The iCongressman (26 page)

SENATOR VIANO

“The infuriating bastard lied to me, Gary!” I exclaim as
I barge into his office in the Longworth House Office Building. Well, it will
be his office for a short time longer since his boss lost the election to one
of my future minions.

“You’re just figuring that out now?” The perplexed look on
his face leads me to believe he came to that conclusion days ago. I miss having
him as my chief of staff for that very reason. He sees the things I sometimes
don’t.

“I thought he was just engaging in some political posturing.
I didn’t think he’d have the balls to go against me on this.”

Bennit has hit the media circuit hard in the days after our
little chat at breakfast. I seriously thought he was just playing it up like he
was fighting the good fight. We do that in Washington all the time. Each and
every call I had with him was cordial and cooperative.
At
least until the last one.

“He strung you along. I’m not sure if I’m more impressed he
thought of that or managed to get you to buy it.”

“What are you saying, Gary?” I ask in my patented accusatory
tone.

“You’re a political genius, Senator. That’s why I liked
working with you, and still do. The fact that he successfully pulled the wool
over your eyes is more than a little impressive. That’s all.”

“Are you sure that’s all?” I ask my longtime confidant,
“Because it looks like you have more to say.”

Gary gets up from his desk, stretches, and walks over to the
credenza on the far wall. His office is not spacious, but is roomy enough to be
comfortable in so long as you like prints and
tchotchkes
of various superheroes. I don’t, so there were relative few of such adornments
when I was in the Senate. Now it looks like Marvel Comics threw up in here.
Hope he doesn’t plan on putting this crap up when he comes back to work for me.

“You should just consider working with him,” Gary says,
pouring himself a drink from the glass decanter without offering me one. He
knows I won’t accept it anyway.

“I tried, and this is how I was rewarded.”

He smirks, and then takes a long sip of his … whatever it
is. “No, you maintained the guise of working with him while you plotted against
him. Your problem isn’t Michael Bennit; it’s that you keep underestimating
him.”

“I made him the iCongressman, damn it! He would be
nothing
without me. Even if he managed to
win reelection, he’d be more irrelevant in this town than two-day-old chewing
gum! The icandidates were
my
idea. I
selected them, I helped them―”

“Behind the scenes, Senator.
You
may know all that, but neither they, nor the person they will take their cues
from, understands that.”

“Precisely why I won’t work with him.
As long as Michael Bennit is in office, he will be looked at as the leader of
the independents in the House. It doesn’t matter if we form a new political
party or not.” I notice the change in Gary’s face, and know what he’s going to
say, and I don’t want to hear it. “I know you’re going to say ‘I told you so,’
so just don’t,” I warn.

“Okay, so you need to find a way to remove Michael from the
picture. Permanently,” he surmises, heeding my advice to move the conversation
forward.

“Yes, and I think I have a plan to do it. You are aware of
all these threats Bennit is getting, aren’t you?”

“I’ve heard the rumors.”

“Then I’ll assume you also figured out who is behind it.”

“James Reed.”

“Correct. He is trying to force the issue on the third party
idea. Apparently he isn’t convinced this bill is going to do it for us.”

“Bold move for one of the most prestigious lobby firms in
the country to be involved in something like that,” Gary correctly surmises.

It is a risky move as much as it is a brash one. The name of
his firm has already been tarnished by being involved in ousting Michael last
summer. If he were ever tied to this, it would destroy them. James probably
thinks there is nothing that could ever lead an investigation back to his
doorstep. Of course, he thought that the first time.

“Let’s use his tactics to our favor. Michael is concerned
about the welfare of his staff. These threats are starting to get in his head
because he cares more about the people around him than doing his job. It might
not take much to force him out. We just have to send a louder message.”

Gary is about as shrewd as they come, and that’s saying
something in an environment where every politician thinks they’re Marcus
Aurelius and every staff member acts like
Niccoló
Machiavelli. Of course Beaumont’s chief of staff, Roger Bean, was of the same
opinion of himself before his Brooks Brothers suits were exchanged for Day-Glo
orange prison garb.

“Marilyn, you’re playing with fire now. You’ve tried
crossing Bennit, and if this backfires, you’ll be doing the same thing to Reed.
Just how far do you plan on taking this if it doesn’t work out the way you
hoped?”

“I have spent my whole life trying to build the contacts and
resources I needed to get elected to the Senate. Once I was there, I was on top
of the world. Politics is my life, Gary, and I want that life back. Neither
Michael Bennit nor James Reed is going to stand in my way.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Gary correctly observes.

“How far would I go?” He nods.
“As far as
I have to.
Now let’s get to work.”

MICHAEL

“Any luck?” I ask Vince as he jogs
the last strides down the hall and stops next to me.

“None.
She isn’t at home, hasn’t
been to the office, and isn’t responding to her cell, texts, or e-mail.”

“Okay, now I’m worried. This isn’t like her at all.”

Worst case scenarios start to spinning through my mind. Now
I know what parents must feel like. After a career in special operations for
the military, it takes a lot to faze me. This qualifies. Vince shares my
concerned look.

“What do you want me to do next? Call the Capitol and Metro
Police?”

The thought that something may have happened to Chelsea sends
a shiver down my spine. “Have you called her house?”

“Yeah, countless
ti
―”

“No, I mean her dad’s up in Millfield.”

“Uh, no, we haven’t.”

“Okay. Get in touch with her dad first. If he hasn’t heard
from her, sound the alarm and sound it loud.”

“Got it.”

“Good. Don’t waste any more time talking to me.”

Vince runs off back down the hall and I take a deep breath.
With all the pressure on me going into this meeting, having to agonize over
Chelsea is the last thing I need. But if anything ever happened to her, I could
never forgive myself.

“They’re ready for you, Congressman,” Vanessa gently prods
after emerging from the committee room we reserved for this gathering. She
knows what’s at stake, but also shares our fears about Chels. Here goes
nothing.

* * *

There isn’t a sound as I walk down the aisle to the
front of the room. There are at least a couple of dozen representatives here,
representing both parties. The vast majority is what Americans would call
moderates and their party bosses would call traitors.

Politicians are really nothing special once you stand among
them. Most of the men and women in this room could easily disappear into the
anonymity of any group of affluent Americans. However, like most driven and
successful people, they do have an ego and want to be admired and respected.
Most of all, they want to be reelected every two years, meaning they find a way
to not stand out in any negative way.

“Thank you all for coming,” I say to the group. I’m honestly
shocked so many came. I expected less than half this number.

“Michael, are you going to create a third party?” someone in
the group asks without any introduction. Damn, I really don’t want to do this
without Chelsea here.

“Cutting right to the chase, aren’t you, Tom?” I reply with
a smile to the Republican representative from Arizona. “The answer is no, I
have never intended, nor do I ever intend to create a third party.”

“Why not?” a colleague representing some
district in Northern California asks.

“Because I don’t think a third party goes a long way to heal
the divide in this chamber. If anything, it makes it worse.”

“I disagree,” he responds, taking up the argument. I forgot
he is a strong third-party advocate, once even running on the Green Party
ballot. “All we need for a three-party system to be successful is a courageous
political leader to lead a break away from the current system. Many of the
people here think you’re that leader, Mister Bennit.”

There is a smattering of applause, but I’m unmoved. I am
concerned though. I need these people to vote against this bill, not for it in
the hopes that I will go the third party route.

“I appreciate the vote of confidence, but it’s never,
ever
going to happen.”

“Do you hate political parties that much?”

“I don’t hate them at all. Political parties have served the
citizens of the United States well for a couple of centuries now, but the
paradigm has shifted in a way most Americans find untenable. There is an
ideological rift that has formed between Republicans and Democrats that make
our whole system of government ineffective. If you don’t believe me, think back
to the last time so many members from both parties willingly sat in the same
room together like you are.”

“Never,” the attractive and intelligent congresswoman from
Pennsylvania scoffs. I have listened intently to some of her floor speeches,
and she is incredibly articulate and very fair. Formerly a successful and
driven small business owner, she’s the type of boss people would line up to
work for. I am still getting used to the fact that not everyone who serves in
Congress is a lawyer. “But what’s your point?”

“I’m glad you asked. I feel that creating a new party would
further divide the House, but creating a new caucus would bring many of us
together.”

The room erupts into side conversations and I’m reminded of
my days in the classroom. During countless discussions, students would engage
in the exact same behavior.

“The bill coming before the House won’t allow that unless a
third party is created,” one of my colleagues interjects.

“That’s true. It’s also why that bill needs to be defeated.”

“But there is no majority party! How will we elect our next
Speaker of the House?”

“Do you seriously think that the situation won’t work itself
out when the next Congress convenes? I’m focused on the long-term here.”

“Okay, let’s back up for a second. Is this caucus for us,
your icandidates, who?”

“There’s room for anyone who wants Congress to actually
work. It’s not about ideology—it’s about the common understanding that what
unites us is stronger than what divides us and that differences can be worked
out.”

“Do you
really
think that will work?” Damn, I didn’t realize people from Alaska were so
pessimistic.

“Yeah, I do, and for one simple reason. This caucus is our
Fight Club.
You all remember the first
rule of
Fight Club
?”

“You never talk about
Fight
Club
,” a moderate from Oregon enthusiastically answers from the back of the
room. The group chuckles, including the two elected women in the room. They
might not have been huge fans of the movie, but Brad Pitt with his shirt off is
a draw, regardless of the subject matter.

“In this case, you never talk about what happens in our
caucus. Nothing gets leaked to the media. You leak to the media and you will
never be invited back.
Ever.”

“Do you really think this is going to make a difference,
Michael? I mean, even if we break with our party-line votes and find common
ground, do you expect us all to agree on every issue?”
Again,
Alaska?

“No, I don’t expect us all to agree with each other on
everything. I also don’t think we’ll inspire all four hundred thirty-five
members of the House to join hands around the Capitol reflecting pool and sing
Imagine
while Speaker Albright smokes
weed and strums an acoustic guitar.”

Everybody ponders that mental picture for a moment. Some are
enjoying it a little too much.

“There used to be a day where statesmen engaged in raucous
debates in caucuses about various issues. Of course, America never heard about
them because they were private. Now pressers are held by representatives acting
like
Sportscenter
anchors who give the highlights of every caucus meeting
.

“The purpose of a closed-door session is so we can have real
debates with each other without having to censor our views. We need a secure forum
to have frank conversations with each other or the legislature will continue to
get nothing done.”

“That would be a refreshing change,” one of the young
Democrats says from the back of the room. “Every caucus meeting I attend now is
about fundraising and how to screw the Republicans.”

“It’s no different on our side. And as a moderate, my
pragmatic desire to compromise is never appreciated.”

There is a smattering of agreement, although a few
congressmen from both parties take umbrage with the comments. Apparently not
everyone is sold on joining my caucus. Now I begin to wonder if the only reason
some of these people are here is to report back to the party leadership for
both sides.

As the side conversations rage, Vince walks up the aisle and
hands me a folded piece of paper. It reads:

Spoke to her dad. She
went home to Millfield. She quit on us.

A rush of emotion surges through me. On one hand, I’m
relieved to know she’s okay. The threats against us are starting to have an effect
on me, too. The specter of her being kidnapped, or worse, was almost
paralyzing. On the other hand, I’m confused as to why she would up and leave,
especially considering everything going on. She had to know it would make us
worry. There is a collision between the most important meetings of my political
career and one of the most important people in my life, and I have to make a
decision what to do. It takes a fraction of a second.

“I hate to have to cut this short, but I have to go.”

“You’re leaving now?” one of my colleagues asks.

“One thing you’ll learn about me is I am a firm believer
that people are more important than politics. And right now, I owe one of them
a long overdue heart-to-heart. Vince can answer most of your remaining
questions about what we’re trying to do here, and feel free to reach out to me
about anything he doesn’t answer to your satisfaction. Thanks for coming
everyone.”

I head up the aisle to the doors at the opposite end of the
committee room. I know dozens of sets of eyes are on me because of my abrupt
departure, but I don’t feel them. My mind is already up in Millfield, thinking
about what’s going on with my cherished student, valued staff member, and
someone I almost consider a daughter.

I am not one who believes in regrets. I firmly believe such
thinking is a waste of time and energy. But for the first time in a long time,
I feel those regrets along with pangs of guilt. Chelsea would not up and leave
without good reasons, and somehow I feel like I missed all of them.