Three tall windows ran almost to the ceiling and were trimmed with black crepe in honor of the committee's departed member, Congressman Lane. Set between the windows and all around the room were giant brass sconces, designed like ornate torches that would not have been out of place in the Roman Senate. Each flared a wedge of light against the paneling above it. All the furniture, the curved dais where the committee members sat like knights of the semicircular table, the witness table, the visitor chairs, was fashioned of mahogany perfectly matched to the paneling. The red leather on the seats and backs of the chairs arranged in neat rows for visitors and witnesses and lined against the wall behind the dais for the committee members' aides matched the carpet, as did the leather inlays in the tops of the press tables flanking both sides of the room.
Chaos reigned. Photographers were jockeying for position in the space allotted them, reporters were weaving through the mix of legislators, witnesses, and visitors, looking for comments, sniffing for rumors, while the C-SPAN technicians made final adjustments on their cameras, one near the front and the other midline at the rear.
Gin followed Senator Marsden to the dais, why did it feel so special to stroll past the "Staff Only" sign? , and staked out a chair behind his spot at the apex of the semicircle. Zach would be with her. Charlie had stayed behind at the office. While Marsden began arranging his papers, she looked out over the milling crowd and was shocked.
Duncan.
"Senator, do I have time to talk to someone?"
"Of course," he said, glancing up at the disorder before him. "We won't come to order for at least another ten or fifteen minutes." As she stepped off the dais, someone tapped her on the shoulder.
Another familiar face, one she was very glad to see.
"Gerry! What are you doing here?"
"Just stopped by to say hello."
"But how'd you get in?"
He flashed his FBI ID. "Never underestimate the power of the Department of Justice. I knew this was your big day and I just wanted to wish you luck. I'd’ve brought flowers but,"
"Oh, I'm glad you didn't. I wouldn't have known what to do with them."
He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. "Knock em dead, Gin. "
She gave him a hug. "Thanks. That means a lot." And it did. No one else had wished her luck, or thought she should even be here. She watched him go, then spotted Duncan on the far side of the room. He was talking to one of the committee members, Senator Vincent. Both looked to be about the same age, wore suits of similar cut, but Duncan's trim figure and aristocratic bearing somehow left the senator looking like a poor relation. And what had the senator done to his hair? A permanent?
She tapped Duncan on the shoulder.
"Excuse me, sir," she said in an offcious voice. "Do you have a pass?"
Duncan greeted her with a warm smile and threw an arm around her shoulders. "I was wondering when you'd show up. Senator Vincent, I'd like you to meet Senator Marsden's newest assistant, Dr. Gin Panzella. Also my surgical assistant. In fact, she assisted me on your procedure."
Senator Vincent glanced around uncomfortably as he shook Gin's hand. "I wish you wouldn't,"
"Don't worry, Senator, " Duncan said. "Gin is the soul of discretion, just like everyone else on my staff. You know that."
"You look great, Senator," Gin said, and she meant it.
Except for the hair. But as far as the surgery, the improvement was remarkable. Amazing how all that redundant flesh under his chin had aged him. He looked at least fifteen years younger.
But that hair. Ugh.
"So I look okay? No sign that I had, that anything was done?"
"Not a bit," Duncan said. "I predict you'll be the next bright star in the C-SPAN firmament." Senator Vincent laughed nervously.
"I'm serious," Duncan said. "After your performance today, you're going to be on all the networks. Mark my words." Just then a beeper sounded. Duncan had his hand in his coat pocket.
Gin watched him pull out his oversized pager, the same one he'd had on the west portico of the Capitol . . .
. . . the day Congressman Allard fell down the Capitol steps.
He grunted and said, "Now, who could this be?" He looked at the display window and pressed a button. At that moment the hearing room's PA system began a feedback howl, and Gin noticed Senator Vincent wince and begin massaging the outside of his right thigh.
"Something wrong?" she asked him.
"I don't know," he said. "For a second there it was almost like a bee sting. But it's better now." He glanced at the dock high on the rear wall. "We'll be starting soon. Excuse me."
Gin turned to Duncan as Senator Vincent wandered off. "Anything important?"
Duncan had already pocketed the pager. "One of my golf foursome. Probably checking on our tee time And may I ask, who was that man with whom you were engaging in a public display of affection?"
"Gerry Canney. An old friend from high school. He's now an FBI agent."
"And I suppose you embrace all your old high school friends whenever you see them?"
Gin felt herself blush. "He's a little more than a friend."
"I see," Duncan said, raising his eyebrows. "Well, I'm happy for you."
Gin regarded him. Something different about Duncan this morning. He seemed wound up. Like a Thoroughbred owner before a big race.
'"Three guesses who's the last person I expected to see here this morning."
His eyebrows lifted even higher. "Me? I wouldn't miss this show for the world."
"It's the hottest ticket in town. How'd you get in?"
"Consider for a moment the names in my patient files, Gin, and tell me who in this Circus Maximus is better connected than yours truly." He cocked his head toward Senator Vincent. "Actually, it was the good senator himself who saw to it."
"You'd probably be better off watching it on C-SPAN."
"Nothing like. actually being there." He sniffed. "Catch that, Gin? The effluvium of naked power waiting to be unleashed. Heady stuff."
Gin laughed. "Tell me about it." She glanced at the dais and saw the committee members seating themselves. "Got to run. Enjoy yourself, Duncan."
His smile was tight. "I hope to." Her palms were moist by the time she regained the dais. She hoped she didn't look a tenth as nervous as she felt.
Let's stop fooling around and get this thing started, folks.
She knew she'd be fine once the hearing was rolling, it was the waiting that was killing her.
She checked out the dais. All the attending committee members except Senator Vincent were in place. Where was he?
She searched the floor of the hearing room and spotted him, standing next to Duncan again. She saw Duncan say something to him and turn away.
She couldn't see Duncan's face, but Senator Vincent's wore a baffled look.
Gin had a sudden sense of deja vu . . . Duncan . . . his beeper . . . a parting comment . . .
Gin chewed her lip as the senator gained the dais and approached his seat. She knew it was all coincidence but she wanted to know what Duncan had said to him.
Now wasn't the time, however. But right after the hearing she'd find a way to ask. Duncan sat quite literally on the edge of his seat, his hands clutched tightly between his knees. He struggled for outer calm, to hide the surging adrenaline within.
No glitches today. This one had to go according to plan. The setting was absolutely perfect.
He'd waited to see where Senator Vincent was sitting before choosing his own place. When he spotted Vincent settling himself three seats to Marsden's right, Duncan found a chair halfway back with a clear view of the senator.
He glanced at his watch.
Won't be long now.
He watched Gin sitting tense and stiff against the back wall as Marsden brought the room to order. The senator made a few brief opening remarks about the missing committee members, offering condolences to the Lane family and hope for Congressman Allard's speedy recovery. Out of respect, he said, their nameplate
s would remain before their places until their replacements were chosen.
Duncan knew he was tempting fate to do this with Gin here, but he had little choice. Another of those perverse twists that dogged his heels lately. Still, there was no way Gin could connect him to what was about to happen to Senator Vincent.
Ah, Gin, he thought. Look at you, my naive cygnet, thinking you can have some effect on these proceedings. But it's all preordained. The real decisions as to whether or not American medicine will be practiced via government-issue cookbooks, and whether your fellow physicians will be suffocated under mountains of regulations where they'll spend more time dodging fines and penalties than attending to the health of their patients, will not be made here but in back rooms and hallways, where a vote for the Guidelines act will be traded for a bridge or a highway spur.
The first witness was called, Samuel Fox, MD.
Typical, Duncan thought. Congress's favorite pet doctor, the physician-hating physician.
Fox styled himself as a consumer advocate but was little more than a grandstanding autolatrous worm. This hearing was proceeding exactly as expected.
As the notoriously prolix Fox began reading a prepared statement, Duncan kept his eyes fixed on Vincent, watching for the first signs. His thoughts wandered back to the day Congressman Hugo Lane had shown up at his officer. That had been earlier this year, shortly after the president had instigated the anabiosis of the committee. Lane the notorious lush had come to him for removal of the spidery blemishes sprouting all over his face and upper trunk. Supposedly from too much sun. Duncan recognized them immediately as arterial angiomas, known in the trade as boozer blossoms. They meant a fatty, cirrhotic liver.
Too much sun? Too much Johnny Walker.
It had required enormous control not to slam the man back on the examining table. The flagitious toper! Lane had been a member of the original McCready committee, a participant in the savaging of Duncan's career, his life, and he didn't even remember him.
Like the old song, Am That Easy to Forget?
He'd been part of the process that had killed Lisa and he had never even heard her name.
Duncan remembered staring dumbfounded, thinking, We have this history together, the most traumatic time of my entire life, and you have no inkling.
If Duncan had not been in a towering rage over the revival of the committee, if Lane had not been reappointed to it, Duncan might have simply explained who he was, what he and his cronies had done to his life, and thrown the bastard the hell out.
But circumstances being what they were, Duncan had said, Yes, Congressman. No problem. We can take care of all those unsightly areas of sun damage. Cautery of the central vessel of each with an ultrafine laser. Easy as pie. Barbara will arrange a day and time for the procedure.
While I arrange a little something extra for you.
So Congressman Lane had been the first.
Duncan's plan had been to have him make an ass out of himself at the French embassy. Duncan had been there, had watched and waited, but Hugo Lane had behaved as usual, drank too much, ate too much, and talked too loud. Maybe all the alcohol in his system was to blame, maybe his fatty liver wasn't working up to snuff. Whatever the reason, Lane was apparently his usual self until he was driving home. Witnesses said he wove all over the road before crashing through a barrier and rolling down an embankment in Rock Creek Park.
Duncan had been shocked and dismayed. He hadn't intended for Lane to die, just go crazy in front of a roomful of his peers. And maybe stay crazy for a few years.
No worry about being found out. Lane's blood-alcohol level was explanation enough for the accident. But even if the ME had looked for other causes he would have come up empty. Toxicology screens can find only what they're looking for, and no one would be screening for what Duncan had put into Lane. Only a handful of people had ever known it existed.
Schulz had been next. This procurante, too, had no memory of the doctor his committee had flagellated years past, no knowledge of the teenage girl who'd died because of it. Duncan realized then why they didn't remember him, He'd never been important to them. Duncan Lathram was a name on a piece of paper handed to them by one of their aides five years ago. They'd reviled him when the microphones were on, but never gave him a thought between hearings, and forgot about him after a couple of weeks.
Schulz . . . a vain, strutting, womanizing roue whose diligent efforts over the years to keep a year-round tan had left his face a mass of wrinkles. On the recommendation of his good friend Congressman Lane he'd come to Duncan for a solution. He'd already tried Retin-A but to no avail. His myriad wrinkles seemed baked in. Could Duncan help?
Of course, Senator. Duncan had smoothed his rugose hide, and given him something extra.
Duncan hadn't yet decided on the time and place for Schulz when the shocking news reached him that the senator was dead. Duncan had been baffled until he'd learned that a physical therapy session had been the penultimate event in the good senator's life before he took a dive from the balcony of his high-rise town house. That probably explained it.
Or maybe Schulz simply had a guilty conscience.
Not likely.
Again, no loss to the world. But once again he'd been deprived of the catharsis he craved.
Allard had come the closest to what Duncan had planned for him, but that, too, had fallen short.
Today was going to be different. Duncan could feel it in his bones.
And when he noticed the corner of Senator Vincent's mouth begin to twitch, he was sure of it.
Gin leaned forward in her seat and placed another note in front of Senator Marsden. She'd been culling one question after another from Dr. Fox's parade of dubious statistics but was passing only the more flagrant errors forward. There wasn't time for the senator to consider all of them.
As she slid back she noticed a small fleshy bump atop the auricle of the senator's left ear. Smooth with a pearly surface.
On a sun-exposed area, that was a basal cell carcinoma until proven otherwise. She wasn't his doctor, and it was sometimes touchy to point out a potential health problem to someone who hadn't asked, but she decided to mention it to him later.
She heard a pencil drop. She looked up. No, it was a pen. It had fallen near Senator Vincent. He must have dropped it, but he didn't seem to notice. She was forcing her attention back to Dr. Fox when she noticed Senator Vincent jerk in his seat. She watched and he did it again. A spasmodic movement, as if someone had jabbed him with a pin, or a violent chill had passed through him. The room was cool but he seemed to be sweating. He ran a trembling hand through his frizzy hair.
Is he all right? she wondered.
She watched him a moment longer and he seemed to be calm, no more jerks or twitches. But he was still sweating, and gripping the edge of the table as if it might float away from him, or he from it.
Concentrate on the testimony, Gin, she told herself. That's your job here. Not Senator Vincent's hangover or whatever's bothering him.
She focused on Fox's words and was in the middle of another notation when . . .
"Just a minute, please. P-Please, excuse me." Gin jumped at the sudden interruption. Senator Vincent, kissing his mike and popping his P's, had broken in at peak volume.
"Yes, Senator?" Senator Marsden said softly. "Shall we allow the doctor to finish his statement before questioning him?"
"No!" Vincent shouted, slamming his fist on the table. His eyes were wild as he glared along the table at Senator Marsden. "We shall do no such damn thing. Not when this son of a bitch starts slandering my wife!" Gin was rocked by that. Fox had been talking about overutilization of services. She saw heads snap up all around the hearing room. Both C-SPAN cameras had swiveled toward Vincent, and the still photographers were screwing their lenses back and forth as they focused on him, the previously somnolent reporters had come alive and were now scribbling on their pads or jabbing away at their laptops.
And on the dais she watched the other members excha
nge puzzled glances.
Marsden looked the most concerned of all.
He cleared his throat. "Senator Vincent, I don't believe Dr. Fox mentioned anyone's wife. He was discussing,"
"Don't you tell me what he said or didn't say, you greenhorn!" Vincent shouted. "I was taking testimony when you were pissing your pants. And don't you side with him against me, either!"
"Senator," Dr. Fox said from the floor.
His expression was wounded and confused. "I assure you I never said or even implied anything," Vincent leapt to his fee. He was off mike now, but his harsh voice cut through the hearing room as he pointed a trembling finger at Fox.
"Don't lie to me, you little shit! Of course you did!" He swayed as he swept the room with his hand. "They all heard you. Every word of it." He stared at the wide-eyed, gawking visitors. "Didn't you? Didn't you?" Silence . . . except for the clicks of camera lenses and the whir of advancing film.
Vincent began to nod his head. "Oh, so that's it. You're all in on it. Well that's just fine. I'll just," Suddenly he whirled on Senator Marsden. "What did you say? " Gin saw Senator Marsden cringe back.
She didn't blame him. The naked fury in Vincent's eyes was frightening.
"I, I didn't say anything, Harold. Maybe we should call a recess until,"
"No! No recess!" Saliva flecked his lips and began to spray as he shouted. "We're going to settle this right here. Here and now! We're," Suddenly he stiffened. His arms went rigid, his head snapped back as his spine bowed. Gin saw his eyes roll up and knew he was going to convulse. She was out of her chair and halfway to him when he dropped to the floor and began a tonic-clonic seizure.
Gin crouched beside him, cradling his jerking head. His eyes were open but he was seeing nothing. She listened to the air hissing in and out between his clenched teeth. Good. As long as that kept up, she knew he hadn't swallowed his tongue.
"Somebody call the emergency squad!" she cried.
She loosened his tie, folded it, and worked it between his grinding teeth. The senator was going to need a dose of diazepam soon. She looked up and saw Samuel Fox in the encircling huddle of anxious faces and camera lenses, those damn clicking, whirring cameras.
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