The iCongressman (28 page)

CHELSEA

The meeting is just about ready to start. I’m not one to
condone speeding, but in this instance, I’m glad I broke that particular law to
get here. I drop my purse and coat on a staffer’s desk and
march
into the congressman’s open office. The rest of my staff gawks at me, but I
don’t care.

I walk in and immediately see Vince, Amanda, Peyton, and
Vanessa. Emilee, Brian, and Xavier must still be at school finishing up their
final exams. I turn to see Blake standing next to the sofas at the end of the
congressman’s inner office. I walk briskly up to him and summon all my anger,
hurt, and frustration over the past year.

“Hi, Chelsea,” Blake says, not seeing this coming.

I cock my arm back, pivoting my hips and keeping my eye on
my target just like Dad taught me. My fist connects with his cheek with a
satisfying
whack
sound. I don’t have
Mister B’s strength, so he just staggers back, off-balance. Damn, I wanted him
to go down. I grab him by his suit jacket and ram him up against the wall, my
forearm pressing against his neck. This works too.

“Why did you kiss me?”

“What the hell’s wrong with you?” he barks, struggling to check
his now swelling cheek.

“Answer the question! Why did you kiss me?”

“Ugh, you kissed Blake?” I hear Vince
ask,
now recovering from the suddenness of my assault on Blake.

“Shut up, Vince!” I scream over my shoulder. “Why?” I repeat
,
turning my attention back to the man I have pinned against
a wall.

“Because I’m falling in love with you.”

“Oh, please!” Vince interrupts again. “Don’t buy this BS,
Chels. Never trust a naked guy who offers you a coat.”

“I said shut it, Vince, or you’re next!”

“Vince, not for nothing, but she means that. Remember, she’s
a redhead, so I suggest you cool it,” I hear the congressman whisper to him.

“Why should I believe you? Why should I
ever
believe you?”

“I don’t expect you to. George MacDonald once said, ‘To be trusted
is a greater compliment than being loved.’ Unfortunately for me, when it comes
to you, I want both.”

There is nothing but sincerity in his eyes. Since the day I
met Blake I have studied his eyes for signs of deception. Considering whom he
worked for at the time, I had no choice. So many decisions I’ve made, and so
many
I
still need to … ah screw it.

“Okay,” I say, and with that, I kiss him as hard as I can.
It’s only the second kiss we’ve every shared, and it feels even better than the
first. When our lips finally part, I can feel every set of eyes in the room on
us.

“I’m going to throw up,” I hear Vince mutter under his
breath.

“Whoa,” is all Blake can say.

“Now, let me make one thing very clear to you. If you cross
me, the congressman, or anyone else in this room, I will rip off each of your
limbs off and laugh as you bleed out. I mean that.”

“I believe you.”

I release him and then turn to face my friends and mentors.
Kylie is standing next to the congressman, arms wrapped around each other’s
backs. She has the look most women have when watching romantic scenes in the
latest chick flick. Vanessa and Emilee share a similar look. Vince is not
trying to hide his disgust, looking like he just ate some bad sushi. The
congressman just looks … I don’t know, content?

“Okay, where were you guys in the discussion? And please
don’t say you were discussing the latest threat to our lives.” I’m not eager to
discuss my actions. It’s a delay tactic, as I’m sure the grilling will come at
a later date.

“No, we are avoiding the subject of our imminent demise,”
the congressman says, giving a quick glance to Kylie. He then obliges by
telling me all the details of the plan I should have been told all along. Now
it makes perfect sense, making my temper tantrum up in Millfield look that much
more childish. I’m actually still a little angry about that, but now’s not the
time to vent.

“I don’t know, like, this seems so shady,” Peyton concludes.

“Glad I’m not the only one feeling that way,” Amanda
seconds.

“That’s because it is,” the congressman deadpans.

“Didn’t we run our campaign on the promise we wouldn’t do
stuff like this?”Amanda is not handling this idea very well.

“Look where that got us,” Vince states. He’s always been the
one most eager to mix it up. “If you’re not willing to play with fire, you
can’t cook dinner.”

“That’s a ridiculous analogy, Vince!”

“Politics is a dirty business. You can’t appreciate what
we’ve been through from the cozy confines of Vassar, Peyton!”

“You’re a sellout, Vince!” Amanda scolds.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. When we ran against Beaumont, we sat around
for hours castigating him over this exact behavior. We swore we would do it
different. Look at us now.”

“You’re not down here in the trenches with us, Amanda. Don’t
think you can pass judgment―”

“Don’t you dare―”

Under normal circumstances, the congressman would let this
debate rage just as he did in the classroom. Always the teacher, he has never
been shy about allowing us to voice our opinions. It’s the one thing he’s
trying to bring back to the lower house of Congress, but this is already
getting testy, and that’s not tolerated.

“Enough! Both of you! Play nice in the sandbox, or no milk
and cookies for you after recess.”

“We’re not children, Congressman.”

“Then stop acting like one, Vince.”

Vince is bold, and his confidence has done nothing but grow
in the time we’ve been here. He’s brazen and brash, but he’s also smart enough
to know not to press the issue with the congressman. He has been like a father
to Vince, and there is no one my friend and colleague holds in higher esteem.

Mister Bennit takes a moment to walk over to the window and
stare out at the gloomy day that’s enveloped the Capitol. “Remember that day
back at Briar Point when I asked how you beat Bobby Fischer at chess?”

When we ran our first campaign, none of us had any idea what
to do. We were going to try to win the traditional way until Mister Bennit
pitched the idea of running a campaign completely over social media. It was a
fresh approach that the press latched on to and the people loved, but at the
time, none of us knew it would work.

“Yeah, you said we had to make him play
Candyland
,”
Vanessa answers.

“And we did. It’s a game we’ve played very well, only
there’s one small problem now.”

“Everyone knows that’s our game,” I say, more to Vanessa,
Vince, and company than to the congressman.

“You got it.”

“I don’t see the point. What does this have to do with our
plan?” Peyton asks.

“When everyone thinks you’re playing
Candyland
…” I decide to finish his sentence, if for no other reason that it’s the first
time in a long while we’ve been on the same page.

“Play Chutes and Ladders.”

SPEAKER ALBRIGHT

“I need everyone to stand up and step away from their desks
right now!” I hear a voice boom from outside my office. What the hell?

“Mister Speaker, please step away from your desk,” one of
the two uniformed Capitol Police officers announces as he steps into my office.
I comply immediately, a shudder of fear making its way down my spine.

“What is this all about?”

“Have any of you opened any mail today?” he responds without
answering my question.

“I asked you a quest―”

“Sir, there has been a credible threat against you. Now
answer my question. Has any mail been opened?”

“Uh, no, I haven’t opened―”

“Has any been delivered today?” the officer asks, cutting my
secretary off.

“No. We haven’t received any yet,” my clerk offers,
appeasing the urgent appeals of the officer.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, sir.”
He turns and mumbles
something into the radio microphone clipped to his shoulder as another officer
approaches me.

“What is this all about?” I demand.

“The Capitol and all legislative offices are on lockdown.
Envelopes containing white powder were mailed to at least several prominent
representatives,” the officer explains.

“Good Lord,” is all I can mumble. “Is it anthrax? Is there
any cause for alarm?” I ask nervously in quick succession. “Tests are being run
now,” the officer replies curtly.

“When will you know?” I almost shout.

“Sir, I need you to calm down, please. I am giving you all
the information we have. I know this is stressful, but you have to be patient.
The situation is still developing.”

I feel like a fool for letting my nerves get the best of me.
I take a couple of long, deep breaths and try to regain my composure.

“Do you at least know who the letters were mailed to?”

“We are searching the entire mail system right now, Mister
Speaker. As of right now, we’ve identified three targets, all members of the
House.”

“Who?”

“You, Majority Leader Harvey Stepanik, and
Minority Leader Dennis Merrick.
They were intercepted in the mailroom
after an anonymous tip was phoned in. We still need to determine if there were
any others sent.”

“They targeted the leadership. Someone doesn’t like what’s
going on in Washington,” I surmise, but nobody is listening. The officer would
rather be doing anything else other than holding the hand of a politician, so
he meanders over to join the conversation his colleague is having with my
secretary and a staffer.

For the first time in my life, I am legitimately scared. Not
for my political career or for losing a vote, but for my life. Threats are a
way of life when you are a prominent elected representative, but this is
different. It’s the first time somebody may have tried acting on one of those
threats. Nothing like this has ever happened to me personally.

This is eerily
reminiscent of the 2001 anthrax
scare where letters containing anthrax
spores were mailed to several news media offices and Democratic U.S. Senators
Tom Daschle and Patrick Leahy. Five people died and seventeen others were
infected during a time where the nation was already on edge following the
terrorist attacks on 9/11.

“Sir, your office appears to be clean, but the building is
locked down, so please don’t attempt to leave,” the head of the Capitol Police
detail says to me once he finishes talking on his radio. “I will leave an
officer here with you.”

“Do you know who sent the letters?”

“No, sir, as I’m sure my fellow officer mentioned, the
investigation just started. Right now our primary concern is ensuring the
safety of everyone on Capitol Hill. The National Archives, Supreme Court and
all surrounding buildings have been evacuated. All Senate and House office
buildings are locked down. We are trying to determine if―”

The radio screeches and the officer again steps away. A few
awkward moments pass. I don’t know what I should be doing. I want to help, but
I have learned it’s best to let the professionals handle the situation. The
Capitol Police are like the Secret Service for members of Congress, and their
instructions are law in a crisis like this.

“I have to go,” the officer says after rushing back into my
office with a look of grave concern on his face. “Since you are the Speaker of
the House, I need to inform you that at least one letter containing a white
powder was delivered to a member of the House and it was opened.”

“Oh my God!
Who was it delivered
to?”

“The office is being evacuated and the occupants transported
to G.W. for observation,” he relays, ignoring my question.

“I asked who it was delivered to,” I demand anxiously.

“Michael Bennit.”

MICHAEL

Working in a high-risk workplace like Capitol Hill means
dealing with threats most Americans will happily never have to experience.
Biological contamination is one of them. Fortunately, being a logical target
for any terrorist, domestic or otherwise, means there is a whole suite of
protocols first responders are drilled on in the event of a crisis.

Anthrax is a serious disease caused by
Bacillus
anthracis
,
a bacterium that forms spores that remain dormant until the right conditions
bring them to life. Of the three types of infection, inhalation anthrax is most
severe. In 2001, nearly half of the cases of inhalation anthrax ended in death.

During my time in Special Forces, I was vaccinated against
anthrax prior to my first deployment overseas to a combat theater. The vaccine
is not available to the general public, so nobody else on my staff is. For that
reason, we were immediately evacuated to George Washington University Medical
Center for treatment while tests are performed to determine if we have been
exposed.

“How’s she doing?” I ask Chelsea, who returns from her
shower dressed in hospital scrubs. To prevent further exposure, we all were
required to shower and change clothes. Chelsea was the last to go.

“They sedated her. She’s pretty shaken up. We all are,” she
responds meekly.

The blood curdling scream was probably heard in Baltimore.
Ashley is one of my newer junior staffers, joining the ranks six months after I
got elected. One of her responsibilities is to sort and open the mail.

She has been trained to spot suspicious envelopes and
packages, but there wasn’t any telltale warning signs on this one. There was a
return address, no apparent signs of danger, and proper postage affixed. It
wasn’t until she opened it and the white powder spilled on her desk did she
know there was a problem. The note just heightened the panic.

“How long are we going to have to wait before we learn if
we’re going to die?” Vince blurts out.

“That’s not funny!” Emilee cries out.

“I wasn’t trying to be,
Em
.”

“Still not cool, Vince.”

“Take a deep breath, guys,” I console, trying to ratchet
down the tension. “We’re not going to die. If the tests come back positive,
we’ll be treated with an antibiotic. Early detection and treatment is the key,
and we are in the premier facility in the world for both.” Everyone looks at
me, probably wondering how I can state that with such certainty. “I have a
little training in this.”

My phone vibrates for the hundredth time. This one is a text
from Cisco who is pleading for information. I type a quick response and hit
send. Friends help you move, real friends help you move dead bodies. Friends
like Cisco will do everything in their power to make sure you don’t end up one.

Minutes pass in silence, each of us left to wonder if this
is a serious attempt to infect us or a cruel prank. Fortunately, the office was
not nearly as full as it usually would be. Many of my junior staffers were out
performing errands, and my old students went out for coffee. When Ashley opened
the envelope, only Chelsea, Emilee, Vince, and I were in the office.

“How’s Kylie holding up?” Chelsea asks, finally breaking the
long silence.

“Scared to death.
She’s here,
waiting in the visitors’ room for the all clear with Brian, Peyton, Blake, and
Amanda.”

As if on command, a doctor comes into the room along with
several officers from the Capitol and Metro Police. Anthrax is not communicable
between people, so there is no risk to them. Even so, I regard the fact that he
is not wearing a surgical mask as a good sign.

“Congressman, I’m Doctor Fleming.
I
have good news. Initial tests have come back negative for anthrax in your
bloodstreams.” There is an audible sigh of relief from all of us. The officer
he walked in with speaks next.

“We also have the initial results back from testing the
powder in the envelope. It was not contaminated with any known pathogen or
toxin. It is just plain baking soda.”

“We are going to keep Ashley here overnight for observation,
just to be on the safe side,” the doctor informs us. “The rest of you are free
to go.”

* * *

The reunion in the waiting room was a tearful one. At once,
the wave of relief led to embraces that felt like they lasted hours. Kylie was
especially emotional, and even when she let go of our hug, she clung to my arm
tight enough to where I was losing the feeling in my hand.

Everyone is on edge, but overall, we are coping. Threatening
e-mails and letters are one thing, but this was a much more surreal experience.
After about a fifteen-minute impromptu group therapy meeting, we all started
going our separate ways. Given our state of mind, no work would get done
tonight even if we did have access to our office. The police won’t let us
return until tomorrow.
 

Chelsea is still a little shook up by the whole drama, but
is handling it better than she would have a few months ago. I think Blake may
already be having an influence on her. Once they leave, Kylie and I are left
alone in the waiting room. We’re about to follow suit and get out before they
decide to draw more blood when my favorite secret agent ninja slips into the
room.

“I was wondering if you would show up,” I say to Terry.
“Please tell me you have something more than the police do.”

“I wish I could say I do,” he laments. “There is no real
information to give other than what was contained in the letters.”

“Did you expect anything less, honey? He is only the senior
coordinator for a think tank. Why would he?” Kylie challenges, baiting him to
tell us who he really works for and what he actually does for them.

“Are you still going to stick with that story?” I ask him.

“Yes,” he states plainly. A man of many words, isn’t he?

“Yeah, right,” Kylie utters in disgust.

“Okay, so tell us what you do know. The envelope had a
return address. Have the police tracked it down?” I ask. The authorities said
they were investigating the source of the letter, but haven’t bothered to
update us.

“Two zero six Washington Street, Boston, Massachusetts. I’m
surprised you didn’t recognize it, Congressman.”

“I didn’t realize I should,” I reply, racking my brain for
any idea why I should know that address. I’m at a loss.

“It’s the physical address of the Old State House that sits
next to the intersection of State and Devonshire Streets.”

“Ah, crap,” I bemoan in a moment of realization.

“What?” Kylie asks, both confused and concerned. “What’s
special about that place?”

“Nothing today,” Terry tells her. “But on March 5, 1770,
British Army soldiers killed some civilians there.”

“It’s next to the site of the Boston Massacre, hon.”

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

There’s some symbolism for you. Things were tense in Boston
that year as relations between the citizens and the British soldiers stationed
there deteriorated. A mob formed around one British sentry and harassed him
until eight of his comrades showed up. Things escalated, and they fired into
the crowd, resulting in the eventual death of five colonists. It was one of a
series of formulative events that eventually led to shots being fired at
Lexington Green and the onset of the American Revolution.

I struggle to draw a comparison between that incident and
present day. Are we the soldiers or the hapless colonists on the wrong end of
the rifle? Or am I reading too much into it? Maybe they were just hinting that
these letters were intended to be a prelude to a modern day massacre.

“Do you have anything else, Terry?”

“As I said, we’re still―”

“So what are you doing here?” Kylie interjects, the
impatience dripping off her tongue. Does she think he’s at fault for not
somehow divining this would happen and warning us?

“Searching for information I don’t have so we can continue
our inquiry.”

“What kind of information?”

“I need to know what your letter said.”

“Important principles may, and
must, be inflexible.
The
price for dishonesty is death.
This envelope
has anthrax, and now so do
you.” I only looked at the note for a few
seconds before clearing my staff out of the office and calling the authorities,
but I will never forget those words for the rest of my life.

“Abraham Lincoln,” Terry says,
recognizing the quote.

“I’m impressed. I figured it would
take a Civil War buff or history teacher to pick up on the first sentence.”

“Does it mean anything to you?”
Kylie asks, inquiring if there is some hidden, darker meaning behind the quote.

“No, but it wasn’t the same
typewritten text as the others.”

“What did the others say?”

“
The harder the conflict, the more
glorious the triumph.
This
envelope contains anthrax.”

“That’s
it?”

“From
what I’ve been told, yes,” Terry states blandly.

“Do you
recognize the quote?”

“Thomas
Paine,” I tell her, before turning back to Terry.
“It sounds like a
history buff targeted the leadership in the House.
Different
parties, different roles, different opinions.”

“Yeah, but it’s forced. Someone is trying too hard, and that
implies a conspiracy,” he states with an unnerving amount of confidence. I
don’t see it.

“How so?”
Despite being on edge
about the attack, Kylie is eager to get to the bottom of this. All her fears
almost became reality today.

“Your note was different than the others. I think the others
were a smokescreen, and why an anonymous tip was phoned in before they were
delivered. The message of this attack was aimed at you. Someone thinks they can
influence you by scaring you.”