Senate Cloakroom Cabal (21 page)

Michael whispered confidentially to Mort.

He nodded limply. “This has me in deep shit. My wife and kid, you know, I can't . . .”

He began to lose it, sniffling and using his napkin to blow his nose. Mort spilled out his heart. It was all over.

I whispered to Michael. “Have to make a pit stop.”

When I came back, Mort was in better spirits. As I neared the table, Michael stood and said, “We're calling it a night.”

I nodded. We said our good nights. Michael and I went out together, followed by Tyrell and Mort. They headed up D Street toward the Capitol. Michael graciously walked me to Union Station and told me that the only thing I'd missed taping was Mort saying that Pembroke was one of the other senators, which surprised me.

“I thought he was a straight-shooter, good family man. Aren't he and Senator Crawford friends? You don't think Crawford is—”

“No,” he interrupted firmly. “Senator Crawford is a lot like Senator Dalton, not particularly friendly with Kelly or his cronies, with the exception of Pembroke, of course.”

“You know your senator . . . she'd be devastated if Crawford was in deep with Kelly.”

“Oh absolutely,” he said. “It would blow our cosponsorship with Szymanski right out of the water.”

“Could Nancy—” I stopped myself, sorry I'd mentioned her name.

Michael jumped into the void. “I don't think Nancy should be included in any of this. We're friends and all, but she is very tied to Pembroke, even to Kelly.”

“Tied?” I pushed.

“She wants to work her way up in the party, build a career, and maybe get a high-level job at the National Committee. Senator Dalton is not popular with those folks.”

“Then, I gather Nancy doesn't know about what Tyler is doing concerning Mort.”

“Not at all,” he said sharply.

I thought back to Nancy's Saturday lunch in Clarendon with Senator Kelly. Maybe that was only about her career.

47

I
waited until after Anna arrived and Jerry and I were heading downtown for work in his SUV before telling him about my previous evening's activities. He had been asleep when I got home, and we both liked to concentrate on our son in the morning. I played the more incriminating part of the Mort tape to him, which he agreed was damning testimony but would need independent corroboration to make it stick in court.

I called Michael as soon as I got in. Jerry had suggested we try the Alley Pub on Seventh, a couple blocks from the Verizon Center, for our next rendezvous with Mort.

“It's not a Hill hangout, Michael. It's also a decent place for the senator.” We needed Roanne to demonstrate to Mort that we had the clout to help him.

“The senator wants to change her look . . . clothes, hair, makeup,” Michael said shyly.

I thought she'd do something like that. “Who's making sure Mort gets there?”

“Tyrell's got Mort, but he won't stay. When the senator and I get outside the restaurant, I'll call his cell. When he picks up, I will disconnect. He will continue his fake conversation until we walk in. He'll then apologize that he has to leave. As to the senator, eh, she can't change at the office; she'd be seen leaving. Security would certainly notice. She prefers not going across the river to her condo.” He cleared his throat.

Then it hit me; she was going to use his place to change. Probably would be the first time a woman had ever set foot in his apartment. I almost laughed at my thought. “Fine. I'll get there early and secure an out-of-the-way table.”

“Oh. What kind of a crowd? I've never been there,” he asked.

“Office workers mostly. Maybe some tourists, suburban white-collar types. Jerry and I used to eat there before a Wizards or Caps game.” Like a couple of years ago, I mused.

“You sure it's safe for the senator?”

“As long as she doesn't dress like a hooker.” As soon as I said it, I regretted it. “I'm sorry, Michael. It's my weird sense of humor.”

“I'm getting used to it,” he said magnanimously. “Will you be wearing the wire again?”

“Yes. See you later.”

I put a call into Senator Pembroke's office, just for fun, and was told they'd have to get back to me. I then called Sarah Metzger, who had nothing new on the watchdog writers.

“They're an elusive lot,” she told me in her dry tone. “Even if one of these writers comes through, you've got to know their point of view is slanted. They may know of what they speak, but they have such angst against the pharmaceutical companies . . . you won't know what's true or not true, unless you've got something to compare it with.”

“Thanks, you may have saved me a lot of time. I'm not interested in something I can't use. Is anyone unimpeachable?”

“I doubt it.”

I appreciated her candor. I'd leave those writers alone for now. We had good irons in the fire with Mort, Rufus, Harley, and Michael's New Jersey friend. I called Lori Chow.

After our greetings, she said. “I'm waiting on Mr. Williams for a go-to-print date.”

I guessed that Barton was waiting on the Szymanski/Dalton bill.

“Okay, thanks,” I said, about to hang up.

Lori quickly added, “I want to thank you for doing such a good job. There wasn't anything we had to change or question. Very solid and entertaining. The governor must be quite a character.”

“He is. But underneath all his folksiness, there is still a very powerful man.”

“Sounds a little like the senator.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, you showed her to be very much like what you just said of her father, if you, let's say, changed folksiness to savoir-faire,” she said affably.

I had not consciously made that comparison, but obviously it had subliminally come out in the article. I should go back and reread it.

I said, “I see her as bright with a quiet confidence cloaked in social graces. The more I get to know her, the more I admire her. She's decisive, made of stern stuff.” After saying that, I wondered if I had gotten all that in my article.

“That's what I like about your style. You don't come out and say it directly, but show it in the things she does: a strong individual under the beauty.”

I felt a wave of relief go through me. “She's all that, for sure.”

“Maybe we could get you to do another feature for us down the line.”

“Thank you.”

“Thank you, Laura.”

Lori was certainly a lot different from Lassiter.

I cleared my desk and got out my newly acquired map of the Caribbean.

There were independent archipelagos with large populated islands and small unpopulated or sparsely populated ones. I went online. There was no detail on the satellite islands, except where I read that one was . . .
a great
bird sanctuary and had a gorgeous coral reef for divers in the crystal clear
waters.
I saw nothing about human habitat.

A little after five, I took a walk around the newsroom. Most everyone was busy with last-minute deadlines, doing rewrites, or research. I got a Diet Pepsi from a vending machine and returned to my desk.

At 6:00, I called Jerry, who was trying to get Tyler to walk on his own.

“He's still a little young for that.”

“He thinks dropping back onto his diaper-cushioned butt is fun. He gives me a big laugh and then reaches for my hand and squeaks with joy. He's going to wear me out.”

“I'm sure you can distract him. Teach him chess.”

“I already tried that.”

“Oh you poor, forlorn, little boy. I shouldn't be late. It'll really come down to what Roanne thinks she can do for our man. Maybe she could ship him out to her Dad's ranch, put him to work in the barn. Rufus would straighten him out.”

I heard a squeal from Tyler.

“There's probably a lot of truth to that,” Jerry said.

“Give our little boy a hug for me. Love you.”

“Love you. Call when you're leaving.”

48

I
found a table off to the side, away from the bar that was the centerpiece of the Alley Pub. I told the waiter there would be five of us, and he accordingly brought the water. I looked over the notes I'd made from the Mort tape until Tyrell and Mort arrived. I turned on my tape recorder.

Unfortunately, Mort decided to sit right next to me. Not to worry— when he saw Roanne, I'd be history. The two ordered beers. Mort seemed anxious, looking around. When the beers arrived, he slugged half of his down in one gulp.

That got him started. He touched my arm when making a point. He bragged about games he saw at the Verizon Center. He mostly sat in a skybox—a plush corporate suite where clients and politicians were entertained. I wondered how the senators filed that on their gifts-and-entertainment form, if they filed such a thing at all.

Tyrell's cell phone rang. He answered and then stood up, moving away from the table. A moment later, Michael and a very different-looking Roanne came in. She had dressed young, her hair not beautifully coiffed, but in the popular unkempt look many young women went for. Her skirt line was above the knees, and she'd gone heavy on the mascara and blush.

There was no look of the sophisticated senator, but she still turned heads. The heavy makeup took away from her natural beauty, going more for the flashy look. The men at the bar took her in from head to toe. It made me feel very plain. Mort had no clue who she was. Michael introduced her as “Betty.”

“Hey, man,” Tyrell said to Mort. “I got a call; the man needs me. Cool?”

“Yeah, fine,” Mort said, barely taking his eyes off the new female arrival.

“You in good hands, my man. Mike, Betty, Laura, you all take care.” He left.

We closed ranks. I got up and moved to the chair with its back to the bar. I now had Michael to my left and Betty to my right. Mort was now across from me and giving full attention to the great-looking chick on his left. The waiter took the drink orders.

Betty was showing deep cleavage, and I thought Mort was going to fall in. She was into the game and enjoying her disguise. Mort's hits on Betty were easily diverted by her bringing Michael or me into the conversation, frustrating Mort. Michael suggested we order our food.

The interruption by the waiter appeared to calm Mort's libido. Michael wanted to get into why we were all together. We ladies agreed, and Mort reluctantly acquiesced. Then Michael spoiled Mort's fun and told him who Betty really was. Even this hotshot lady's man got embarrassed, realizing what his libido had just done to him. He stammered out an apology, but the senator stopped him.

“Please, Mort,” she said graciously, “I enjoyed the attention. It's been a long time.”

“Thank you, ma'am.”

“Please, call me Betty. We have important things to talk about and I don't want titles to get in the way,” she said gently. “I want to see what it is we can do for you.”

“I appreciate that, ma—Betty.”

Michael stepped in. “As you and Ty discussed, this is a quid pro quo. Right?”

“Right.”

“Mort, why don't you tell me what work you do for Senator Kelly,” she said oozing charm. “We all know the routine of the Hill, but what are your interactions? I take it you do a lot with the pharmaceutical lobbyists.”

“Yeah, that's my biggest job. I'm the senator's go-between with most of them, except for Mr. Horowitz, who deals directly with the leader and sometimes with Senator Pembroke.”

Horowitz. A new name added to the game.

Betty honed in on him. “Have you ever been part of those times?”

“Some . . . not often.”

She gave Mort a friendly smile. “Tell us about those discussions.”

He melted. “They talk about some heavy stuff, like how they needed to stop that new drug, Tutox-a-something. Mr. Horowitz . . . he's a very intense person . . . was always saying how disastrous it would be for other pharmaceuticals who had cancer drugs on the market . . .”

“Disastrous? How?”

“He didn't say, but the leader knew. Mr. Horowitz could get real hot and Senator Kelly would have to calm him down. One time, Senator Pembroke brought you up, ma'am. They all talked about how they needed full agreement with what the FDA was gonna do.”

“And what was he going to have the FDA do?”

“Well, ma'am . . .”

I suppressed a smile. Somebody in Mort's past must have taught him some manners. Except now after he calls them
ma'am
, he wants to paw them.

The senator asked who Horowitz dealt with at the FDA.

“A doctor, Edward Kelso. That's the only name I remember,” he said weakly.

Our dinners arrived, and Mort ordered another beer. We settled into eating, then Michael took over, asking Mort about the private parties the pharmas threw . . . and the favors. He jumped all over that.

“Those guys always had some good-lookers with them in case a senator wanted a little action. Oh, yeah, they always did stuff for us. We got invites to all sorts of places, and they always had women there too.”

We'd been at this for nearly forty minutes.

“Were they available for you as well as the senators?” Michael asked.

“Yeah, you know, there might be one or two lookers left over. They were very willing, being they already got paid.”

A look of surprise suddenly flashed across his face, and he looked at Betty. I thought this could be a revelation of some kind.

“But there wasn't a one who could hold a candle to you,” he said invitingly.

He was immersed in his addiction. She smiled and took a bite of food.

“Mort,” Michael said firmly, getting his attention, “the pharmas provided women and gifts only to Kelly and Pembroke?”

Michael wanted a clear statement from Mort for my tape. Mort rubbed his chin with his fingers, thinking. He slugged down a swallow of beer, smacked his lips, and leaned into Michael.