Senate Cloakroom Cabal (18 page)

“I checked in with Anna. Tyler's bathing.”

“I'll get there by 6:00. Ralph told me they enjoyed the visit Saturday and that he would be looking into some things for you. He thinks those senators have overstepped their bounds and may have left a wake behind them.”

“I appreciate in advance everything he can do. Give our little boy a hug from me.”

“I'll give him a couple. Enjoy yourself.”

“Love you.”

“Love you.”

I slid the pillow away and stretched out. My mind wandered all over with no one thing capturing my thoughts. I set my travel alarm to go off at 5:50 and took a nap.

When I walked onto the terrace that overlooked an extensive pasture, I found the McAllisters and another couple sitting at an umbrella-shaded patio table. Two horses were grazing at a nearby pasture fence adjacent to the barn.

“Ah, Laura,” Rufus said, standing. “Please.” He gestured to the chair he was holding out for me. “Frank, Jane, this is Laura Wolfe, a friend of Ro's.”

I had wondered how he was going to handle who I was. We greeted all around, and I sat. The conversation was general, but when the sister asked me a personal question, Rufus jumped in with an answer and quickly diverted the conversation to another subject. Following dinner, he excused the two of us, saying he wanted to show me the horses. We walked out through the kitchen and into the side yard, out of view from everyone else.

“I apologize for my sister, she's a bit of a snoop,” he said earnestly.

“I thought you handled it like an expert fencer parrying an opponent's thrust.” I used the metaphor to infer he had done a courteous thing.

“You're too kind,” he said, bowing his head.

We both laughed.

“Come on,” he said, taking my arm. “You have family?”

We began walking. “I bet you already know the answer to that.”

“Me . . . why?” Then he grinned. “Yeah, I do. I like to know who I'm dealing with.”

“That's fair. Did I pass muster?” I liked this man. I wasn't fooled into feeling he was a touchy-feely kind of a guy. I was sure he'd laid some leather on some skin. Right now, he was showing me his warm side. I hoped he and Jerry would have the chance to meet one day.

“I have a wonderful husband and a beautiful eight-month-old son, whom I am missing. This is the first night I have not been there to kiss him goodnight.”

“Keep those feelings,” he said ruefully. “Nothing's worth losing that.”

“I have no intentions of letting anything change that, I assure you.”

He looked me in the eye. “I believe you. Come on, you can see where you want to set us up for tomorrow.”

I held back, and he stopped. “What?” he asked concerned.

“A question, Governor. You've been around the horn and taken the measure of a lot of people.” I had his attention. “Do you think Tom Kelly could forsake principle and a career for money?”

My question caught him off guard, which is why I chose this moment in time to ask it.

“I have no first-hand knowledge of the man,” he said cautiously.

“You don't need it.” I knew his answer was a stall. He'd gotten my meaning.

“Yes, and that's what scares the bejesus out of me, for Ro. If he's that cold and calculating, then he's capable of going to any means to meet his end. Men like that—and believe me I was no saint, but I drew the line— they have no compunctions about doing what's needed to get their way.”

Our walk took us to the pasture fence. It was three rows of long wooden rails painted white. I took a deep breath, as if enjoying the fresh air, and then took the plunge. “I don't know if you know who Harley Rogers is. He—”

“He the one who created the drug that's got Kelly and the pharmas in a hissy-fit?”

I suppressed a laugh. “He is. Michael Horne and I visited him in New Jersey recently. He's a fit old man, in his mid-eighties. His son Sherman runs the place, handles the day-to-day.”

I paused looking out over the pasture and the two horses still grazing near the barn. Rufus leaned on the fence looking in the same direction, but more toward the horizon where the sun would soon set. I placed a hand on the rail and continued, “I found Harley to be a complex person. He suffered a huge defeat with his miracle drug that could bankrupt him, yet he neither acted down nor showed he was particularly worried.”

I waited for him to reply. He held his pose looking off in the distance. I didn't think his mind was on the scenery. He let his foot slide off the rail and looked me straight in the eye. “Men take defeat in a variety of ways. Some act nonchalant, which maybe keeps them from committing suicide. Some suck it up, come up off the canvas, and struggle to get to the bell. Some plan for the eventuality of defeat and take measures to shore things up and keep everything from caving in. Some plan ways of circumventing bad news with something already on the back burner that could turn defeat into victory.”

He returned to leaning on the fence, looking out over the pasture.

Somewhere on Rufus's menu was Harley. I felt he was scratching, unsure of how much I knew. On the other hand, he could be telling me without telling me and wants to see if I could pick it out. I liked his metaphors, but decided not to take the bait.

Harley's movements of people and equipment could have the trappings of a military maneuver. Rufus had corroborated for me that Harley had a plan, or that he had already implemented one.

And that would be up to me to uncover.

41

I
woke refreshed at 6:30 in my hotel room, showered and dressed, went down for a light breakfast, and read the local paper. When I returned to my room, I called Jerry.

“I'm pretty sure Harley has an ace up his sleeve. Rufus knows, but is not talking. He gave me a little parable, with four choices, one I'm sure fits Harley. Dalton told me her father likes playing games, to see how smart the other person is.”

Jerry laughed. “He doesn't know who he's going against, if he's taking you on.”

I love my husband. “It's time. Give my boy a hug . . . tell him his mom loves him.”

“He already knows, but I will tell him anyway. Love you.”

“Love you.”

Johnny was waiting, parked right outside the hotel's front door. We chatted comfortably while he drove along a scenic road to the McAllister's. “The governor sure has been enjoying your visit. He's looking forward to the picture-taking,” the likable man, who had a friendly child-like demeanor, said.

We arrived in twenty minutes. The photo crew was already busy at work. The photographer told me he had visited a week earlier to get familiar with the grounds. All of his ideas sounded fine to me. The only request I made was that he get pictures of the governor astride his horse. The photographer understood.

The shoot went well. The photographer and Lori Chow had agreed that for the space she could give it, the house was the only place they'd shoot.

I enjoyed watching. Mrs. M was atwitter. I noticed fresh flowers in the living room and large foyer. We got Rufus on his horse. Both were up for the occasion.

At our food break, we all were treated to a gracious and plentiful lunch. Afterward, there were two inside photo sessions. It was over by 3:00. At one point, I had a little time with Mrs. M. That was a trip. She was vapid and noncommittal. Even with my prompting, she skirted all talk about Reggie and Rusty, except for flowery remarks about their lovely homes and beautiful children.

When the crew had gone, I discovered that Rufus had as well. I walked around the estate for about an hour, freshened up in my room, and went down for cocktails and another scrumptious supper. It was just the three of us. Mrs. M was more engaging this time. They both talked about the senator. The memories were golden.

The McAllisters were marvelous hosts. I had checked in with Lori earlier. The photographer had emailed her the pictures, and she was delighted. Because there was now no need for me to stay on for a supplemental morning shoot, I was able to move tomorrow's flight from early afternoon to 11 a.m. Johnny drove me to the hotel, and Rufus came along.

As I got out, he thanked me for coming and for what I was doing for Ro. “Johnny will pick you up at 9:00 tomorrow.”

“Thank you for your hospitality and wonderful conversation, Rufus. I can honestly say I enjoyed my entire time.”

I didn't see him the next morning, but that didn't surprise me. We'd said our goodbyes. Johnny was sweet and gracious. We talked a little at the beginning of the drive to the airport, but fell into silence for the rest of the ride. When I alighted, with Johnny holding the door, he handed me a white, card-size envelope.

“This is from the governor, ma'am. He asked if you would please wait until you are in the air before you open it,” he said precisely and politely.

Why wait I wondered? “Thank you, Johnny. Tell him I will do as he asks.”

“Yes ma'am.”

Johnny retrieved my carry-on from the trunk, gave it to a skycap, and returned to me.

“I was going to carry that on, Johnny.”

“Yes ma'am. I just asked the man to see you through security, make sure everything goes okay. You'll have your bag. He will take good care of you. I already took care of him.”

With that, he tipped his cap and went to the limo.

The skycap was waiting for me. “If you'll have your ticket and ID out, we can get you right through, ma'am.”

We were in Rufus McAllister country. Although the line at the security gate wasn't very long, one word from my escort and we were moved over to the first-class gate. I had well over an hour before my plane and browsed a sundries shop, buying a book entitled
Fix-Up Tips For Your Home.

Once my carry-on was in the overhead and my computer bag under the seat, I sat back and flipped through the in-flight magazine, stopping to scan a story on Georgetown in DC. They had most things right except about Metrorail, where they had revised history. A quote from a merchant complained that they should have gotten a Metro station, saying they were overlooked for political reasons back when the system was planned.

The writer didn't editorialize or give the real reason. The truth was that, back in the 1950s or 1960s when Metrorail routes and stations were being planned, the Georgetown residents and merchants overwhelmingly turned down having a Metro stop in their community. They didn't want undesirables having such easy access to their precious village.

It was not Metrorail's or the planners' fault. It didn't take many years after Metro was running deep into the suburbs that Georgetownians realized their mistake. Now riders have to walk five to twelve blocks from the Foggy Bottom station; trek back across the Potomac River on Key Bridge from the Rosslyn, Virginia, station; or clog the roads with their cars.

History revisionists drive me crazy. I stuffed the magazine into the seat pocket, like it was the publisher's fault. I took Rufus's letter from my bag. The plane was sparsely filled, and I had no row mates. I put up the arm rest between seats, checked my seat belt, and laid my head back, closing my eyes. I'm always a little anxious during takeoff.

Once we were airborne, I looked at the envelope. I stared at my first name on the face of it, and then opened it.

Dear Laura:

Thanks for being a good friend to Ro. You will find she will
be a good friend in return. I've given a lot of thought to what I'm
going to tell you. Ro doesn't know this, but my association with
Harley began with a phone call from him well before Ro was a
senator. My call to him before your visit to New Jersey is as you
know it to be.

Harley is going offshore to manufacture his drug and will
distribute it through a German pharmaceutical company.
That's all I know.

He called me a couple of years ago about security companies.
He ended up using an outfit I believe is thorough and trustworthy.
That's all he wanted from me. Please convey this to Ro for me?

I know she will think I'm involved because of her, putting in
my two cents. But I assure you I am not. My hope is that with
you telling her, she can rest assured I am not meddling in her
affairs. I don't want her thinking that my talking with Harley
was because I thought she needed help. That's not true.

The only call I made to Harley was, as I have said, to tell
him that the Senator Dalton who was sending two people up to
talk to him was my daughter.

I didn't ask for anything. I only wanted him to know that. I
love my daughter, Laura, and I am immensely proud of all she
is doing and will accomplish. In no way do I think she can't do
it without my help. Shoot, she'll do it a whole lot better without
me.

Much thanks. You're good people.

RMcA

My eyes teared before I finished. I wiped them away. Family relationships are so complex. Roanne was the only one of his children he stood a chance with, and he feared one misstep on his part could cause him to lose her.

I thought of the years that were lost between my parents and me. Thank God for my Mom, who took the chance of being rebuffed by me—again— when she wrote me a month after I had broken the serial-killing story. That was how she'd known I was pregnant, because Dad had run excerpts of my exclusive breaking story and subsequent pieces by me in the
Star
.

I had shown Jerry the letter from Mom. He was noncommittal, only saying it was nice, but offering no advice. It took me a week to get around to writing her back. That began my recovery with my parents. I put Rufus's letter away and blew my nose. My concern now was how to go around Michael to talk with the senator alone.

As soon as I was on the ground, I called Michael's cell. He answered after the first ring. I gave him a rundown on my meeting with the governor and concluded with, “I think he's inserted himself into the Rogers's project; however, I don't think the senator needs to know that now.”