As had undoubtedly been arranged in advance, the clerk started with those sitting to the left of the chairman—the Republicans. One after another, they fell in with the party line. Eight votes in a row, all against.
Roush sank progressively lower into his seat. “It’s over,” he said quietly.
“Senator Matera of Wyoming,” the clerk called out. “How do you vote?”
There was a pause, long enough to cause every head in the room to turn her way.
Keyes leaned into his microphone. “Senator Matera? It’s your time to vote.”
“Yes, I know that.” She batted her finger against her lips, then sighed. “I’ve been thinking a long time.”
“Senator, we need your vote.”
“And you mean that in more ways than one, don’t you?” She smiled a little. “I’ve got to tell you—despite outward appearances, I’ve been troubled about this business for a long time now.”
“Senator…,” Keyes said, a deep furrow crossing his forehead. “This is not a time for making speeches. You do not have the floor. You just need to cast your vote.”
“Well, now, Mister Chairman, you got to make your little speech, even though it was not proper procedure, so you can just hold your breath a moment while I make mine.”
A mild titter of laughter spread through the gallery. Ben realized he was clenching his pencil so tightly his knuckles were white. What was going on here?
“I came into the Caucus Room today expecting to do…well, just what everyone expects me to do. I’ve been the good chairman’s attack dog, and now I’m supposed to deliver the final bite to the throat. But I’ve been troubled. Since the start, I suppose. I mean, I don’t mind asking questions. Anyone who wants to sit on the Supreme Court ought to be prepared to answer some tough questions. But what’s going on now…”
She seemed lost in thought for a moment. “It disturbs me. Right down to my core. I had a conversation last night that disturbed me even more. Reminded me where the real power in this town is now, and how far that is from where the real power is supposed to be. In the long run, I suppose one little vote isn’t going to make that much difference. But you never know, right?”
Ben gasped. Was it…possible?
Chairman Keyes cleared his throat. “Senator Matera, do you feel quite well?”
“Fit as a fiddle.”
“And…you understand what you’re doing?”
“Yup. Kissing the vice presidency good-bye.” She shrugged, tugged on the flared lapels of her jacket. “Stupid job, anyway. Who wants to carry the President’s luggage for four years? I’d rather go back to Wyoming and spend some time with my grandchildren.” She sat up straight and turned slightly so she could face her fellow Republican committee members. “So on behalf of all of you—whether you like it or not—I’m going to do what you should’ve done. What you perhaps wanted to do but couldn’t find the courage to do. Because every one of you knows that Thaddeus Roush is a fine man and a distinguished jurist. Smart as a tack. Your reasons for voting ‘no’ have nothing to do with his qualifications. And that’s a shameful disgrace that I find myself unable to countenance.” She stopped, then started again. “And one more thing, just for the record: if the founding fathers had any inkling what these confirmation hearings would turn into, they would’ve never given us the damned advise-and-consent power in the first place.”
Matera stared directly at Keyes, who looked almost as flabbergasted as Ben felt. “I vote yes, Mister Chairman.”
Ben was stunned, but not so stunned he couldn’t add. Matera’s vote was unexpected, but even if every Democrat on the committee voted yea, it would only produce a tie. Chairman Keyes would break the vote, and he knew all too well how that would end.
As it turned out, Senator Matera wasn’t finished. “And what gives me particular pride—and hope for the future—is that I’ve managed to convince Senator Potter, the youngest member of this committee and thus the one most able to change the old-guard politics, that confirmations should be based upon qualifications, not party politics. Isn’t that right?”
Senator Potter nodded. “I second that, Senator. And I also vote yes, Mister Chairman.”
The room was thunderstruck. One after the other, every Democrat on the committee voted to confirm Judge Roush.
With the vote at ten to eight, Keyes would never have a chance to cast a tie-breaking vote.
While everyone else was still gaping, not sure whether to applaud or hiss, Thaddeus Roush rose slowly to his feet.
“Thank you, senators,” he said quietly. “You honor me. And may I perhaps express my special thanks to you, Senator Matera, for reminding me what government is supposed to be.”
“My pleasure, sir,” the senator from Wyoming said, her eyes twinkling. “Now get over to the full Senate hearings and give ’em hell.”
44
“What’s going on?”
Loving had no idea why the lights had gone out, except that he was certain Trudy had made it happen. He would have to remember to thank Renny for being stupid enough to piss her off. Later.
Piss him off.
Someone had fired a gun. Loving didn’t know who, but it stood to reason it was one of the four bodyguards he had made earlier. Even though he couldn’t see anything, he could hear movement from all corners of the room, above the loud cries and protests from various quarters. Total darkness probably took a lot of the fun out of a good lap dance.
He knew the bodyguards would be heading his way. He didn’t have much time.
He leaned into the place he last recalled seeing Renny’s ear. “You’re gonna come with me now.”
“No.”
“Yes. And it would be better for you if you came peaceably.”
“I do not think so. Over here, Dmitri!”
Have it your way. Loving grabbed the green sculpture behind him. He hoped it wasn’t a priceless antiquity, because it shattered into about a million pieces when he clubbed Renny over the head with it.
One of the bodyguards managed to stumble into Loving. Loving grabbed his shoulder so he could get a bearing on where the rest of his body was, then punched the guy hard in the kidneys. He went down fast.
Loving didn’t wait for another thug to find him. He lifted Renny’s limp body, threw it over his shoulder in a fireman’s rescue position, and hightailed it for the back door Trudy had indicated to him earlier.
It was tough to find the door because he kept tripping into naked women and priceless objets d’art, but as he got closer to the back wall, he was able to discern a thin trace of light down below. It was the light from outside seeping through the crack in the door, enough to indicate where he wanted to go.
The noise behind him was increasing, and increasingly close. It would be only a matter of seconds before the bodyguards caught up. He hoped Trudy had her escape plan worked out in advance, because he had no opportunity to look for her. He reached for the doorknob and—
The lights came back on.
“There he is!”
Loving didn’t wait to see which of the thugs was doing the shouting. He threw open the door and plunged into a back alley. A trash Dumpster was just beside the door. Loving dropped his bulky Russian package, grabbed the Dumpster with both hands, and pulled it in front of the door. A second later, someone tried to push it open—without luck. The Dumpster didn’t budge.
Loving didn’t kid himself that the obstruction would hold, or that it would take the hired muscle long to run through the front door and circle back to the alley. He hoisted Renny back up on his shoulders and headed for the street. Luck was on his side for once. The alley let out just a few hundred feet from where he had parked the car.
Trudy was not waiting for him.
He wished he had a chance to search, but he knew that waiting around would only get him captured, probably killed. He threw Renny into the backseat and peeled out. As he left, he saw several men he recognized from the inner parlor racing toward him. Too late, suckers!
He thought he had at best a few minutes before Renny woke up. He decided to drive back to the motel room where Trudy had held him. He knew where it was, knew it was private, and knew it was unlikely that any of the thug patrol would show up there. And if Trudy returned, he would know she had gotten out safely.
Not that that mattered. Obviously, it didn’t matter at all where some damn transvestite went. But…he’d just feel better if he knew she was all right.
He. If he knew he was all right!
Loving didn’t have to wait long before Renny regained his senses.
“What happened?”
Loving sat in a chair facing the captive, his arms folded across his chest. “You declined to come quietly.”
“Ernst!” He tried to stand, only to find he’d been tied to a chair. He could barely twitch.
“None of your bullyboys are gonna help you. They’re far, far away and they don’t have a clue where you are.”
Renny arched an eyebrow, seemingly unafraid. “You are certain of this?”
“I’m absolutely positive. I left them in the dust. I wasn’t followed. And they had no way of knowin’ where I was takin’ you.”
“Well then.” Renny stopped his useless struggling. “It would seem that I am at your mercy.”
He said it, but he didn’t seem nearly worried enough for Loving’s satisfaction. “So now maybe you’d like to answer some of my questions.”
“I suspect that I would not.”
“You will,” Loving said, staring him in the eye, “when you know the alternative.”
“You do not strike me as such a man as would kill simply to obtain information.”
Loving shrugged. “You’re right. I usually gravitate more toward slow and painful torture.”
“I think that you are bluffing, my friend.”
Loving punched him in the solar plexus.
Renny doubled forward as much as the rope would allow, which wasn’t much. A few moments later, after he had recovered, his sneer returned. “Still bluffing.”
Loving hit him in the jaw.
“You know,” Loving said, “I’m really not enjoyin’ this. Are you?”
A trickle of blood ran down the side of Renny’s mouth. Loving wiped it away.
“Do you really think that I would betray my business for so little cause, my friend?” Renny asked. “My enterprise is worth millions. Millions. It will not be brought down by one stupid brute. You are a fool if you think otherwise.”
“The only thing I’m thinkin’ is that we’re both reasonable men and we could save a lot of time if you told me what I wanted to know without me havin’ to get rough.”
“What is it you wish to know?”
“Told you already. Why did you have Victoria taken to the Roush press conference?”
Renny stared at him for a long time before finally responding. “You proceed from an incorrect assumption.”
“And what would that be?”
Renny hesitated even longer. Loving rose to his feet, pounding one fist against the other.
Renny spoke. “I did not wish for Victoria to attend the conference. I cared nothing about the conference.”
“Trudy told me you arranged the whole transportation setup.”
“That much is true. But it was not because I wished it. It was because Victoria wished it. All I did was make the arrangements. Victoria and I have done…much business together. Both professional and personal. Naturally, I hoped for this relationship to continue. So it was a simple matter to arrange the ride for her.”
“Why did she wanna go?”
“I believe that she and someone at the conference…had unfinished business. She owed me money. And she believed that this visit might assist her fund-raising efforts.”
“How?”
Renny’s eyes narrowed. “Now you are asking me questions such as I cannot possibly answer. As I said, it was her business, not mine. And now she is dead.”
“You must have some idea. Especially since you two had this close relationship.”
Renny did not respond.
“I’m waitin’,” Loving said impatiently.
“I have told you what I know. Anything more would be speculation. Or might endanger other professional relationships. With the living.”
“What relationships? What the hell are we talkin’ about? What were you and Victoria into?”
Renny paused for a long time, then sighed wearily. “It is so difficult to know how to begin. Do you know anything about art?”
“Art? You mean, like that picture in your back room of the bearded guys on the boat?”
Renny’s eyes traveled skyward. “Yes, like that priceless Rembrandt—Storm on the Sea of Galilee. Which has been missing for many years.”
“Missin’? I just saw it.”
Renny only smiled.
“Look,” Loving said, “I’m tired of these games. I want to know what this Victoria person was doin’ at the press conference. I want her real name.”
Renny seemed to be staring beyond him, not making eye contact. “That I cannot do.”
“That you will do, you Europimp, or I’ll take you apart piece by piece.”
“If I give you her name, then you will be able to learn everything.”
“That’s the general idea.”
“That, I cannot allow.”
Loving rose to his full height, inflated his chest, and pounded his fists together. “I don’t see that you’ve got a hell of a lot of choice. You’ll tell me what I want to know and you’ll do it now, or I’ll separate your neck from your head!”
The door behind them slammed open.
Loving whirled around. To face Max and Pretty Boy.
They were both armed.
Renny smiled. “I guess I would say that I see the situation differently than you, Mr. Loving. It is, after all, simply a matter of perspective.”
45
“We’re not out of the woods yet,” Ben kept saying, but no one was listening. Everyone in Washington he knew, and several people he didn’t, were packed into his office. Champagne glasses were clinking. Everyone was congratulating Roush, shaking his hand, slapping him on the back. He appeared pleased—a little stunned, perhaps, but pleased. It was a brief but heartfelt celebration. Another fifteen minutes, and then they had agreed they would put the booze away and let the press in. Then things would really become chaotic.
“Appreciate it,” Roush said as Ben approached the center circle where Roush was speaking to Sexton, Carraway, Senator Hammond, and others. “But I can’t take credit. I owe this one to Senator Kincaid.”
Ben waved the compliment away. “I had lots of help.”
“I know. And I’ll thank everyone. But you turned the tide. You made the people of America sit up and listen, voice their opinion, give it a second thought. You made it possible for Senator Matera to do what she did.”
“Maybe,” Ben said quietly, “but remember, we’re—”
Everyone present recited the rest of the sentence in unison: “—not out of the woods yet!” And then burst out in riotous laughter.
Christina approached with a trayful of champagne refills. “Ben, don’t be a wet blanket. We’re celebrating here.”
“But we don’t have anything to celebrate yet.”
“Tad got out of committee, fooling every pundit in the city. I’d say that’s worth celebrating.”
“But he still has to go before the full Senate. And the Republicans hold a majority there, too.”
“Then you’ll turn them around just like you did the committee.”
“I’ll be lucky if I’m allowed to speak. There won’t be a hearing. The senators will debate, then vote. Period.”
“Polls show an increasing groundswell of support for our nominee,” Beauregard said, clutching his clipboard and somehow holding a champagne glass at the same time. “More and more people are setting aside their problems with homosexuals and focusing on his qualifications. Much as it pains me to admit it—you made that hap
pen, Ben.”
“I think Senator Matera had a little something to do with it, too.”
“She fanned the flames. You started the fire.”
“Got to agree with that,” Senator Hammond said. “And speaking as the Senate Minority Leader, let me tell you that this is a service that will not soon be forgotten. You need to get your hat in the ring for reelection, Ben. I think you’ll be surprised by how much support you get.”
“Speaking as a lowly lawyer,” Sexton said, “I think anyone with your natural skills is wasted in the courtroom, Kincaid. You’ve found your niche here in Washington, and you’ve been given a lucky break most people would covet. Make the best of it. The voters will remember what you’ve done here today.”
Ben shrugged. “All I did—”
Christina hung on his shoulder. “Ben, stop resisting and accept the compliments.” She bounced up on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek.
Ben’s face instantly turned bright red. “Christina,” he said under his breath, “I’ve told you before—”
Once again, the crowd finished his sentence in unison: “—not in the office!”
This time the laughter was so loud, so infectious, Ben couldn’t help but give in and smile.
“Hey, you wild and crazy party animals!” Jones was standing on his desk, trying to be heard above the fray. “Are you taking media calls yet? I’ve got a reporter from the Post just dying to talk to our Supreme Court nominee.”
Roush started toward the phone, but Ben stopped him. “This is your party,” Ben said. “Enjoy it while it lasts. I’ll take the call.”
“Are you sure?”
Ben nodded. “We told them to wait till six. I think I’m capable of saying ‘No comment at this time’ as well as you are.”
Ben wove his way through the crowd and took the phone receiver from Jones. “Look, we don’t have anything—”
The female voice on the other end of the line cut him off. “This is Brandi Barnett with the Washington Post. Do you have a comment on the Fox News report?”
Ben found himself swallowing air. “The what?” He started over. “We have no comment at this—”
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