The Lost Order--A Novel

by Steve Berry

  “He asked me the same questions.”

  A curious look came to his face. “You never mentioned you and he spoke.”

  “After the funeral. He came to the house. I invited him.”

  “For what?”

  “He and Alex were close friends. And he was the president of the United States. What did you want me to do? Brush him off? That would have been stupid. He and I do not get along, I never thought he would actually come. But he did.”

  And while there, he’d stolen Kenneth’s notebook, which probably explained the visit.

  “As I told him then, Alex died from a tragic fall. There is absolutely nothing to suggest anything otherwise.”

  “That’s the official conclusion?”

  She nodded. “The sheriff told me so himself. And the FBI took a look, too, since a congressman was involved.”

  She forced her eyes to tear, knowing that would add to the veracity of what she was saying.

  It worked.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s just that this has escalated. We never figured Daniels to be in the picture. He should be long gone. But he could cause problems.”

  “With the Senate? Who cares? There’s nothing they can do.”

  “With the people. He’s popular and trusted. And he knows how to work a crowd. That’s a deadly combination.”

  Her analytical mind clicked through the options. “But he’s out of time. This will be done before Daniels can even figure it out and muster any support. And let’s face it, I doubt the public is going to rise up and defend the U.S. Senate. Nobody is going to care. The sentiment will be, Anything is better than what we have.”

  Which was exactly what they’d been hoping for all along. Polls, pundits, and the people all liked to complain about government. Candidates loved to get elected on being an “outsider,” not part of the Washington establishment. Then, within ninety days of taking office, they all melded into the system, recognizing a fundamental truth. To be effective, you had to get along. That’s why things never changed. It’s why men like her dead husband would scream for a new agenda but never actually enact one. Far better to work within the system that already existed, as there were ways to manipulate, control, and even bypass it, if one were smart and careful. It took time to become really effective. The longer someone was around, the more favors they accumulated. Eventually, those favors paid dividends. Every single person elected to Congress quickly learned those truths. The ones who stayed around the longest were the people who never forgot them.

  One fundamental truth never changed. Everyone wanted to be remembered. Presidents particularly. The first term was for work. The second for history. For congressmen the rules were different. Legacies took decades to mold. And Lucius Vance was about to fashion his by proffering more real change than anyone since the time of the Founding Fathers.

  “You’re going to win this fight,” she said to him.

  He seemed to steel himself. “Yes, I am. But I want to know something.”

  She waited.

  “Before I take this plunge, I have to know, right here, right now. Is there anything I’m going to regret not knowing?”

  She knew what he meant, but feigned hurt. “My husband is dead. Why can’t all of you just let him rest in peace. He died from a tragic accident.”

  “Is there any possibility he killed himself?”

  Now that was a thought. One she hadn’t really considered.

  “Since none of us were there, we have no way of knowing. All I can say is that I saw nothing in the days before that would lead me to think he did. But that may not mean a thing. Alex was quite adept at hiding his feelings.”

  As she now knew.

  “I just want every base covered. Danny Daniels is an accomplished political warrior, and he’ll be a formidable opponent.”

  “You sound afraid.”

  “Not in the least. But you have to know your enemy. He had a lot of inside information on you and me. We have to wonder what else he knows.”

  A thought suddenly occurred to her.

  The cross-and-circle necklace.

  Daniels had said Alex dropped it while visiting his house. Surely that was a lie. It must have been Kenneth who gave it to Alex, and it ended up with Daniels. Which could mean Alex had confided in his old friend.

  That would explain all the questions and the stealing of the notebook.

  Vance was right.

  What else did Daniels know?

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  5:20 P.M.

  Danny found Teddy Solomon on the first floor of the Russell Office Building in the Senate gym. He remembered the place fondly as a safe haven, an oasis, where senators could trickle in at all hours and work out, undisturbed, being themselves without fear. Strange how being in politics meant not being yourself. Most tried to be what others wanted, pandering for money and support. He’d never fallen into that trick bag, always staying true to himself, which had, on occasion, caused problems. He’d also never been much for physical exercise, but he liked the gym’s loose atmosphere. A lot of deals had been made among the sweat and machines. A separate locker room and smaller workout space accommodated female senators, but many of them used the men’s side more often than not, which no one seemed to mind. A keypad controlled access. He didn’t know the code but the Secret Service man stationed outside offered him a quick entry.

  Solomon jogged on one of the treadmills, swinging his arms, inhaling and exhaling in short, strenuous gasps. “I’m betting … you never once … used this place.”

  “Not for a workout. But I did use it. The question is, what are you doing here?”

  The vice president slowed and shrugged. “I came here for a long time as a senator, so I saw no reason to stop now that I’ve been demoted.”

  He grinned.

  No one else was around to hear the comment.

  “We need to talk,” he said.

  Solomon stopped his workout and powered down the machine. “Hold on.”

  His old friend grabbed a towel, then walked to the door, breathing hard, telling the agent outside to make sure they were not disturbed.

  “At least there’s one perk to being VP. You can get the gym to yourself.”

  “I know what Vance is planning.”

  Solomon patted sweat from his face and hair.

  “He’s going to use Article I, Section 5, Clause 2 of the Constitution and change the procedural rules in the House of Representatives.”

  “That happens all the time. So what?”

  “Not like this.”

  Earlier, as he’d listened to Paul Frizzell explain what was happening, he’d thought back to Kenneth Layne’s notebook. Finally its bullet points began to make perfect sense.

  “We all know that the Constitution allows the Senate and the House to set their own internal rules,” he said. “They can pretty much do whatever they want, and the courts have little to no say in the matter. Separation of powers, and all that crap, gives Congress free rein over its own procedural rules. Vance plans to use that freedom to the max. It’s actually quite simple in execution, but massive in effect.”

  He saw that he had his old friend’s undivided attention.

  “He’s adding a new rule that states that the House of Representatives will consider, and vote, only on legislation that originates in the House.”

  He waited for the words to sink in.

  “Damn,” Solomon muttered.

  It had not taken long for the dots to connect.

  “And it’s totally constitutional,” he said. “It’s how the country was governed for the first twenty years. There wasn’t a rule that said it, but the Senate was nothing back then. All legislation came from the House. The Senate would look at it, offer an amendment, maybe, then vote yes or no and send it back to the House. Simple and sweet. There was none of the shenanigans that we have today. No filibusters. No senator gave a thought to offering his own version of the legislation. No one rewrote anything. The Senate was merely a
dvisory to the House. That’s it. So Vance is going to bring that concept into the modern world.”

  “And make himself king.”

  Precisely.

  Teddy Solomon had grasped the true significance in such a simple change. By not considering any legislation except that which originated in the House, there would no longer be any worries about the U.S. Senate. A bill would start in the House, be approved, then be sent to the Senate for it “to propose or concur with Amendments,” as the Constitution defined the Senate’s advisory role. True, both houses of Congress would have to agree before anything could be passed and sent to the president for signature. But the House of Representatives would become the dominant legislative body. If a senator wanted to propose anything new he or she would have to convince a House member to introduce that measure in the House. And no longer could one senator shut down the entire legislative process. Instead 435 House members, elected by the people every two years, would call the shots.

  All led by the Speaker.

  Of course the Senate did not have to agree with any legislation sent to it by the House. The Senate’s only function would be to vote yea or nay on the entire bill. One hundred senators casting their votes, on the record, fifty-one needed to secure a majority to either approve or disapprove.

  In the modern world floor votes rarely happened, as Senators were able to hide behind cleverly crafted rules that rarely forced anyone to take the blame for anything. Bills were routinely torpedoed with no fingerprints on the bomb at all. Under Vance’s change, the entire Senate would now have to vote on each measure as forwarded by the House. True, it could offer amendments. But again, the entire body would have to vote on those, then the House would be given the chance to agree or disagree. No cherry-picking. No rewriting. No stalling. Just yea or nay. Even more difficult, if something was delayed because the Senate chose not to vote at all, then the entire Senate would be the one to take that blame.

  Talk about a game changer.

  Everything would be different.

  “Senators are like bomber pilots,” Solomon said, speaking from years of experience. “We’re in the war. But we kill people anonymously from thirty thousand feet. It’s fairly easy to do, and even easier to rationalize. Now senators would have to join the infantry and the fighting would be hand-to-hand, face-to-face, with casualties. They haven’t been in that vulnerable position for a long time.”

  “The scary part,” Danny said, “is that the public will support this. Everyone hates gridlock, and the Senate is, without question, the number one cause of it. Which is its job, by the way. It’s the whole reason the Senate even exists.”

  The Founding Fathers had been familiar with the House of Lords and the House of Commons. One elected by the people, the other a hereditary right. No one at the first constitutional convention had wanted the people to have uncontrolled reign over government. The danger of rash thinking and impulse decisions frightened everyone. So they conceived a legislative body not directly responsible to the people. The Senate. Its members chosen by state lawmakers. The Senate’s sole job was to make sure the more representative body, the House, did not do anything foolish, exactly as the House of Lords had done for centuries to the House of Commons. Originally, the Founders had wanted no salary paid to a senator—only men of wealth could serve—but that idea failed. Finally they settled on a minimum age of thirty, five more years than the House, a six-year term, with elections staggered so no more than one-third went up for election in each year. It was not a perfect system, but a workable one of checks and balances that had served reasonably well.

  Sure, there were problems from time to time. But the alternatives were worse.

  “This will affect everything,” Danny said. “At a minimum it’ll make every member of the Senate skittish. They’ll go gun-shy, since the only way to get anything done will be to have a House member in your corner. They’re not going to want to offend anyone over there. All the horse trading will simply shift from one side of the Capitol to the other.”

  “With the Speaker the gatekeeper for it all,” Solomon noted.

  “Which the White House won’t be able to ignore. The president would have to cultivate a close relationship with not only the Speaker, but every ranking House member. A bicameral legislature would effectively become unicameral.”

  “And Vance will essentially become the federal government,” Solomon said. “Everything will flow through him. Right now, nothing comes to a vote without the Speaker’s okay. But with this change, that power is magnified a thousand times since the House will be the only place any legislation can start. The really crazy part is that it will be approved, since every House member, on both sides of the aisle, will acquire a crap load more influence. You strip the Senate and elevate yourself at the same time, all with the people saying, Damn right, do it. It’s a no-brainer. The public will never grasp the significance of what’s really happening until it’s far too late.”

  “I’m told the Rules Committee will vote on this tomorrow morning. It will go to the House for a floor vote the next morning.”

  Solomon chuckled. “Amazing what can be done quickly when you want it done.”

  They stood in silence for a few moments. Combined, they possessed nearly a century of political experience. Danny had always grinned when candidates ran on being a “Washington outsider.” To him it was like going to a brain surgeon and the office receptionist saying she was a “medical outsider” and could actually do a cheaper and better job of operating on you. The cheap part was definitely possible. But better? Hardly. To get things done you had to know the lay of the land. And the only way to acquire that knowledge was from experience. Sure, people can learn. But just like the receptionist performing brain surgery, there were going to be a lot of bad mistakes made along the way until the know-how was found.

  Thank goodness he and Solomon were doctors.

  “There is a way to stop this,” he said. “In fact, it might actually be the only way.”

  He could see Solomon was interested.

  So he said, “It’ll take someone with the balls of an alley cat to make it happen. Lucky for us, I have two of those.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  Cassiopeia rolled her body across the rocky floor toward the knife Proctor had left. The timer continued to silently count down, the red illuminated numbers indicating two minutes and twenty-three seconds left. She had to avoid one of the corpses that had been left behind, which slowed her progress.

  As she rolled, her mind assessed the options. No way to remove the knife and cut her bindings. Her hands were behind her back, which affected coordination. Freeing her feet seemed the priority since that would allow her to run. But if Proctor had been telling the truth, the tunnels beyond were likewise rigged to explode, and she had no reason to doubt him. Sealing off the entire mine was the smart play. Nothing that happened here would ever be known.

  But she wasn’t dead yet.

  “Sporting chance”?

  More than that.

  She stopped rolling and positioned herself feetfirst in front of the knife, which projected from the ladder about a quarter meter off the floor. The sharp edge faced up and she centered it between her ankles, moving her legs back and forth, slicing through the rope. She had to apply pressure, but was careful not to press too hard and dislodge the blade.

  She kept sawing, her gaze darting across the chamber to the timers.

  1:50.

  The rope split.

  No time to cut the bindings on her wrists.

  She had to go.

  1:35.

  She rolled and pivoted upward, fighting for balance, her bound hands making it difficult to stand and eating precious seconds. Finally she was up and ran toward the open door.

  A final look.

  1:27.

  She’d been in tight spots but now this one would leap to the head of the list. Down the tunnel she spotted another rucksack and timer, this one a few seconds behind the two back in the chamber. S
he kept going, finding the gash in the tunnel wall that led to the way out.

  She plunged forward and emerged in the main shaft.

  Another set of explosives was right there, 0:59 showing on the timer.

  She turned and started to run but her boot caught on loose gravel and she fell forward, managing to twist her body and land on her shoulder.

  Which hurt.

  She shook off the pain and waddled up on her feet, beginning to realize just how important arms and hands were to balance. The exit loomed twenty meters ahead, but she could see another batch of explosives just inside, 0:32 on the timer. A deep breath calmed her nerves and she told her legs to keep moving, lowering her head and hunching forward to ensure her footing stayed sure. She could not afford any more stumbles. She could see light beyond the archway that had been dug through the rubble at the mine’s entrance. If she could get beyond that point she might be able to survive the explosions. But four bundles of dynamite were going to pack a punch.

  She kept running, not able to achieve full speed, but enough that she found the archway.

  The last timer read 0:22.

  The two back in the gold chamber were slightly ahead so the fireworks would start there and work its way out to here.

  She emerged from the mine.

  Her gaze raked the scene before her and she decided on a pile of rubble to her right, which she leaped behind.

  A deep rumble signaled the gold chamber was no more.

  Then more explosions followed.

  Finally the dynamite near the exit joined the medley, sending dust and rock and noise spewing outward.

  She lay with her face to the ground.

  A thick cloud of dust swept through the dilapidated building and out into the late afternoon. She coughed away the remnants in her lungs and spit out what had settled in her mouth. She stood with her hands still bound and calmed herself.

  That had been close.

  The mine entrance was gone, now once again packed tight with soil and rock.