“I’m sorry,” he says. “His assistant says he just stepped out for a moment.”
It’s an obvious lie. At this level, House staffers don’t have assistants. Regardless, I shouldn’t be surprised. If I’m calling through the main line, it’s not a call worth taking.
“Tell him I’m from the Chairman’s office and that this is about Congressman Grayson’s request…”
Again I’m on hold. Again he’s back in seconds. “Hold on one moment, sir. I’m transferring you to Perry…”
First rule of politics: Everyone’s afraid.
“This is Perry,” a scratchy but gruff voice answers.
“Hey, Perry, I’m calling from Interior Approps—filling in on Matthew’s issues after what—”
“Yeah, no… I heard. Really sorry about that. Matthew was a sweetheart.”
He says the word was, and I close my eyes. It still hits like a sock full of quarters.
“So what can I do for you?” Perry asks.
I think back to the original bet. Whatever Matthew saw that day… the reason he and Pasternak were killed… it started with this. A gold mine sale in South Dakota that needed to be slipped into the bill. Grayson’s office made the initial request. I don’t have much information beyond that. This guy can give me more. “Actually, we’re just reexamining all the different requests,” I explain. “When Matthew—with Matthew gone, we want to make sure we know everyone’s priorities.”
“Of course, of course… happy to help.” He’s a staffer for a low-level Member and thinks I can throw him a few projects. Right there, the gruffness in his voice evaporates.
“Okay,” I begin, staring down at my blank sheet of paper. “I’m looking at your original request list, and obviously, I know you’re not shocked to hear you can’t have everything on it…”
“Of course, of course…” he says for the second time, chuckling. I can practically hear him slapping his knee. I don’t know how Matthew dealt with it.
“So which projects are your must-gets?” I ask.
“The sewer system,” he shoots back, barely taking a breath. “If you can do that… if we improve drainage… that’s the one that wins us the district.”
He’s smarter than I thought. He knows how low his Congressman is on the ladder. If he asks for every toy on the Christmas list, he’ll be lucky if he gets a single one. Better just to focus on the Barbie Dream House.
“Those sewers… It really will change the election,” he adds, already pleading.
“So everything else on this list…”
“Is all second-tier.”
“What about this gold mine thing?” I ask, teeing up my bluff. “I thought Grayson was really hot for it.”
“Hot for it? He’s never even heard of it. We threw that out for a donor as a pure try-our-best.”
When Matthew told me about the bet, he said exactly the same: Grayson’s office supposedly didn’t care about the mine—which means this guy Perry is either genuinely agreeing or is single-handedly setting the new world record for bullshit.
“Weird…” I say, still trying to dig. “I thought Matthew got some calls on it.”
“If he did, it’s only because Wendell Mining lobbied up.”
I write the words Wendell Mining on the sheet of paper. When it comes to the game, I’ve always thought the various votes and different asks were inconsequential—but not if they tell me who else was playing.
“What about the rest of your delegation?” I ask, referring to the South Dakota Senators. “Anyone gonna scream if we kill the mining request?”
He thinks I’m covering my ass before I cut the gold mine loose, but what I really want to know is, who else in Congress has any interest in the project?
“No one,” he says.
“Anyone against it?”
“It’s a dumpy gold mine in a town that’s so small, it doesn’t even have a stoplight. To be honest, I don’t think anyone even knows about it but us.” He tosses me another knee-slapping laugh that curdles in my ear. Three nights ago, someone bid $1,000 for the right to put this gold mine in the bill. Someone else bid five grand. That means there’re at least two people out there who were watching what was going on. But right now, I can’t find a single one of them.
“So how we looking on our sewer system?” Perry asks on the other line.
“I’ll do my best,” I tell him, looking down at my nearly blank sheet of paper. The words Wendell Mining float weightlessly toward the top. But as I grab the paper and reread it for the sixth time, I slowly feel the chessboard expand. Of course. I didn’t even think about it…
“You still there?” Perry asks.
“Actually, I gotta run,” I say, already feeling the sharp bite of adrenaline. “I just remembered a call I have to make.”
21
HI, I’M HERE FOR a pickup,” Viv announced as she stepped into room 2406 of the Rayburn Building, home office of Matthew’s former boss, Congressman Nelson Cordell from Arizona.
“Excuse me?” the young man behind the front desk asked with a Native American accent. He wore a denim shirt with a bolo tie that had a silver clasp with the Arizona state seal on it. Viv hadn’t seen it in the offices of the other Arizona Members. Good for Cordell, Viv thought. It was nice to see someone remembering where they were from.
“We got a call for a package pickup,” Viv explained. “This is 2406, right?”
“Yeah,” the young receptionist said, searching his desk for outgoing mail. “But I didn’t call for a page.”
“Well, someone did,” Viv said. “There was a package for the Floor.”
The young man stood up straight, and his bolo tie bounced against his chest. Everyone’s terrified of the boss—just like Harris said.
“You have a phone I can use?” Viv asked.
He pointed to the handset on the wrought-iron southwestern-style end table. “I’ll check in back and see if anyone else called it in.”
“Great… thanks,” Viv said as the young man disappeared through a door on the right. The instant he was gone, she picked up the phone and dialed the five-digit extension Harris had given her.
“This is Dinah,” a female voice answered. As Matthew’s office mate and head clerk for the House Appropriations Interior subcommittee, Dinah had incredible access and a staggering amount of power. More important, she had caller ID, which was why Harris said the call had to be made from here. Right now, the words Hon. Cordell appeared on Dinah’s digital phone screen.
“Hey, Dinah,” Viv began, careful to keep her voice low and smooth, “this is Sandy over in the personal office. I’m sorry to bother you, but the Congressman wanted to take a look at some of Matthew’s project books, just to make sure he’s up to speed for Conference…”
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” Dinah blurted.
“Pardon?”
“It’s just… the information in there… It’s not smart to let that wander outside the office.”
Harris had warned her this might happen. That was why he gave her the ultimate comeback.
“The Congressman wants them,” Viv insisted.
There was a short pause on the other line. “I’ll get them ready,” Dinah eventually said.
Over Viv’s shoulder, the door on her right opened, and the young receptionist reentered the room.
“Great,” Viv stuttered. “I-I’ll send someone down to pick ’em up.”
Hanging up the phone, Viv turned back to the main reception desk. “Oops on me—wrong room,” Viv said to the receptionist as she headed for the door.
“Don’t worry,” he replied. “No harm done.”
Refusing to wait for the elevator, Viv ran down the four flights of stairs, eventually jumping down the last two steps and landing with a smack against the polished floor in the basement of the Rayburn Building. On average, a Senate page walked seven miles of hallway each day, picking up and delivering packages. On a typical day, those seven miles could take them from the hearing room wher
e Nixon was impeached during Watergate, past the old Supreme Court chamber, where the Court first decided the Dred Scott case, to the west front of the Capitol, where every new President takes the oath of office, to the center of the enormous rotunda—underneath the vaulted majesty of the Capitol dome—where the bodies of both Abraham Lincoln and John F. Kennedy once lay in state. Viv saw it every single day. But she hadn’t been this excited since her first day on the job.
Still unsure if it was thrill or fear, she didn’t let it slow her down. As her heart jabbed against her chest and she whipped around the corner of the ghostly white hallway, Viv Parker was done shuffling mail and finally doing what the page program had originally promised—making an actual difference in someone’s life.
Sliding to a stop in front of room B-308, she felt more than just her momentum come to a halt. This was still Matthew’s office—and if she wasn’t careful, she’d never be able to pull it off. As she reached out to grab the doorknob, she checked the hall, just as Harris had instructed. On her left, the door to a utility closet peeked open, but as far as she could tell, no one was inside. On her right, the hallway was empty.
Holding her breath, she twisted the brass knob, surprised by how cold it was. As she shoved her weight against the door, the first thing she heard was the ringing phone—on her left, past the Sioux quilt. Again, just like Harris said.
Following the ring, beyond the overflowing In and Out boxes on the edge of the desk, Viv turned the corner and was hit with a sudden sense of relief when she realized that the receptionist was black. Without a word, Roxanne glanced up at Viv, studied her ID, and gave her a slight, unmistakable nod. Viv had been on the receiving end of that one at least a dozen times before. From the cafeteria ladies… from one of the elevator operators… even from Congresswoman Peters.
“Whatcha need, doll?” Roxanne asked with a warm smile.
“Just here to pick up some briefing books.” When Harris first told Viv about this, she was worried that someone would wonder why a Senate page was making a pickup in the House. Roxanne didn’t even take a second glance. Forget what it says on the nametag—even to receptionists, a page is a page.
“Is Dinah…?”
“Right through the door,” Roxanne said, pointing Viv toward the back.
Viv headed for the door, and Roxanne turned back to the current vote on C-SPAN. Viv couldn’t help but grin. On Capitol Hill, even the support staff were political junkies.
Picking up speed, Viv rushed forward and pushed her way inside.
“… so where are we now?” a male voice asked.
“I told you, we’re working on it,” Dinah replied. “He’s only been gone for two—”
The door swung into the wall, and Dinah cut herself off, abruptly turning toward Viv.
“Sorry,” Viv offered.
“Can I help you?” Dinah barked.
Before Viv could answer, the man in front of Dinah’s desk turned around, following the sound. Viv looked him straight in the eye, but something was off. He stared too high, like he was…
Viv spotted the white cane as the man rubbed his thumb against the handle. That’s why he seemed so familiar… She’d seen him tapping in the hallway, outside the Senate Chamber during votes.
“I said, can I help you?” Dinah repeated.
“Yeah,” Viv stuttered, pretending to study the stuffed ferret in the bookcase. “I was just… that ferret…”
“You here for the briefing books?” Dinah interrupted.
“I’m here for the briefing books.”
“On the chair,” Dinah said, pointing a finger toward the desk across from her own.
As quickly as she could, Viv wove across the carpet and slipped behind the desk, where she saw two enormous three-ring notebooks sitting in the chair. The spine of one was marked A–L; the other was M–Z. Pulling the chair out to lift the books, Viv noticed a pile of three picture frames stacked faceup on the center of the desk. Like someone was packing up… or someone was being packed up. The computer on the desk was off, even though it was the middle of the day. The diplomas that were once on the back wall were now leaning against the floor. Time froze as she bent toward the chair and her ID smacked against the edge of the desk.
She took another glance at the top photo, where a man with sandy-blond hair was standing in front of a sapphire blue lake. He was tall, with a thin neck that made him extra gawky. More noticeably, he stood so far to the left, he was almost out of the frame. As his open hand motioned to the lake, Matthew Mercer made it perfectly clear who he thought was the real star of the show. The smile on his face was pure pride. Viv had never met this man, but once she saw his photo, she couldn’t take her eyes off him.
Behind her, she felt a strong hand on her shoulder. “You okay?” Barry asked. “Need any help?”
Jerking away, Viv yanked the notebooks from the chair and stumbled around the other side of the desk, acting like the weight of the books was keeping her off balance. Within seconds, she steadied herself and took a last look at Matthew’s desk.
“Sorry about your friend,” she said.
“Thanks,” Dinah and Barry said simultaneously. Forcing an awkward grin, Viv speed-walked to the door. Barry didn’t move, but his cloudy blue eyes followed her movements the entire way.
“Just make sure we get them back,” Dinah called out, readjusting her fanny pack. As Matthew’s office mate, she’d sat next to him for almost two years, but she was still head clerk for the committee. Those books were vital business.
“Will do,” Viv said. “Soon as the Congressman’s done, they’re all yours.”
22
WHAT ABOUT HIS HOUSE?” Sauls’s voice squawked through the cell phone.
“He’s got a loft on the outskirts of Adams Morgan,” Janos said, keeping his voice down as he turned the corner of the long, pristine marble hallway in the Russell Senate Office Building. He wasn’t running, but his pace was fast. Determined. Just like everyone around him. That was always the best way to disappear. “He doesn’t own the place, though—or much of anything else. No car, no stocks, nothing left in his bank account. I’m guessing he’s still paying off loans. Otherwise, he’s got nothing permanent.”
“Have you been to his place yet?”
“What do you think?” Janos shot back.
“So I take it he wasn’t there?”
Janos didn’t answer. He hated stupid questions. “Anything else you want to know?” he asked.
“Family and friends?”
“The boy’s smart.”
“That we know.”
“I don’t think you do. He’s been in Congress ten years. Know how ruthless that makes you? The boy’s a razor—he’s thought it through. Even though he’s well connected, the game alone keeps him from reaching out to coworkers… and after we tagged his buddy at the U.S. Attorney’s… I don’t think Harris gets fooled twice.”
“Bullshit. Everyone gets fooled twice. That’s why they keep reelecting their Presidents.”
Following the room numbers on the wall, Janos was again silent.
“You think I’m wrong?” Sauls asked.
“No,” Janos replied. “No one survives alone. There’s someone out there he trusts.”
“So you can find him?”
Stopping in front of room 427, Janos gripped the doorknob on the twelve-foot mahogany door and gave it a hard twist. “That’s my job,” he said as he clicked the End button on his phone and stuffed it into the pocket of his FBI windbreaker.
Inside, the office was exactly the same as last time he was here. Harris’s desk was untouched behind the glass divider, and Harris’s assistant still sat at the desk out front.
“Agent Graves,” Cheese called out as Janos stepped into Harris’s office. “What can I help you with today?”
23
DURING MY VERY first job interview on the Hill, a burned-out staff director with the worst case of Brillo hair I’d ever seen leaned across his desk and told me that at its core, Congress
operated like a small town. Some days it was grumpy; others, it was riled up and ready to pick a fist-fight with the world. As someone who grew up in a small town, the analogy hit home. Indeed, that’s the very reason I’m pacing back and forth across the storage room, waiting for someone to pick up on the other end of the line. As any small-town resident knows, if you want to get at the real secrets of a town, you have to visit the hall of records.
“Legislative Resource Center,” a woman with a matronly voice answers.
“Hi, I’m hoping you can help me out. I’m searching for some information on a lobbyist.”
“Let me transfer you to Gary.”
In small-town talk, the Legislative Resource Center is like sitting on the porch with the grumpy old lady whose house is across from the only motel. It’s not a sexy place to hang out, but when all is done and said, she knows exactly who’s screwing who.
“Gary Naftalis,” a man answers. His voice is dry, showing almost no emotion. “How can I assist?”
“Hey, Gary—I’m calling from Senator Stevens’s office. We’ve got a company that’s been calling us on this bill, and we’re trying to figure out which lobbyists they’re working with. You guys still do that?”
“Only if we want to keep the lobbyists honest, sir,” he laughs to himself.
It’s a bad joke, but a valid point. Every year, over seventeen thousand lobbyists descend on Capitol Hill, each one armed with a tommy gun of asks and special requests. Combine that with the boatloads of bills that’re submitted and voted on every day, and it’s overwhelming. As anyone on the Hill knows, there’s too much work for a staffer to be an expert on it all. So if you need some research? Call the lobbyists. Want some talking points? Call the lobbyists. Confused by what a specific amendment does? Call the lobbyists. It’s like buying drugs. If what they give you is good, you’ll keep coming back. And that’s how influence is peddled. Quietly, quickly, and without leaving fingerprints.
The thing is, right now I need those fingerprints.
Gideon’s Sword Page 40
