The Prodigal Daughter

by Jeffrey Archer

  “You’re a wise old thing, Edward.”

  “Ah, but you mustn’t forget I’m a year older than you, my dear.”

  Florentyna took Edward’s advice and spent two hours every night dealing with the letters prompted by her speech on defense. At the end of five weeks she had answered every one, by which time her mail had almost returned to normal proportions. She accepted invitations to speak at Princeton and the University of California at Berkeley. She also addressed the cadets of West Point and the midshipmen at Annapolis and was to be the guest of Max Cleland at a Washington lunch to honor Vietnam veterans. Everywhere she went Florentyna was introduced as one of America’s leading authorities on defense. She became so involved and fascinated by the subject that it terrified her how little she really knew which made her study the subject even more intensively. Somehow she kept up with her work in Chicago, but the more she became a public figure, the more she had to assign tasks to her staff. She appointed two more assistants to her Washington office and another in Chicago at her own expense. She was now spending over $100,000 a year out of her own pocket. Richard described it as reinvesting in America.

  Chapter

  Twenty-Nine

  “Anything that can’t wait?” asked Florentyna, glancing down at a desk full of correspondence that had arrived that morning. The 95th Congress was winding down and most members were once again more concerned about being reelected than about sitting in Washington working on legislation. At this stage of the session, staffers were spending almost all their time dealing with constituency problems rather than concentrating on national affairs. Florentyna disliked a system that made hypocrites of normally honest people as soon as another election loomed.

  “There are three matters that I ought to draw to your attention,” said Janet in her customarily efficient manner. “The first is that your voting record can hardly be described as exemplary. It has fallen from eighty-nine percent to seventy-one percent this session and your opponents are bound to jump on that fact, claiming that you are losing interest in your job and should be replaced.”

  “But the reason I’ve been missing votes is that I’ve been inspecting defense bases, and accepting so many out-of-state engagements. I can’t help it if half my colleagues want me to speak in their districts.”

  “I am aware of that,” said Janet, “but you can’t expect the voters of Chicago to be. They’re not pleased that you’re in California or Princeton when they expect you to be in Washington. It might be wise not to accept any more invitations—from other members or well-wishers—until the next session. If you make most of the votes during the last few weeks we may push you back above eighty percent.”

  “Keep reminding me, Janet. What’s second?”

  “Ralph Brooks has been elected State’s Attorney of Illinois, so he should be out of your hair for a while.”

  “I wonder,” said Florentyna, scribbling a note on her pad to remind herself to write and congratulate him. Janet placed a copy of the Chicago Tribune in front of her. Mr. and Mrs. Brooks stared up at her. The caption said: “The new State’s Attorney attends charity concert in behalf of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra.”

  “Doesn’t miss a trick, does he?” commented Florentyna. “I bet his voting record would always be over eighty percent. And the third thing?”

  “You have a meeting with Don Short at ten A.M.”

  “Don Short?”

  “He’s a director of Aerospace Plan and Research, Inc.,” said Janet. “You agreed to see him because his company has a contract with the government to build radar stations for tracking enemy missiles. They’re now bidding for the new navy contract to put their equipment into American warships.”

  “Now I remember,” said Florentyna. “Somebody produced an excellent paper on the subject. Dig it out for me, will you?”

  Janet passed over a brown manila file. “I think you’ll find everything in there.”

  Florentyna smiled and flicked quickly through the papers. “Ah, yes, it all comes back. I shall have one or two pointed questions for Mr. Short.”

  For the next hour, Florentyna dictated letters before reading through the briefing file. She found time to jot down several questions before Don Short arrived. Janet accompanied him into Florentyna’s office as ten o’clock struck.

  “Congresswoman, this is a great honor,” said Don Short, thrusting out his hand. “We at Aerospace Plan look upon you as one of the last bastions of hope for the free world.”

  It was very rare for Florentyna to dislike someone on first sight, but it was clear that Don Short was going to fall firmly into that category. Around five feet seven and twenty pounds overweight, he was a man in his early fifties and nearly bald except for a few strands of black hair which had been carefully combed over the dome of his head. He wore a checked suit and carried a brown leather Gucci briefcase. Before Florentyna had acquired her present hawkish reputation she had never been visited by the Don Shorts of the world since no one thought it worthwhile to lobby her. However, since she had been on the Defense Subcommittee Florentyna had received endless invitations to dinners and travel-free junkets, and had even been sent gifts ranging from bronze model F-15s to manganese nodules encased in lucite.

  Florentyna had accepted only those invitations that were relevant to the issues she was working on at the time, and with the exception of a model of the Concorde she returned every gift she had been sent with a polite note. She kept the Concorde on her desk to remind everyone that she believed in excellence whichever country was responsible. She had been told that Margaret Thatcher had a replica of Apollo 11 on her desk in the House of Commons and she assumed it was there for the same reason.

  Janet left the two of them alone and Florentyna ushered Don Short into a comfortable chair. He crossed his legs, giving Florentyna a glimpse of hairless skin where his trousers failed to meet his socks.

  “A nice office you have here. Are those your children?” he asked, jabbing a pudgy finger at the photos on Florentyna’s desk.

  “Yes,” said Florentyna.

  “Such good-looking kids—take after their mother.” He laughed nervously.

  “I think you wanted to talk to me about the XR-108, Mr. Short?”

  “That’s right, but call me Don. We believe it’s the one piece of equipment the U.S. Navy cannot afford to be without. The XR-108 can track and pinpoint an enemy missile at a distance of over ten thousand miles. Once the XR-108 is installed on every American carrier, the Russians will never dare attack America, because America will always be sailing the high seas, guarding her people while they sleep.” Mr. Short stopped almost as if he were expecting applause. “What is more, my company’s equipment can photograph every missile site in Russia,” he continued, “and beam the picture straight onto a television screen in the White House Situation Room. The Russians can’t even go to the john without us taking a photo of them.” Mr. Short laughed again.

  “I have studied the capabilities of the XR-108 in depth, Mr. Short, and I wonder why Boeing claims it can produce essentially the same piece of equipment at only seventy-two percent of your price.”

  “Our equipment is far more sophisticated, Mrs. Kane, and we have a proven record in the field, having already supplied the U.S. Army.”

  “Your company did not complete the tracking stations for the Army by the date specified in your contract and handed us a cost overrun of seventeen percent on the original estimate—or to be more precise—twenty-three million dollars.” Florentyna had not once looked at her notes.

  Don Short started to lick his lips. “Well, I’m afraid inflation has taken its toll on everyone, not least of all the aerospace industry. Perhaps if you could spare a little time to meet our board members, the problem would become clearer to you. We might even arrange a dinner.”

  “I rarely attend dinners, Mr. Short. I have long believed that the only person who makes any profit over dinner is the maitre d’.”

  Don Short laughed again. “No, no, I meant a testimonial
dinner in your honor. We would invite, say, five hundred people at fifty dollars a head, which you could add to your campaign fund, or to whatever you need the cash for,” he added, almost in a whisper.

  Florentyna was about to throw the man out when her secretary arrived with some coffee. By the time Louise left, Florentyna had controlled her temper and made a decision.

  “How does that work, Mr. Short?”

  “Well, my company likes to give a helping hand to its friends. We understand some of your bills for re-election can be pretty steep, so we hold a dinner to raise a little cash and if all the guests don’t turn up but still send their fifty dollars—well, who’s to know?”

  “As you say, Mr. Short, who’s to know?”

  “Shall I set that up then?”

  “Why don’t you, Mr. Short.”

  “I knew we could work together.”

  Florentyna just managed a tight-lipped smile as Don Short offered a limp hand before Janet showed him out.

  “I’ll be in touch, Florentyna,” he said, turning back.

  “Thank you.”

  As soon as the door closed, the voting bells started to ring. Florentyna glanced up at the clock on which tiny white bulbs were flashing to show that she still had five minutes to reach the chamber. “Well, there’s one I can pick up,” she said, and left to run to the elevator reserved for members of Congress. When she had reached the basement she jumped on the subway that went between Longworth and the Capitol and took a seat next to Bob Buchanan.

  “How are you going to vote?” he asked.

  “Good heavens,” said Florentyna, “I don’t even know what we’re voting for or against.”

  Her thoughts were still focused on Don Short and what she was going to do about his dinner.

  “You’re okay this time. It’s lifting the retirement age cap from sixty-five to seventy, and on that one I’m sure we can both vote the same way.”

  “It’s only a plot to keep old men like you in Congress and see that I never get to chair any committees.”

  “Wait until you’re sixty-five, Florentyna. Then you might feel differently.”

  The subway reached the basement of the Capitol and the two representatives took the elevator up to the chamber together. It pleased Florentyna that this diehard Republican now looked upon her as a full-fledged member of the club. When they reached the chamber they rested on the brass rail at the back, waiting for their names to be called.

  “I never enjoy standing on your side of the chamber,” he said. “After all these years, it still feels strange.”

  “Some of us are quite human, you know, and I’ll let you in on a secret: my husband voted for Jerry Ford.”

  “Wise man, your husband,” chuckled Buchanan.

  “Perhaps your wife voted for Jimmy Carter?”

  The old man suddenly looked sad. “She died last year,” he said quietly.

  “I am sorry,” said Florentyna. “I had no idea.”

  “No, no, my dear. I realized that, but rejoice in your family because they are not always with you, and the one thing I’ve discovered is that this place can only be a poor substitute for a real family, whatever you imagine you achieve…. They’ve started calling the B’s, so I’ll leave you to your thoughts. I’ll find standing on this side of the aisle more pleasant in the future.”

  Florentyna smiled and reflected on how their mutual respect had been conceived in mutual mistrust. She was thankful that the party differences so crudely displayed on election platforms disappeared in the privacy of everyday work. A few moments later the K’s were called and once she had punched her card into the voting pocket she went back to her own office and phoned Bill Pearson, the majority whip, to ask for an immediate interview.

  “Must it be this minute?”

  “This minute, Bill.”

  “I suppose you want me to put you on the Foreign Affairs Committee.”

  “No, it’s far more serious than that.”

  “Then you had better come around right away.”

  Bill Pearson puffed away at his pipe as he listened to Florentyna recount what had happened in her office that morning. Then he said, “We know a lot of this sort of thing goes on, but we’re rarely able to prove it. Your Mr. Short seems to have provided an ideal chance to catch someone with their radar scanner in the pie. Go through with the whole charade, Florentyna, and keep me briefed. The moment they hand over any money we’ll jump on Aerospace Plan like a ton of bricks, and if in the end we can’t prove anything, at least the exercise might make other members of Congress think twice before getting themselves involved in these sorts of shenanigans.”

  Over the weekend Florentyna told Richard about Don Short, but he showed no surprise. “The problem’s a simple one. Some congressmen have only their salaries to live on, so the temptation to pick up cash must sometimes be overwhelming, especially if they are fighting for a seat they could lose and have no assured job to fall back on.”

  “If that’s the case, why did Short bother with me?”

  “That’s also easy to explain. I receive half a dozen personal approaches a year at the bank. The sort of people who offer bribes imagine no one can resist the chance to make a quick buck without Uncle Sam finding out, because that’s the way they would react themselves. You would be surprised how many millionaires would sell their mothers for ten thousand dollars in cash.”

  Don Short phoned during the week and confirmed that a testimonial dinner had been arranged in Florentyna’s honor at the Mayflower Hotel. He expected about five hundred people to be present. Florentyna thanked him, then buzzed Louise on the intercom and asked her to write the date in the appointment book.

  Because of the pressure Florentyna was under with congressional business and out-of-state trips over the next few weeks, she nearly missed Don Short’s testimonial dinner altogether. She was on the floor of the House supporting a colleague’s amendment to a small businesses bill when Janet hurried into the chamber.

  “Have you forgotten the Aerospace Plan dinner?”

  “No, but it’s not for a week,” said Florentyna.

  “If you check your card you’ll find it’s tonight and you’re due there in twenty minutes,” said Janet. “And don’t forget there are five hundred people waiting for you.”

  Florentyna apologized to her colleague and quickly left the chamber and ran to the Longworth garage. She drove out into the Washington night well above the speed limit. She turned off Connecticut Avenue at De Sales Street and left her car in a lot before walking through the side entrance of the Mayflower. She was a few minutes late, her thoughts far from collected, and arrived to find Don Short, dressed in a tight-fitting dinner jacket, standing in the lobby waiting to greet her. Florentyna suddenly realized that she had not had time to change and hoped that the dress she was wearing did not look too casual.

  “We’ve taken a private room,” he said as he led her toward the elevator.

  “I didn’t realize the Mayflower had a banquet room that could seat five hundred,” she said as the elevator doors closed.

  Don Short laughed. “That’s a good one,” he said, and led his guest into a room that—had it been packed—would have held twenty people. He introduced her to everyone present, which took only a few moments: there were only fourteen guests.

  Over dinner Florentyna listened to Don Short’s off-color stories and tales of Aerospace Plan’s triumphs. She wasn’t sure that she could get through the whole evening without exploding. At the end of the dinner Don rose from his seat, tapped a spoon on his empty glass and made a fulsome speech about his close friend Florentyna Kane. The applause when he sat down was as loud as one could hope for from fourteen people. Florentyna made a short reply of thanks and managed to escape a few minutes after eleven, at least grateful that the Mayflower had provided an excellent meal.

  Don Short escorted her back to the parking lot and as she climbed into her car, he handed her an envelope. “I’m sorry so few people turned up, but at least all the absente
es sent in their fifty dollars.” He grinned as he closed the car door.

  After Florentyna had driven back to the Baron, she tore open the envelope and studied the contents: a check for $24,300 made out to cash.

  She told Bill Pearson the whole story the following morning and handed over the envelope. “This,” he said, waving the check, “is going to open a whole can of worms.” He smiled and locked the $24,300 away in his desk.

  Florentyna left the city for the weekend, feeling she had carried out her part of the exercise rather well. Even Richard congratulated her. “Although we could have done with the cash ourselves,” he said.

  “What do you mean?” said Florentyna.

  “I think the Baron’s profits are going to take a big drop this year.”

  “Good heavens, why?”

  “A series of financial decisions implemented by President Carter which are harming the hotels while ironically helping the bank—we have inflation running at fifteen percent while the prime rate is at sixteen. I fear the expense account business trip is the first cutback for most companies that have discovered the telephone is cheaper. So we’re not filling all our rooms and we end up having to raise the prices—which only gives the business community even more reason to cut back on business travel. Into the bargain, food prices have rocketed while wages are trying to keep up with inflation.”

  “Every other hotel group must be faced with the same problem.”

  “Yes, but the decision to move the corporate offices out of the New York Baron last year turned out to be far more expensive than I budgeted for. Four fifty Park Avenue may be a good address, but we could have built two hotels in the South in exchange for having that address on our letterhead.”

  “But your decision released three floors in the New York hotel which allowed us to operate the new banquet rooms.”