Senate Cloakroom Cabal (25 page)

She was still giggling. “You kidding? I'm thirty pounds and twenty years out of his hit zone.” She sounded like she was enjoying this or thinking me naïve. Either way, she had a sense of humor.

“Do you think that's what got him into trouble at the Pub? Maybe an irate husband? I understand from my crime beat buddies he was sitting with two women and a man.”

“That's a very probable scenario.”

“You ever interview Pembroke?”

“Not formally, just questions on the run.”

“What about Kelly?”

“No. His home-state papers put out the stories on him. We get them from the wire services. I don't believe we've ever run one of them.

“My father has run a small town paper for nearly forty years. I could never imagine him taking some third-hand story when the subject was available live. My years on the street haven't prepared me for this sort of drawing-room journalism.”

“I hear you,” she said, sounding bored.

I thanked her for her time and hung up. Mary buzzed me immediately after my phone light went out. “Mr. Horne would like you to call him.”

I punched in his number.

“The senator got the go-ahead for your husband,” he offered immediately.

“Great. See you then.” While calling Jerry, I wondered whether Michael approved.

“Hi. What's up?” He sounded unusually down.

“You don't sound like your day is going very well,” I replied softly.

“I've had better.”

“Well, maybe I can pick you up. I'm inviting you out for dinner.” I hoped I sounded cheery without sounding soupy.

“What's the . . . did I forget something?” he asked, concerned.

“You never forget anything. No. It has something to do with the Caribbean.”

He didn't respond. I imagined he was trying to pull his mind out of whatever had him in a funk. He normally shifted from his stuff to mine fairly easily. Finally he said, “We planning a trip?”

“Noooo. We're promised an evening of engaging Rufus conversation. And maybe a discussion about an island or two.”

“The Gov—that should be fun.” He was sounding more up. “What time?”

“At 6:00. I've already talked with Anna, so we are all right there.”

56

I
had a little playtime with Tyler waiting for Anna, and then showered and dressed. When Jerry came in, I gave him a big hug. I knew he appreciated it by the way he gave his body to me.

“I'm sorry you had a tough day,” I said, still holding him.

He gave me a peck on my forehead. “A recalcitrant client.”

“I hope my call interruption didn't make things worse.”

He squeezed me. “To the contrary, you brought me back from the brink.” He hugged me harder. “Does the governor being here . . . are things moving along?”

“We'll see. I suggested a good legal brain could be very helpful.”

“Oh?” he asked gently, pushing back from me to look into my eyes. “We've never done this before . . . a team. Do I see a Nick and Nora Charles in the future?”

A chill of excitement went through me. “You better get ready. We need to go.”

We arrived at Roanne Dalton's door at 6:05. She hadn't changed, but Rufus was wearing slacks and a polo shirt with his country club's logo prominently displayed. Michael had removed his jacket and tie.

“Dad, this is Jerry Fields.”

“Glad to meet you, Jer.” Rufus gave my husband a hearty handshake. A little testosterone test. Jerry's no slouch, having done a lot of manual work in his life, and sports a strong grip.

“Governor.”

“Can we make it Rufus and Ro, at least for tonight?”

I looked at Michael for a reaction. He liked formalities, but he didn't react.

I jumped in. “It's not always easy, when you have a working relationship. I promise to think casual, even if it doesn't always come out that way.”

Rufus smiled and shrugged
what the heck
. “I understand.”

Roanne announced the food was ready in the kitchen. “Pick out your drink?”

Jerry and Rufus got a beer. Ro and Michael wine. I had water. We spent the next half hour consuming a light repast, while being regaled by Rufus.

I could see in his manner he loved being back in the game. I liked that Michael was relaxing and enjoying himself.

Ro finally broke in. “Before you get all
storied
out Dad, let's hear about Harley Rogers.”

“All right. For starters, Harley is not one to be caught unawares. He knew way back that the FDA would capitulate to the pharmas, and if he didn't come up with a plan to save his drug, he'd be out of luck. Now, along with being an inventor, strategic planning has always been one of Harley's long suits.

“Three years back, a medical trade journal published pirated results of early Tutox testing that touted remarkable findings, far better than other cancer drugs had at that same stage in their development. The pharma lobby then approached him about the drug. Its potential was daily gossip, and Rogers's stock price was inching up. Not ones to beg, those rustlers just flat made him an offer: concentrate on a cure for only one of the cancers, and they'd make it worth his while.”

I hoped this background was leading someplace. All I was getting so far was that Rufus had been involved with Harley Rogers longer than he'd originally owned up to.

“Harley and Sherman said to hell with the pharmas privately, but to delay any immediate pressure from them, Harley publicly went along. He set up some scientists to work on the single cure, as a subterfuge for the pharmas, while at the same time, hidden away from outsiders, he continued to develop the real Tutoxtamen.

“Harley was well schooled in the art of diversion and disinformation, and he allowed things to leak out about the singular drug. I believe it was around then when Sherman began working on a plan to manufacture Tutox outside of the good old US of A.”

I couldn't resist sticking in my two cents. “So they used Puerto Rico as a jumping off point, while making people think they were going to the clinic they built outside San Juan.”

Rufus looked at me quizzically. “You learn that on your own?”

I nodded. “It was easy. Sherman went there and came back from there, and no airline showed he ever took a flight anywhere else. But he did.”

Rufus shook his head. “She's a good one, Ro. You're right, Laura. Another former Ranger had his own air charter service in the Caribbean following WWII, which is now run by one of his sons. Their little airline goes to all the islands, except Cuba and Haiti. They file flight plans that get changed, it's very casual, and they don't publish a manifest. Sherman became an expert of disguises. No casual observer would have known the passenger was Sherman.”

“The Rogers's corporate jet never went beyond Puerto Rico?” Jerry asked.

“Right. Sherman found a poor island group that was ripe for his proposal. I can't say more about that, but you get the picture.”

I wanted to know more. “So, Harley's people and equipment are on an island. Does it have a name?”

“I'm not at liberty to say more, Laura. But I will tell you that Sherman worked out a deal on an island, and that's when Harley called me. He needed help with security. He wanted a combat outfit like what we were in the Rangers. He worried he might have to fight off an invasion some day. I thought Harley's age had finally caught up with him, you know,” and he gave the typical finger move that people use to describe a whacko.

“How long ago was that?” I asked.

“Two-and-a-half years ago, before H.T. was killed and Ro went to the Senate. There wasn't anything political in what I did. I was helping out an old friend, that's all. I knew Gary Graves of B&G through a mutual friend, that's why I used them to watch over Ro. His people aren't Delta or Rangers, but he recommended an outfit that does stuff for the Department of Defense. I've visited Harley's island a couple of times. It's a sweet arrangement with all sorts of geography working in their favor. Johnny and I are going there in a few days. With the type of detection devices available to us, shoot, nobody'll be able to get near them without—”

“You think Harley believes—” Laura began.

“He knows these cutthroats, Laura,” Rufus responded before she could finish. “Look at what happened to Stroble. And oh yes, I do believe the pharmas were behind that boy's death.”

“So do I, gov—uh, Rufus,” I concurred.

His face lit up with a big smile. “I would have bet you did, Laura. I'd bet you even know more than you're saying.” Ro's eyebrows went up. “Is that true, Laura?”

The old boy surprised me, but I couldn't go covert. “Okay, there's a lot of trust in this room. MPD knows the identity of one of the two suspects. He's a hit man who flew in from Miami two days before the killing, the evening Michael and I had drinks with Tyrell and Mort.”

I saw Michael's eyes widened to saucers.

“But how . . . I mean that was purely social,” he stammered.

“I know. But maybe the pharmas were already watching Mort because of his extramarital activities. Maybe they worried about loose, drunken lips,” I suggested.

“Dad told me the cover story for the construction is that the island's new facility needs privacy while researching oceanic life, to improve the world's understanding of how undersea life can benefit mankind. Rogers's name is no place to be seen or heard.”

“Right, I forgot about that,” Rufus said, moving back in. “This place is an investment in Rogers's future.”

57

T
he next day, I sat in the Senate gallery eagerly waiting for the Szymanski/Dalton bill to be announced. The chamber was sparsely filled, creating an
I couldn't care less
attitude on the floor.

Senators and staff were quietly disinterested. Rufus sat one section over from me with two men I didn't recognize. The three were smiling and whispering. This had to be a very special day for the old politician. His gorgeous and famous beauty-queen daughter, now a United States senator, was about to turn her party into a bucket of snarly, poisonous snakes.

On the floor, the minority leader yielded his time to Szymanski, who took the podium. There was a constant, low hum of people talking quietly. Some minority party senators knew what was coming; only four from the majority party were in on it.

Szymanski opened with the normal niceties of Senate decorum and then invited Senator Dalton to join him. That was an attention-getter. When she stood alongside him, he announced their cosponsored bill. Dalton spoke for about thirty seconds on how proud she was to be a part of a landmark bill and then returned to her desk. After the shock, a rumble came up from the majority members. Szymanski asked that his entire bill be entered into the Congressional Record, without objection, and then began spelling out the highlights of its contents.

Senator Kelly wasn't on the floor. A senator asked if the
Gentleman
— Szymanski, in other words—would yield. Meaning he wanted to take the floor, but Szymanski denied the request.

Within a minute, Kelly barged into the chamber from the Cloakroom and tried with all the power of his office to have the Senate president stop the proceedings.

I wondered if the title of “president” confuses some. The vice president of the United States
is
the president of the Senate ex officio. However, he is rarely there, unless needed to break a tie vote. There is a president pro tempore, the most senior senator in the majority party, who is next in line, but the rank-and-file senators of that party commonly hold the gavel. All who do so are referred to as
Mister or Madam President.

Even though the majority leader carries a lot of weight, Senator Harold Raines continually called for the chamber and Kelly to come to order. This was not how it normally worked on a Senate floor that was now quickly filling as senators clamored into the chamber. It had all the signs of a good old knock-down, drag-out brawl. The room was electric.

Raines called for no more outbursts or requests for the
Gentleman
to yield, as none would be granted. That spurred more shouts. I honestly thought Kelly might rush Szymanski.

How Raines came to be sitting in the president's seat at this particular time might forever remain a mystery. The noise did not abate, and Raines called for the sergeant at arms, additionally demanding, “The senators will please observe proper decorum, or I will have them removed.” That got their attention, and the chamber fell silent. Raines then asked Szymanski to continue.

I glanced over at Rufus. He and his friends had big grins on their faces. What had he done? I looked at Roanne, who sat at her desk demurely watching her cosponsor, a no-fly zone around her.

By this time, my colleagues of the fourth estate had jammed into the press gallery. I imagined C-SPAN would be mostly focused on Szymanski. It would be interesting to see how much of the chaos they show. This might not be a historic moment in the Senate, but it was a
hysteric
one.

I wondered what Claire Rowley would write about this uproar and what, if any, political slant she may give it. She hadn't seen the beginning, so I guessed she would review the video to get the exact chronology. I just hoped she'd be objective, but then she had to deal with these folks on a daily basis.

Szymanski continued with his presentation to a now relatively quiet Senate floor. Many of the majority members had vacated the chamber. The press gallery, too, had begun to thin out. Those reporters would soon have hard copies of the bill. Right now, though, it was time for them to seek out members for interviews.

When Szymanski concluded his presentation, he yielded back to the minority leader. He stepped away, accompanied by rising cheers with every step he took. It was quite a sight. When the gavel finally pounded, it wasn't Raines but Gavin Crawford in the Senate president's chair. Kelly and his entourage were nowhere to be seen. Kelly's bluster and futile attempts to take over the proceedings had to be on tape. Certainly his voice would be. I left the chamber and sought out Rufus. I found him saying goodbye to his gallery companions.