The iCongressman (9 page)

MICHAEL

“Good luck in your meeting. Everything is all set from
our end,” Chelsea says as I put on my suit jacket.

“He knows where to get seated?”

“All taken care of.
He’ll be in
place five minutes after your appointment arrives to avoid suspicion. He’s even
bringing a date, if you can believe that. I think it’s the girlfriend he says
he has.”

 
“Perfect. Thanks, and
don’t work too late,” I warn, heading out of my district office to what I’m
sure will be a very interesting dinner. Chelsea thinks this is a terrible idea,
and she’s probably right. No big deal if I’m wrong, but if I’m not, I’m toast
should things go awry.

Our headquarters is located on Main Street in Danbury, a
diverse city of over eighty thousand people in the far western part of the area
I represent. Millfield is about a forty-minute drive away, assuming the traffic
is cooperating. Under normal circumstances, that’s where I would be heading
after a long day of meeting with people and listening to their problems and
opinions on issues. Tonight’s meeting, however, is definitely not normal.

I have been ignored by the D.C. lobby since the day I took
my seat in Congress. The men and women who make their living currying favor to
politicians in the Beltway see no real point in showering me with money,
attention, or favor. I am that irrelevant in the U.S. House of Representatives.

A few days ago, while I was getting reacquainted with my
former students in the park, a lobbyist contacted my staff to set a dinner
meeting with me to discuss how we may help each other on issues of concern to
his clients. If that wasn’t weird enough, he was adamant that it be hosted here
in my home district. Needless to say, I’m very curious to know what this is
about.

There are great restaurants all around Danbury, but most of
my favorites are on Mill Plain Road near the New York State line. American fare
at Four Square and Market Place, Japanese at
Bambu
,
and Italian at
Spasi
are among the limitless choices
in that area. I thought about having this meeting at either the eclectic Rosy
Tomorrow’s or Irish-themed Molly Darcy’s, but decided neither was quite right
for a meeting with a lobbyist. Vera’s
Trattoria
is my
favorite pizza place, but I had that yesterday. Max 40 and Della Francesca
would both have worked, but I like to keep those reserved for dates with Kylie.

In the end, I settled on
Prespa
,
an Italian restaurant that had both the quiet ambiance and good food I was
looking for. The drive there from our office only took ten minutes, and after
pulling into the parking lot and being seated, I began to doubt the quiet
ambiance part as the dining room filled up quickly. Now I’m just happy to have
a table. The one perk of being a congressman is you have no problem getting a
reservation in town, even at a busy restaurant on the Friday before Memorial
Day.

“Congressmen Bennit,” the man arriving to my table greets.
“William
Mashburn
. I’m sorry to keep you waiting,
sir,” he declares with a firm handshake and used car salesman smile. He’s a
younger guy, probably in his mid-twenties and not senior enough to be a
heavyweight at his lobby firm. I chose to dress up for this, meaning I am
actually wearing a suit. Other than age, the obvious difference between me and
the man I’m shaking hands with is my suit was bought in a Men’s
Wearhouse
at the mall. His is probably custom-tailored from
someplace swank like Milan, Italy.

We order drinks, dinner, and for the next forty-five
minutes, he listens to my opinions about education, government reform, and
spending. Although he is trying to be attentive, I can tell he harbors no
interest in what I am saying. After the neatly attired waiter clears our
dishes, I decide to end his agony and confront the subject.

“You know, William, I have been ignored by K Street since
the moment I got to Washington. I’m more than a little surprised you would meet
with me now.”

“You don’t trust my motives?” William says, feigning
surprise.

“Nope.
Tell me why we are really
having this meeting.” Maybe it’s my general lack of trust with people, or it
could be the three Samuel Adams Boston Lagers I’ve had, but his slick approach
is trying my patience. I glance over to the college-aged pair enjoying their
dinner a couple of tables over. They make a cute couple, actually. So she is
real, and maybe it is a legitimate date.

“Many of the clients my firm lobbies for were impressed with
your actions on the Floor last week. It dawned on us that maybe we erred in our
original impression and have dismissed you too soon. Plus, we want to convince
each and every member on the merits of our clients’ concerns.”

“William, you’re not here to engage me in a spirited debate about
healthcare, environmental causes, financial reform, or any of the other issues
we do nothing about. I’ll ask one more time, what do you want?”

The lobbyist sends me a cheap smile and fidgets with the
napkin placed on his lap. “You’re right. Although I find your views insightful,
that’s not why I’m here.” Is this guy for real? Insightful my ass …

“I wanted to give you this,” he says as he discretely looks
at the tables near us and reaches inside his suit jacket, producing a white
envelope. He sets it on the table and slides it over to me.

Is this really how it’s done, or
am
I such a novice that they put on this show special for me? Against my better
judgment, I open the envelope and look inside. Not being able to read the
print, I pull the check out about halfway and put on my best poker face when I
see the amount.

“It’s pretty brazen to attempt to bribe an elected
representative in a crowded restaurant, don’t you think?”

“It’s not a bribe, Congressman. Consider it a donation to
your campaign in return for services yet to be rendered,” the
epicene
bastard says with a wry smile. I want to jam this
check down his throat, along with the rest of my fist.

“You know I can’t accept this. It’s illegal.”

“You need the money, Congressman. Even if it goes in your own
personal account instead of your campaign fund, we want you to have it as a
token of our dedication to your ideals.”

“My ideals?”
I question, my voice
rising. I toss the envelope back at him, hitting him square in the chest with
it. “You obviously don’t know the first damned thing about my
ideals
if you thought for a second I’d
take that check.”

William looks around surreptitiously before slipping the
envelope back into his jacket. I pull my wallet out of my jacket and pull out
three twenties to pay for my half of dinner. It’s not uncommon for lobbyists to
pick up the tab for these types of meetings, but after that display, I’m not
leaving anything to chance.

“I thought you were a practical man, Congressman Bennit,”
William says with a hint of disgust.

“No, Mister
Mashburn
, you thought
I was a weak man. You saw the polls, figured I have nothing in my campaign
coffers, and realized I was a prime target to get bought. But let me make one
thing very clear to you. I am one of the only politicians in Washington without
a for sale sign on my office door.”

“I’m sorry we couldn’t do business together,” he says,
recovering quickly. His voice is loud enough to be heard by half the restaurant
as he extends his hand. Eyes all around us turn their attention on the two of
us, and I remember I’m supposed to be playing the role of the diplomatic
politician. As much as I’d like to cave his skull in, I have no choice but to
shake the slime ball’s hand.

“Don’t ever call my office again,” I warn as I let go of his
hand and turn to leave.

“Have a good night, Congressman.” The restaurant patrons
have turned their attention back to their meals and conversations as if nothing
happened. Something certainly did happen though. That was the most brazen setup
job I’ve ever seen, and I fell right into it.

SPEAKER ALBRIGHT

My home on the Bull Creek in Charleston is my refuge. We
bought this property a dozen years ago, satisfying my wife’s need for modern
convenience and my own desire for southern charm. The brick structure has
high-pitched ceilings, arched doorways, hardwood floors, and plenty of room. It
even features a long boardwalk through a marsh to a dock on the creek. It is my
definition of serenity, and the perfect place to spend a long Memorial Day
weekend.

The house is perfect for entertaining my big campaign
contributors and political allies, but tonight was reserved for a dinner party
with longtime friends. My wife is a great cook, but events like this get
catered from a restaurant downtown I have a special relationship with. We are
almost finished with dinner when my cell phone interrupts the conversation.

“Excuse me all, I have to take this,” I say after checking the
caller ID and absorbing an annoyed look from my wife. “Hold on,” I say into the
phone after connecting the call, leaving the dining room and walking through
the door to the front porch.

“What can I do for you, Mister Reed?”

“Mister Speaker, I trust I’m not interrupting something
important.”

“No, but my wife might disagree.”

“Ha, ha,” Washington’s top lobbyist heartily laughs. “Then
in the name of
ya’lls
everlasting domestic bliss,
I’ll make this brief. It’s regarding the subject of discussion at the airport
earlier this month. Do you remember?” As if I could forget, or he would be
remiss not to remind me if ever I did.

“Of course I remember.”

“Excellent. A package is being sent by courier to your
office. It’ll arrive when ya’ll get back to Washington on Tuesday. Please be
there to receive it. The courier will be instructed to deliver it only to you.”

“May I inquire as to the contents of this package?” I ask,
fully expecting James not to indulge my curiosity.

“Regrettably, I cannot acquiesce to that request. Suffice to
say, when you see the contents, ya
’ll will
know
exactly what to do with them.” Did he really use acquiesce and ya’ll in the
same breath?

“Very well,” I say, the gears in my head already starting to
spin once I get past the distraction of his verbiage.

“I won’t take up any more of your time, Mister Speaker.
Enjoy the rest of your evening. We’ll be speaking again when ya’ll get back to
town,” James commands before ending the call. He wasn’t off the line for three
seconds when I select another number from my favorites and press send.

The front door opens and my wife sticks her head out.
“Johnston, you’re keeping our guests waiting,” she says impatiently.

“I’ll be right in after this call. Promise,” I respond, as
the call connects. That seemed to be enough to placate my wife who slips back
inside and closes the front door.

“Good evening, Mister Speaker,” the voice of the House
majority leader says on the other end of the line.

“Hello, Harvey. I’m sorry to bother you on a Saturday
evening.”

“No bother, sir. What can I do for you?”

“I’m expecting some news next week about one of your
favorite congressmen,” I relay sarcastically. “I thought you might like the
courtesy of a heads-up.”

“That sounds interesting, Johnston, but a little vague. Can
you elaborate on which one of my favorites you’re talking about?”

It dawns on me that I will be making two people happy in one
night. Both James Reed and Harvey Stepanik are getting exactly what they want
in one fell swoop. If I land fat campaign contributions from my wealthy friends
at the dinner party, it becomes the perfect
trifecta
.
Life is good.

“When you get back to the Capitol, I’ll need you to set up
an investigation,” I decree, my mind still fixated on previous thoughts.

“Okay. Are you going to tell me who the target of the
inquiry is?”

“Michael Bennit.”

SENATOR VIANO

Washington, D.C., is a zoo on Memorial Day. Between the
events at Arlington, the parade near the National Mall, and the services at the
various war memorials, denizens know to stay away from those areas at all costs
on this holiday. For that very reason, I chose the forty-acre Fort Ward Park,
located a mere ten-minute drive from my house, on the west end of Old Town
Alexandria, for this meeting.

Fort Ward was used as a Union fort from 1861 to 1865 to
defend Washington during the Civil War, or so the sign says. The grounds
feature underground shelters, officer quarters, earthwork walls, and cannons
situated on the Northwest Bastion where I now stand.

“Interesting spot for this meeting,” Gary observes as he
inspects one of the cannons following his trek from the parking lot. This place
has a historical charm that Bennit would like. It’s also nearly empty, despite
the significance of the day. It’s one of the other reasons I chose it.

“Not exactly Deep Throat’s parking garage, but it will do
for our purposes,” I respond. “How did you make out?”

“You tell me,” he says with a laugh, handing me a thick
manila folder full of documents.

“Jesus, Gary, this is pretty extensive. I didn’t realize you
had so much free time.”

“My current boss is as ambitious as a doped-up teen with an
Xbox. This favor was a welcome diversion because it gave me something to do.
The summary sheet is on top,” he says, noticing my visual inspection of the
file.

I continue to flip through the contents before turning my
attention to the printed spreadsheet stapled on top. I scan the list in
amazement.

“Damn, that’s a lot of names.”

“There is no shortage of people looking to emulate Michael
Bennit. That list is up-to-date as of yesterday. The deadlines for most states
aren’t until June, so there could end up being more.”

“How established are any these people?” I ask, tapping him
on the arm. Gary already has his face buried in his smartphone, but despite his
apparent lack of attentiveness, he never misses a beat.

“Varying degrees,” he replies without looking up. “Most will
probably use the Bennit technique of announcing late to avoid being an early
target and riding the wave into November. Although I’m not convinced that will
work again.”

“Okay, let’s narrow this list down to the most viable
icandidates in the one hundred strongest red and blue districts. Choose the top
fifty of each.”

“It’d be easier to target the moderate ones in swing
states.”

“Yeah, probably, but right now you have Democratic and
Republican districts, and very few moderates getting elected from the middle.
You know staunch conservative and liberal districts only elect extreme
ideologues to Congress. If Bennit is going to change how the House does
business, he has to hurt those extremists, not the moderates.”

“Tell me something, Senator. You ever danced with the devil
in the pale moonlight?” I’m not sure, but that sounded like another superhero
reference. Ugh.

“I’m quite certain I have no idea what you’re talking
about.” Gary looks at me suspiciously, and then actually pockets his handheld
electronic leash.

“I’ve known you forever, Marilyn. Not once have I seen you
interested in cavorting with anyone like Michael Bennit.” The use of my first
name instead of my former title lets me know this is a personal question. “The
two of you are ideologically different, come from completely different
backgrounds, and have seemingly diverse goals. So if this is some sort of
symbiotic relationship, I’m not seeing it.”

“Are you questioning his motives, or mine?”

“I have spent way too much time in this town not to question
everybody’s motives.” Fair enough. I do the same thing.

“Okay, I get that, so let’s start with him. Everything I have
found on Bennit says he’s non-negotiable. He won’t sell out, can’t be bought,
and has unimpeachable character. I know that’s exceedingly rare here, but not
unheard of. I know you have all the information I do on him, so why are you
questioning
his
motives?”

“Alfred
Pennyworth said it best.
‘
Because some
men aren’t looking for anything logical, like money.
They can’t be
bought, bullied, reasoned, or negotiated with. Some men just want to watch the
world burn.’” I love my former chief of staff like he was family, but enough is
enough.

“Really?
A Batman reference?”

“It seemed appropriate.”

“Do you really think Bennit is
out to destroy anything?” Of course, I think I know the answer to that
question, but does he?

“No idea. All I know is he’s a maverick
and my boss hates him with a burning passion. Neither one of those would
disqualify him in my mind, but I don’t trust him either.”

Trust is one of those words that
has
a different meaning in this town than it does in the
rest of the country. Nobody trusts anybody in Washington, so the definition of
the word has changed in the crucible of the modern political process. Here, it
takes on more of a “willing to work with him without complete fear of betrayal”
meaning.

“Okay, what about me and my
motives?”

“It doesn’t really matter. You
know I’m with you whatever you decide to do. But tell me one thing; why is a
former senator, who spent most of her life trying to become a Washington
insider and player in the system, throwing her lot in with the ultimate
outsider?” I grin broadly, keeping my lips pressed together instead of flashing
my usual toothy smile. For the next five minutes, I tell him exactly what
working with Michael Bennit means for my own ambitions.

“Wow, you thought that through,”
he comments following an astonished whistle.

“I have a lot of time on my hands
these days.”

“There are an awful lot of
variables to work through in that plan if you dream of pulling it off.” He
pauses to pull the phone out of his pocket again to silence its incessant vibration.

“That’s why I need you. You’re
the only person I can trust to help make it happen.” Not entirely true since I
can think of about a dozen better people, but they are all unavailable. Gary
was a faithful servant for a long time, and while he may not be the best fox
hound on the hunt, he’s the most loyal.

“Do you have resources to help him?” he asks, stalling for
time while he thinks.

Normally a one-term senator would have nothing in terms of
the national resources needed to help with this endeavor. Fortunately, I am no
average one-termer. My six year stint in D.C. may have been brief, but my
relationship with one special contact, who was my greatest benefactor, may come
in handy again. This may not have been the future I anticipated when calling on
his services, but it will do.

“I have friends of friends who ran national campaigns and
are willing to help with most of them if I so choose that route. Now, let me
ask you a question. If I go down this road, are you willing to come along for
the ride, or are you happy being penned up in that cage your current boss has
you in?”

"You know, sometimes when you cage the beast, the beast
gets angry," he says with a sly smile. I guess I’ll have to look up which
movie that was from when I get home.