by Frank Perry
a marvel of confusion. Anyone visiting the Capitol region for the first time is perplexed by the system’s fare card dispensers. Fares vary depending on the distance travelled and time of day. College educated Americans can’t easily figure out how much money to enter when purchasing a fare card. More intellectually-challenged people or foreigners find it impossible. Even the seasoned Washingtonians usually drop twenty dollars and let the system deduct each ride before re-filling the credit amount. Other cities in the US and around the world have simple token or flat fare systems that anyone can use. A large percentage of the Washington patrons, living in poor areas without cars, rely on the system for all transportation. These people find the credit card feature on the kiosks insulting even beyond the system calculus, because most don’t qualify for cards.
Professionals around the Capitol, including Government executives, legislators, lawyers, lobbyists and thousands of support staff, mingle with students, janitors, maids and street cleaners on their daily commutes. WMATA carries an amalgam of demographic, cultural and ethnically diverse people throughout the system. Almost a million people use it each day. They rely on the efficiency and timeliness of the trains in their daily routines. Since September 11, 2001, people are wary and vigilant. The Washington Metro is a particularly attractive target for terrorists since there is almost certainly someone newsworthy on the various train lines during rush hours. The system is generally safe from bullies and thieves, given its complexity and expense during peak hours, but the ethic mix in the Capitol district makes many people uneasy.
Hunter Kohl was late, which was something that he never tolerated for himself. He had lived near Old Town Alexandria, Virginia, for almost a year and never missed an appointment. His rented townhome was only three blocks from the King Street Metro stop. The early morning phone call from his girlfriend, Laurie (Malone), was an unexpected treat, and he wasn’t going to miss talking to her just to have a leisurely walk to the train. By running and some luck with the train schedule, he would still make his lunch meeting after talking to her. He was in good shape but wasn’t lucky this time. His train departed as he worked the fare machine near the bottom of the escalator, leading up to the platform.
He needed to buy a fresh fare card. After inserting his American Express card and pressing various keys to enter a large credit amount, without trying to decipher the exact amount needed for this ride, he heard the train stop on the elevated platform above. It departed the station just as he got to the platform at the top of the escalator. It was the yellow-line train, and he would need to wait for the next one into The District. The blue-line trains also stopped at the King Street station, but they looped all the way around into Roselyn and Georgetown before ending back in the center of DC. He would also need to transfer to the red line, so he needed to take the yellow-line. He looked at the digital clock in the center of the platform – damn.
The Metro system in Washington was reliable, but the duration between trains lengthened after rush hour in the morning and evening, as patronage declined. The terracotta floor tiles have round glass inserts that blink when a train is coming. In between trains, the lights remain on steadily, which added to Hunter’s frustration. Noon trains were scheduled about half as often as morning trains. Looking up at the electronic marquee only increased his anxiety when it said ten minutes before the arrival of the next yellow train. After pacing alone in the midday heat on the platform, the floor lights began blinking. He looked down the track and saw a yellow placard in the front window of the train.
It was a long ten minutes. Once he was aboard, he took a seat near the door, allowing him to see fore and aft. There were only two other people in the fifty-foot long car. Both were disinterested in looking at him. From habit, Hunter always assessed the people around him. One of the men wore a dark green mechanic’s uniform, and hid behind a newspaper. The other man was young, hiding under gigantic headphones, bobbing his head to some unheard rhythm. Neither man looked suspicious and lacked most of the indicating characteristics of a terrorist or mugger. He couldn’t do anything but wait and enjoy the sites while the train was above ground. The ride seemed extra slow, travelling above and below ground in Virginia, then finally crossing above the Potomac River parallel to the Fourteenth Street Bridge before descending underground again for the L'Enfant Plaza platform inside the Capitol district. Two stops later, the train arrived underground at “Gallery Place” where he departed for the red-line. Gallery Place station has tracks crisscrossing on different levels, so Hunter took the escalator up to the next level for his train. At the top, he was still underground on the vacant platform, indicating that he had just missed the train again. He had another aggravating delay, waiting for an east-bound red-line train. While standing on the platform, it occurred to him that he had never been above ground at Gallery Place and had no idea where it was located in the district. He wasn’t going to find out today. The train arrived in twelve minutes and he entered the nearest car, sitting alone except for an elderly woman toward the back. In total, he was about fifteen minutes behind schedule when the train arrived at “Union Station” at the base of the hill leading up to the Senate office buildings. He jogged up First Street with his sport coat over his shoulder. Summer heat and humidity were high, but at least it wasn’t raining yet. He still wasn’t comfortable wearing suits for work. His whole life had been about casual living or a uniform. His lunch meeting was at a small bistro farther east from the Hart Office building.
He was meeting Brian Collie, who was the number-two person on the professional staff of the Senate Appropriations Committee. Brian and his team were responsible for the actual language written into the Annual Appropriations Bill from the Senate. The bill could be over one thousand pages in length before going to the President for signature once both houses of Congress were satisfied that their interests were served. Technically, the various agencies put their budget requests into a single document combined and formatted by the Office of Management and Budget (OMB) under the President for approval by the Congress. In reality, much of the budget requests are ignored, and Congress writes the appropriations to satisfy its agenda, regardless of the actual operational needs of the Executive departments and agencies. Several large components of the budget, notably the defense and homeland security budgets, are substantially replaced in the Congress. Lobbyists are responsible to their clients for the language, coming out of Congress. In typical fashion, the President will sign the bill from Congress if it is sufficiently similar to the requests from his staff. On some occasions, the President will veto the bill and force Congress to re-address his administration’s concerns. This normally happens near the end of the fiscal year, causing interim bills to be issued until the final language is agreed. This creates immense confusion and inefficiencies, but is the legacy process followed in Washington. If the Congressional leaders and the President are in philosophical agreement, the process can function well. Such agreement was lacking in this administration.
Brian was about five years younger than Hunter, having taken the staff position after receiving his Master’s Degree in Economics from NYU. They were quite a contrast. Hunter was six two, trim and muscular, around two hundred ten pounds with a very low body fat index. His dark brown hair had grown to medium length since leaving the uniformed services, but was always neatly trimmed. He had an air of confidence from experiencing life-threatening circumstances, yet maintained a youthful handsomeness. Although clean shaven, his beard grew quickly and showed moderate stubble at lunch time. Brian, by contrast, was short, chubby and soft, with overgrown hair. He had the childlike appearance of a college freshman except for his cheap business suit and horn-rimmed glasses. Hunter still had perfect vision, which he attributed to spending less time pouring through books in school.
Brian’s father was a prominent New York attorney and political contributor, able to get his son on the staff of their family friend, a Senator, who was on the Appropriations
Committee. Professional Staff members were technically neutral politically, reporting to the bipartisan committees, but ultimately still owed their allegiance to their sponsor in the legislature. Brian and the other staff members were all young bright politically-connected professionals, not affiliated, technically, with any political party.
The committee staffers did all of the behind-the-scenes work, crafting the bills for committee purposes. They actually had broad discretion in wording the legislation, as long as it satisfied the intent of members.
Hunter was inexperienced as a lobbyist, but it didn’t matter too much. His interface was mostly with only a few committee staffers and certain members of the House and Senate. The office staffs of the elected members were also young professionals of varying collegiate backgrounds. He usually met with legislative assistants that appreciated his background credentials more than the typical professional lobbyists, charging a thousand dollars per hour to their clients. Hunter was a California state employee paid as a