by Roger Weston
“Who told you all this, Ratlif?”
“Getting worried? Maybe you should. The authorities might come to the conclusion that you’ve used your status and influence to overdraft your account and secure loans that you don’t intend to repay.”
For a moment, the only sounds were those of the water from the fountain.
The crows’ feet at the corners of Henderson’s eyes turned to deep furrows. His forehead took on the contour of a cracked desert. His piercing dark eyes filled with hatred and hostility. “You’re one of them, aren’t you?” he accused. “I always thought well of you, Ratlif. You’re no better than the rest of them. You were born without a conscience.”
“No, you misunderstand.”
“Shut up. You’re one of them. You and Galloway. Why don’t you people leave me alone? He already made his point.”
“And what was that?”
“You know.”
“I really don’t.”
“Are you with him or not?”
“I said no.”
“Then where’d you hear all those lies?”
“Give it up, will you?” Lionel said. “These are facts, sir. I also know things that can help get you out of this mess.”
“Like who? What are you talking about? You’re the doorman. How could you possibly help me?”
Lionel reached into his breast pocket and removed his embroidered handkerchief, which he used to wipe his nose. “Now that you’ve admitted that you need help, you may as well trust me.” He stuffed the handkerchief back into his breast pocket. “You know my reputation. I’ve never betrayed a confidence in my life. Trust me, congressman. I’m the only hope that you have.”
Henderson ran his hand through his greased back hair. His piercing dark eyes narrowed on Lionel. “Alright, Ratlif, but you better not betray me. A man with nothing to lose will stoop to anything.”
“You have my word, Congressman. You can count on my loyalty.”
“Alright, I’ll admit they’re putting the screws to me. They have the same evidence you do, and they’re using it to control me. I’ve been threatened with months of ethical hearings and even criminal charges. I’ll be ruined if I don’t do what they say.”
“You did the right thing by trusting me, sir.”
“What can you do to help me?”
“I know things.”
“Yes, but what can you do for me?”
“Never mind that. I’ve got a surprise for Galloway. It’s going to be ugly, very ugly.”
CHAPTER 32
Leaving the office building in Foggy Bottom, Chuck was followed by a tall, angular mustached man.
The stranger followed him out of the lobby and shoved him from behind.
Chuck turned and faced him. “You must be a friend of Hurst.”
“See that Limo over there?”
Chuck nodded.
“I need you to get in the car. We need to talk.”
Chuck said, “That’s reasonable,” and palm smashed him in the face. The gangster hit the ground hard and rolled. His teeth hit a sewer grate hard enough that Chuck heard the clacking sound.
Chuck ran down the street, dodging between pedestrians. He had no idea who the person was. Foggy Bottom was west of the White House and downtown Washington. It was home to Department of the Interior, numerous international organizations, and certain embassies. It was part of the DC swamp, so this person could be anyone.
Chuck looked back and saw the runner was only fifty yards behind him.
Making a quick turn, Chuck sprinted down a cross street lined with nice buildings. He was constantly dodging professional people, tourists, and students from the local university. He slowed down and entered a dress shop on the first floor of a hotel. He pretended to browse, but stood behind a mannequin for cover. He saw the bleeding mouth of the tough guy, who was turning in a circle, looking for Chuck. He started to jog again, but suddenly stopped and looked at the dress shop. He pulled a gun and ran to the door. Entering the shop, he looked left and right. Chuck was now ducking down behind a rack of dresses.
The girl at the counter screamed and ran out a side door.
The gangster began walking around the shop.
As he moved past the rack where Chuck was hiding, Chuck tackled him. The gangster’s head sounded like a bowling ball dropped on marble tile.
Chuck pinned his shooting arm to the floor and elbowed his face so hard that he knew he’d broken something.
Nevertheless, the gangster struggled to get his shooting hand free, so Chuck face smashed him with another swinging elbow.
This time the enforcer was dazed.
“Are you working for Hurst?” Chuck said, referring to the Seattle lawyer.
“His bo—bodyguard.”He acted like speaking was painful. Blood was trickling down his chin.
“Where is he?”
“I—I don’t know.”
Chuck remembered that the girl had fled and cops or security would be here any moment, so he decided to just leave.
Chuck got up to walk out, but the so-called enforcer wasn’t finished. He got up, too, and pursued.
He swung, but Chuck ducked and dodged. When he attacked again, Chuck executed a reverse kick. The gangster flew backwards through the shop’s front window and landed on the sidewalk outside. Pedestrians stopped and stared.
Chuck left by the exit door. No sooner was he outside when the gangster came after him again. He swung, but Chuck ducked and drove two fists into his ribs with enough force to knock him down and knock his wind out.
More pedestrians stopped and watched.
The tough guy was trying to get up but struggling because he couldn’t breathe. Chuck kicked him into a row of bikes—all of which were knocked down.
Pedestrians backed away and watched the fight from a safe distance.
Chuck grabbed his arm and cranked it under a bike bar, bending it until the thug screamed.
“Where is Hurst?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re his bodyguard.” Chuck wrenched the arm under the metal bike bar until the arm broke. The big man screamed in pain.
“Chuck heard a woman say, ‘Call the Police!”
“We can do this the easy way,” Chuck said, “or the hard way. Where is Hurst?”
“He’s at a meeting.”
“Where?”
“The Botanical Garden.”
“Who’s he meeting with?”
“The leader of a transnational criminal gang.”
“What does he look like?”
“A little guy with a nice suit. Stay away from him if you know what’s good for ya.”
“Who else is with him?”
“Hurst, and more bodyguards. One is a three-hundred pound meat hammer with knit gloves.”
“Thank you. You’ve been very helpful.”
“You broke my arm. You broke it.”
“Why don’t you go back to school and get yourself an education. You’re not cut out for this kind of work.”
The thug spit out blood and a string of profanities.
As Chuck walked away, all the bystanders backed away and let him pass. He’d gone half a block when his phone rang.
“Yeah.”
“Chuck, it’s me, JJ.”
“What’s going on?” Chuck said to his building contractor surveillance man.
“They’ve got my son. I delivered the cash where they told me, but they haven’t called back.”
Chuck was quiet for a second. “You should have called me first.”
“They said they’d kill him.”
“They weren’t lying.”
“What do I do now? I’m gonna call the FBI.”
“Look, trust me, JJ. If you ever want to see your son again, don’t call anyone yet. Just give me a few hours. If I haven’t got him back, then call the FBI.”
“It’ll be too late.”
“It’s already too late. You gave away a million dollars in cash. If your son is still alive, I’m the only ho
pe you’ve got.”
“Help me, Chuck. Please help me.”
“Dead or alive, I’ll find him.”
“They’re dangerous, Chuck. Be careful.”
“Don’t worry. I’m done with the diplomatic approach. I will find your son.”
“What should I do?”
“Get on your knees and pray fervently. Don’t stop until you hear from me.”
CHAPTER 33
Washington DC
House doorman Lionel Ratlif started up the eighteen-story winding stairway to the top of the Capitol dome. The stairway was off limits to the public unless they worked through the Capitol Guide Service, so it was totally private—at least for now. Lionel made his way up the stairs slowly, but with endurance. These stairs had literally kept him healthy for the past twenty years. For that long he’d been climbing these stairs daily at six in the morning. It was the most isolated place in the Capitol even though it was part of the rotunda, which was one of the busiest places. This was possible because the stairway to the top was inside the walls of the Capitol dome, a restricted area. The stairs rose up between the sandstone drum of the original dome and the brackets holding it to the new dome.
Lionel climbed the stairs slowly, ducking in places where he had to duck to avoid bumping his head on some metal beam or huge steel bracket. When he got to the top, he could feel his blood rushing, but he was not winded. Like a sucker fish, he had always thrived inside the shark tank of the Capitol. He’d survived all the backstabbing and scheming for decades. Part of his endurance could no doubt be traced to his daily victory climb up the stairs of the Capitol dome. It taught him persistence and humility. He always made the climb alone and never spoke of it to anyone. Likewise, when he learned of some hidden scandal, he always kept it to himself. The secrets always stayed buried. Otherwise, he’d have never lasted this long.
Nevertheless, there were times in the course of a great nation’s history when a man had to put his neck on the line. On rare occasions, he anonymously leaked a secret so that he could expose corruption and change the course of history. Somebody had to fight back against those who were getting rich by selling out the country. He believed that there had to be counter forces to combat widespread corruption and self-dealing in DC Nobody would have ever guessed that the humble doorman had changed history on several occasions. Today was one of those days. This was what he lived for. Today he would wield his secret knowledge like a sword. He would do so because nation’s future was in grave danger.
Lionel recalled the words that were painted over in the Cox Corridors, the quote by F.D.R. that read, "We must remember that any oppression, any injustice, any hatred, is a wedge designed to attack our civilization." Lionel sighed. Without a doubt, powerful forces worked in secret to rob America blind while ballooning the national debt and funding immoral priorities. Because the borrower was servant to the lender, wasteful spending and national budget corruption put freedom itself at risk.
A long line of public servants had worked for two hundred years to preserve that freedom and fight back against the forces of darkness. Nevertheless, the country’s long line of veterans could not always help when their own leaders were the enemy and their evil deeds were carried out behind locked doors. Men like Chuck Brandt could help sometimes, but such men were precious few. No, Chuck needed help, and Lionel C. Ratlif was the only man in the Capitol with the access, the power, and the guts to take action. Brandt needed help, and he was going to get it.
Lionel came to the first visitors’ gallery. From this narrow aisle of stairs he had what he judged to be one of the more staggering views in America. Off to his right, he could look down into the Rotunda. Out the window to his left, he could see a view of the Supreme Court and the Library of Congress. These were the trappings of a great nation, the very corrupt institutions whose power for good was being eroded away by those who wanted to fundamentally change the country so that it would serve their own interests rather than the people for whom they had nothing but distain. He followed the stairs up through the narrow space between the old inner dome and the newer outer dome.
He hiked up the steep, narrow staircase that curved through the huge steel trusses that fastened the outer dome to the inner dome. He arrived at the second visitors’ gallery underneath the great painting, which was called the apotheosis of George Washington, a fresco that decorated the ceiling of the Capitol’s dome.
Lionel had chosen this place for a reason. While the noise of tour guides and tourists below could be heard from this high platform, it was a unique feature of this high platform that due to the domed roof nobody down below could hear anything that was said up here.
Looking down eighteen stories into the Rotunda below, he walked a circle around the inner dome, his fingers brushing against the railing. He paid little attention to the Apotheosis of George Washington on the ceiling because he wasn’t here to see the sights. He was here to do what Chuck Brandt had told him to do—save the country.
Two men now arrived, and Lionel nearly lost breath from the altitude or more likely because he would never look at these two men in the same way. Now he knew them for what the were—tools and front men for the Augean Command secret society, a group of mega rich and powerful men who were using their power to gain more power. Their current tactic was to give away billions in public money in exchange for massive kickbacks—billions in kickbacks.
Ian Byrd was the bigger of the two men. He was a staffer for Congressman Henderson, yet it was now clear that he was a far more powerful man than his ‘boss’. Byrd was heavyset, big boned. Meaty face. Arching eye brows over deep sockets. Protruding jaw. Mashed nose. Grayish hue to his complexion. Long arms. Thick legs. This was Ian Byrd, front man for the Augean Command.
Due to his intimidating appearance, he was known for using his smile and his chuckle to disarm people. He was known to be a helpful guy.
Speaker Galloway smiled at Lionel with a slightly condescending look in his eyes. He looked self-impressed with his yellow bow-tie and his gold bracelet, which he was fiddling with. He said, “Why did you want to meet us here, Ratlif? What the devil are you up to?”
“Look, Galloway, I know you’re using legislative trickery for your dirty deeds. I know that you snuck a $10 billion gift to Albania into the bill.”
Galloway looked over at Byrd.
Byrd wrung the fingers of his hands, which were the size of baseball mitts. With his dark, sunken eyes, Byrd looked at Lionel and smiled. “You been busy, ain’t you Ratlif?” Byrd punched his shoulder soft and playful like. “Oh, you are sneaky.”
Byrd grabbed Lionel’s tie and pulled it tight until he was choking. Lionel tugged at Byrd’s hands, but it was futile. Byrd was too strong. Lionel tried clawing at his face, but Byrd just held him at arm’s length. Lionel’s fingers clawed at the arms of Byrd’s camels-hair jacket. Then Byrd let him go.
Lionel dropped to his knees and gasped for air. After gasping several times, he staggered to his feet.
Byrd said, “Your game’s up, Ratlif. Anything else you want to say?”
Ratlif tried to speak, but went into a fit of coughing. After a minute he said, “You may have done a year at Riker’s Island, Byrd, but you don’t scare me. After all, with the high rate of recidivism, you’ll be back there soon anyway. As for you, Speaker Galloway, you’re going to do exactly what I tell you to do from here on out.”
Galloway laughed. To Byrd he said, “I think Ratlif bumped his head against the door too many times.”
Byrd looked surprised.
Lionel smiled. He was going to enjoy this. “I know your dirty little secrets, Mr. Speaker.”
Galloway winced. “What are you talking about?”
“Got your attention, didn’t I? Because you and I both know that you have plenty to hide. For example, I know that you were a partner in a corrupt insurance swindle racket. Taking advantage of a sluggish economy, your agents routinely worked with crooked osteopaths and social workers in a scheme to stage phony insuran
ce claims all across America. The social workers provided a stream of desperate people who would agree to pose as accident victims.”
The color drained out of Galloway’s face as anger filled his eyes.
“Do I have your attention now, Mr. Speaker? Good. I also happen to know that you believed in realism when you were scamming insurance companies. Pain medication was administered and wrists were broken with crank handles. The osteopaths compounded these injuries with injections guaranteed to cause infections. Miscalculations resulted in dozens of amputations, but these “accidents” only increased the size of the insurance claims. As a congressman, you supported massive regulations on business, guaranteed to drag out the last recession. This guaranteed an abundant flow of desperate, jobless people who you could take advantage of.”
“What nonsense!”
“Really, Mr. Speaker? There’s nothing you can do to hide the truth anymore. Like I said, from now on, you do what I say, or you’re going to run into some major problems.”
“That sounds like blackmail.”
“Call it what you like. Do you want all this to come out in court? Do you think you have a chance of winning in court?” Lionel glanced at Byrd. “Especially given that your witness is an ex-con who was never reformed at Riker’s Island.” Lionel sneered at Byrd. “That’s right, you oversized brute. You have a depraved mind, and you aren’t smart enough to handle Lionel C. Ratlif. You’re outmatched.”
Byrd’s jaw protruded more than usual. His eyes assumed a threatening glare. “Think again, Ratlif, you door-swinging scum. You’re gonna keep your mouth shut.”
“No, you listen to me.” Lionel pointed at him. “Unless you want to be the warden’s pet again, you’re going to extract the hidden amendments. You’re going to cut any and all references to Albanian foreign aid. If you don’t, Galloway will be facing criminal charges right away. You Byrd, won’t be far behind.”
Byrd stepped toward Lionel. With his long, beefy arms, he grabbed Lionel by his shirt collar and by his belt. As if Lionel weighed no more than a butterfly, Byrd lifted him and held him over the rail. Lionel was too scared to scream. He was hanging out over eighteen stories of air. Below him—far below—a tour group was focused on the statue of George Washington. Byrd pulled Lionel back until his feet touched the floor again, but Byrd held Lionel so that he was bent over the railing and looking forward to a massive fall, which the ex-con could make happen with the mere flick of his oversized wrist.
