If Pasternak was playing the game, other lobbyists played as well. Fortunately, all lobbyists are required to register with the Legislative Resource Center and list the names of their clients, which gives me the chance to see who’s working for Wendell Mining.
“Is it possible to just put in a particular company?” I ask.
“Sure, sir… all you have to do is come in and—”
“Can I ask you a huge favor?” I interrupt. “My Senator’s about to rip my head off and vomit down my windpipe… So if I gave you the name right now, would you mind looking it up for us? It’s just one company, Gary…”
I say his name for the final sell. He pauses, leaving me in silence.
“It’d really save my ass,” I add.
Again he gives me the pause. That’s what I hate about being on the phone…
“What’s the name of the company, sir?”
“Great… that’s great. Wendell Mining,” I tell him. “Wendell Mining.”
I hear the clicking of his keyboard, and I stop my pacing. Staring out below the dust-covered vertical blinds, I have a clear view of the narrow pathway and marble railing that run along the west front of the building. The morning sun’s beating down on the copper roof, but it pales to the heat I’m feeling right now. I wipe a puddle of sweat from the back of my neck and unbutton the top of my shirt. The suit and tie were enough to get me back in the building without a second glance, but if I don’t get some answers soon…
“Sorry,” Gary says. “They’re not coming up.”
“Whattya mean, they’re not coming up? I thought every lobbyist had to disclose their clients…”
“They do. But this time of year… we’re barely halfway through the pile.”
“What pile?”
“The disclosure forms—that the lobbyists fill out. We get over seventeen thousand forms each registration period. Know how long that takes to scan in and update our database?”
“Weeks?”
“Months. The deadline was just a few weeks ago in August, so we’ve still got a ton that aren’t in.”
“So it’s possible there’s a lobbyist working on their issue…”
“This is Congress, sir. Anything’s possible.”
I roll my tongue inside my cheek. I hate government humor.
“They add about seven hundred names to the database each day,” Gary continues. “Best bet is to just give us a call back later in the week, and we can check if it’s in there.”
I remember that this is the second year Wendell Mining made the request. “What about last year?” I ask.
“Like I said, nothing came up—which means they either didn’t have someone, or that person didn’t register.”
That part actually makes sense. When it comes to getting earmarks, the smaller companies try to do it by themselves. Then, when they fail, they get smart and cough up the beans for a pro. If Wendell had someone pulling for them, the name’ll eventually show up in this database. “Listen, I appreciate th—”
There’s a loud knock on the door. I go silent.
“Sir, are you there?” Gary asks through the receiver.
The person knocks again. This time to the tune of shave-and-a-haircut.
“It’s me, you shut-in!” Viv calls out. “Open up!”
I leap for the door and undo the lock. The phone cord is pulled so far, it knocks over the stack of keyboards, which go crashing to the floor as the door swings open.
“Mission accomplished, Mr. Bond. What’s next?” Viv sings, cradling the two notebooks as if she were still in high school. That’s when it hits me. She is still in high school. Sliding inside, she whips past me with a frenetic new bounce in her step. I’ve seen the same thing on staffers the first day they get on the Senate Floor. Power rush.
Gary’s voice crackles through the receiver. “Sir, are you—?”
“I’m here… sorry,” I say, turning back to the phone. “Thanks for the help—I’ll give you a call next week.”
As I hang up, Viv dumps the notebooks across the desk. I was wrong before. I thought she was the girl who sits silently in the back of the class—and while that part’s true, I’m quickly starting to realize that she’s also the girl who, when she gets around people she knows, never shuts up.
“I guess you didn’t have any problems,” I say.
“You should’ve seen it! I was unstoppable—I’m telling you, it was like being in the Matrix. They’re all standing there dumbfounded, then I weave around in super-slow-mo… dodging their bullets… working my voodoo… Oh, they didn’t know what hit ’em!”
The jokes are coming too fast. I know a defense mechanism when I see one. She’s afraid. Even if she doesn’t know it.
“Viv…”
“You woulda been proud of me, Harris…”
“Did Dinah say anything?”
“You kidding? She was blinder than the blind guy…”
“The blind guy?”
“All I need now is a code name…”
“Barry was there?”
“… something cool, too—like Senate Grrl…”
“Viv…”
“… or Black Cat…”
“Viv!”
“… or… or Sweet Mocha. Howbout that? Sweet Mocha. Ooh, yeah, let’s get down to Viv-ness!”
“Dammit, Viv, shut up already!”
She stops midsyllable.
“You sure it was Barry?” I ask.
“I don’t know his name. He’s a blind guy with a cane and cloudy eyes…”
“What’d he say?”
“Nothing—though he kept following me as I walked. I can’t… he was slightly off… but it’s like he was trying to prove—not that it matters—but trying to prove he wasn’t that blind, y’know?”
I lunge for the phone and dial his cell. No. I hang up and start again. Go through the operator. Especially now.
Five digits later, the Capitol operator transfers me to Matthew’s old office.
“Interior,” Roxanne answers.
“Hey, Roxanne, it’s Harris.”
“Harris… how are you?”
“Fine. Can you—”
“Y’know you’re in my prayers, sweetie. Everything with Matthew…”
“No… of course. Listen, I’m sorry to bother you, but it’s kind of an emergency. Is Barry still floating around back there?”
Viv waves for my attention, slowly moving toward the door. “I’ll be right back,” she whispers. “Just one more stop…”
“Wait,” I call out.
She doesn’t listen. She’s having too much fun to sit around for a scolding.
“Viv!”
The door slams, and she’s gone.
“Harris?” a voice asks in my ear. I’d know it anywhere. Barry.
24
HOW ARE YOU? You okay?” Barry asks.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” I shoot back.
“With Matthew… I just figured… Where’re you calling from anyway?”
It’s the third question out of his mouth. I’m surprised it wasn’t the first.
“I’m home,” I tell him. “I just needed some time to—I just wanted to take some time.”
“I left you four messages.”
“I know… and I appreciate it—I just needed the time.”
“No, I completely understand.”
He doesn’t buy it for a second. But not because of what I said.
A few years back, some coworkers threw a surprise birthday party for Ilana Berger, press secretary for Senator Conroy. As old friends of Ilana from college, Matthew, Barry, and I were all invited, along with everyone in the Senator’s office, and seemingly everyone else on the Hill. Ilana’s friends wanted an event. Somehow, though, Barry’s invitation went to the wrong address. Forever worried about being left out, Barry was crushed. When we told him it must’ve been a mistake, he wouldn’t believe it. When we told him to call the party’s hosts, he refused. And when we called the hosts, who felt terrible that the invitation
didn’t get there and immediately sent out a new one, Barry saw it as a pity fix. It’s always been Barry’s greatest flaw—he can walk down a crowded street completely unaided, but when it comes to personal interactions, the only thing he ever sees is himself sitting alone in the dark.
Of course, when it comes to Hill gossip, his radar’s still better than most.
“So I assume you heard about Pasternak?” he asks.
I stay quiet. He’s not the only one with radar. There’s a slight rise in his pitch. He’s got something to tell.
“Doctors said it was a heart attack. Can you believe it? Guy runs five miles every morning and wham—it stops pumping in a… in a heartbeat. Carol is heartbroken… his whole family… it’s like a bomb went off. If you gave them a call… they could really use it, Harris.”
I wait for him to get every last word out. “Can I ask you a question?” I finally say. “Do you have a dog in this race?”
“What?”
“Wendell Mining… the request Matthew was working on… Are you lobbying it?”
“Of course not. You know I don’t do that…”
“I don’t know anything, Barry.”
He offers a playful laugh. I don’t laugh back.
“Let me say it again for you, Harris—I’ve never once worked on Matthew’s issues.”
“Then what’re you doing in his office?!”
“Harris…”
“Don’t Harris me!”
“I know you’ve had two huge losses this week—”
“What the hell is wrong with you, Barry? Stop with the mental massage and answer the fucking question!”
There’s a long pause on the other line. He’s either panicking or in shock. I need to know which.
“Harris,” he eventually begins, his voice teetering on the first syllable. “I-I’ve been here ten years… these are my friends… this is my family, Harris…” As he says the words, I close my eyes and fight the swell of tears. “We lost Matthew. C’mon, Harris. This is Matthew…”
If he’s yanking on my heartstrings, I’ll kill him for this.
“Listen to me,” he pleads. “This isn’t the time to zip yourself in a cocoon.”
“Barry…”
“I want to come see you,” he insists. “Just tell me where you really are.”
My eyes pop open, staring down at the phone. When Pasternak first hired me all those years ago, he told me a good lobbyist is one who, if you’re sitting next to him on an airplane and his knee touches yours, it’s not uncomfortable. Asking where I am, Barry’s officially uncomfortable.
“I gotta run,” I tell him. “I’ll talk to you later.”
“Harris, don’t…”
“Good-bye, Barry.”
Slamming the phone in its cradle, I once again turn toward the window and study the sunlight as it ricochets off the roofline. Matthew always warned me about competitive friendships. I can’t argue with him anymore.
25
TOWERING OVER CHEESE’S desk, Janos carefully took a slight step back and painted on a semifriendly grin. From the anxious look on Harris’s assistant’s face, the FBI windbreaker was already more than enough. As Janos well knew, if you squeeze the egg too hard, it shatters.
“You think he’s okay?” Janos asked in his best concerned tone.
“He sounded okay in his message,” Cheese replied. “More tired than anything else. He’s had a rough week, y’know, which is obviously why he’s taking the week off.”
“So he called this morning?”
“Actually, I think it was late last night. Now tell me again why you need to speak to him.”
“We’re just following up on Matthew Mercer’s death. The accident happened on federal land, so they wanted us to talk to a few of his friends.” Reading the look on Cheese’s face, Janos added, “Don’t worry… it’s just standard follow-up…”
The front door to the office opened, and a young black girl in a navy suit stuck her head inside. “Senate page,” Viv announced, balancing three small red, white, and blue boxes. “Flag delivery?” she said.
“The who what?” Cheese asked.
“Flags,” she repeated, checking out both Cheese and Janos. “American flags… y’know, the ones they fly over the Capitol, then sell to people just because it went up a flagpole on the roof… Anyway, I’ve got three here for a…” She read the words from the top box, “… for someone named Harris Sandler.”
“You can just leave ’em here,” Cheese said, pointing to his own desk.
“And mess up your stuff?” Viv asked. She motioned through the glass partition at Harris’s messy work space. “That your boss’s pigpen?” Before Cheese could answer, Viv headed through the door in the partition. “He wants the flags… let him deal with them.”
“See, now that’s what we gotta see more of,” Cheese called out, slapping his own chest. “Respect for the Kid!”
Eyeing the girl carefully, Janos watched as Viv approached Harris’s desk. She had her back to him, and her body blocked most of what she was doing, but from what Janos could tell, it was just a routine drop-off. Without a word, she cleared a space for the flag boxes, set them on Harris’s desk, and in one smooth motion, spun back toward the rest of the office. Viv jumped when she saw Janos staring right at her. There it was. Contact.
“H-Hey,” she said with a smile as their eyes locked. “Everything okay?”
“Of course,” Janos replied dryly. “Everything’s perfect.”
“So can you fly anything over the Capitol?” Cheese asked. “Socks? Underwear? I’ve got this vintage Barney Miller T-shirt that would love to go for a whirl.”
“Who’s Barney Miller?” Viv asked.
Cheese grabbed his chest in mock pain. “Do you have any idea how much that physically hurt? I’m slayed. Seriously. I’m bleeding inside.”
“Sorry,” Viv laughed, moving toward the door.
Janos looked back at Harris’s desk, where the flag boxes were neatly stacked in place. Even then, he didn’t think much of it. But as he turned back to Viv—as he listened to her giggle and as he watched her bounce toward the door—he saw the last passing glance that she aimed his way. Then he realized it wasn’t at him. It was at his windbreaker. FBI.
The door slammed, and Viv was gone.
“So what were we singing about again?” Cheese asked.
Still locked on the door, Janos didn’t answer. It wasn’t that unusual for someone to check out an FBI jacket… but add that to the way she walked in… going straight for Harris’s office…
“I know that look,” Cheese teased. “You’re rethinking that underwear-over-the-Capitol thing, aren’t you?”
“Have you ever seen her before?” Janos blurted.
“The page? No, not that I—”
“I have to go,” Janos said as he calmly turned toward the door.
“Just let me know if you need more help,” Cheese called out, but Janos was already on his way—out the door and up the hallway. She couldn’t have gotten…
There, Janos thought, smiling to himself.
Reaching into the pocket of his windbreaker, Janos felt his way along the small black box and flipped the switch. The electrical hum rumbled quietly in his hand.
26
FLIPPING OPEN THE first of the two notebooks, I thumb to the Gs and continue to turn the pages until I finally reach the tab marked Grayson. Alphabetically organized by Member name, the subsections of the book have an in-depth analysis of every project that a Congressman asks for—including the transfer of a gold mine to a company called Wendell Mining.
Skimming past the original request that Grayson’s office submitted, I lick my finger and flip straight to the analysis. But as I speed-read the next three pages, I hear a familiar voice in my head. Oh, jeez. It’s unmistakable… the rambling at the beginning of a new thought… his overuse of the word specifically… even the way he rants a bit at the end. Without a doubt, these three pages were written by Matthew. It’s like he’s sitting
right here next to me.
To his credit, the analysis is the same as what he originally said. The Homestead gold mine is one of the oldest in South Dakota, and both the town and state would benefit if Wendell Mining got the land and took over the mine. To drive the point home, there are three photocopied letters clipped into the notebook: one from the Bureau of Land Management, one from the Wendell Mining CEO, and a final gushing recommendation from the mayor of Leed, South Dakota, the town where the mine is located. Three letters. Three letterheads. Three new phone numbers to call.
The first call to BLM gets me voice mail. Same with the call to the CEO. That leaves only the mayor. Fine by me. I’m better with politicians any day.
Dialing the number, I let the phone ring in my ear and glance down at my watch. Viv should be back any…
“L-and-L Luncheonette,” a man with a cigarette-burned voice and Hollywood-cowboy drawl answers. “What c’n I do?”
“I’m sorry,” I stutter, glancing down at the bottom of the letter. “I was looking for Mayor Regan’s office.”
“And who should I say is calling?” the man asks. “Andy Defresne,” I say. “From the House of Representatives. In Washington, D.C.”
“Well, why didn’t you say?” the man adds with a throaty laugh. “This is Mayor Regan.”
I pause, suddenly thinking of my dad’s barbershop.
“Not used to small towns, are ya?” the mayor laughs.
“Actually, I am.”
“From one?”
“Born and raised.”
“Well, we’re smaller,” he teases. “Guaranteed or your money back.”
God, he reminds me of home.
“Now, what c’n I do?” he asks.
“To be honest—”
“Wouldn’t expect anything but,” he interrupts, laughing wildly.
He also reminds me why I left.
“I just had a quick question about the gold mine that’s—”
“The Homestead.”
“Exactly. The Homestead,” I say, nervously tapping a finger against one of the spare keyboards in the room. “So, getting back… I’m working on Congressman Grayson’s request for the land sale…”
Gideon’s Sword Page 41