by Ridge King
Rebecca Isdel from Indiana was important. He added her to his list because it was apparent only lately that Thurston was pulling her over. Slanetti couldn’t afford to let Indiana go. He would have to work on Mrs. Isdel.
Wade Trexler of Rhode Island had to be on the list. His colleague from Rhode Island, a Democrat, had made it clear in the caucus he was not supporting Thurston, which was not a surprise. He came out strongly for St. Clair. While the Democrats would surely work on him, Slanetti thought he could keep the man firm with a few promises of Presidential favor after St. Clair was elected. No one would be working on the tough Trexler, however, and Slanetti had plenty of information on him in Keystone. With Trexler’s colleague coming over, the state became tied. If Slanetti could get Trexler, the state would go Republican.
Matt Hawkins was not essential if Walter Pettigrew of Delaware, also a one-man delegation, stuck by his party. He needed one or the other state to come over to the Republican side. Pettigrew he couldn’t blackmail because he had no harmful information and the congressman was notoriously independent. His honest record made life such that he could afford to be independent, Slanetti thought. Hawkins was a problem because reports from Wyoming were void of anything useful. His Washington tail had not reported the slightest unusual movement. He spotted a problem in the Pettigrew-Hawkins dilemma and wasn’t sure how to resolve it. But it could wait. Since only Delamar had been approached so far, there were many others to work on. He arranged a meeting that afternoon with his second liaison.
If all his plans came to fruition, Slanetti thought, on January third Sam Houston St. Clair would carry twenty-six states and Thurston would carry twenty-four. In Slanetti’s plans there would be no tied delegations. Everyone would vote in this decision and there would be no holdouts, something Thurston and most others never considered possible in the House of Representatives. But Slanetti had Keystone, and he believed in its extraordinary power.
Chapter 14
Power Lunch
“I’m sorry we can’t go to the Market Inn or City Zen or somewhere nice,” said Sam Houston St. Clair as he led Ramona Fuentes and daughter Babe into the dining room of the Thomas Jefferson Suite, “but it’s just too much of a hassle, you know? We end up taking most of our meals here in the hotel.”
Ramona looked over her shoulder at Sofia following them in.
“How’s she doing?”
“Tired. It’s easier to eat here.”
“Just wait till you’re in the White House. You’ll never eat out unless you’re campaigning.”
“I’ve got a hankering for the lobster bisque at the Market Inn.”
“I can get some take-out for you, Dad,” said Jack as he followed them in with Sofia.
The Governor held out a chair for Ramona and Jack held one for Sofia before going around the table to sit next to Babe.
“They make a lovely couple,” said Sofia with a smile.
“I’ve heard that before,” said Ramona with a tired frown.
There was an ever-so-slight pause before everybody broke out into unrestrained laughter.
“I think Ramona’s getting used to seeing me around the house,” said Jack.
“That’s saying the least of it,” said Ramona.
“I don’t think the fact that Jack went out with my older sister is funny at all,” said Babe with a snicker as she tossed her long dark hair over her shoulder.
“You couldn’t say the word ‘older’ with a little less emphasis, could you?” Jack smiled.
More laughter around the table.
“I’m so glad to see you, Ramona,” said Sofia, reaching out and taking Ramona’s hand in hers. “I haven’t seen you since Election Night at the Raleigh.”
“I’m so happy you could squeeze me in,” said Ramona. “I know how busy Sam’s got to be.”
“It’s nice to have lunch with a friendly face,” said Sam. “I’ve been doing back-to-back meetings with House members. Sometimes I’m not sure who’s twisting whose arm.”
“What brings you to town, Ramona?” asked Sofia as the waiters served bowls of Manhattan style clam chowder.
“Just a regular meeting with the Dade County lobbying team up here,” said Ramona.
They all knew that Ramona’s firm was the county’s liaison to the Washington-based firm that lobbied for government money for everything from infrastructure improvements to social welfare subsidies.
“Somebody’s got to keep an eye on them,” said Sam as he smacked his lips. He looked at Sofia. “Pretty good clam chowder, but it’s not the lobster bisque at the Market Inn.”
After a main course of sliced pork tenderloin with grilled apples and wilted lettuce, the waiters cleared away the dishes and served coffee.
After coffee, they moved into the main sitting room. There had been a rare break in the generally dismal Washington winter and the French doors leading to the terrace were open, letting in some fresh air.
Ramona caught Jack’s eye as Sofia chatted with Sam and Babe across the room. They drifted out onto the terrace.
“What’s the latest on Derek?” Ramona asked.
“There’s definitely some kind of money laundering going on,” said Jack.
“That’s what I thought, of course, without even thinking about it,” said Ramona. “What else could it be? This is what Héctor was trying to tell me on his deathbed.”
“But I don’t know much more than that at this point,” said Jack, knowing it was the wise thing to do to stop right there with what he knew about Derek. What interested Ramona had only to do with protecting the good name of her law firm from whatever shenanigans Derek had going on with Howard Rothman at Dade International Bank. She wanted to protect her husband’s legacy as well. She didn’t give a damn about sunken narco-subs off Fort Jefferson or any of the other business Derek was involved with.
“What should I do, Jack?”
“You got somebody in the firm I can deal with—quietly?”
Ramona’s perfect teeth nibbled gently at her lower lip.
“Danny’s in charge of our financial office, but I don’t really trust him. His No. 2, Lucy Azzinaro, that’s who I trust.”
“OK. I’ll see Lucy on my next trip home, just to put a face with a name. She can help a lot. You’re sure she can keep her mouth shut?”
“Oh, yes. I trust Lucy implicitly.”
Babe came rushing out to them.
“Isn’t this weather great?”
Ramona was so happy to see her sweet Babylon joyous with the excitement of youth and the promise of life. She mused on how distant these same qualities seemed in her own life.
“For Washington, it’s miraculous,” said Ramona.
“Are you ready to go, Mama?”
“Yes, I’m ready. We have an hour and a half to shop before my meeting on K Street.”
Jack kissed them both and they moved back into the sitting room. He followed and watched as Ramona and Sofia kissed.
“How are you feeling, Sofia?” asked Ramona.
Sofia shook her head.
“A little tired.”
“She’s worn out from the campaign,” said Sam bluntly. “She’d really been planning on getting a couple of weeks to rest up after the election.”
“All ruined by the deadlock in the College,” said Jack.
“I’m going in for a rest right now,” said Sofia.
“And tomorrow, I’m sending her back to Miami,” said Sam.
“Not till after the National Geographic Ball,” said Sofia with a twinkle in her eye. “And that Thanksgiving Day party at Patricia Vaughan’s house.”
As they said their goodbyes, Jack slipped back onto the terrace and leaned over the railing as he called Gargrave in Miami.
“Yes, sir?” came the familiar voice. “How’s Washington?”
“Very nice, Gargrave.”
“I see the weather’s broken up there.”
“Yes, for Washington, it’s very nice. How’s the weather there?”
“
Oh, 72 degrees, low humidity, a 15 mile-per-hour breeze from the Caribbean, excellent sailing weather, I might add, and—”
“That’s enough, Gargrave. I hate you.”
“Yes, sir,” Gargrave laughed.
How’s everything on the island?”
“Everything’s fine, sir. Nothing to worry about.”
“Listen, Gargrave?”
“Sir?”
“I want you to work the phones a little bit to dig up some of your old contacts in the international banking community. As I recall, you had some pretty strong connections.”
“Yes, sir, but it’s been a while.”
“Renew those connections. We’re going to need them. We’ll need to go pretty deep.”
“And the institutions?”
“I’m getting a list soon. Just prime the pump.”
“The pump will be primed, sir.”
Chapter 15
A Booth at Baldacci’s
Crampton and Hawkins walked down the front steps of the House wing of the Capitol on their way to lunch. Hawkins gazed straight ahead and had a splendid view of the Mall in winter. The day was briskly chilly but bright and they could hear their footsteps echoing in the vast columned portico of the wing as they descended. Being from Wyoming, they were both used to such weather and their overcoats were warmth enough. The Washington Monument stood clean and white against a bright blue sky, the sun shining on the gray limbs of the magnificent trees that lined Independence and Constitution avenues flanking the Mall. The weather had cleared rapidly in the last day, but a new front was expected shortly. Snow would come with it.
At the base of the House steps Hawkins stopped and turned around, looking up at the Indian statue atop the dome. Crampton smiled as he watched his successor and pulled his felt hat further down on his head.
“Take the time someday to climb up to the dome. It’s a lot of walking and tourists can’t go all the way up, but you can. It’s worth the trip—once.”
“Have you done it?” Matt asked, craning his neck, but now looking at the older man.
“Once, when I was a freshman.” Crampton paused and looked up at the dome, poised massively above the city. “I think,” he said, “that it might not be a bad idea for the House to require each member to climb it once each term—for spiritual reasons. It wouldn’t hurt them to exercise a little more, anyway. Maybe I’ll introduce a resolution to change the House Rules. My last influence on the House of Representatives.”
He laughed and Hawkins smiled, his healthy head of dark hair moving as the brisk wind lashed it around.
They walked north across Constitution Avenue and up to C Street, eventually strolling into a little Italian restaurant with a small sign outside reading Baldacci’s.
“Not much to look at,” said Crampton as they went in, “but the food’s great.”
The place was decorated with a careful simplicity. Empty wine bottles hung from the wooden ceiling, suspended on short wires. The lighting was dim, provided by small candles on each tabletop. Red tablecloths, red and white checked napkins, the smell of food cooking that came from the kitchen, made the place very cozy indeed. Booths were along each side of the narrow restaurant with a bar at the opposite end from the entrance. Other tables stood cramped between the two rows of booths.
Crampton immediately noticed the large figure of Lamar LeGrand Perryman in a corner booth, near the bar. He couldn’t see who was sitting opposite him because his back was to Crampton, but Hawkins, also noticing Perryman, looked into the mirror behind the bar, which stretched the whole width of the room, and saw the other man was Niles Overton.
“Bill,” Perryman said in a slow heavy drawl, which brought Crampton, Hawkins following, over to the table.
“And how did the leadership of our party ever find this quaint little place?” asked Crampton in good spirits.
“You can almost spit to it from the chair, Mr. Congressman,” said Perryman with a slow chuckle. Overton looked up at Crampton and Hawkins standing over them, but just smiled hello to them.
“Why don’t you join us, gentlemen?” asked Perryman, looking at Overton.
“That’s good of you, Lamar, we will,” said Crampton. “But I’d like to give you my successor,” he said, taking Hawkins by the arm and bringing him a little forward. “This is Matt Hawkins, but I’m sure he hasn’t been able to break into either of your schedules long enough to say hello. So here he is.”
Overton immediately stood and shook hands. Perryman merely nodded.
“I know of you, Matt,” said Overton, “and I’m sorry I’ve been so busy the last few days that I couldn’t welcome you to Washington.”
“That’s quite all right. I perfectly understand,” said Matt. Overton immediately liked him.
“I don’t know,” said Overton, rubbing his ear in jest, “if I really can tolerate your socializing with this outcast here,” he said, nodding towards Crampton. Everyone laughed but Perryman. “I’ve got to go. Can’t stay to have lunch, so please excuse me.” He said goodbye to Perryman and then left, telling Hawkins to come around to see him in the next day or two when he would have time to see him for a longer talk.
Crampton and Matt slid into Overton’s side of the booth. Perryman slowly tilted back his head and downed a shot glass of bourbon. Crampton shook his head.
“That stuff’ll poison you.”
“My brand won’t, Congressman,” said the speaker, beckoning the waiter. “Can’t abide the Dickel you drink.”
They ordered drinks, Matt getting a Dewar’s and water. Perryman took his straight. He stretched his hand across the table to Matt.
“I’m very pleased to meet the man who will represent the good people of Wyomin’,” he said, and they shook.
“Thank you, Mr. Speaker,” replied Matt, smiling as usual. Perryman recognized Matt’s genuine smile and charm for what it was in a world of phony smiles and charm he was so used to in Washington.
“You’ll do well here, Mr. Congressman-elect,” he nodded. “Quite well, indeed, don’t you think, Bill?”
“Oh, I don’t doubt it, Lamar. I think he’ll do all right, but he’s young yet—very young to be keeping our kind of company,” Crampton laughed.
“He could do worse,” said Perryman, looking into the glass the waiter set before him.
Crampton raised his eyebrows and lowered them quickly. “You’re right, of course,” he said, lifting his George Dickel.
Perryman looked up at Matt, who was looking directly back at him.
“Exactly how old are you, Mr. Hawkins, if I may ask?”
“Twenty-nine, Mr. Speaker,” he said, holding his glass between his hands on the table. “Birthday’s Thanksgiving.”
“Twenty-nine,” repeated Perryman quietly. He laughed quietly to himself, his whole body moving slowly.
“I’m not afraid to admit my age, Mr. Speaker,” said Hawkins right at him.
“I regret that I implied you should be,” Perryman responded. Matt still looked deep into Perryman’s eyes.
“How old are you, Mr. Speaker?”
Perryman looked at Matt, who still looked at him right in the eye, and admired his youthful, honest directness.
“Quite frankly, sir, I think I have neglected to keep track. I quit countin’ at eighty.”
“The candles got too expensive for him,” added Crampton, smiling, and then, almost to himself with a wry contortion of his lips, “They got too expensive for me.”
“I understand, Mr. Hawkins,” said Perryman, “that you will support Senator Thurston. Is that correct?”
“I thought the leadership relied totally on the reports they received from independent sources,” commented Matt, smiling. Perryman again caught himself smiling and admiring Matt’s open-faced friendliness and direct nature. There seemed neither malignancy nor spite in him. He leaned across the table and whispered.
“Don’t let this out, sir, but as a recently appointed member of that same leadership, I have discovered that reports are occ
asionally erroneous, and that the leadership does on rare occasions ask members personally what their positions are.”
Matt laughed at Perryman’s mock secrecy.
“You have heard correctly, Mr. Speaker. I do support Thurston, just as you do,” said Matt. Perryman raised his eyebrows and nodded in what Matt thought was mellow approval.
“The leadership appreciates that, and Mr. Overton will approve of it,” said Perryman.
Matt leaned across the table. He knew words well, too.
“Do you mean that the leadership understands how I feel, appreciates in the sense of understands, but that only Mr. Overton approves? Do you not approve?” Perryman raised his eyebrows with interest.
“It is true that to appreciate a thing,” said Perryman, “one need not necessarily condone it. I did, however, say that Mr. Overton would approve.”
“But do you not?” asked Matt, persisting.
Perryman smiled, enjoying their play on words.
“I believe you will find, Mr. Hawkins, that the leadership approves of my position.”
“But how do they—the leadership—appreciate it in the sense of understanding it, not counting you, of course?” asked Matt.
Perryman grew serious suddenly.
“You may inquire of Mr. Overton, sir. That is all I shall say.”
“Let’s have some of the food here,” said Crampton in a lighter vein, interrupting their conversation and picking up the menu.
“I didn’t mean to press you, Mr. Speaker. I hope you don’t think I did. I was just talking.”
Perryman smiled again, but it was a very thoughtful smile.
“I appreciate that, sir,” he said quietly, smiling once more.
“Thank you,” Matt smiled and sat back, nodding okay. He liked Perryman, too.
“I highly recommend the saltimbocca alla Romana,” said Perryman.”
“Yeah?” said Crampton.
“Yes. It’s something they do with the capers,” Perryman said, his eyes fixed on Matt.
Chapter 16
The Other Kremlin
Derek Gilbertson worked his way past the hundreds of club-goers waiting in the long line snaking down Washington Avenue till he came to the front and edged his way into the VIP Line at the Kremlin Club. He caught the eye of a thick-bodied doorman who gently touched Wilma Kassman’s elbow. She turned, saw Derek and nodded to another doorman holding the velvet ropes. Derek slipped past and came up to Wilma, who was dressed in what looked like a thick black patent-leather one-piece bathing suit decorated with lots of stainless steel studs. She looked like she’d just graduated cum laude from Dominatrix School, complete with black fishnet stockings. Her long black hair and alabaster skin that had never seen the rays of sun on South Beach stood out against the provocative black outfit.
