The Killing Vote

by Bette Golden Lamb

  “What happened?”

  The door bell chimed. Angelle threw on a robe, patted her hair, and moved out of the bedroom toward the stairway. She turned back to Gabe for an instant.

  “Nothing happened. We were both dumbstruck. We hugged each other … and walked away.” Angelle ran her fingers through her hair again, tightened her robe. “It was weird. We never said a word.”

  She was back in a moment carrying a large, flat envelope of Priority Mail. She held it carefully with her fingertips as though it was a delicate flower. She sat on the edge of the bed, pulled the tab, and removed a piece of lined notepaper.

  “Oh, my God! Someone’s taken Joanne. She’s been kidnapped.”

  Chapter 30

  W. Wade Wilson’s mind was filled with the Desisto Project. All its machinations rolled through his brain, buzzing him with scenarios of failure, scenarios of success, one piled upon another. His brain simply wouldn’t shut down.

  He stood at “his” spot along the edge of the Potomac, hoping to clear away all the confusion.

  The best time was always in the spring when everything smelled fresh and new, giving him instant revelation. Things would automatically fall into place. Even summer and fall were almost as effective But now the water was choppy, frigid, and the ground was covered with snow; his mind remained cluttered.

  He stared at the surface of the water, muddy with the reflection of the dark clouds that had covered the D.C. area for several days. He pulled his coat collar tighter against his neck—protection from the harsh breeze that swept across the landscape. It took his breath away.

  There was hardly a soul in the park. Why would anyone come out in this kind of weather? This was certainly the right place to be alone.

  His meeting with Dick Abrams had left him uneasy. For the first time since the whole Desisto thing started, an unusual weight of anxiety crushed his chest.

  Wooing the right people from the insurance and the healthcare industries, HMOs, hospitals, politicians, along with anyone else who could help, had been intense. But his strategy remained persuasive; the same he’d used time and time again.

  The one where no one was left holding the bag.

  Even the Affordable Care Act hadn’t gotten in his way. or slowed down the industry.

  It was uncanny. Like the people in the industry had been waiting for him, expecting him to call. When he approached them, they jumped right in and poured out the massive amounts of money needed to grease the wheels of the legislative process.

  Yes. This was his thing—being in the right place at the right time with the right people. It was the heart of not only his successful lobbying operation, but his entire public relations career.

  Public relations, lobbying—fancy names for the hardcore business of peddling influence.

  The past six months had been amazing.

  Now he was in the endgame, at the finish, holding the final piece to a massive jig saw puzzle. And the image embossed on that last crucial piece was Angelle Savage.

  He pulled a silver flask from the inside of his overcoat and tossed down a stiff jolt of bourbon. He capped the flask, studied it for a moment, reflected on how it was a poor substitute for one of his exquisite Waterford cut-crystal old fashion glasses. The heft of the glass was right and he barely moved it to make the liquor swirl in a tiny eddy, releasing the intense aroma.

  The Desisto Project had started him drinking heavily again. And he knew he’d have to stop soon, before he did something stupid. Something his old friend Levi Black would not be able to mop up.

  He exhaled a deep breath and a cloud of frosted moisture puffed out in front of his eyes.

  Damn but I could use a break. Been thinking of that way too often lately. But a stint in the Caribbean would be just the thing—hook up with some lovely brown sugar for a week or two.

  Get my juices flowing again.

  Stream of consciousness carried him to the last woman he’d been with.

  Couldn’t have been more than twenty-five. Tight, moist skin. Voluptuous! Only word to describe her. Cost me a pretty penny. Worth every cent.

  After three wives, he’d learned to stay away from permanent relationships. Brief liaisons worked out much better.

  Dangerous sometimes.

  But the women knew who was in charge, and they collected big bucks. Clean. Simple.

  Too bad everything in life doesn’t work that way.

  Maybe, just maybe, after this whole Desisto thing gets going, I’ll turn my back on all of it. Walk away.

  The lie dissipated before it had time to nestle in his brain.

  Being in charge made him think about Dick Abrams again. He took another large swallow from the flask, flinched at the freezing cold of the metal opening.

  He didn’t like the way Abrams had spoken to him today—like he was some minion that could be dismissed at will.

  But he couldn’t work up a resentment—the booze had made him feel better and lightheaded at the same time. He turned from the river and started walking back to his BMW.

  * * *

  Wilson’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He tapped the button on the steering wheel to make the Bluetooth connection, then realized the call was coming in on the disposable cell he was carrying. He pulled out the phone and clamped it between shoulder and ear, hoping to avoid being spotted by some vigilant cop who hadn’t written enough tickets for the day.

  “Yes?”

  “My boys picked up the package. Right now it’s stowed in the trunk of a plain-Jane sedan, headed for an appropriate storage place.”

  Wilson pulled over and parked. “Please, Levi, tell me they didn’t damage the merchandise.”

  “Have I ever let you down, man? That kind of business is always handled with the greatest of care.”

  “Yeah. That’s what I expected with the California package, and look what happened.”

  “Hey, I’m sorry about—”

  “—all I want to hear is that everything is being taken care of. Because if anything goes wrong this time, if the package is damaged in any way, no one’s getting another dollar. They understand that?”

  Wilson could hear Levi Black struggling to hold back some wiseass remark. Although he’d been extra careful with this Joanne equation, he wasn’t crazy enough to think this whole mess wouldn’t find its way back to his doorstep if there was a slipup … of any kind.

  “Got it.”

  “Don’t use this line again—it will be gone immediately after this conversation.”

  “Just don’t forget I’m out-of-pocket for the front money for these guys, and they didn’t come cheap.”

  “I’ll get in touch with you the usual way, and then we’ll settle.”

  “Yeah, okay, but they won’t be too happy about any delay in getting paid.”

  He took a deep breath and watched the snow falling on Washington, hoped the roads weren’t getting too slick to drive. “I’ll let you know when it’s safe for them to release the package. Not one minute sooner. Until then, the merchandise stays safe and sound. Otherwise, we all go down.”

  * * *

  Wilson pulled into his townhouse garage and slid out of the car. He walked over to a nearby trash can and stomped down on the disposable cell until it was nothing but a pile of shattered plastic and ruined circuits. He scooped up the pieces with the broom and dustpan he kept nearby and dumped the disintegrated cell into the trash. It would be gone with tomorrow’s garbage pickup, never to be traced back to him.

  As he dusted off his hands, he saw that they were trembling.

  The door from the garage opened into the kitchen; he quickly crossed the room and went straight into the living room and peeled off his overcoat and scarf. He tossed them onto a very proper burgundy Queen Victoria sofa that was rarely used to sit on, then he quickly started the gas fireplace, before pulling back the drapes. The cold, gray day that had already chilled him to the bone was now seeping into the townhouse; he couldn’t stop shivering.

  Wilson stepped ba
ck over to the sofa, pulled a colorful, woven throw from off the back, and wrapped it around his shoulders. He returned to stand in front of the fireplace and allowed the flames to warm him.

  Thinking back over the past couple of days, he again realized it had been a mistake to kidnap the old newsman’s wife. But had it done any real harm? He didn’t think so. The woman got away, and neither she nor anyone else was injured, and apparently the police hadn’t been notified. With luck, the newsman would back off long enough for Desisto to be finalized.

  Wilson’s trip to the river side had calmed his agitation. His focus had returned.

  Congress had let the country down, had not been doing its job to protect the fiscal health of the United States. It was up to him and all the others to push Desisto. Save the country.

  And it didn’t matter that the President and his Chief of Staff, and the Secretary of HHS, and Hygea, and the whole healthcare industry were backing the scheme.

  None of that mattered.

  Because without Joanne Paige, the likelihood of Savage delivering the legislative rider would evaporate.

  The success of the whole Desisto operation rested on the shoulders of Sen. Angelle Savage of Nevada, and one goddam, washed out whore.

  Chapter 31

  Nathan stood in the shadows at his apartment window, stared at the moon. It amazed him that something so far away could appear so clear, so spectacular. Tonight he thought he could even make out the craters that clustered to make it look like the legendary man in the moon. And right here in his tiny place on planet Earth everything around him was flooded with the eerie white glow of a heavenly satellite millions of miles away.

  At one time, instead of becoming a history teacher, he’d thought he wanted to be a physicist or an astronomer, but he had realized he was too grounded, needed people too much for those heady occupations. So instead of dealing with space, time, and infinity, he remained earthbound where every ordinary 24-hour cycle now seemed to diminish his very existence.

  Before he retired, there was at least laughter in his life every day. Teaching in middle school had kept him young and engaged. He would watch children with all their pent-up energy, their exuberance, and they would make him smile. Not a peaceful or quiet bunch, but there was a kind of joy in being around them. Now everything was grounded, but it was also too serious.

  And too quiet.

  He tossed stray thoughts aside. Right from the beginning Ted Yost had said he needed to come clean, tell everything he knew. But he couldn’t . He’d promised.

  Promised.

  Suddenly he was crying.

  “Poor Myra,” he muttered. “You didn’t deserve to die that way.”

  Life wasn’t fair. The relatives he’d lost in the Holocaust—people he’d never even gotten to know. They didn’t deserve to die that way either.

  Cruelty, heartlessness seemed to be the human condition. That or indifference. Well, he’d never been indifferent about anything before in his life, and he wouldn’t start now.

  He looked at his watch. 10:00 p.m. in D.C. Too late to call? He left the window and walked through the apartment, let the moonlight guide him.

  He’d given his word and he never went back on his word. He didn’t want to reveal his Washington connection; but if he didn’t tell Ted there was a good chance everything he’d worked for was going down.

  He opened the drawer in a small bedside table and lifted out an address book, opened it to “S”, and looked at the name for a long time: Sen. Angelle Savage

  Nathan met her eight years ago. From the start she’d come out in favor of senior rights, a strong voice against raiding social security. He made it his business to meet her and they’d become instant friends. About a year ago, she began leaking info to help CORPS stay ahead of legislation meant to undercut Medicare.

  It was that complicated and that simple.

  He picked up the phone and dialed, was surprised that someone answered at the other end almost immediately. “It’s me, Senator. Nathan Sorkin.”

  “Hello, Nathan. And you can cut the Senator stuff. We know each other too well for that.”

  “I know it’s late, Angelle, but we need to talk. I’m in a situation here.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “I’ve kept my promise. I’ve never given your name as my Washington connection. But everything is happening so quickly. It’s all falling apart.”

  Heavy breathing at her end of the line, but she didn’t speak.

  “Angelle?”

  “I’m here.” Another long stretch of silence.

  “Angelle?”

  “Nathan, I ‘m in the middle of a big, big mess and I can’t discuss it with you or anyone else—”

  “—I need to identify you as my source. The one who has been leaking information to me.”

  Angelle Savage was crying. Her sobs were loud and painful.

  “I’m sorry, Senator.”

  “It’s not you, Nathan.”

  “What is it? You know you can trust me.”

  “Nathan, on Wednesday I’m being forced to carry a rider to the Medicare funding bill. It concerns selective euthanasia.”

  “Selective euthanasia? You’re going to do this? “

  * * *

  Angelle Savage walked outside the townhouse with her phone, shivered at the cold, but couldn’t stand to be closed in anymore. Gabe followed, stood next to her, draped a jacket around her shoulders, and wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

  “I’m being blackmailed, Nathan.”

  “Blackmailed? About what?”

  She took a deep breath, leaned closer to Gabe, and saw the snow had stopped.

  “I had a sexual relationship with a girl when I was a teenager. She’s now earns her living as a prostitute.”

  “Oh, my God! Who’s behind this?”

  “At this point, it doesn’t matter. What does matter is if I don’t tag on that rider, they’ll not only release the information to the press—”

  “—tell the momzarim to go to hell—”

  “But, Nathan, they’ve kidnapped Joanne … the woman—”

  “—kidnapped her?”

  “They’ve sent me a warning. They have her and if I don’t cooperate, they’re going to hurt her, maybe kill her.” Her throat was tight; she was so close to hysteria she bit down on her lip to keep from screaming.

  “Go to the police. Now!”

  “I can’t. I just can’t! That woman saved my life a long time ago. I can’t risk hers now. No. I won’t do that, no matter what the cost.”

  “Are you sure they’ve taken her? Have you tried to reach her?”

  “I haven’t seen Joanne in years. I don’t even know where she is. But I won’t take the chance. I can’t let her down.”

  Chapter 32

  The Tanas’ dining room table and the surrounding floor were a jumble of newspapers, reference books, and laptops. Ted, Bill, Melissa, and Kelli drank cup after cup of hot, black coffee, trying to stay focused, but it was getting harder and harder to concentrate.

  Ted suddenly slapped a palm down on the tabletop. “Bill! Did you ever remove that bug from your telephone line?” He picked up his cup and took a finishing gulp.

  Bill rolled his eyes and looked over at Kelli. “The dude can really ask dumb questions sometimes, and he’s supposed to be a Pulitzer ace.” He turned to Ted. “I not only removed it, I stomped that sucker into submission and buried its remains in the garden. I hope it doesn’t kill my plants.”

  “The question popped into my head, I had to ask it.”

  “Okay,” Bill said, spreading his hands over the hodgepodge of papers on the table. “Where do we stand with all of this?”

  Ted held up a fistful of notes. “I’ve tried every contact I could think of at the wire services, newspapers, local radio and TV stations, and all the networks. No one knows squat about proposed changes for Medicare.”

  “Did you get to Maria Weiskott at PBS?” Bill asked.

  “Yeah. She mumbled
something about a rider, but I couldn’t get anything specific out of her. I tried to dig deeper, but she cut me off as though I’d hit her with a Taser.”

  “Hold it! A rider?” Bill looked up at the ceiling. “Wait! Wait!” He jumped up and began pacing around the table. “Damn it! I may have heard mention of a rider, too. Can’t quite put my finger on it.” He clamped his head with both hands. “Give me a moment or two; it’ll come to me.”

  “Are you kidding me? Time is what we don’t have a whole lot of.”

  Bill held up a hand. “Let’s think about this logically. What do we actually know at this point?”

  “Hygea may be pushing selective euthanasia as a means of cutting costs for terminally ill patients. At least, mentioning the subject hit a raw nerve with Garrett Rudge. And he has an ethics committee that’s been meeting on end-of-life procedures for the past six months. The committee’s scheduled to vote next Monday on whether or not to approve that policy for Galen.”

  “Where’d you get the committee information?” Mel asked.

  “Mostly from my old friend, John Bradberry,” Ted said. “But some of it came from Nathan Sorkin’s hidden Washington connection.”

  “Sorkin wouldn’t give you the name of his connection?” Kelli asked.

  “Believe me, I tried, but he said his lips were sealed. Not even a hint as to who his source is.”

  “Yeah, well, we’re all smart enough to know that even a positive vote by every medical ethics committee in the nation isn’t going to make something like this fly without legislation to back it up, make it legal,” Bill said.

  “It has to be a Congressional insider,” Ted said.

  “We have a friend who’s high up in the Social Security Administration,” Mel said. “Did you try him?”

  “Nope, but it’s a good idea. Give him a call. He might know something.”

  “Use the phone in the den,” Kelli said, “and I’ll go make us some sandwiches.”

  “How about Ted and me giving you a hand,” Bill said. “We could all use a break.”