“Are you sure? Members can just hand speeches over to the Congressional Record and pretend they’re doing their job while they sail around on some lobbyist’s boat.”
“No, he made a real speech. The Washington Post has a story on it. Big news. He slammed the Mexican Panther party for corruption. He’s taking a lot of flack, especially from Hispanic activists.”
“Thank god. How soon can you get packed? I want to get on the road to D.C.”
“What about the last message line?”
“Piece of cake. Dog lass, Douglass. She man, Sherman. Nor man, Norman. The last line warns us about a danger at Lake Norman. With any luck, it’s the center of the union.”
She typed quickly and hit the enter key hard. When she tapped the touchpad at the first listing, the Lake Norman Chamber of Commerce website popped onto the screen.
“North Carolina,” Evarts read over her shoulder. “Over five hundred miles of shoreline. That’s a big lake.”
“Smaller than all of North America.”
“You got that right,” he said. “Those sons of bitches are almost in our sights.”
Chapter 44
“Where are we going?”
“A friend’s house.” He smiled. “This time we won’t have to stay in a motel that counts its crummy towels.”
“Who?”
“Steven Harding. A friend from when I lived here.”
“Can you trust him?” She looked nervous.
“With my life.” He gave her a pat on the knee. “And more importantly, with yours.”
“How much are you going to tell him?”
Evarts had spent a lot of time thinking that through. “Everything. Steve and I ran several missions together. He’s a good guy to have around in a fight.” Evarts thought she still looked nervous. “Trish, we need help.”
“I think we should talk to the congressman before we disclose anything to outsiders.”
“I thought so as well … at first, that is. Trish, the congressman might be another dead end. I have people in this town I trust from my army days and—”
“You’re going to pull others in?”
“No.” He wished he had brought up Harding before they had rolled into Georgetown. “No, just Steve for now.”
“What kind of missions?”
“What?”
“What kind of missions did you run with this Harding character? And don’t give me that crap about a secrecy oath. People are trying to kill us. I want to know about Harding.”
Without hesitation, Evarts said, “We ran covert insertion operations: small, highly trained teams that implanted surveillance devices in unfriendly or hostile locales. I ran the technical side, and Steve’s crew took care of any trouble we ran into, but we were all trained to do any function.”
“I thought the NSA could intercept any communications.”
“Only transmitted communications. We were after private conversations. The kind that occurs between two people behind closed doors.”
“You planted bugs?”
“In a way of speaking, but the stuff we have nowadays, you don’t need to actually get inside, just close.”
“So, you didn’t break codes?”
“Oh, I did my share of that, but mostly I tried to pinpoint where we needed to insert close-quarters listening devices. Then I joined the missions to make sure they got implanted in the right spot and were properly calibrated. I mostly worked behind a desk, but Steve always played on the dark side.”
Baldwin seemed to think these revelations over and then said, “How many times did you run into trouble?”
Evarts laughed. “Seemed like every time, but we only ran into the shooting kind of trouble twice.” He looked at her. “Trish, I trust Steve when things get dicey.”
Baldwin turned toward the side window, and when she spoke, she sounded like she was talking to herself. “‘Dicey’ seems like such a civilized term for what we’re into.”
Evarts had arrived at his destination in Georgetown. His friend from his military service had inherited a townhouse in the toniest section of this tony enclave. Evarts had lived with Harding during his last year in the service, and Harding had been badgering him to visit, but he never seemed to find the time—or perhaps the motivation. These were not the best of circumstances, but he looked forward to seeing his old comrade in arms again.
The street appeared empty and the house still, but Evarts thought that Harding could be home. People closed themselves off inside their houses in this neighborhood, and Harding had enough money not to work. Evarts parked at the closest spot he could find, which was nearly two blocks away. They grabbed their bags and walked back along streets lined with immaculate brick townhouses.
Evarts rang the bell. When no one answered, he stepped into a flowerbed and removed a loose brick in the planter, where he found the spare key. When he returned to the stoop, he checked the street and windows before inserting the key. After he unlocked the door, he said, “There’s a security panel just inside the door. If he’s changed the code, an alarm will go off. If it does, we walk away as calm as two residents taking an afternoon stroll. Okay?”
“What’s he going to do when he sees you’ve broken into his house?”
“Give me a bear hug.” He pushed the door open and keyed the old code into the keypad. A green light blinked on and he sighed with relief.
They stepped into the entry, and a burly man with a .45 hanging at his side suddenly appeared at the end of the hall.
“Steve. You didn’t answer the bell.”
“I was on the crapper.” He rushed over and did exactly as Evarts predicted. He gave him a crushing bear hug that made it hard for Evarts to get a breath. “Damn, it’s good to see you. Why didn’t you call?”
“Long story, but we’ll get to it. This is Patricia Baldwin. A friend.”
“I hope she’s just a friend,” Harding said with a broad wink.
He started to embrace her, but she stopped him with a single uplifted finger. When he feigned disappointment, she touched him affectionately on the forearm and kissed him on the cheek. “I’m pleased to meet you, and I’ll deal with Greg later for that ‘friend’ comment.”
“Let me know if you need help. I’ve put this bozo in his place too many times to recount.” He stuffed the .45 in his front waistband, and putting a beefy arm around each of their shoulders, he led them down the long hall to the kitchen in the rear.
“Coffee, beer?” He looked at Baldwin. “Diet coke?”
“Do you happen to have any port?” Baldwin asked.
“Of course. Did Greg tell you I was a barbarian?”
“He said something about me discovering for myself.”
Harding laughed uproariously as he swung the refrigerator door open. He threw Evarts a beer and then pulled one out for himself. “Follow me,” he said.
He led them into a sitting room decorated in a federalist style that would have looked appropriate in the White House. In a moment, he offered a bottle to Baldwin, which he held by the neck and cradled in his other hand. “Will this do?”
“You’re an officer and a gentleman,” she said.
“Not any more,” he chuckled. “Let’s sit on the patio.”
The small enclosed patio nestled between perfectly manicured trees and shrubs. Along the surface of the brickwork, dozens of pots had been planted with colorful flowers, giving the private area a serene atmosphere.
“My compliments to your gardener,” Baldwin said.
“I accept.” He looked around as if seeing it for the first time. “These flowers are my children.” He took a long swig of beer. “Now, tell me what brought you to Washington.”
An hour later, Harding whistled and said, “That’s a tall tale.”
Baldwin spoke for the first time. “Unfortunately, it’s more than a tale. It’s our life.”
“What can I do to help?”
“First, we’d appreciate lodging,” Evarts said.
“That goes without sayi
ng. What else?”
“Nothing until we see Sherman. Then I’d appreciate your help in devising a plan.”
“Sounds like you could use someone to watch your back.”
“Steve, this is dangerous. A dozen people are dead already. I almost bypassed your hospitality.”
“If you had, I would have beaten those union guys to the punch.” He looked at his potted garden again. “I love flowers, but life has gotten just a bit dull. Let me in.”
Evarts smiled. “I came here looking for a friend. Something in short supply lately. If I’m honest with myself, I came for more. I came hoping that we would no longer be alone in this fight.” He hesitated. “Maybe I’ve been alone too much, even before this mess.” Evarts tipped his beer at Harding. “I’d appreciate someone at my back.”
“We’d appreciate it,” Baldwin added.
“Then it’s settled.” Harding jumped out of his chair. “We need fresh drinks before we plot how to sabotage the Mexican elections.”
Chapter 45
John Sherman’s office in the Cannon Building included just two rooms. The outer office had been equipped with four desks for his staff and several chairs for visitors. The room looked more than crowded. It looked a mess. Paper and people were strewn everywhere, and the competing conversations made it hard to see how any work got done. After a moment, one of the staffers turned his head in their direction to ask their business.
“We’re here to see the congressman,” Baldwin said.
“Do you have an appointment?”
Baldwin surprised Evarts by saying yes. The staffer looked puzzled but stood and asked their names.
“Patricia Baldwin and Gregory Evarts. He’s expecting us.”
The staffer disappeared behind the closed door of the second room. As he passed through the open door, Evarts saw three more desks crowding the inner office. People sat at two of them. Damn, how would they get any privacy?
When the staffer returned, he apologized and said the congressman would be with them as soon as he finished with another constituent. Then he suggested that before their private tour of the Capitol, perhaps they would like to peruse a book on the history of the building. Evidently, they wouldn’t meet with him in his office. Evarts and Baldwin took seats amongst the bustling staffers and pretended to read.
They had taken a chance that Sherman would recognize one of their names and make time for them. Evarts thought it would be better if they didn’t appear in his appointment calendar, so they had watched CSPAN until Congress recessed and dropped in unannounced. Unfortunately, he was with a constituent, but it appeared that he would soon be free and had decided to see them.
A half hour passed before Sherman came out. His age surprised Evarts. He guessed that the congressman hadn’t yet celebrated his fortieth birthday. Sherman spent a few minutes saying good-bye to a well-dressed couple and then turned his attention to Evarts and Baldwin.
“I’m sorry, that appointment went a bit long.” He shook their hands and introduced Baldwin to his staff as the daughter of a major contributor to his campaigns. “Well, are you ready for the tour? If you leave your purse in my office, we can get through security faster.”
Baldwin hesitated and then handed her purse over. Evarts guessed it held several thousand dollars, but if you can’t trust your congressman, whom can you trust? They had left their guns with Harding at a sidewalk café up the street in a yuppified residential area. Evarts hoped his friend wouldn’t overdose on caffeine by the time they had finished their tour.
As they left the office, two U.S. Capitol Police officers joined them. “Since I recently started getting death threats, these two gentlemen have become my shadows,” Sherman said. “Seems I upset some people with a speech I made several days ago.”
“We read—”
Sherman interrupted Baldwin by saying, “Since 9/11, security has been upgraded. Cameras and microphones everywhere.”
Evarts and Baldwin took the hint.
At the elevator, Sherman said, “We’ll go to the basement and walk over through the tunnel.” He hooked a thumb behind him. “Makes these guys more comfortable.”
In the elevator, he told Baldwin how sorry he was to hear about her parents’ accident, and he seemed genuinely sympathetic. The elevator opened onto a stark white tunnel that looked utilitarian, except for the children’s artwork mounted along the corridor walls. When they got to the security checkpoint, Sherman led them around the line for the parcel inspection and directly through the metal detector.
Sherman carried on an effusive narrative about the history of the Capitol Building, how bills moved through committees, constituent services, and a few jokes that no doubt he used for every tour. As they approached the end of the tunnel, he pointed out a federalist-style wood cabinet that looked completely out of place in the austere corridor that was barren of any other furniture. He told them it contained gas masks.
The five of them crowded into another elevator, with Sherman chattering away like this was a routine visit by the family of a major contributor. When the elevator door opened, the metamorphosis from austerity to elegance took Evarts’s breath away. He had been in the Capitol many times but never by this approach. It reminded him of how Gothic cathedrals used dreary low-ceilinged entrances to accentuate the grandeur of the nave. When he saw Sherman’s smile, he knew the congressman had seen this effect on countless guests.
They did the standard tour of the House side of the Capitol, and they even sat for a few minutes in the gallery of the House of Representatives. Since Congress wasn’t in session, they didn’t stay long. They took another elevator, and then Sherman led them down a paneled hallway to a closed office door. “Could you wait here a moment, and I’ll check to see if we can tour the Speaker’s Office?”
After he returned, he said, “All clear. This is a special treat that I don’t get to show every visitor.”
When they entered the anteroom, Evarts noticed that the two Capitol Police officers stayed outside. Maybe they would get to meet in a private office after all. Sherman made a perfunctory introduction to the receptionist and then led them into a large conference room. Evarts stopped short when he saw Lincoln portraits and memorabilia on every wall. He almost laughed when he realized the appropriateness of the room, but Sherman led them out the opposite end of the conference room and through a pair of glass doors onto a small patio cantilevered high up on the Capitol structure.
“This is the Speaker’s Balcony. You should feel privileged. You should also feel private. No one can eavesdrop on us here.”
The balcony gave an elevated view of the Mall with the Washington Monument standing at the end like a giant exclamation point. Evarts wanted to enjoy the view, but he assumed that they didn’t have a lot of time.
“We understand you have possession of evidence against the union.”
“I do. Do you have the William Evarts documents?”
“We do. At least we have copies. The originals are safe.”
“Copies should do.” He turned to Baldwin. “Are you prepared to endorse the documents as genuine?”
“How soon?” she asked.
“Three days. I’ll release my evidence tomorrow.”
“You have a plan?” Evarts asked incredulously.
“I do now. A new one. I was chartered by the Mute Council to help collect and then hold the evidence until I turned it over to Ms. Baldwin, to be released with the historical records. When I never heard from you and saw that the Mute Circle had been murdered, I came up with a new plan. It’s already in motion and too late to change.”
“What is it?” Evarts asked.
“It started with my speech a few days ago. I accused the Mexican Panther Party of corruption and complicity with drug trafficking. It got the response I wanted.”
“You wanted epithets hurled at you?” Baldwin exclaimed.
“Many and often. I’m the lead in every newspaper, talk show, and blog in the country. I’ve been called a racist, a demagogue, a
McCarthyist, and a meddler in foreign affairs. I wanted the hullabaloo to reach a crescendo before I released the evidence.”
“So it will get the attention it deserves?” Baldwin asked.
“Precisely, plus the hate mail got protection for me and my family. Without it, I’m sure I would already share the fate of your parents.”
“You don’t want the historical record released simultaneously?” Evarts asked.
“No. Dilute the impact. Orchestrated properly, we can be the lead story for over a week.” He placed a hand on Baldwin’s arm. “You should say you happened on these documents a while ago, and you kept them to yourself until you could authenticate them. When you read about my disclosures, you realized the connection and decided to bring your documents forward.” He looked them both in the eye. “Publicity is our only salvation. Can you do it?”
“Yes, of course,” Baldwin said. “I haven’t really had time to authenticate them, but I have no doubts.”
“They’re genuine, I assure you. You won’t be embarrassed.”
“What do we do in the meantime?” Evarts asked.
“Keep your head low. These are dangerous people, as you well know.” He handed Baldwin a small card. “That’s my secure cell phone number, if you need to contact me. Try to use a pay phone.”
He looked at his watch. “I don’t have much time. I called a press conference so I could give an ‘I got a list of fifty-seven names’ speech.”
“Then after the predictable uproar, unlike McCarthy, you’ll publish actual evidence,” Evarts said.
“This town loves political theater,” the congressman said with a smile.
“Do we have time for a few questions?” Baldwin asked.
“Go.”
“Why did the Society keep the Lincoln documents hidden?”
Sherman looked irritated with the question. “Because they’re worth tens of millions. We don’t have the resources of the union. We held the Lincoln documents in reserve in case we needed funds. Now we’re going to raise suspicions if we dally, so do you have any questions about the union or the plan?”
The Shut Mouth Society Page 26