Senate Cloakroom Cabal (5 page)

Strategic planning had always been one of Harley's long suits. He had learned early in life to expect the unexpected, to keep his options open and his perimeters strong. He and Sherman had spent many long days scoping out a plan to circumvent the pharmas, while making it look like his company was complying with the one-disease approach.

Harley had immediately contacted a German pharmaceutical firm with whom he'd had previous associations, and had paid them to conduct parallel testing on Tutox phases I, II, III, and any other tests the Europeans would require. Harley felt positive the Germans would receive full approval—the caveat being how far-reaching and influential the pharma lobby could be.

“I never dreamt I would ever go against my country.”

“You're not, Dad. It's not our country that's giving us trouble. It's a few senators and our own pharmaceutical lobbyists. I wish we didn't have to do this either. But I want you to take your proper place in history, right up there with Curie, Pasteur, and Salk.”

Harley became lost in his thoughts. Presidential candidates argued over costs and cures ad nauseam in debates. The public usually went with what was expedient. A recent flu vaccine shortage brought out flimflam operators offering the vaccine at five to ten times the normal price, and the public rushed to use it. They heard
vaccine
and didn't ask if it had ever been tested. The pharmas never said a word. Some companies made a killing on that.

Sherman squeezed his father's shoulder lightly. “Come on, Dad. They're ready.” Harley nodded. Maybe floggings in the town square should be reinstituted for the con artists who preyed on the public. The death penalty would be too good for them.

He felt Sherman's reassuring hand and became aware that his vice chairman, Robert Storer, stood at the microphone, extolling Harley and RPI. Harley stood a little taller and fixed his eyes straight ahead.

“. . . and now please join me in a salute to the genius behind Rogers Pharmaceuticals's great success, our founder and chairman of the board, Harley Rogers.” Harley walked steadily out onto the platform and directly to Bob Storer. They met and shook hands, then Storer stepped back, giving Harley the stage. The applause was deafening. Harley stood to the side of the podium looking out over the thousand or so people who filled every seat and stood along the walls. Bright lights suddenly came on for the television cameras, preventing him from seeing into the hall any longer.

Harley could not tell his stockholders the full truth, something he always held dear. He would fire salvos at Congress and the FDA. One truth was the government's failure to act, to save lives. He had been a warrior once, but since WWII, he had been a scientist. Still, there was no
back down
in him. He'd paint the FDA as the bad guys. He didn't enjoy it, but he was desperate to save his company. As the applause faded, he wondered if he could change some attitudes.

8

O
n the second Sunday in March, Tyler Jerome Fields was baptized. Mom and Dad flew in Saturday morning. Our small invitee list also included Max; Marsha Hines, a part-timer in Jerry's law office while in her final year at Georgetown Law; and Mary Granger, my news assistant.

Jerry and I had found a church reminiscent of the one my parents attended. It had a very traditional look. Tyler, nearly four months old, certainly didn't understand a baptism, but he loved the attention.

Jerry's mother was too ill to attend, and he had decided not to invite his sons. Even though he'd had a nice time taking Tyler to see them and their mother, he and the boys agreed it was probably better that they not go. Beth would have to drive, and well . . .

The church's outstanding choir and the very personal touch the minister gave to the baptism—showing off Tyler to the congregation—gave me chills of joy. Mom, Dad, Max, Jerry, and I stood around the baptismal font and watched as Tyler put on his little show, moving his arms and legs and grinning. It was a very special moment.

The fact of my celebrity had not escaped the church leaders. “That's the reason the church was filled to overflowing,” one of them told me. I heard one person say, “Easter came early.” We all went to their coffee hour and met many church members. One couple was from Wisconsin. A man sought out Max, whom he had known for some twenty years, and they fell into a long conversation.

My parents held close to me. Tyler was asleep in the nursery. I fretted to Jerry that we were getting close to his feeding time. One of the parishioners overheard me and offered to find a private room, if I would like. I went off to get Tyler. Overall, it was a warm and lovely experience. Mom remarked how it was very much like home—people were so friendly.

After lunch in a nearby restaurant, we all went back to the house, except Mary. She had things to do at home. Our little group was very compatible. Jerry, Max, and Dad spent a good part of the afternoon together, probably telling stories about me. Marsha said it was a touch of home for her, being with our family.

Late in the afternoon, after Max drove Marsha back into Washington, we all did our own thing for a while. When Tyler was awake, he was mostly in a grandparent's arms. Jerry and I felt very fortunate. So many good things had happened recently. Memories of bad times had receded.

I'd been back to work three weeks. Lassiter had me working on a couple of background pieces that involved local government issues, which comfortably eased me back in, since the majority of my time at the
Star
had been spent at City Hall.

I was entering into a completely new experience at the paper, what with my nomination for the Pulitzer and a long layoff. I knew, human nature being what it was, my attitude would be scrutinized and magnified by my peers, putting me in a very strange atmosphere.

Well, I would just have to learn how to breathe it in.

9

S
enator Dalton was surprised when Michael told her that Senator Crawford had requested a meeting with her. “Did he say why?”

He shook his head. “Gordon, his AA, only asked if you had some time today. You don't have a lunch.”

Crawford met Dalton at the rear of the Dirksen Senate Office Building at 11:30.

“Glad we could get together,” he said, extending his hand. Hers was warm and soft. “It's such a beautiful day; how about Union Station?”

“Wonderful. I haven't been there in years.”

“There's a restaurant off the concourse,” he said, taking out his cell phone. “I'll have Gordon call them.”

“Sounds like you've done this before,” she chided.

“Yes, it's very clandestine,” he half whispered, punching in Gordon's number.

“Are we hiding away in some back room?” she asked conspiratorially.

“Actually, we go through a secret door used back in the Civil War, then down two flights of stairs to—”

“Where listening and viewing devices cannot penetrate?” she said, continuing the game.

“Oh darn, you've heard of it.”

They laughed. The repartee relaxed him. Gordon answered the call.

Once situated in the restaurant, Dalton and Crawford quickly got the preliminaries out of the way with the server. In the five-minute walk, they'd talked about family—mostly his, as she was a widow and childless. He hadn't known where she lived until she mentioned settling into the Crystal City condo she and H.T. had bought ten years ago. “It was hard the first month, but then I found some good restaurants.”

“Oh? You never ate out when you were here with H.T.?”

“We did, but not a lot. After I knew we wouldn't be having children, I wanted to do something for myself and not just sit around Washington. I chose to go home and get my graduate degree. I was teaching at the university when H.T. was killed.”

“But you, eh . . . I remember seeing you.”

“Yes, you did. In fact, I've met your wife Mariel on at least two occasions. Such a lovely and unusual name.”

“I'm sure she would have mentioned that if I'd told her I was meeting with you,” he said boyishly. “Her given name is Mary Loretta.”

Dalton liked this self-effacing man. He was not caught up in himself like so many others. The server appeared with their iced teas and took their meal order.

“How are things going now that you're into your second year?” he asked.

“You can't count my first year. I was only a guest then. But when I chose to run in the primaries, things began to happen. Mostly
don't run.
”

“I remember hearing tidbits of that in the Cloakroom.”

“Everyone feared I'd lose. I don't know if you saw my results, but I won the primary in a landslide and then the election with sixty-one percent of the vote. I think my colleagues forgot my father was a former two-term governor and that I . . . well, let's say I was fairly well known. Also, I'd worked in campaigns all my life . . .”

“And,” Gavin added, “you had a PhD in history and an associate professorship at the university. A mighty strong resume.”

She smiled. “What route did you take to get here?”

“I had two terms in our state legislature. I pushed for some reform that got me some good press. I thought taking a run in the primaries would get me more statewide notoriety, and I could air out some of my ideas for a future campaign. I was thinking governor. Then surprise of surprises, I won the primary and the election.”

“And now you're in your second term.”

He nodded. “What got you on HELP?”

“My interest in health and education. It was the only one on my list that I did get.”

Yeah
, Gavin thought,
and Tom Kelly's still kicking himself over that one.

“I've always had an interest in health issues,” she continued. “I'm sickened with the high cost of medical care for seniors and the rising cost of prescription drugs.”

He agreed. “It seems like we make little if any progress in those areas.”

“We need to create a federal formulary on drugs,” she said bluntly.

Her candor surprised him. “Unfortunately, our hands were tied, or rather we tied our hands on that one,” he said. “To get even a modicum of cooperation from the pharmaceutical companies, Congress had to promise no requirements for discounts.”

“What's tied can be untied. I don't believe these programs can be remodeled like an old house,” Roanne went on. “They must be torn down and built anew, from the ground up. Look at what Lyndon Johnson tried to do back in the ‘60s. A picture of Johnson taken from the front page of our hometown paper during his presidential campaign in ‘64 shows him visiting an old couple sitting in broken down chairs on a dilapidated porch in front of a falling down, termite-infested shack.

“My father had that page laminated and framed. It hangs in his den at home. A small plaque on the frame underneath says,
The Ultimate
Politician.
I've often wondered whatever happened to those folks after the news media left.”

Gavin sat rapt at her outpouring and was glad for a break when the server brought lunch.

After the server left, Roanne picked up where she left off. “The citizenry is fed a lot of hogwash at election time and sent into a frenzy, all for the sake of their vote. I've watched that in amazement for many years. With all the hot air, I don't think the general population is any better off today than they were ten or twenty years ago.”

She paused to take a bite. He jumped in. “Maybe thirty. We have bills before us now that are not unlike bills a generation ago.”

She looked up from her eating. “This pharmaceutical issue is a good example. The Senate is so concerned with protection, they're forgetting about prevention. Take the new cancer drug—why is everyone in such a big stew?”

Gavin was shocked, then relieved, that she'd brought up the very issue he wanted to discuss.

She continued, “I had my staff go over Rogers Pharmaceuticals's reports. Each phase showed amazing results. That drug's cure rate was over ninety percent. Yet our chairman of HELP wants it ditched, saying there are too many irregularities, too many questions about the testing. I don't see that.”

Gavin went from grateful at not having to bring it up to downcast. This wasn't the time to defend Tom Kelly's position. He'd have to come up with another tack. He also wasn't up on the drug's history, and she certainly had abundant knowledge of it.

Roanne felt a little sorry for Gavin, a genuinely nice man. She and Michael had speculated he might have been asked to talk to her about Tutoxtamen, because the decision was imminent and Kelly wanted no cracks in the majority caucus.

Gavin then interrupted her thoughts. “I think the whole drug issue is a mixed bag of contradictions. We have those who are pro-cure at any cost, and we have those who are pro-caution because of costs.”

She smiled. He continued.

“Some do not want the drug because it will put a lot of other cancer-drug producers out of business, and others want the drug because of the great good it will be for humanity. The advocates of those differing positions are extremely adamant in support of their position. The pharma lobby is willing to sacrifice one member pharmaceutical for the sake of the many, regardless of the value of one over the other.”

She appreciated his gentle explanation of what he was really trying to say:
Do what the party wants.

He was on a roll. “I have to admit I back-burnered Tutoxtamen when I heard it was going to be rejected. Now I'm told the caucus is concerned. There are other pharmaceutical issues in committee, and Tom wants the Tutoxtamen situation disposed of.”

“I don't understand why. I've asked to talk to him.”

“You are a person of great convictions, Roanne. We've all had them. Please, if you are ever to have a political future in the United States Senate, understand that party unity comes before personal desires. If the opposition sees a crack in our unanimity, they'll jump all over it and that, I can assure you, will bring out the attack dogs.”