Sally Watkins laughed, a delightful sound. “You were not.”
“All right,” he confessed, smiling back. “You’re right. I wasn’t. But I am now. Can I tell you about it?”
She settled back, the welcome in her eyes replaced by a light of clear intelligence. “Sure.”
“You mean it?”
“Why not? I love talking shop. It’s one of the reasons I’m so happy here. I love politics. I love everything about it.”
“Then you’re an incredible girl,” he said, comparing her reaction to the cool indifference he faced when attempting to discuss politics with his wife.
She laughed again. “I don’t know about that. I was born and raised in Ruford, Virginia. Have you ever heard of it?”
“I think so. Isn’t it up in the Blue Ridge Mountains?”
“That’s the one. Sixty miles or six thousand light-years away from civilization, depending on whether we’re talking distance or mentality. Population four thousand, or so they say. I think they must’ve counted the dogs, chickens, and the bodies buried in the cemetery. The only thing I ever wanted from Ruford was to never see it again. The place bored me to tears.”
She sipped her drink, continued. “My birthday present to myself when I turned nineteen was a one-way ticket to Washington, D.C. I’ve never been back.”
“How old are you now?”
“Twenty-four.”
That young. “Do you realize I’m fifteen years older than you are?”
She shrugged her unconcern. “Older, wiser, and an awful long way ahead. I like older men. They know what they want out of life, and they know how they’re going to get it.” She gave him a steady look. “I know what I want, too. And I’m not going to get it tagging along behind some guy my age.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t have the patience, for one thing. I feel like I’ve spent all my life waiting around. And I like being with somebody who knows enough to tell me what to do. I’ve got to have a lot of confidence in a fellow to trust him like that. I can’t put that kind of trust in a guy my age. Why should I? He doesn’t know any more than I do.”
“You’re an amazing woman,” he said. It was the first time he had not thought of her as a girl.
“I’m just a girl who knows what she wants,” Sally Watkins replied. “I know what I have, too, and I’m looking for the right kind of guy to give it to.”
They shared another long look, until she clinked her glass against his, said, “I thought you were going to tell me about a congressional hearing.”
He shook his head. “You really do listen, don’t you?”
“When the talk’s about politics, you bet. This stuff is great. I know which hearing you’re talking about, too. The HUD investigation.”
He stared at her, scarcely able to accept that she really wanted to hear what he had to say.
The eagerness was shining through. “That was a great move, getting into the investigation. I bet you it’s going to blow sky high before much longer.”
“This is incredible.” He had to laugh. “Do you know how nice it is to talk to somebody about this and have them enjoy it?”
She grasped his hand, spread out the fingers, laced them together with hers, set it in her lap, said, “So go on, tell.”
She listened with attentive silence. He struggled to describe the hearing, worried at first that her attention would wane as he got bogged down in trying to sort it out in his own mind. But she waited patiently as he went back several times and corrected himself, reconstructing the scene, describing his initial question.
He stopped and signalled to the bartender with his empty glass, realized that she was waiting for him to continue.
He had to smile. “You’ve got this incredible sense of knowing when to stay quiet. You don’t even realize what a gift that is, do you?”
Sally Watkins squeezed his hand, spoke reams with her eyes, said, “Tell me the rest.”
When the bartender had freshened their drinks and left, Silverwood described the look he had seen on the chairman’s face, and the realization that the man would not be offering the proper direction.
“So I had to take it over myself,” he went on. “And as we continued, I realized that the committee was quieter than I had ever seen them before. Here we were, facing a corporation that had pretty much lived by graft, and I had the spotlight all to myself. No, that’s not true. There were a couple of the others who were with me all the way. Smith and Hancock. Democrat and Republican. I can’t figure it out. All the others should have been at those guys’ throats. But they hardly let out a peep.”
She remained silent, attentive, listening. Her eyes were clear, her expression beautiful. Silverwood had never known a woman who could listen as well as she could. He never knew it could mean so much to have someone who truly shared his interest in politics and power.
“There was this guy,” he went on. “I don’t even know why I mention him. He didn’t say a word all day. Just sat at the end of the witness table, parked behind these two-tone shades. You know the kind, the bottom half’s clear and the top part’s totally opaque. Motionless as a cadaver. He’s some big lobbyist. I think he’s got some kind of hold over an acquaintance. He tried to put the moves on me last week.”
“Who is he?”
“Guy called Shermann. Can’t remember his first name. He really gave me the creeps, sitting there. I don’t know why, but I feel like he’s connected to what went on in there today.”
Sally Watkins frowned slightly, disengaged her hand, and trailed a finger around the rim of her glass. “His first name’s Anthony,” she said quietly. “Anthony Shermann.”
“You know that guy?”
She hesitated, nodded her head, kept her eyes on her slowly rotating finger. “He’s one of the best-known lobbyists in town. A real power behind the throne.”
“Maybe so,” Congressman Silverwood said. “But he’s still one weird guy. He gives me the creeps.”
She kept her eyes on her glass. “I don’t know. He’s got a lot of friends here. Powerful friends.”
Silverwood thought again about the committee chairman, said dryly, “I’ll bet.”
“Staffers on the Hill always rely on lobbyists for information,” Sally said. “It’s incredible how knowledgeable Shermann is about issues.”
He laughed, said, “The man’s a paid mouthpiece. For a thousand bucks an hour I could be knowledgeable too.”
“I sometimes think a congressman’s job is kind of like that of a judge,” she went on. “He’s got to listen to both sides before making a decision.”
He nodded over the logic of that, took a sip of his drink, said, “So?”
“These people can be very valuable allies,” Sally said, looking at him. “Washington’s a town where you can’t have too many friends. Especially around campaign time.”
For some reason he found himself thinking of the last time he had tried to talk politics with his wife. It had been just before he had left for Washington, a conversation he had known would fail before he started. It had been a sort of last-ditch effort, a hope against hope that she would show an interest and agree to come with him to share his new life. Instead, she had yawned repeatedly before finally begging fatigue and asking if they could continue the next morning. Sure, he had replied, mightily depressed by her reaction and angered even more by the fact that she didn’t even care how much she had disappointed him. He had moved up his departure to the next afternoon.
“You’ve got that look on your face again,” Sally Watkins said. “What are you thinking?”
He focused on her white-blond hair, her eyes, her face, said, “It’s really nice, being able to talk with you about these things. You seem to have a lot of solid advice.”
Her look deepened. “I can’t think of anything I’d like more than being Special Advisor to Congressman Silverwood.”
He smiled, said, “You’re here to take care of me, is that it?”
Her hand settled
upon his arm. “If you’ll let me,” she replied.
Chapter Eleven
Congressman John Silverwood pushed his way through the revolving doors and paused a moment to take in the lobby’s elegant splendor. That Senator Erskins had chosen the Promenade Cafe in the Mayflower Hotel for their meeting came as some surprise. It was quite a ways removed from the normal haunts of the Capitol Hill crowd. The hotel was situated up Connecticut Avenue, almost at Dupont Circle. Silverwood had been there only twice, once to a reception and once to lunch with a wealthy constituent. He thought it very ornate and desperately European.
Senator Reginald Erskins was waiting for him. His carefully coiffured silver hair caught the light as he rose and gave Silverwood a politician’s smile. “Right on time. First mark of a professional.”
“Good to see you again, Senator.”
“Please, John, call me Reggie.” He waved Silverwood to a seat, asked, “Drink?”
He saw that the senator had a glass in front of him, so said, “Scotch, thanks.”
Senator Erskins signalled the waiter. “Don’t usually indulge at midday. Doctor’s orders. But there’s always room for an exception, especially on a day as important as this one.”
Silverwood smiled politely. “What are you celebrating?”
“Your future, my boy.” The Senator stood abruptly, said, “And here comes the guest of honor.”
Silverwood turned in his chair, tensed as he recognized the lobbyist, Anthony Shermann. “I thought this was supposed to be a private meeting.”
“It is, my boy, it is. Tony won’t be staying but a few minutes. He’s an old friend and essential to the matter at hand.”
Anthony Shermann approached the table, his face hidden as always behind those opaque sunglasses. He extended a hand. “How very nice to see you again, Congressman.”
Gingerly Silverwood accepted the hand. There was no strength to it whatsoever. No strength, no warmth, no sense of life. “Do you ever take off those sunglasses, Mr. Shermann?” he asked, surprising even himself.
Shermann didn’t seem put off by the question. “Very seldom, Congressman. Very seldom indeed.”
But Senator Erskins was not the least bit pleased. “You’ve got some nerve, son, insulting an important man like Tony Shermann.”
“I prefer to see a man’s eyes when I do business with him.”
“Certainly, Congressman, I do of course understand.” Shermann’s toneless voice rasped a chuckle. “I’ve always felt I kept my glasses on for the other person’s benefit. If you would like them off, however, just say the word.”
“No, you don’t,” the senator interrupted. “John, leave Tony alone. His eyes’ve been sensitive to light for as long as I’ve known him. How long’s that been, Tony? Twenty years?”
“I’m sure I don’t recall, Senator.”
“Here comes the waiter. Tony, give him your order. Sit down, everybody.”
Silverwood hesitated, then sat down, feeling trapped.
“Now listen up, son.” Senator Erskins waited until he was sure he had Silverwood’s attention. “Tony’s one of the most useful friends I’ve got here in Washington. He gives as good as he takes, my boy, you can rest assured on that point.”
“You’re too kind, Senator,” Shermann said, his voice like wind passing through dead autumn leaves.
“Tell him what you’ve got in mind, Tony.”
“It’s very simple, really. You see, Congressman, I consider myself one of the last true Washington power brokers. We’re a dying breed, I’m sad to say. Most of these so-called lobbyists nowadays haven’t the slightest idea how the game is played. They’re caught up, body and soul, in one cause or another, and have nothing to offer in return but a misguided sense of destiny.”
Silverwood waited in silence. He found that if he fastened his attention on a point just to the left and slightly above the man’s forehead he could feign concentration and not have to watch his own reflection in those two-tone shades.
“Power broker,” Shermann repeated in that ancient voice. “It’s a very simple concept, Congressman. I have power. I broker it.”
Silverwood glanced at Senator Erskins to see how he took it. The silver-haired senior statesman was nodding agreement, a satisfied smile playing across his lips.
“My clients come to me because of the power that has been entrusted to my care. With caution and careful judgment, I assist these gentlemen in presenting their cases.”
“Like Atlas,” Silverwood said flatly.
“Precisely, Congressman. Our friends at the Atlas Group are a perfect case in point.”
“You sure didn’t have much to say at the hearing.”
“Oh, there was no need to intervene, Congressman. Very little is accomplished in a public forum like that one.”
“I think we’re accomplishing a great deal in those hearings,” Silverwood replied.
“My words referred to my own responsibilities, I assure you. For work such as mine, an intimate gathering away from public scrutiny is so much more useful.”
“Like this one,” Senator Erskins said.
“Precisely, Senator, just like our little meeting here.” He turned an expressionless face back to Silverwood. “If I might be permitted, Congressman, I’d like to take this particular example one step further. I am in a position to offer you a seat on the House Ways and Means Committee.”
Silverwood’s jaw dropped. “That’s impossible.”
“I assure you it’s not, Congressman.”
“I just heard the news yesterday,” Senator Erskins confirmed. “Strictly confidential, of course. Stanley’s had another seizure. The doctor says he’s got to take it easier if he wants to see Christmas. He’s resigning from the committee. They’ll have to appoint another Republican, and fast.”
Congressman Stanley Brubaker of Arkansas was the number-two ranking Republican in Congress, and minority leader of the most powerful committee in the House—the Ways and Means Committee. It controlled the cash, and thus oversaw the work done by all other committees. Nothing done by Congress—no new law, no departmental change, no pressing issue—could be acted upon until money was appropriated. In Washington political circles, the chairmanship of the Ways and Means Committee was considered the third most powerful position in the government. There were members who had gladly traded chairmanships of other committees just for a seat on Ways and Means.
“They’d never give that job to a freshman congressman,” Silverwood replied, excited despite himself. “Never.”
“Believe me, my boy,” Senator Erskins told him, “if Tony says he can do it, whatever it is, consider it done. The man’s as good as his word.”
“Well, I must be off,” Shermann said, pushing himself erect. “I have quite literally a million things to do today.”
He nodded to the senator, extended his hand to Silverwood. “I do so hope we shall have an opportunity to see more of each other, Congressman.”
Silverwood willed himself not to show a reaction as he grasped the limp fingers a second time. “There’s no way I’d agree to anything based on some airy promise like that.”
“Naturally not,” Shermann agreed. “You wouldn’t be expected to lift a finger until—or unless, if you prefer—the position was yours.”
“And all you want in return is for me to lay off Atlas? That’s it?”
“A small price to pay for such a prestigious position, I’m sure you’ll agree, Congressman.” He nodded once more to the senator, said, “Good day to you both, gentlemen. Congressman, it would delight me to no end to hear from you soon.”
****
John Nakamishi was in the OEOB Law Library at exactly three o’clock. “That was a wonderful Bible lesson this morning, Mr. Case.”
“Thank you,” TJ replied, not sure what else he should say. He was having trouble getting used to the increasing size of their gathering.
“It wasn’t just me you touched, sir. I never thought three hundred people could ever be so still.”
Three hundred people. Bella had left him a note that morning saying their meeting was moved to the building’s main conference hall. Its rows of gradually rising seats faced a small stage, where TJ had stood feeling very alone and exceedingly vulnerable. Three hundred people. Bella had told him the number. It had seemed an endless sea of faces.
Once settled in the taxi, TJ decided it was time to test the merit of this new man. “I’m a beginner at this, I’ll be the first to admit it. I need your wisdom about what I’m going to be facing here. I don’t even know enough to ask the right questions. I’d be very grateful for any insight you can give me.”
Still facing forward, John Nakamishi gave a single nod, almost as though he had been expecting the question. In a voice as flat and bland as his expression, he said, “Secretary Edwards has a reputation as a real aggressive hothead. I’ve never met him, and these things get blown out of proportion in the early days of a new administration. But I think this assessment’s pretty close to the mark.
“If it’s true, then you’re already starting out with a couple of major strikes against you. You were appointed to a position in the White House without any input from his side. He’s going to resent this. A lot, if his personality is really like I’ve heard. You’re too close to the seat of power for his liking, you have your own contacts in Congress, and you’re there to develop a specific policy issue. He’s probably heard something about it, but exactly how much is going to depend on how good his own sources are inside the OEOB.”
TJ sat back, sort of leaning against the door so he could study the impassive face beside him, and decided that this man was an absolute godsend.
“His first concern is how close your policy objectives are to his own,” John continued. “If you’re going against the grain, then he’s going to want to crush you fast. These early days of the new regime are crucial to him. They’ll determine what policies are earmarked as top priority for this administration.”
TJ nodded in silent approval, thought to himself, the man sounds as if he’s ticking points off a checklist.
The Presence Page 18