Senate Cloakroom Cabal (26 page)

He and I went to the President's Room adjacent to the Senate floor to wait for Roanne. He was beaming and muttering platitudes . . . a proud father, who had somehow convinced a three-term senator to face down his own party. I had no doubt about his part in that.

Rufus handed a note to a Senate page and asked that it be delivered to Senator Dalton. She appeared soon after, accompanied by Michael and Raines. Because the room was available to others besides senators, Roanne had asked the sergeant at arms for a private room.

Knowing there would be a crush of press and maybe a disgruntled senator or two, she had also requested that security be present. Two officers led us through a considerable gaggle of people. Someone shouted a derisive question; another swore at Roanne, which caught the attention of the security escort; and an officer ahead of me spoke into his collar microphone.

We reached a room off the corridor similar to the one that Roanne and I had met in not too long ago. This was exciting stuff, but Ro showed exhaustion. Rufus clapped Raines on the back.

“Harry, you done good. I bet you picked up enough extra support to stop them from
filiblustering
.”

I knew he meant the
bluster
part.

“I thought Tom was going to drag me off,” Raines said.

Rufus shook his head. “He knows he's in trouble.”

Raines remained fretful. “I expect I'll get some flack over it.”

“Harold, we all appreciate what you did and what you are willing to do,” Roanne said.

“How many you think we can pull in?” Rufus asked, now fully engaged.

“You sure about Crawford and Witherspoon, Ro?” Raines asked.

“They're solid and all we need.”

I finally spoke up. “Maybe we could get to a TV and see what's brewing.”

58

I
t wasn't Katrina, a tsunami, or 9/11, but the cable news stations were scrambling to cover the epic Senate battle, and camera men and TV producers were wildly searching out senators to interview. This was an intraparty battle not seen in years.

We left the Capitol and rode over to Dirksen, with an escort, and took the Senators Only elevator to the third floor. Ro insisted the escort stay with Raines who was going on to the Hart Building.

Rufus and I sat in Roanne's office while she and Michael attended to things. An aide escorted a woman into the room and introduced her to the former governor. She was Senator Jean Witherspoon, a fiftyish, slightly plump lady from the Great Plains. Her short, brunette hairstyle gave her an outdoorsy look. Rufus took right to her, and they sat and chatted like old friends.

I decided not to join in with them. Roanne and Michael were using Michael's office for their work, so I looked for a room with a TV and watched C-SPAN's umpteenth showing of Kelly's neck arteries about to burst.

I was thinking of doing something else when Michael asked me to join him, which I gladly did. We went into his office, where Roanne stood with Senator Szymanski.

“Al, this is Laura Wolfe. Laura, Al Szymanski.”

He extended his hand. “Ms. Wolfe, I am proud to make your acquaintance.”

“Senator,” I said cordially.

“Laura's been my beacon through the bulk of the Tutoxtamen mess, Al. She is a reporter above reproach.”

I knew we had some slackers in the media, but we're mostly an honest, hard-working group. However, I smiled at her compliment.

“I followed that serial-killer thing closely,” he said. “You were almost killed.”

“By about a second, actually,” I said, and immediately wished I hadn't when I saw Roanne's shocked expression.

“You never said—” she started.

“It's not something I dwell on or talk about.”

Szymanski bored ahead. “Weren't you pregnant . . . didn't that ever make you . . . ?”

“In the heat of the chase, it was the killer we wanted.”

“That was weird the way . . . you know who . . .”

I interrupted him, trying to keep my tone neutral. “I prefer not talking about it, sir. It was sickening and sad. So many people, other than those killed, were irreparably damaged.”

“Yes, yes, I guess there were, well . . .” He looked to Roanne.

She said to me, “It looks like we'll have sixty votes, and Al will also have a majority on the committee. He wants to move fast. Can you see any reason why we shouldn't?”

I was startled by the question. Two senators . . . but she must be asking because of what Rogers was doing, and we were keeping that quiet. “I think the timing couldn't be better. Especially as my Style piece on you is coming out tomorrow.”

Szymanski looked surprised. “Style piece?”

I jumped in. “We worked on it last month, but then when you made your offer to Senator Dalton, we decided to hold off running it until the partnership and the bill were announced.

Today's notoriety makes it good for her and good for your bill.”
My God,
I'm getting political
, I thought. “Your bill should be very popular . . . it's bipartisan . . . yeah, go for it.”

Both senators smiled appreciatively.

“This has all the signs of a good boxing match, Senator. You've knocked the opponent down once, and you're going right after him, before he can get his legs back.”

I could see Szymanski liked my simile and smiled.

“Damn, Ro, you're right; she's solid.”

Whatever that meant. I thought he was going to slap his leg and let out a hoot. He had some rough edges, but I doubted he was anyone to take lightly. I'd have to look up his bio.

59

S
enator Fred Pembroke, Majority Whip Marv Hatcher, Appropriations Chairman Wallace Clarence, and Finance Chairman Maurice Jarvis along with several staff, including Nancy Morris, were in Majority Leader Tom Kelly's office, awaiting his arrival.

The mood was somber.

“How could this happen?” Pembroke groaned.

“We're the majority party for God's sake,” the whip said. “One of our own . . .”

“Raines got bought out by Dalton's old man,” Senator Clarence said acrimoniously.

Nods and verbal agreements rolled through the room.

“Dalton and Raines only give Szymanski a fifty-fifty split,” Senator Hatcher growled.

“Our problem,” Pembroke offered, “is we're too damn complacent.”

The door loudly burst open, and Kelly rushed in. “Sorry I'm late. I've been on with the White House. The president wanted an explanation,” he said, moving to behind his desk, “and frankly, I didn't have one. Anyone have any ideas?” he asked in a demanding tone.

Hatcher spoke up. “We knew Al was shopping his bill, trying to get a cosponsor, but we thought he was shut out.”

“Nancy,” Kelly asked sharply, “you are friends with Dalton's AA. Did he tell you they'd been approached?”

“No sir. I haven't talked to Michael since the morning after Mort—” “All right,” Kelly spat, “where do we go from here?” His piercing eyes challenged each senator. “Are there more turncoats?”

Nobody answered.

“Okay. Marv, talk to everyone. Fred, talk to everyone on—”

Pembroke interrupted. “Nobody talks to Dalton outside of small talk or a perfunctory greeting. Crawford, at your request, Tom was . . . but he'd never . . . he's a straight shooter.”

“Yeah, but who's he shooting for?” the whip blurted.

“All right then, you talk to him, Marv. You find out,” Pembroke shot back.

Kelly extended his arms with palms down. “Let's keep it calm.” He gave his whip an ease-it-up gesture. He looked at staff grouped together in a corner. “You folks spread out; use that underground network of yours.” He turned back to the senators. “This is not one of our finest hours.”

“It's a disgrace,” Senator Jarvis bellowed.

“Okay, we took a black eye,” Kelly said, “but we're still on our feet. We have the traditions and the rules. We'll overcome this.”

“The trouble is,” Clarence moaned, “we have nothing on her. We can't just pick up the phone and say—”

“Forget about her,” Kelly demanded. He looked at the staff. “Why don't you all head out. See what . . . well, you know.”

Staff filed out, nodding and muttering amongst themselves.

Once they were gone, Kelly addressed the four senators.

“Who can get to Harold? How much will it cost us to drag him back in?”

60

I
was still with Roanne in her office along with Senators Szymanski and Witherspoon. Rufus and Michael had gone off somewhere. It was getting late, and I was being pulled between staying and leaving, when my cell phone vibrated. I didn't recognize the number. It wasn't one in my address book.

“Excuse me,” I said, moving away from the group. “Hello?”

“Laura?”

It was Lassiter. She rarely called me.

“Yes.”

“Where are you?”

“In Senator Dalton's office with two other senators.”

“We have a reporter in Frankfurt, Germany, working on a series about our wounded warriors still hospitalized there. He called Barton fifteen minutes ago. He picked up a rumor that a civilian German hospital has a drug which is curing the hell out of a lot of people.”

I raised my voice. “A cancer drug? Where specifically?” I caught the senators' attention.

“He didn't say cancer. It's in some small hospital on the outskirts of the city. Travis, the reporter, overheard a couple of nurses jawing about it.” I was pumped. Could this be Rogers's doing? “Has he checked it out?”

“He's working on it, but Barton wants you to talk to him. Travis is expecting your call. Here's his satellite number.”

“Hold on,” I grabbed my pad and a pen. “Shoot.”

She gave me the number.

“I'll call and then head back to the paper.” When I clicked off, the three senators were staring at me.

“My editor,” I said, moving toward Roanne. “Our reporter in Frankfurt, Germany, has heard that a local hospital is treating patients with a miracle drug.”

They looked at each other with eyebrows raised and eyes wide:
Could
it be?

“What I'm going to say is deep background. It must stay in this room,”

I was firm and hopefully polite. After all, I was talking to United States senators. I looked to Roanne.

“Absolutely,” she agreed. “Al, Jean, this may be a huge break, but it must stay in this room.”

Both nodded. “That's fine,” Szymanski added.

Assured, I went on. “The reporter overheard medical staff talking about a new drug that was doing astounding things in a local hospital. Our managing editor wants me to talk with the reporter immediately. He didn't say cancer drug, though. May I use your phone?”

“Certainly. Do you need privacy?”

“No.” We went behind her desk, and she punched a button on her phone console.

“This is an outside line, direct dial.”

“This won't take long.” I tapped in the number.

“Travis,” a male voice answered.

“Laura Wolfe. Barton asked me—”

“He told me.”

“Okay. Have you found the hospital?”

“Yeah. I got the impression it was hot. I've got the hospital name, address, and directions.”

“You're my kind of guy. Can you go there tonight?”

“I can find it, but it'll be after eleven here.”

“Fine, I don't mean to tell you—”

“I don't take it that way. Is this something you're working on?”

“If it's what I think it is, it will be everybody's story. I'll fill you in later. I'm with three US senators right now. We've been discussing a drug and—”

“They're involved?” He sounded surprised.

“Yes. Look, this is your story. I only have to be in on it because it may be important to what we're doing here. Capisce?”

“Gotcha. Where should I call—?”

“Call the paper. I'm going straight there.”

We signed off. The senators waited. I felt like I'd been sprinting and took a couple of deep breaths as I walked around the large desk to where my bag was.

“Okay. Travis has located the hospital and is going there now. He heard no mention of cancer. I'll be with our managing editor and others. Travis will call me there.”

“Laura, could it be Rogers?”

I smiled at her. “Is the Capitol Dome white?”

“He's amazing! That's why—”

“Excuse me,” I cut her off softly and looked at the two other senators. “I need a word with Senator Dalton.”

“Al, you and Jean wait here,” Roanne said. “Laura and I will use Michael's office.”

Once in there, I whispered, “This is tricky. You and I know Rogers has an offshore operation, but they don't. We need to keep it that way. Please impress on the senators that patience is critical. We'll know if it's cancer tonight . . . by tomorrow for sure. Nothing about this will be in tomorrow's edition. We'll wait for Travis to do his interviews first, so we can learn more about these treatments.”

Ro smiled. “Today, only we few know. This is exciting. I hope it is Harley Rogers.”

“Me too. Either way, it could change the world.” I headed for the door.

61

L
assiter and I were with Barton Williams and his associate editor, Riley Harris, waiting for Travis Sutter's call. Barton sat behind his antique desk, and we sat across the desk from him, Lassiter between me and Riley.

“You say you don't know if this is the cancer drug, but you're sure the hospital in Germany is Rogers's doing?” Riley asked me.

I knew who Riley was, but had never met him. He came across a little haughty, so I concentrated on staying calm. “Everything points to it being Rogers's miracle cancer drug. A German pharmaceutical company has been independently testing the drug for three years, I believe.