The Return of Elliott Eastman

by Ryan, Ignatius

  Eddie and James refused to stand on the sidelines and despite their injuries they couldn’t have looked more ominous, dressed in black suits and wearing dark sun glasses, when they caught up with Republican Representative George Madsen of Minnesota getting out of his taxi in front of his D.C. apartment.

  “Mr. Madsen?”

  “Yes.”

  “Jones and West, IRS,” Eddie said opening his coat and letting the congressman catch a glimpse of his badge along with the butt of the gun in his shoulder holster. “We’d like to ask you a few questions regarding Nick Cobbings.”

  “Right here?”

  “It won’t take long, or perhaps we should step inside your apartment?”

  Madsen looked terribly uncomfortable.

  “Let’s step up near the front door and I’ll try to answer a couple of questions,” the congressman suggested.

  The three men walked up the flight of steps until they were near the front doors to the upscale condominium complex where Madsen rented a unit.

  “Are you aware of Cobbings leasing part of his office space to his wife’s Political Action Committee?”

  “I most certainly am not.”

  “Strange, you were mentioned in our briefing as a close associate of his.”

  “I am no such thing. Sure, I’ve spoken to him a few times, but that’s about the size of it.”

  “Are you aware of his concealing his wife’s income from the IRS?”

  “Absolutely not. What kind of questions are these? How would I know anything about his personal taxes?”

  “These are merely routine questions we are required to ask,” James said.

  “Do you, or have you ever, been in a business partnership with Nick Cobbings?”

  “No, never. Did he say that?”

  “No, but the Bureau indicated you and he have met on many occasions away from the congressional buildings.”

  “Wrong, we may have met a handful of times, wait you said the Bureau?”

  “Yes, as you know a member of Congress must declare their financial holdings. The IRS will investigate when we believe a case of tax evasion has occurred, but not declaring properly for the Congressional Journal is a crime and that draws in the FBI.”

  “I don’t think I want to answer any more questions unless my attorney is present,” Madsen said slowly.

  “We understand,” James responded. “Thank you for your cooperation.”

  “And please, don’t leave town,” Eddie added as they stepped away.

  A shaken Madsen opened the front doors, took the elevator eight flights up to his unit and immediately got on the phone to one of his aides.

  “Luanne, find Nick Cobbings and have him call me as soon as possible. Tell him it’s an emergency.”

  Twenty minutes later the phone rang.

  “Madsen here.”

  “George, what’s the emergency?”

  “I just had a personal visit from two IRS agents. They are investigating your lease arrangements and apparently the FBI is involved.”

  “Damn. And rumor has it the House Ethics Committee is beginning an investigation of me.”

  “Are the accusations true?”

  “It was an innocent mistake.”

  “A mistake that you were funneling money to your wife’s PAC while she was leasing space from you?”

  “It’s nothing. Hell, half the House has got similar arrangements,” Cobbings growled.

  “I think you are exaggerating just a bit. I know of no others, and if you’re convicted you’ll obviously lose your seat.”

  “I know.”

  Madsen sat for a moment in silence not sure what to say and finally merely stated, “I wish you luck.”

  Eddie and James had similar conversations with a dozen members of the House over the next two days. It was just enough to set the House abuzz with speculation as to Cobbings’ fate.

  Meanwhile Judy, all ninety pounds of her, read the lines Goldie had typed for her for the seventh time and said, in her high squeaky voice, “I think I have it down, Goldie.”

  “Remember, you’re angry and sobbing.”

  “Yes, Goldie,” Judy replied rolling her eyes.

  “Okay, are you ready?” Goldie asked.

  “Yes.”

  “This is me dialing,” Goldie said with a smirk as she pressed the numbers on the phone.

  A moment later, after a few rings, the voicemail kicked on.

  “Hello, you have reached the offices of Congressman John Bainer. The offices are closed at this time. Please leave a message at the tone or visit our web site at www.johnbainer.com.” The phone beeped and just as Judy began to speak Goldie gave her thigh a fierce pinch. Judy inched away and immediately began sobbing uncontrollably and cried.

  “What you did to me was horrible. I’m only seventeen years old and you, you … you raped me. You are a monster! I’m going to tell the police what you did. I hate you. I hate you!”

  Judy set the receiver down in its cradle.

  “Perfect,” Goldie breathed as she turned off the tape recorder.

  “I was pretty good, wasn’t I?” Judy said with a beaming smile as both women emerged from the phone booth.

  “Now let’s get this tape off to the police,” Goldie said. “We’ll go to the post office together.”

  The following morning Mabel Hessling, Bainer’s aging secretary of twenty plus years, turned the key in the front door lock and let herself into the office at seven a.m. As soon as she set her overcoat on the back of her chair she noticed the light blinking on the phone at her desk.

  Sitting down at her desk she responded to the series of commands that allowed her to access the voicemail message. She stared in horror at the phone as she listened to the hysterical woman on the other end of the line. After listening to it three more times, with her senses reeling, she quickly dialed Bainer’s cell phone number.

  “John, you must come to the office as quickly as possible.”

  “What is it?”

  “There is something you must hear.”

  “It can’t wait? I haven’t even finished the Times yet.”

  “You must come now.”

  “Mabel, Give me some idea of what we’re talking about.”

  “I … I can’t, John.”

  “Okay, I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Bainer grumbled, “but this better be a true emergency.”

  “Believe me, it is.”

  Mabel waited patiently for the congressman to arrive and all the while her thoughts leapt about. Could he have done it? Either way he was going to be disgraced. Would he go to jail? Would she? She would undoubtedly be questioned. She would need to find another job.

  After Mabel paced the floor of her little office for a number of minutes wringing her hands, she sat down again and began to quietly cry. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she thought about how bright eyed, naïve and optimistic she was when she first joined the Bainer operation. She, no they, were going to change the world. Slowly she’d learned how favors were doled out. Plumb positions for loyal constituents, and favorable legislation for big money donors was arranged. Her disillusionment grew and was eventually complete, but she stayed on the job because the market for someone with her limited skills was simply not there.

  ‘And now this,’ she thought.

  Finally she decided her only course of action was to go to the police first. It would help absolve her of any complicity in some sort of cover-up and was the right thing to do. This poor young woman had been violated and needed to be protected.

  Withdrawing a sheet of stationary from a nearby drawer she stifled a sob, pushed a strand of graying hair out of her eyes and quickly began typing her resignation letter.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Congressional pages slipped between the men and women seated at the enormous table laying thick sheaves of paper beside the glasses and vases of water.

  Bainer leaned back in his chair, cleared his throat and said, “I’m comfortable with Senator Carl Nevin con
tinuing to chair this meeting.”

  Nevin looked up from the papers he was studying. “My last stab at chairing a committee meeting was not a scintillating experience,” he said gazing pointedly at both Portman and Coryn.

  “Come on, Carl,” Bainer said in his water well deep voice. “This is Conference Committee. It doesn’t get more informal than this. We’re just gonna kick around some ideas and be out of here in a few hours.”

  Senator Nevin hesitated for a moment and acquiesced. “I’ll continue on, but I want some promises we’re going to work hard to make some real headway.”

  “I think we can do that,” Bainer replied glancing around the table.

  Carl picked up his papers and moved to the vacant chair at the head of the table fifteen feet away.

  He immediately dropped his gavel and said, “The meeting for purposes of reconciling the differences between the House and Senate versions of the ‘War on the Deficit’ is now called to order on this, the eighteenth of February, 2018. Who would like to open the meeting?”

  “I’d like to make a statement in hopes of setting the tone for this meeting,” Senator Bruce Bennett said.

  “You may proceed,” Nevin said.

  “I would like to say that I hope we can all come together and make some responsible choices, some responsible compromises that will change the very course of our country. This could be recognized in years to come as a turning point in the history of our nation, where we embarked upon a path of fiscal sensibility with a vast new revenue source and some long overdue spending cuts. A path where we begin a serious reduction in the enormous debt we and our children face.”

  “Humpf,” Cobbings snorted.

  Bennett’s face reddened, but he bit his tongue and held silent.

  After a moment of consideration Coryn took the lead and said, “I move that any wording regarding the Financial Transaction Fee be stricken and that the military base closure be reduced from eighty in the next seven years to sixty.”

  There it was, the gauntlet had hit the table once again.

  Portman was the first to speak. “Are you saying you’ll accept no transaction fee whatsoever?”

  “Don’t forget,” Cobbings said with a sneer, “we never had a chance to amend the bill in the House due to a low down dirty trick.”

  “I believe it was voted on, was it not?” Representative Kathryn Morris Rodgers stated firmly.

  Cobbings snorted again. “If you wish to call it that, you may do so.”

  “Well then perhaps we should consider changing the task completely and have no new revenue stream, which means we’ll need to close 200 bases and cut military spending in other areas like pulling all our troops out of Afghanistan and Iraq and Libya within six months,” Bennett said.

  “That will never fly,” Bainer said.

  “It’s worth a try,” Bennett replied staring Bainer down. “I can summon my assistant and get the wording rolling in a matter of minutes.”

  Bainer glared at the young House member.

  “Or I’ll add it as a rider once we get something passed here,” threatened Bennett.

  “I’ve sat on the Armed Services Committee, and I can guarantee a 200 base cut is never going to fly,” Whitback interrupted.

  “Maybe we should lock in those low interest rates the bankers have agreed to and make them permanent. We can amend the wording and include a clause doing just that,” representative Rosa Sparks suggested. “My constituents would love it.”

  “Point of Order,” Bainer snarled, turning to the chair. “Carl, I object. The sole purpose of a Conference Committee is to reconcile the differences between the House and Senate versions of the bill. The bank rates were a voluntary gesture. As you know, there is no provision in the Conference Committee rules allowing for new amendments.”

  “You yourself said this is the most informal of meetings,” Carl replied. “I’ll listen to whatever you folks want to bring up.”

  “I move to adjourn,” Cobbings said in a low threatening tone. “This is nonsense.”

  “We have barely begun,” Senator Kathryn Morris Rodgers said, looking about the table in dismay.

  “I second the motion.”

  “Meeting adjourned,” Carl Nevin quickly said with obvious relief in his voice as he banged the gavel down, “until Thursday, February 21st at ten a.m.”

  The news of the shortest Conference Committee meeting in history quickly made the rounds of the Hill, but what was perhaps more important was the rumor that a summons requesting Nick Cobbings appear before the House Ethics Committee for a preliminary investigation at 10:00 a.m. the following morning had been served.

  Meanwhile, later that evening two plain clothes policemen knocked on John Bainer’s front door and gently insisted he come with them for questioning. He made his one phone call to his personal attorney and was humbly escorted to the waiting unmarked car.

  Senator Wade Biggs opened his mail when he got home and discovered the video disk and note. Puzzled, he retreated to his home office, clicked on his desktop PC and inserted the disk. A moment later he could clearly see his face and that of his red headed assistant Maggie seated in a restaurant. The camera then panned down and showed his hand caressing the inside of her thigh and her hand moving his away while she said in hushed laughter, “Not here, Wade.”

  The Chair of the Senate Finance Committee looked furtively about, shut the computer down, broke the disk into many pieces, took it out to the garage and pushed it deep into the trash. In a quiet seething rage he marched back into the house and sat in his office, read the note several more times and then quietly began making calls to a number of his friends in the Senate attempting to explain why he was changing his position on SB 1190.

  Lastly, several dozen members of the Senate received the photos from the Four Seasons party and the accompanying letter. There was much anguish, gnashing of teeth and sleepless nights, but more importantly there was a decisive change in the attitude towards SB 1190. Apparently the bill did have some merit after all. They all began to see the light and beat a hasty retreat from their previous stance regarding the bill.

  Graham received his and promptly put a call in to Doc Hastings, explained what had happened and concluded by saying, “I want to know who is behind this. Spend whatever you must, but I want answers.”

  Doc put a call in to Soro saying, “Hire whoever you must. We need answers. The two jokers you roughed up will be your best lead. They must have been hired by someone. Find out and find out fast.”

  “I’d be glad to but the two jokers burned my Escalade. I won’t have wheels for another day or two,” Soro lamented.

  “Rent a car and send me the bill. Get moving,” was Hastings’ terse reply.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Elliott sipped his coffee on the covered deck while Greer forked hay to the horses. He’d taken his fistful of pills and some of the new pain pills Dr. Yates prescribed. ‘The tiny pink pills really worked quite well,’ Elliott concluded, for he felt better than he had in several weeks. He was reading The Washington Post and flipped to page two where a long article began by asking the question; ‘What is going on behind closed doors on the Hill?’

  The article speculated about the nature of the acrimonious debate which had led to one of the shortest committee meetings in congressional history. It went further saying; “This author would give his right arm to be a fly on the wall in that room. Cobbings, Bainer, Graham, Coryn, Biggs and Whitback wrangling with Carimendi, Bishop, Bennett, Portman, Spitzer, Kathryn Morris and Rosa Sparks is like Cardinal Richelieu’s men against the King’s Musketeers. There can only be one outcome; winner takes all. A gathering that is designed to promote a meeting of the minds and some measure of compromise is now filled with those that would rather bury each other in a pit and fill it with lime. Will one of the most significant bills since the Civil Rights Act wind up dead because a handful of people with utterly opposing views were locked in a room for a few days? It would be disgraceful if they can’t
give us something worthwhile to work with considering the impact on American life this bill would have. The shortness of the meeting bodes ill for the fate of the bill.”

  Elliott was just starting on a full a page article in Time Magazine with the heading of ‘The Legislation of Visionaries’ when his phone rang. He noted it was the President’s cell and answered.

  “Talk to me Paul.”

  “What the hell did you do?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “One moment Graham, Cobbings, Bainer and company are ringing up votes like a Wal-Mart cashier and the next thing I know they’re being shunned like lepers at a pool party!” The excitement in his tone was hard to disguise.

  “I can’t say I did anything other than set a few wheels in motion.”

  “Well, those wheels are rolling all right. My people on the hill are telling me vast changes are afoot. Cobbings is contemplating recusing himself from the Conference Committee. Bainer and Cobbings are both possibly under investigation by the Ethics Committee. Thirty of the Conference Committee members are beginning to suggest the bill is perfect in present form. And word has it another forty not on the committee are actively urging their protégés to move forward with a vote in the affirmative when the bill comes out of committee,” the President concluded with undeniable joy in his voice.

  “That’s terrific news,” Elliott exclaimed.

  “I know. My spies on the hill hear whispers we may have it out of the Conference Committee with the Senate and House members agreeing to the House version within three days.”

  “The House version was unchanged from the original version,” Elliott said softly. “Could we be so lucky?”

  “From what I’m hearing we just could, and then it goes on the legislative calendar for three days before it can be heard on the floor,” Paul added, calculating the number of days.