by Roger Weston
When Ratlif saw Congressman Rosa emerge from the church, he felt compassion. Ratlif knew what it was like to be caught in a trap.
The congressman’s worried eyes flitted around. When he looked off to one side, it was with the exaggerated drama of a man snared in the pit of frustration and agony. He blinked his eyes repetitively either because he’d just shed tears over the pews or because he was straining to make sense of his misery. He put his hand in his graying black hair and held it there.
“I told you to leave me alone, Ratlif. How did you know I was here this time?”
“I know you, Rosa. I know how you think. I had you followed.”
Rosa grimaced and lowered his hand.
“Congressman, you’ve been to church four times today. I know you’re in trouble. Just give me a moment of your time.”
He shook his head vigorously. “I’m running late for a committee meeting.”
“You need me, sir!”
“Have you lost your mind, Ratlif? Why do I need you?”
“You tell me.”
Rosa shook his head. “You’re a good man, Ratlif, but I have to go.” Slouching as if weighed down by heavy burdens, he half-turned and ambled away, drifting to the right and then the left.
“Please, just give me a minute. I’m begging you.”
Rosa stopped. He turned, showing a vacant look on his face. “One minute. No more.”
“I have an idea of what’s going on. I have an idea—”
“You’re running out of time, Ratlif.”
“Alright, I’ll get to the point. I know of a man, a fixer who might be able to help you out of your bind. No guarantees, but this fixer is a very persuasive man. He fights for the cause of justice with an iron fist, and he does not compromise with the forces of darkness.”
Rosa looked at Lionel in stunned silence. The seconds ticked off.
“What are you suggesting? Are you kidding me, Ratlif?”
“He can help.”
“And what kind of man has enough power to control members of congress? If he’s some big donor, you can forget it. It won’t work.”
“His power does not come from money. It is stronger than that.”
“What? What could be more …?” He stared at Ratlif for a moment. He shook his head. “No, nobody can help me.” He started walking, but he looked almost frail, which was new. Rosa was no longer the powerful, engaged, and social person that Lionel had always known.
“Congressman Rosa, you’ve got to trust. You’ve got to.”
The great man never looked back but shook his head weakly.
Lionel stood there for several minutes, trying to connect the dots and match up scraps of knowledge that he pulled from the thousands of little rabbit holes in his mind. He knew the congressman well, and presently Rosa was not himself. He wanted out of his situation, but for some reason, he couldn’t take a risk. It saddened Lionel to realize that Rosa was no different than any other politician. He’d come to DC with good intentions. He was even a religious man who cared about his people. Now he’d probably been offered a payoff—one that would set him up for life. Rationalization had crept up on him and was now twisting his thoughts.
He knew it was wrong, but all the power and greed had corrupted him. Rosa was in a tug-of-war for his soul.
Ratlif frowned and looked sadly down at the cement. He knew that Legions of devils roamed the shadows of DC and urged on the vulnerable. Ratlif smiled. He could smell the corruption, and the rock was about to be overturned.
CHAPTER 20
Georgetown
Gavin Grimes got out of the driver’s seat of the white van parked at the apartment complex where Congressman Rosa owned a rental condo. Carrying a tool bag, he walked into the complex, took the elevator up to the fourth floor, and casually picked the lock to Rosa’s rental unit. He didn’t knock because he already knew that nobody was home, thanks to GPS tracking of the tenant’s phone.
Now, Grimes had another surprise for the tenant. In the master bedroom, Grimes installed a mini cam in the chandelier. It was so small that nobody could see it unless they were looking for it. Then he removed a black leather book from his tool bag and shoved it under the mattress.
In the parking lot, he got back into the driver’s seat of the white van. Seattle lawyer Martin Hurst was the passenger. Hurst’s long black hair was tied in a pony tail, which seemingly matched his pressed jeans and tasseled loafers and seemed at odds with a West Coast attorney’s typical apparel.
“It’s done,” Grimes told him.
“Any problems?” Hurst said.
“No. It’s quiet this time of day.”
“Excellent. One problem down, one to go.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, there’s still a million in cash missing—and now the contractor and his new truck are missing.”
“I’ve got that under control.”
Hurst smiled.
The engine started, and the white van rolled slowly away.
CHAPTER 21
Washington DC
Next Day
The footsteps of hard souls almost echoed on the hard floor of the Capitol Crypt. Located under the Rotunda, the ceiling of the Crypt was held up by forty, thick sandstone columns. The stout columns were modeled on the Temple of Poseidon in Greece, a place of strange religious rights and also a place used by coastal watchers of Greece who looked out for hostile enemy ships that might have shown up at any time.
Hungry for any scrap of relevant information, House doorman Lionel Ratlif stood by a sandstone column and tried to suppress a gnawing anxiety that had turned to fear since the incident at the church. He knew he was lucky to be alive—but no guarantees it would continue. He sensed that his enemies were not only powerful, but would think nothing of whacking anyone who stood in their way. Those who supported hidden corruption would benefit most from all the shrouded trickery. Devious schemes would not be abandoned peacefully due to the meddling of a congressional doorman. Occasionally a staffer was murdered, but it was always brushed under the rug. Lionel sensed that he was playing with his life. He stood right under the Capitol’s busy Rotunda, yet he felt like a soldier in mine field in a distant land. One wrong step and his enemies would put the fix on him.
He wiped sweat from his forehead and avoided looking at the lights, which were bothering him. Here in the Crypt, a chandelier and several light fixtures hung down from the ceiling of arches. The light had never bothered him before, but now, for some reason, the soft glare gnawed at his frayed nerves.
He leaned against a column and stole a glance around the edge. Various House staffers were wandering through the area, passing between the sandstone columns. Ratlif regretted suggesting this place to meet Rosa. It was a bad place to meet. He had only said it on impulse because he was surprised that Rosa agreed talk to him at all. The doorman tried to stay behind the nearest column and out of sight. Everyone knew him in the Capitol building, and he didn’t want to draw any attention. He heard approaching footsteps. Stealing a glance around the nearest pillar, he spotted Congressman Rosa. He put his finger to his lips indicating to be quiet, then gestured him to come closer.
Other voices could be heard from a few people standing and talking across the Crypt.
The congressman’s graying black hair was tussled, which Lionel had never seen before. The man’s shirt was wrinkled and his tie hung loose. His face was a picture of hopelessness, and he gave the impression of an animal caught in a trap that was fast coming to the conclusion that the game was over and doom imminent.
The representative from Texas leaned in close to Lionel. “What is so urgent?” Rosa said in a hushed voice. “I can’t talk here. It’s too risky.”
Lionel put his finger to his lips. Then he whispered, “Just listen. A new janitor entered your office in the middle of the night. He left the building after leaving your office. You might want to check if anything was taken or if any bugs were planted.”
Rosa stood there like the st
atue of George Washington. Except upon the continence of this statue was the face of fear.
“Thank you,” Rosa said. “I owe you for this. Thank you for letting me know. Thank you, sir.”
“Be careful, my friend.”
Rosa looked away and then back at Lionel. He whispered, “Tell me about your fixer, your man who can help me.”
“You’ll never meet him or learn his identity,” Lionel said in hushed tones, “but he shakes the cage. He gets results.”
Rosa wiped his sweaty palms on his shirt. He drew closer to Lionel and whispered, “They are blackmailing me.”
Lionel let that sink in for a moment. Even in the relative quiet of the Capitol Crypt, the words did not shock him. This was Washington DC, after all. He had been around too long to be shocked by such activity. What stunned Lionel was that Rosa had admitted it to him. The man had to be truly desperate.
“Who?” Lionel whispered. He almost mouthed it silently.
Rosa grabbed the knot of his tie and pulled it looser than it already was. “They are … part of a group that calls themselves Augean Command.”
Lionel shook his head as if puzzled.
Rosa leaned closer. In a hushed tone he said, “Carver and Galloway. There are others, but I don’t know their identities.”
“How many others are there?”
“I don’t know, but Ian Byrd is one of them.”
“You’re being blackmailed by Henderson’s staffer?”
“Yes, he’s a vicious man.”
Lionel looked down at the ground. This whole thing was becoming just as twisted as he’d expected. He lifted his chin with more effort than usual. “Is this related to the death of Senator Skorman.”
“Partly, but it’s bigger than that.”
“What could be worse than that?”
“It’s the Omnibus Spending Bill, you see—”
“What’s hidden in there?”
“Ten billion in foreign aid for Albania.”
“That’s a lot to sneak in.”
Rosa glanced over his shoulder. “And nobody’s gonna get a chance to read the bill.”
A couple of congressional staffers walked past, so Lionel and Congressmen Rosa changed the subject until they’d passed.
Lionel kept his voice down low: “You said nobody gets to read it. How will it pass? What could both sides possibly agree on?”
“A pay grab. They’ll get to read the one-page addendum. Most congressmen will vote for any bill that includes a pay raise.”
“Of course,” Lionel said. “So the pay grab is the distraction. The real crime is hidden even deeper in the bill. What a mess.”
“It gets worse.”
“Worse. What can you tell me about Senator Skorman?”
“I’ve got to go.”
“Just a minute, Congressman. My friend is willing to help, but we need to know you’ve got our back.”
“I don’t even know who your friend is, Ratlif. And you don’t know how ruthless these people are.”
“The only question, Congressman, is whether you’re part of the problem or the solution?”
Three more congressional staffers ambled through the Crypt, so Lionel Ratlif and Congressman Rosa made small talk. Rosa was about to go on with his tale of corruption when they heard the clacking sounds of hard-soul shoes.
Marsha Carver walked into the Capitol Crypt. Wearing a black sports jacket and slacks, she had short boyish black hair and cold black eyes. Designed to make a statement, her narrow rectangular glasses were the prominent feature of her wedge-shaped face. She was a powerful and ruthless woman. As she approached Lionel and Rosa, she effected her plastic smile, but her cold eyes could not hide her contempt.
“Well, gentlemen, I see you’re planning legislative maneuvers, are you?” The tone was suspicious and insincere.
“No, ma’am,” Congressman Salvador Rosa said. “Barbecue at Lionel’s place. Beer and chips. Bringing the wife and kids. The whole deal.”
“The wife and kids—and you’re talking about it down here?”
“Seems like Rosa’s always underground when I run into him,” Lionel quipped.
Marsha Carver gave him a cold look. “Aren’t you supposed to be standing by the door, Ratlif?”
“No, ma’am. I have assistants who cover for me. As you know, I have other responsibilities as well.”
“Yes, well, they really do need someone up there to hold the doors open. I had to open it myself this morning.”
Lionel said, “Didn’t your mother teach you any manners?”
“How dare you!”
“I don’t know how you got elected, ma'am. You should treat people better than that.”
“You need to do your job and hold the door.”
“If you’ll excuse me,” Salvador Rosa said. “I have to go.”
“I’ll bet you do,” Carver said, giving Rosa a squinty look. “Good bye, gentlemen.” She walked out and a couple of staffers passed through in the opposite direction.
Rosa drifted away, looking down at the floor as he walked.
Lionell paced back and forth across the crypt a few times, his shoulders brushing against the massive Greek columns. Now he was agitated. Rosa had left without agreeing to cooperate. Lionell shuddered. He had that old feeling. Dark deeds were happening in the Capitol. Corruption was on the move. Fear was rational in times like these. It was also time to dig deeper into the cesspools of hidden sin. He was missing pieces of the puzzle. The idea that a scandal was unfolding all around him and he didn’t know the details was intolerable. How could something like this have escaped his attention before now? Until now, nothing at the Capitol got past Lionel C. Ratlif. He’d heard of the Augean Command over the years. He knew of their secret meetings in the Atlantic Room. But this was one of the most secretive groups in the world. Nobody knew who the members were. Lionel had long suspected Galloway, but had no proof. Marsha Carver didn’t surprise him. Ian Byrd—now there was someone who’d fallen off of Lionel’s radar for a few weeks. Byrd was a longtime staffer for Henderson—and a dangerous man.
Lionel grinned. He had an idea. If Byrd was involved, Ratlif had was going to make a move. He checked his smartphone. Still no message from Chuck Brandt.
CHAPTER 22
Chuck was walking near the Capitol in black jeans, black overcoat, and Adidas running shoes. Approaching the Monocle Restaurant on D Street, less than a block from the Senate office buildings, he scanned the street and twice looked back over his shoulder. If he wasn’t being watched in this area, he would have been surprised, but he didn’t see any obvious surveillance. He did spot a video camera with a crow’s view of the street. That was nothing new. He saw such cameras all over town.
From outside, the restaurant looked like an old-time boarding house. The inside was like an 1800’s parlor in a private club. Chuck said hello to Nick, the maitre de and John, the owner. They were true professionals. He found Lawrence Robertson waiting for him at a table.
Given its proximity to the Capitol, the Monocle was a favorite restaurant for politicians; however, to see Lawrence there was a sight. With his black hair, his gaunt, craggy face and deep-set eyes, he looked like Abraham Lincoln’s twin brother. Using his walking cane for support, Lawrence started to stand.
“Don’t get up,” Chuck said.
He stood anyway and shook Chuck’s hand. “Brandt,” he said, “it’s good to have you around.”
“Thank you.”
They sat down.
Chuck waved his smart phone over and under the table. It had a scanning ap and audio surveillance sensor. He tried to be nonchalant as he made sure nobody was listening.
“We’re fine here,” Lawrence said. “I always get this table. My assistant scans it daily.”
“A little caution never hurts.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Lawrence said. “By the way, I want to say thank you.” He leaned toward Chuck and spoke in a hushed voice. “Our country is going to hell, and some of our leaders are letti
ng it happen. You’re one man who’s actually doing something about it. You’re the one man standing in the gap.”
“I appreciate that.”
“Let me tell you something,” Lawrence continued. “I didn’t join the agency to write reports that nobody bothers to read and plan missions that never happen. I’m not gonna take it anymore. Together we can make a difference. While my bosses drink themselves to death, you and I can make the world a better place.”
Chuck nodded. “It won’t be easy, you know. I could catch a bullet at any time, and they won’t bury me at Arlington, either. I’ll be lucky to get an unmarked grave in South Dakota.”
“Be careful, Chuck. Remember what I said about keeping a low profile and using diplomacy.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Starting when? I just heard the news reports. Someone threw an Albanian through a car window. Not only that, three Albanian assassins were shot over in Maryland.”
“That’s a shame. I wonder what their business was?”
Lawrence raised a long, crooked finger and pointed at Chuck. “Just remember this is Washington DC. We don’t think like commandos here. We’re chess players and smooth talkers. When in Rome, do as the Romans do.”
“I always prefer civilized talk to torture and interrogation.”
“That’s the attitude.” Lawrence leaned forward again and spoke softly. “Stay alive, Chuck. You understand me? We can make a difference. If there’s anyone alive who can save this country, it’s you.”
“Let’s get real. I may not be the smooth talker you’re looking for.”
“No, sir.” He drew the back of his hand across his lamb chop sideburn. He looked at Chuck with intense, penetrating eyes. “You do the things that they say cannot be done. You do the impossible.”
