Senate Cloakroom Cabal (36 page)

“Senator Dalton told me two minutes ago that Harley's flying Sherman to a New York City hospital sometime today. Could he be in danger?”

“There is always that possibility. I'll contact our New York field office.”

“Back to the yacht, have you learned anything from its crew? Or the women?”

“It gets to Gitmo tomorrow. We'll fly the women to Miami to be interviewed. I doubt they know anything about the boat's mission, only their own. Laura, you're looking at the big picture: Why would the perps want either of the Rogers dead?”

What a difference a year makes,
I thought. Last year, the FBI had ignored Max's request to include me on an investigation that I had created, but that the FBI had taken over.

“I wish I knew the answer to that.”

84

“T
hank you for doing this, Ms. Wolfe,” Senator Pembroke said.

“Gavin graciously offered his office, as I wanted this to be as private as possible. I've asked him to sit in.”

I nodded. We moved to the upholstered chairs surrounding the round coffee table.

“Please,” Pembroke said, indicating where he wanted me to sit.

“I would like for us to sit opposite each other, sir.”

“Oh, certainly.” We arranged ourselves.

Crawford sat a few feet to the side, and I noticed he had moved his chair back a couple of feet, acknowledging he was a bystander and not a participant.

Pembroke cleared his throat. “I am not being gratuitous when I say you have a reputation for honesty and are a respected journalist, your Pulitzer notwithstanding. The sensationalists will have a field day at my expense and deservedly so, which is why I want to tell you my story ahead of that.”

I could think of no response that was appropriate, so I chose instead to arrange my tape deck, pad, and pen. Crawford had mentioned Pembroke was a precise person. My being orderly may seem a small thing, but he'd notice it, and maybe it would put him a little more at ease.

He asked, “Do you have any questions before we begin?”

“No sir.” As I was given the option, I didn't want to establish a beginning point.

He looked at Crawford, who nodded slightly, saying in effect:
It's your
stage.
Harley's comment in Carmaya about senators—
they are all actors on
this stage of life
—flashed through my mind.

Senator Pembroke pulled some stapled sheets of paper from his briefcase and placed them on the coffee table. “This is my bio. It's well detailed, covering my life. This way we won't have to spend time on my history.”

“Thank you, Senator. May I?” I reached out to my recorder, indicating I would like to turn it on. The curtain was about to go up.

He fidgeted, gearing himself up. “Certainly.” An edge of nervousness cracked his voice.

I turned on the tape and said, “Interview with Senator Fred Pembroke in the office of Senator Gavin Crawford, who is present.” I sat back, my note pad on my lap and waited.

He shifted nervously in his seat, and then began by talking about his two daughters and one son. It was a walk down memory lane, a Shakespearean prologue of sorts. He was serious, but occasionally attempted some humor. He nervously attempted to draw Crawford in with a “you remember” and “we were all at,” but Crawford remained impassive.

Pembroke cleared his throat several times. His eyes projected sadness and teared easily.

“I didn't want Sally to work after I became a senator, coming over from the House after six years there.” He let out a sigh and took a swallow of water. “McLean's a great community, superb Fairfax County schools, great recreational programs, and good neighbors like Gav and Mariel.” Small beads of perspiration appeared on his upper lip.

“Life was good.” He wiped his lips and forehead, had another drink.

“Our eldest, Freda, selected the University of Virginia, UVA. She loved the school and her grades were great. She made the freshman team in volleyball and swimming.” He drained his glass of water and wiped his mouth. “I'm sorry, I know I'm . . . it's just . . . I need to say these things.”

His eyes teared, and he sat back grimly, wiping a hand over his face. He sniffled and wiped his nose on a handkerchief. Crawford refilled his friend's glass.

“Two years after Freda, George began at Virginia Tech. He's a wiz in math and science. Heh, those two have always been competitive. He relished going to a big rival school. Blacksburg and Charlottesville are not that far apart either. Boy, do they go at it, but don't ever let anyone get in between them—whew, that would be trouble.”

He took a deep breath. I worried that the weight of his personal story might drag him down to where he would stop before he got to the main subject. I cleared my throat. I hoped he'd get into the corruption phase without me having to steer him into it.

“Okay.” He sat upright. “It was two and a half years ago. We had the two in college and Sadie, our youngest, about to start. I was at one of those cocktail parties the pharma crowd is always throwing, as Stroble said on that tape. I was in line for the chairmanship of HELP. We'd just won the majority. Tom was building me up to Stan . . .”

Horowitz I wrote on my pad.

“. . . about my great family and how expensive having three kids in college at the same time would be. I remember mentioning how tight things were for us. Two days later, a messenger delivered a brown envelope with a big ‘Eyes Only' below my name.

“A standard-size envelope was inside with the same admonition. There were twenty-five $100 bills in it.” He sniffled and wiped the sweat off his face with the handkerchief he kept at hand. “A simple note,
Please accept
this for your kids.
It was in a standard font on plain bond paper. No name. I damn near broke down. Sally and I were struggling to keep things together.

“Looking at that money I didn't know . . . well actually, I was pretty sure, if you know what I mean.” He cleared his throat. “I was going to give it back,” he blurted intensely. “I was.” Then like air escaping a balloon, he deflated and sagged into his chair. “But I didn't.” His head drooped.

I waited and was about to ask my first question when he lifted his head. “I received $30,000 over the next six months in an offshore account they'd established for me after the first cash gift. Tom handled all that, as Stroble said. Tom has an account also. So does the whip and some others. When Freda graduated, I got a card of congratulations from a local car dealer saying a benefactor would like to make a down payment on a car for her.

“The general manager took personal care of us. He had been given a $10,000 deposit to go toward the purchase . . . that made the payments much cheaper. Things kept coming my way. Later, I traded George's old car at the same dealership and got him a demo, one of their sporty cars. The money kept coming.”

He sat back, looking down at the handkerchief he constantly played with. I hoped he wasn't fading out. He wasn't. “Stan gave, and we gave back,” he said, straightening up.

He'd finally completed the circle. Pembroke blew his nose. Half embarrassed, he managed a tight-lipped, grim smile. “The gifts increased, up to $5,000 a month, with . . .” He sat back and looked around Gavin's office with a vacant stare. “I had it all. What could be better? What I feared the most . . . in the beginning . . . was letting my kids down. The cars would have been older. There'd have been fewer new clothes and less electronic gear.”

His lips pursed, he was fighting a breakdown. “I didn't trust the love we shared for each other. I had to prove . . . I was a big man in the Senate. I had to show them I was just as big at home. And . . .” He bent over in his chair, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. His body heaved emotionally.

I looked at Crawford and indicated I'd heard enough. I didn't need any more. I turned off my recorder and placed everything in my bag. I'd witnessed a
Macbeth
, a
Willy Loman
. I slipped out through an anteroom into the main corridor. I descended the stairs to the street level and left the Russell Senate Office Building on my way to Ro's office in the Dirksen Senate Office Building.

Pembroke had a 5:00 appointment with Majority Leader Tom Kelly.

85

B
efore I went into Dirksen, I stopped on the sidewalk and called Barton's direct line.

“Barton Williams.” “Laura, sir.”

“Yes. How'd it go?”

“What I have is pure narrative . . . an American tragedy.”

“Yes, but a story nonetheless,” he said firmly.

He sounded concerned. I shot back, “Absolutely. I'm going to Senator Dalton's office.”

“Thank you, Laura. I'll tell Riley and Claire.”

I punched off. This was becoming a sour victory to me. I called Max's private line.

“Ms. Wolfe.”

“I have a tape that unimpeachably implicates K and others. It corroborates the content of the M tapes. I'll get you a copy.”

“Why don't you give it to me tomorrow?”

“Okay. I have no idea what reason he will give for his resignation.”

“We and our friends have teams in place.”

I teased smugly, “Gosh. I keep forgetting you actually do things on your own.”

“We try.”

I went into Dirksen and up to Ro's office. Michael came and got me. I nodded to assure him we had gotten what we needed.

“Senator Dalton has been very anxious,” he said. “Senator Szymanski is with her.”

We greeted all around, and then Ro took me aside. “Al is up-to-date on Carmaya and Pembroke's imminent resignation. I've also informed Harold Raines of the same things. He was shocked about Fred and worried he might also resign his Senate seat and reduce our majority to 51-48, or maybe worse because the governor of Fred's state is not from our party.”

I updated her on my conversation with Max and that MPD and the FBI were keeping a tight surveillance on their respective persons of interest. “They have more than enough to implicate Senators Kelly and Pembroke in a myriad of things, but nothing yet about who was behind Mort's murder. We are in a waiting mode until the authorities move in. My paper has several reporters standing by. Right now, secrecy is our surest road to success.”

She nodded. As we moved to rejoin Szymanski and Michael, I asked, “You mentioned talking to Senator Raines. Is he senior enough to be the one to hold things together in the Senate when the authorities make their move?”

She looked puzzled. “How do you mean?”

We four were standing together.

“Senator Pembroke told me he and Kelly were not the only ones to take money under the table. I see the potential for a catastrophic implosion when most of your leadership is arrested. How will the minority members react? It would be of immeasurable help to the MPD and FBI if this isn't immediately politicized. Is there a method in place where all your colleagues can be reached quickly?”

“Laura makes a good point, Al. We need to curb the attack dogs on both sides.”

“On our side, that'll be up to the minority leader, but I'll be—”

Crawford rushed into the room. “Fred's on his way home.” He stopped when he saw Al. “Hi, Al.

Ro said, “I've told Al, Gavin.”

Crawford relaxed. “Okay. I walked Fred to his car. He was only in with Tom about three minutes. He told me he gave poor health as his reason, saying he didn't believe he could withstand the pressure of the upcoming pharmaceutical battles. He told Tom we'd be better off if Harvey—”

A name Pembroke had mentioned. “Did he play the tape?” I asked anxiously, my heart pounding.

“I asked, and he said no. He did ask Tom to wait until after the weekend . . . for time to tell the family.” There would be no Senatorial coup ‘d'état this evening. I called Max.

86

T
om Kelly sat alone in his office, feeling his large, empty room crushing in on him. Where had things gone so wrong? He had cultivated a solid political organization, a strong power base. He wondered if Dalton and Crawford had aligned; they'd gone off to Rogers's island together. It must have been Crawford who convinced the Pentagon to send in the Marines. He sat on the Armed Services Committee.

Harley Rogers had out-foxed everybody. The price of his company's stock had risen fifteen percent solely on the rumor that the German drug could be his.

He wondered what Fred would do now. Pembroke was really a decent guy, but Stan had found his weak spot—wanting to give his kids the best. Stan was a master of playing on the good in people as much as he did the bad, maneuvering them into doing evil to embellish their goodness.

Pembroke's stepping down would actually be a big plus for Stan, who always wanted Frank Harvey to chair HELP. Stan liked Harvey's bulldog approach. That would help to get the committee back in line to block Szymanski and his cosponsored bill with Dalton.

That buoyed him up and made him feel less pessimistic. He stood and walked around the room, thinking. Harvey could also move Kelly's pharmaceutical discount plan through committee. He'd have the guts to push for hearings on possible illegal activities by Rogers and keep his damn cancer drug out of the country.

He picked up his private phone, the one with no extensions, and punched in a number. He let it ring three times and hung up. Then he redialed it, waited four rings, and hung up. He waited. His phone rang.

“Hello,” he said dully.

“Is Mabel there?” Meaning,
Is there a problem?

“There's no Mabel here.” Meaning,
I have something urgent.

“She gave me this number.” Meaning,
Where do you want to meet
?

“I don't care if Thomas Jefferson gave it to you.” Meaning,
Meet at the
Jefferson Memorial.

“This is the second number I've been given for her. I'm sorry to have troubled you.” Meaning,
I'll be there in two hours.
The phone went dead.