Senate Cloakroom Cabal (27 page)

“This could be part of that . . . part of a well-planned strategy designed by Harley Rogers. It won't be called Tutoxtamen in Germany, but if it is what we are hoping it is, you can be sure that Rogers is the supplier.”

“Laura's kept us in the pipeline, Riley. She's been anticipating something like this,” Lassiter said pointedly.

I appreciated my boss saying that. It's nicer to be backed rather than be backed up. I continued, “This isn't something that just happened. Rogers set these plans in motion at least three years ago, when the pharma lobby offered him a bribe to isolate the drug's effectiveness to a single form of cancer and not the entire disease.”

“Three years?” Riley asked, incredulous.

“Old man Rogers knew the slime he was dealing with,” Lassiter said tersely.

I almost cracked up. I suspected she didn't like Riley, but he did need some history on Rogers's drug. I told him what else I'd learned, concluding, “When Travis breaks the story, don't be surprised if Senator Kelly rushes to Justice, insisting they search Rogers's entire facility in New Jersey. He'll claim they've been manufacturing and distributing an illegal drug.”

“Yes, good thought, Laura,” Barton said. “We might want somebody up there, Riley.”

The associate editor looked unsettled. “But you don't expect Kelly will be right, do you?”

“I know Rogers is not making Tutoxtamen in New Jersey and that Kelly will get a lot of egg on his face,” I said.

“How long has Travis been with the paper?” Lassiter asked Barton.

“Less than two years . . . as a stringer. We moved him up when Wallace retired. He's been researching the conditions of wounded warriors in Army hospitals in Germany, which is why he is in Frankfurt. It's a soft piece on those folks this country tends to forget.”

Barton's phone buzzed.

He put the phone on speaker, and his secretary said, “Travis Sutter on line two, sir.”

Barton pushed the button for line two.

“Travis, Barton Williams. You're on speaker with Riley, Editor Avery Lassiter, and Laura.”

In the proper order of rank, I thought.

“Okay.” The connection was remarkably clear.

“It's your dime, Trav,” Riley said in a macho tone.

“It was easier than I thought. I drove up and walked right in.”

“I take it he speaks German,” Lassiter whispered.

“I do. My grandparents came over in the fifties. Mom was their only child. She married an immigrant German. We always spoke German at home.”

Lassiter looked chagrined, not realizing her aside could be picked up.

“I saw a nurse, in what we would call an administrator's office. I explained I was looking for my aunt, who had been admitted to a hospital in the Frankfurt area, but the family didn't know where. As it turned out that nurse didn't work in the reception area; she was just dropping off some paperwork relating to her ward. I asked if I might look in the ward where she worked, to see . . . She thought I could, and I did.”

I interrupted him. “Laura here, Travis.”

“Hey, Laura.”

“Did she mention what went on in her ward?”

“Yeah. I first asked if there were differences between the various wards at the hospital. She said there were; for instance, her patients were being given a new drug that was having better-than-expected results.”

My heart was pounding. “Did she say for what? Like a cancer treatment?”

“Oh right. Actually, it was cancer!”

“Barton again, Travis. It sounds like you have a good sense of the place. I think it might be best to see it in the light of day, when the patients are up and about.”

I teased, “Your lost-aunt cover should prove very effective on the patients, as it was on the nurse.”

62

I
had a restless night sleeping, my mind turbulent with speculations.

The world was on the cusp of a major upheaval, one that didn't involve guns, bombs, or politicians' failed promises. The portion of the United States Senate that had been bought off, who followed Kelly down the barrel of a cannon, will now have to face an electorate of millions of cancer victims and their families.

I dragged my tired body down to breakfast. Jerry and Tyler were having a good old time.

“Great piece on Dalton.”

I'd completely forgotten about it. I gave both my boys kisses and went straight for the coffee.

“You had a bad night. About the worst I've seen.”

“Uh huh. I'm sorry, I should have slept on the sofa. Ugh, I'm not very good company, right now.” I plunked down at the table. Tyler wanted me, and Jerry shifted him over. I couldn't help but react positively to my son's enthusiasm. He was a good cure for what ailed me.

“You really liked it?” I asked.

“I did. I also think you need a long, hot shower and a ride into work.” He reached for Tyler, “Come here, big guy.” Tyler transferred without a complaint.

Jerry was right. The shower, a couple of cups of coffee, a little food, and my two adoring men revived me. I appreciated the ride in, allowing me to recap an amazing day and night. I gave my man a big kiss before I got out.

As I walked through the newsroom, my cell rang. It was Michael. “Hi. What's up?”

“Your story on the senator is great,” he said excitedly.

“Thanks.” I walked by Mary's desk and gave her a wave.

“Senator Dalton would like to speak with you.”

I arrived at my cubicle as she came on the line.

“Laura, I should have had you as my publicist when I ran for Miss America; I would have won in a landslide. I'm flattered by the beautiful way you put the story together. My father called me first thing. He was thrilled.”

“It was a pleasure,” I said unenthusiastically. I still wasn't functioning on all cylinders. Plus, my background as a beat reporter had not prepared me for a congratulatory call from someone I wrote about.

“How did things go with your reporter in Germany?” she asked.

“It's cancer.”

“That is wonderfully good news.”

“I'm sorry I didn't call you, but—”

“Please, you don't owe me an explanation. Gavin called to congratulate me on the article. If it is possible, I would like him to hear Mort's tape. He and I are meeting after lunch. I'll reschedule if you can't make it.”

She wanted to use her new leverage to go after Kelly and Pembroke. “Sure. I have some meetings this morning, but I'm sure one or two o'clock will be fine. I'll call Michael.”

“Thank you, Laura.”

I called Max. “I think you are well-suited to be a Style writer. It is also a lot safer.”

“I just got off with Senator Dalton. She was very pleased.”

“The timing couldn't be better for her.”

“How's murder-for-hire going?”

“We're closing in . . . rather, the FBI is. It is only a matter of luck and time.”

I felt someone close to me and looked up; it was Mary. She mouthed
boss
and pointed. “I just got word the boss is calling. Talk to you later.”

On my way to Lassiter's office, it dawned on me. I hadn't asked Max about Mort's tape.

“Good job on the Dalton piece,” Lassiter said.

That meant a lot. “Thanks, boss.”

“Barton called. Travis got back inside the clinic. He talked to patients in the cafeteria and on the grounds. They all felt sorry about his lost aunt and poured out their good fortune. He estimated there might be as many as a hundred beds there. The patients he talked to had been there three to four months.”

I was pumped, but held down my emotions. “What's the plan?”

“Barton wants the scoop and is going with Travis's exclusive in the morning. What can you put together?”

“It depends on how much we want to say.”

“Try the FDA's turndown of the drug and Senator Dalton's opposition to that decision.”

I liked that and suggested I make my contribution as background to Travis's lead.

Lassiter's face went blank. “Yeah, that sounds like the way to go.”

“I don't think my name needs to be on his story. Why not Claire, instead? I can provide her with what we know. Then I can stay under the radar. After all, I'm a Style writer now. At least that's what the Hill people will think. Claire can concentrate on Kelly's and Pembroke's reactions. Besides, I know much more than we want to write at the moment.”

Lassiter stood and came around her desk to where I stood. I couldn't make out her expression and hoped I hadn't misstepped into editorial territory.

“Laura, you've grown up. I'm proud of you.”

I felt flustered.

“You've always been a damn good reporter, a little flaky at times, but dedicated. What you just suggested, in my opinion, is the way it should go. You're close to breaking a huge story involving the Rogers drug, senatorial corruption, and other crimes against humanity. Travis's story will shake up the Hill people, but you'll be there to slam the door when the time comes.”

If there was anyone I ever wanted to receive an
atta-girl
from, it was Lassiter. She returned to her desk. I took a deep breath and cleared my throat.

“Senator Dalton would like me to play the Mort tape to Senator Crawford this afternoon in her office. I'm only guessing, but I think she wants him to play it to Pembroke.”

“Go for it. I'll tell Barton.” Lassiter reached for her phone.

I wasn't sure if I could walk out of there without stumbling. But I wasn't weak-kneed; I was exhilarated and virtually floated back to my desk.

63

I
reached over to my recorder and turned off the Mort tape. Senator Crawford sat staring at it as though the machine had some magical aura.

He asked quietly, “Are you sure Stroble wasn't making that up?” His voice was husky. “I can't believe that Fred . . .”

“Mort was telling the truth, sir. He wanted out. Tyrell Ward had developed a good relationship with Mort and learned all this from him earlier on. That was why we set up our first meeting—Michael, Mort, Tyrell, and me. That's when we learned about the bribe money.”

“Fred. Fred. Fred,” he said distraught. He rubbed his face and looked at Roanne.

“Mort was in meetings that included lobbyist Stanley Horowitz,” she said.

“I know Fred. He's so straight his shirts don't need starch,” Crawford said sadly.

“He wasn't involved in the partying. It was just the money,” I said delicately.

“I heard what Stroble said,” Crawford said sharply. He let out a big sigh. “Sorry, Laura. Fred's such a great family man, always involved . . .they're all in college . . . oh damn,” he sat upright, “three kids . . . that's why the money.” He slumped in back in his chair, rubbing his face. “He's a friend. What happens now?”

Roanne reached out to reassure him. “I was concerned if Laura had come to you cold, you might have questioned the tape's authenticity. I know it's real because I was there and heard it live. It's been edited to focus on the salient points.”

He nodded and stood. I thought he might be leaving, but instead he walked around, rubbing his temples. He drank some water and then looked at me. I braced for a possible onslaught.

“Okay, Laura, what do you propose?”

My mind was ablaze; we had a new ally.

64

S
enator Crawford carried my tape recorder as Roanne and I walked with him to the Hart Senate Office Building, next door to Dirksen. He went up to Senator Pembroke's office alone, and we browsed the monumental Alexander Calder sculpture—
Mountains and Clouds
—in the nine-story atrium. Calder was famous for his gigantic mobiles designed to move. The cloud portion of this sculpture had moved at varying speeds until it malfunctioned and stopped. There was no money appropriated to fix it.

“I can't imagine the pain Gavin is feeling right now Roanne,” she said ruefully.

We ambled through the atrium. “Have you heard from your father?”

She shook her head. I decided to change the subject.

“Johnny's . . . eh . . . interesting.”

“Johnny's a dear. He had served four years in prison for drug abuse and distribution, when his public defender wrote Dad about him. Johnny had barely gotten through grade school. He was a big kid and forced to earn his keep. He endured a litany of abuse. I'm thirsty,” she said abruptly. “Let's find a vending machine.”

“There's a cafeteria along the basement corridor between here and Dirksen.”

“You know more about—yes, let's go there.”

As we headed for the stairs, she continued on about Johnny.

“Nobody knew how old Johnny was when he was arrested, so they charged him as an adult. His sentence was much too long for a first-time offender. They also sent him to a place they had no business sending him.

“Dad surprised everyone when he went to the jail to see Johnny. They talked for half an hour. He saw a lot of good in Johnny and pardoned him, with the proviso that Johnny live on our ranch until he learned to read and learned a trade. Once he became self-supporting, he would be free to leave. Johnny was scared. To him, Dad was a giant . . . a man to fear. Fortunately, he listened to his public defender's assurances that Dad was someone he could trust.”

We reached the cafeteria and selected a drink from the machine.

“Dad set him up in our small bunk house. He told his ranch foreman, Roper, what he wanted. Roper taught Johnny how to use tools and then put him to work using them. Ours was the first real home Johnny had ever known. He'd never even had his own room.

“It took Mom a long time to get used to Johnny being in the house, even though it was always with Dad. Mom's a social princess, or maybe a queen since Dad was a governor. She's great, but very narrow in her points of view. Dad told her Johnny needed some polish and that she should contribute to his overall education. Suffice it to say, Mom had never done anything like that in her life. She was an Edith Wharton socialite of the highest order. Work to her was taking a bath. Nevertheless, she did it. Once she takes on a task, she is diligent. She worked hard to learn and understand Johnny.