained.”
Senator Graham stood and said, “Mr. Chairman, I rise in opposition to the previous question.”
“Proceed,” Senator Nevin said.
“I move that lines 22 thru 26 be modified. They currently read as follows, “The transaction fee shall apply to all specified transactions. The term specified transaction shall not include any transfer between accounts of a taxpayer and any deposit into a personal account of an individual.
“I move to insert the following wording; ‘The transaction fee shall apply to all specified transactions. The term specified transaction shall include any transfer between accounts of a taxpayer and any deposit into a personal account of an individual.’”
Bennett’s head shot up. Bishop glanced at Kathryn Morris and then his gaze settled on Bennett. The young representative’s face was an ashen color.
‘So this was it,’ Bennett thought. ‘They intended to rip out the heart of the bill. It was supposed to be a fee on the huge financial firms, the ones gambling with trillions of dollars every day. Now they wanted to impose the fee on every transaction the average American made including a simple transfer between accounts.’
Bennett could not control his rage. He abruptly stood up staring directly at Graham and then gazed at those others beside him, “You sirs, are the most despicable of human beings!”
With that he strode swiftly from the room.
To Graham the affront was more than worth it. Let Bennett think what he may. With a rapacious grin Graham stood to be recognized.
Nevin nodded.
“I move that we notify the respective chambers that we cannot agree and file the conference report in disagreement,” Graham announced in a stern voice.
Cobbings instantly stood and seconded the motion. They knew that the chances of the entire bill dying when it was submitted unchanged back to the floors of the respective chambers was quite good.
Senator Nevin sighed. His ire was rising by the minute. “Gentlemen, we have been here for less than fifteen minutes. There are those in both houses of Congress, and I might add the American people, who believe some provisions in this bill have merit. I think they would like to see some minor effort at a reconciliation of the different versions. But considering the contentious nature of how this meeting has begun, I am going to move that we recess until a time agreed as ten a.m. on February third. That is two days hence and should give all of you time to reconsider your positions and make headway with your differences. I hope everyone returns with a more cooperative attitude. Meeting adjourned.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Richard Soro slowly came around to find himself staring into a bright circular disk of light. His arms and legs were securely duct taped to a chair in the center of a shabby motel room. A heavy smell of gasoline permeated the air and his underwear seemed uncomfortably soggy.
“What’s going on here?” he asked, struggling to make his jaw work after the torment his muscles had endured during the electric shock.
“Stay away from the light. Stay away from the light,” intoned Gordon in a hollow inhuman voice.
“Huh?” Richard murmured.
“Just kidding, I couldn’t help myself. I always wanted to say that,” Gordon confessed.
Jim Buckner stepped up to a point just behind the light and said, “We have a couple of friends who were hospitalized by you and your boys. We’re willing to overlook that if you can answer a couple of questions.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Soro responded.
Jim took a step closer and flicked the silver top off of his lighter and thumbed the flame to life. The flame wavered slow and lazy in the stillness of the room.
“Don’t even go there. We have the entire attack on film. That gasoline you smell is your undies, you’re soaking in it. If I drop this lighter you’ll go up in flames, and I’ll do it if you don’t answer the questions to our satisfaction.”
“You woul
dn’t.”
“I don’t think you want to test me. We have gloves on, so there will be no finger prints and we registered the room under false names. They’ll never know who checked in and I don’t think too many people are going to be saddened by your checking out. Now tell me, do you know a man called Doc Hastings?”
“Never heard of him.”
Gordon stepped past the light and poured more fuel on Soro’s crotch.
“Jesus Christ,” Soro cried as he teetered back in the chair and almost tipped over.
“Okay, okay. I know Doc Hastings.”
“That’s better. You might just make it out of here alive. Do you know about his dealings with John Bainer or Nick Cobbings?”
“Who?”
The lighter flicked on again. The flame, like a viper’s tongue drifted closer to Soro.
“God damn, don’t drop that thing,” Soro cried inching away.
“Talk!” Jim snarled.
“Alright. I never met either of them, but I’ve heard Doc say a few things. He doesn’t think much of either one of them. I wanna say Cobbings has some sweet deal with his wife’s Political Action Committee and a lease or something. Bainer I don’t know nothing about, but I heard Hastings complaining about Bainer demanding some boxes of real fine scotch from him. That’s all I got.”
“Nothing else?”
“Naw, that’s all I can remember.”
“Have you ever heard the name Sam Whitback?”
“Nope, and I think I’d remember a name like that.”
“Nothing more on Bainer or Cobbings?”
“Look, I’m sitting here with my nuts soaking in gas. Don’t you think I’d talk if I knew anything more?”
“Fair enough, now talk to us about Doc Hastings.”
Soro shifted uncomfortably and said, “I don’t know much about him.”
“You’re really standing on the razor’s edge pal. We know Hastings put you on our guys. Talk.”
“Okay, I said I know Hastings, but all I do is run errands for him from time to time. It ain’t like we hang out together.”
“Give us some dirt on him and we’re through here.”
“I don’t know nothin’ about his personal life,” Soro replied shifting uneasily again.
“C’mon, you’ve carried money for him. Who supplied it? Who’d you take it to?”
“Listen dude, do you think I deal with the higher ups? I meet a faceless nothing, drop some cash or pick some up and that’s it. And them guys see the same thing; an empty nothing shuffling between orders. I’m telling it like it is and there just ain’t no more.”
For a moment Gordon was concerned the thug might start sobbing.
Jim stepped swiftly around the light, drove a sharp left jab into Soro’s face and felt his nose snap. He then followed with a hard right upper cut that drove Soro’s head back and the chair toppling backwards onto the floor.
“Leave him here?” Gordon asked.
“Yeah, the cleaning people will find him.”
As the two men stepped from the seedy motel room and into the night, Gordon said, “Not much info.”
“No, but I think a visit to Hastings’ office might be in order.”
“It’s two a.m. You’re not thinking right now are you?”
“Yep, no better time, and a stop by Cobbings’ district office might be in order too.”
With a sigh Gordon said, “Lead on.”
Chapter Forty
Senator Graham took up residence at the back of the cloak room where much wheeling and dealing took place beyond the prying eyes of the public and the press. He made it a point of bending the ear of any of his fellow congressmen who wandered into the room regarding what he perceived as the negative aspects of SB1190.
Senator Jess Willow was a heavy-set man in a pudgy sort of way and given to wearing inexpensive suits and colorful bow ties. He was soft spoken and considered a moderate in the Senate representing the state of Maine. He made frequent visits to the cloak room for a soda and to relax on one of the plush sofas that dotted the room. Senator Graham moved over beside him the moment Senator Willow took a seat.
“Hello Jess, how is it going out there in Maine?”
“Maine’s a mighty fine place.”
“What are your thoughts on this ‘War on the Deficit’ bill?”
“I think it has merit. It’s high time we get serious about the deficit. The darn thing is like a coiled snake lying right at our feet. It’s only a matter of time before it rears up and bites us in the behind.”
“Come now Jess, you can’t be serious. All kinds a fees on top of fees and more fees is not what the country needs right now. It will rock the recovery back on its heels. We need to stop this thing in its tracks right now.”
“I know you’re against it, but I’m not sure why?” An uneasy Willow replied, looking over at the craggy face of the Senator from Nebraska.
“Look Jess. You know I chair the Senate Banking Committee. I can tell you right now, we are very concerned that this is a deeply flawed bill with many unknown impacts on the economy. It’s not going to pass, I guarantee it, so why waste your vote?”
“It seems like we must do something about the deficit,” Jess said hesitantly.
“Look, we don’t know what’s going to happen in Conference Committee. It’s a wild card situation. We need to be prepared,” Graham insisted.
“I heard it was in trouble in committee. I heard it might not even come out of committee,” Jess insisted.
“I know, I know, I heard the same thing, but you just never know. I tell you what I’ll do. I know you’ve tried to get the Jess Willows library off the ground up there in Portland and are having a devil of a time.”
“That’s for damn sure,” the portly Senator responded sitting up a bit and listening intently.
“What if I were to promise you I’ll see you get the funding as a rider on an amendment or an earmark on some other bill?”
“I’d really appreciate it.”
“Consider it done. If you vote no on SB 1190 I’ll see to it your library gets built,” Graham offered expansively.
“I told my grandkids about it … the library I mean, and they keep asking me when it’s going to get started,” Willows mused softly.
“Shake my hand, promise me you’ll vote no, and we’ll both get to work making your grandkids happy,” Graham said, thrusting his hand at Willows.
Reluctantly Willows reached for the outstretched hand and Graham’s clamped down on his. “You won’t regret this Jess. You’ve made the right decision.”
“Thanks Graham, I’m trusting you to get me that funding.”
“I can hear the hammer and saws going already.”
Willows made his way back out to the Senate floor.
And so it went for the next two days. Any Senator who ventured into the cloak room and some that Graham coaxed in as well were all subjected to similar arguments convincing them of the fruitlessness of voting for a bill when the banks and the military establishment were going to be so negatively impacted and would obviously fight fiercely to defeat it.
Bainer and Cobbings were doing much the same in the House of Representatives: holding meetings, dinners and outings with critical members of the Armed Services Committee, the Banking Committee and Appropriations exhorting them to vote against the bill and the futility of fighting the banks and the entrenched military establishment.
Chapter Forty-One
“So what have we got?” Elliott asked.
“We have good news and bad news. We have the still photos from the party at the Four Seasons,” Archie replied. “Mike Murphy got some good video of Senator Graham and one of his female assistants, and Jim and Gordon took it upon themselves to visit with Richard Soro. He was quite cooperative.”
“That’s strange,” Elliott said. “I don’t know him, but I would think anyone Doc Hastings has as an off-the-books employee would be tough as nails. I would have expected him to clam up.”
Archie
chuckled. “Well, he was at first but then with a little gasoline …”
“That’s okay. I don’t need the details,” Elliott interrupted him.
“Anyway, he mentioned something about a lease Cobbings was concerned about, so they went to Cobbings’ office and um, borrowed some files. Get this, his wife’s PAC leases office space from Cobbings and he’s not declared it on his taxes,” Archie explained. “We’ve already sent copies of the leases and his tax returns to the House Ethics Committee, but you know how slow they are to respond. In the meantime Eddie and James are posing as investigators and contacting every Representative Cobbings has talked to in the last year and they’re following up with questionnaires and requests for meetings with them. I think Cobbings’ credibility will be toast in week.”
“So what is the bad news,” Elliott asked.
“It’s Bainer. We got nothing on him.”
“Damn, he’s chatting up every member on the Conference Committee, ringing up the no votes as fast as he can.”
“Goldie has an idea, but you’re not going to like it.”
“Don’t tell me,” Elliott cautioned. “I’d hate to have to testify against you.”
Archie laughed. “I know you better than that. You’d go down in flames before you’d rat any one of us out.”
“True, but I still don’t want to know. Is it legal?”
“Borderline, but definitely very, um, shall we say creative. So what do you think?”
Elliott was quiet for a moment. This was a point where all the cards were on the table. You either bet the house or meekly fold and walk away.
“Run with it, Archie. Do whatever you need to do and hit them as hard as you can.”
“You got it.”
Suddenly overwhelmed by exhaustion, Elliott retreated to his bedroom and lay down on his bed.
Chapter Forty-Two
Approximately one hundred and eighty 8 x 10 glossies went out in forty four different envelopes the following morning to each of the partygoers from the Four Seasons along with a short, curt letter. “You will be expected to vote for SB 1190 or a copy of this photo will be sent to your wife, released to the news media and numerous websites. Please consider your options carefully. Democracy at the behest of corporations is not democracy.”
The Return of Elliott Eastman Page 16
