“Why that sneaky little … !” Elliott started in, but Eddie held up a hand.
“Don’t blame Archie. We pushed him to do the hacking so we’d know what was going on with you. In fact, that’s part of the reason I’m here.”
“Who else knows?”
“There are only six or seven of us.”
“Does Stephanie know?”
“None of us have told her anything.”
The two men talked for another hour and a half and then they were called to begin the marrow transplant procedure.
Chapter Fifty-Five
Archie called Stephanie and passed Elliott’s words along to her. He then bought the full page advertisements in the newspapers. The banner headline read: “CAN TWO ANONYMOUS SENATORS HOLD UP THE DEMOCRATIC PROCESS?”
The text of the article below the banner explained what had taken place with SB 1190. The bill was passed and sent for typing where the tag team hold was put in place. The article explained what a tag team hold was and explained the need to identify the two perpetrators of this action. Beneath that was an urgent call for action asking the public to contact their senator’s office demanding to know if they were the ones placing the hold.
In his next move Archie went a step further and had thousands of flyers printed up with Elliott’s message. He asked a dozen of the former Army Rangers in Elliott’s employ stationed in the D.C. area to hand deliver them to the masses on the Capitol Mall. Their outrage was immense. A sense of betrayal pervaded the crowd. In one instance they were celebrating the bill’s passage and delirious with joy, and the next they were being told it was over. Senator’s offices were besieged with calls. Many of the voting public, both young and old, showed up in front of their senator’s offices demanding to know if they were placing the secret hold on SB 1190. A second YouTube video was released with split-second images of hundreds of average Americans gazing into the camera and asking one simple question: “Are you the one holding my bill hostage?”
Many of the websites Stephanie contacted instantly expressed outrage at this latest development and sent the information out in mass e-mailings to alert their members.
Within 24 hours the crescendo of anger reached a tipping point and the Senate called an emergency session to deal with it. Several senators stood and read particularly vicious e-mails they had received. Senator after senator stood demanding to know who placed the hold.
Vice President Jackson, the Presiding Officer of the Senate, pounded the gavel and demanded the Senate come to order. Ever the pragmatist and noted for his level headed demeanor, Jackson felt his anger growing and said, “As you know there is no requirement that those senators who placed the hold must reveal their names, so stop asking the question. We will now recess for one hour.”
As the senators gathered their files and briefcases, Jackson instructed a Senate page to inform both Coryn and Graham to be in his office in ten minutes. Jackson was considered
an easy going giant of a man. A six term senator from Mississippi, his soft southern drawl put people at ease, but could be very misleading. Those who knew him well knew once his feathers were ruffled he had a fearsome side as well.
Under tremendous pressure, Coryn and Graham met privately with Vice President Jackson. He knew they were the ones who were tag teaming the hold because they had to inform the Senate chair first. Initially Jackson had approved the hold, although at the same time he had second thoughts about approving it because there was much to admire about the bill, but he was also reluctant to arbitrarily amend what was a time honored part of Senate procedure. His opinion had since changed. He spoke with the senators at length, but they were adamant that it was a legitimate Senate action and within their rights as senators to continue to keep the hold in place. Vice President Jackson shook his head and simply said, “I don’t recommend this course of action. I cannot say what the consequences might be.”
The meeting ended in a deadlock. Three hours later, the process of elimination was complete. The torrent of e-mails, phone calls and personal appearances had done the job. With 98 senators pledging they were not the ones who placed the hold, the remaining two were identified. Within minutes the information raced across the Internet. Tens of thousands of protesters appeared at the senator’s gated mansions that night. Rocks were thrown, fires were lit, and each senator was burned in effigy. The police were called in with tear gas and the crowds disbursed, but they reassembled later with thousands more showing up and staged a sit-in. The liberal talk shows vilified the two senators as un-American. The conservatives manhandled them as well.
The following morning, looking rather disheveled from a sleepless night, Coryn and Graham, under police escort, returned to the Senate for the morning session and withdrew the hold. C-SPAN covered what looked like a perp walk without the handcuffs for the two men. SB 1190 went to the Government Printing Office.
Chapter Fifty-Six
Soro strode into the dark and dingy basement bar and pool hall below a rundown hotel on the edge of Harlem’s lower east side. Glancing about the smoke filled room he spied the men he was to meet at a booth along the back wall. Making his way along the bar he crossed between two pool tables and slid into the empty chair beside the booth.
“Reggie,” he said shaking hands with a heavy set man in a leather vest and bandanna around his head. “Glad to see you again.”
“Same,” Reggie replied through a brushy mustache. “This here is Bud and Hulk.”
Richard nodded at a wiry man with tattoos up and down his arms and neck. Bud offered a sideways smile revealing a broken row of brown teeth. The aptly named Hulk, a veritable mountain of flesh sitting beside Bud, looked as though he could hold his own single handedly against the entire Green Bay Packers offensive line. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up and contained a pack of Camel non-filters, but more telling was the fact that he had arms the size of most men’s legs and a skull the size of a pumpkin sitting on a massive neck that showed knots of muscles.
Hulk merely grunted his greeting.
Reggie noted the white tape stretched across Richard’s nose and the black eyes and asked, “So what happened to you.”
“Oh this,” Soro said absently reaching for the bandages in the center of his face. “Got jumped in an alleyway by a couple of guys, but I fought them off.”
With a skeptical look Reggie demanded, “So gimme the straight scoop on the job again.”
“It’s an old man who has done something wrong against some very powerful people here in D.C. They want him eliminated as quietly and quickly as possible.”
Richard slid an envelope across the table and said in a low tone, “There’s three thousand for each of you and an extra two thousand for flights and cars and what not. There’s also directions to the ranch in Colorado where the old man lives. When the job is done, and remember they want it done soon, there will be another $9,000 waiting for you.”
Richard looked at Reggie’s face as the man thumbed through the contents of the envelope. Apparently satisfied, the thug looked up at Soro and said, “I done some work like this a time or two and that second payment is sometimes hard to come by. If we have any trouble getting paid we’ll be looking for you.”
“I understand, but you don’t need to worry about that. I know these people well.”
“And we’ll do the job our way. I don’t like flyin’ so we might just drive out there,” Reggie explained.
“I don’t like planes none at all,” Hulk added in a voice that sounded as if it originated at the bottom of a well.
“How you want to do it is your own business. They just want him silenced soon.”
“It’ll be done inside a week.”
“Good.”
Richard, with a sigh of relief, left the building and was soon congratulating himself on making a quick six grand by under paying for the job, and another $6000 when the job was done.
A few hours later Reggie and company, armed with maps and high powered rifles, loaded some dirt bikes
and a couple of cases of beer in the back of a van and headed for Colorado.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Elliott came around slowly. He felt as if he had survived a buffalo stampede, barely. Every muscle in his body was aflame. He felt as though he could barely move. For a moment he sensed an urge to call Doctor Glynn demanding to know why he’d downplayed the after effects of a bone marrow transplant. It was an overall downright awful feeling, but he decided he’d not complain. Rolling over on his side, resting his head on a pillow and opening one eye he reached for the television controller. He clicked it on and tuned it to C-SPAN; however they weren’t showing the congressional floor activity. Instead the C-SPAN cameras were linked to an outside feed that showed the crowds on the mall. They were strangely silent, but the banners they paraded by with spoke volumes. Elliott hit the Tivo button to record this momentous event.
One read: THANK YOU TO THE FINEST GROUP OF MEN ON THE PLANET!
Another read: THIS IS AMERICA’S FINEST MOMENT. YOU’VE GOT MY VOTE!
And another said: A CONGRESS TO BE REMEMBERED.
The President watched from the Oval Office as he waited for the bill to arrive for signature. Around lunchtime he was called to the Congressional Hall for the official signing.
The crowd on the Capitol Mall had dwindled to approximately two hundred thousand as the days had gone by, but they waited in eager anticipation of the final signing of SB 1190. Many with notebook computers or iPads watched the proceedings on C-SPAN. Cameras flashed and news feeds from around the world followed every motion of President Paul White as he sat down, flanked by the Vice President and congressional leaders and began leafing through the pages of the bill as it lay on the table before him. The congressional secretary held the feather pen in readiness for the President to grasp it and sign. As the President neared the end of the document he suddenly paused and stiffened. The cameras caught him gaze intently at the document for a moment, flip through a few more pages, then stand and say, “I will not sign this bill.”
He walked stiffly from the stunned and silent room. Outside, the masses stopped their celebration and questioned each other as to what was going on. The oft asked question was; “What just happened?”
Elliott was staring at the screen, rewound the scene several times and noted it was only when Paul flipped to the pages at the rear of the bill that he tensed and stopped reading. Elliott suspected he knew what it was that Paul had seen that bothered him so much.
A soft knock sounded on the door and Elliott muted the television. It was Doctor Glynn. “How are you feeling?”
“Pretty weak, but doing okay. Thanks for all your hard work, Doc.”
“You had a pretty tough four days. Intense radiation and the bone marrow transplant, you may experience a number of different symptoms from these treatments, but one you can almost certainly count on is diarrhea.”
“Terrific, you just made my day.”
“There’s a packet of Depends on your nightstand should you need them. I’ll check on you in a couple of hours.”
Elliott shook his head.
Chuckling, the doctor stepped out of the room.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
The President walked past Phoebe, his secretary, barely containing his rage and said, “I don’t wish to be disturbed unless there’s a nuclear war.”
Elliott waited a few minutes for the President to return to the Oval Office and then called his private line. Paul answered on the first ring.
“Elliott, I can’t sign that thing. Those bastards air-dropped more earmarks on it than I’ve ever seen before. It’s a deficit reduction bill for God’s sake.”
“How bad are they?” Elliott asked, not sure he wanted to hear the answer.
“Graham has $21 million for a Gulf Coast Test Center and it doesn’t even describe what’s to be tested,” disgust evident in his voice.
“Bainer has $5 million for a Natural Products Center. What the hell could that be? Coryn has $30 million for a Great Plains Regional Authority. Cardin has $382 million for the Chesapeake Watershed Conservation Program. Whitback has $9.6 million for an Automated Composite Technologies and Manufacturing Center. Doesn’t that sound like something, which if it were really needed, private enterprise would have carved out a niche for already? Another similar one is Bond’s Nanotechnology Enterprise Consortium for a cost of $15 million. Moran has $4 million for a Proton Therapy Institute. Cochran has $10 million for a Sustainable Energy Research Center. Don’t we have a couple dozen of those already? Inhouye has $5.5 million for a Joint Education Center. What or who are they going to educate? Belosi has $5 million for the Presidio Heritage Center. Of course she omitted the fact that her family owns a number of properties in the immediate area. The list goes on and on, Elliott. There are thousands upon thousands of them.”
The President fell silent for a moment and then said, “I know what they’re up to. I have ten days to sign the bill or it dies forever. They want me to use a pocket veto to make this good bill disappear. They want to make it so onerous that no president in his right mind would sign it,” Paul concluded with obvious sadness. “And they have succeeded.”
Elliott sensed the President’s obvious frustration and gave the situation some thought. They could call on the people again. They could publish the names of the congressperson along with their earmark, but that would be posted on many websites within a few hours anyway.
“What is the final tally of all the earmarks?” Elliott asked.
“Somewhere around 78 billion. It’s the proverbial Christmas Tree bill.”
Elliott released a low whistle, “They’re shooting for a new record.”
“By a long shot. I can’t sign it, Elliott,” the President said wearily. “I simply can’t.”
“Let me think Paul.”
“It may cost me my presidency, but I don’t believe a Debt Reduction bill of this magnitude should be treated as business as usual. I thought this was going to be an historic moment.”
Elliott remained lost in thought.
“You know, this job ages you quickly,” Paul said in a tired and deeply disappointed voice. “You see what goes on behind the scenes. You see how the American people are constantly being cheated by the special interests. All these earmarks are hard earned tax dollars by the American taxpayers, but they’re being sent out the door to a favored few businesses and friends of this Congress who then see large portions of it funneled back into their re-election coffers. Elliott, are you there?”
“Yes, I’m thinking. I have an idea. You call for a joint meeting of Congress. We request cameras from every news organization in the world. Then we bring in speakers from the Congressional Budget Office, Tony Lascala from the Treasury, Sam Goldman from the Securities and Exchange Commission, Judith Ross, the Comptroller of Currency and Dick Henghold from the Office of Management and Budget to speak about the dangers to our society from our debt. Then you speak describing the earmark and who submitted it. Maybe even go into greater depth, stating how much the congressperson received in donations back from the company who is the beneficiary of the earmark. It would be like putting them in stocks in the old village square. Everyone in the world will see their faces. We’ll embarrass them into withdrawing their earmarks.”
“I like it, but I don’t think we’ll be able to keep their interest with all those speakers. We’ll need to pare down the speakers list to three. General Gates would be excellent. He has a commanding presence, is a polished speaker and he believes deeply in the defense cuts we are proposing. Anthony Lascala would be good too. He understands the immensity of the numbers we’re dealing with better than anyone and is quite fed up with the congressional shenanigans that have been going on, but I think I’d like another speaker,” the President replied.
“Who do you have in mind?”
“You.”
Elliott pondered for a moment and then asked, “Do you really think it will help?”
“I do. You’ve been working on your speech. You’
re famous for never making an earmark. A lot of these congress people remember you. You were one of them. If we can get half of these earmarks withdrawn I might sign it.”
“I did call for one earmark,” Elliott said, correcting the President.
“You call that an earmark?” the President retorted. “Two hundred thousand for shipping fifteen hundred wild mustangs slated for slaughter from Nevada to Colorado. The entire bill for that transfer was much higher and you paid for most of it out of your own pocket. You even provided the safe haven for those animals on your ranch property. That’s not an earmark. Hell, that’s a good day’s postage for these guys.”
“Okay. You go ahead and call the emergency joint meeting of Congress for two nights from now and I’ll be there. But do me a favor, once the seating chart has been arranged can you get a copy to me? I want to be sure we have the proper face on camera when their earmark is announced. And let the bugles blare on this one; loads of fanfare and every news organization we can think of should be there,” Elliott added.
“I’ll have my Chief of Staff do the scheduling first thing in the morning and the press corps will be alerted as to the date and time.”
“Thank you Mr. President. I’ll talk with you later.”
Elliott studied his haggard face in the mirror and said, “You look like crap.”
He placed a call to Eddie.
“Hi Eddie. Can you do me a favor?”
“Sure thing.”
“I’ve been shanghaied into giving a speech to the entire congressional body two nights from now and I was just looking at myself in the mirror. Well, this going to sound a little odd. I’d like to see if you can find somebody that can fix me up a good hairpiece and maybe a makeup artist and a Kevlar vest.”
“A Kevlar vest? Do you think someone will try to drop you?”
The Return of Elliott Eastman Page 21
