The Raft (15 page)

Watching the convention, as any serious
reporter had to do, made Rachael sick. The mix of small-minded
bigotry and NIMBY populism was nauseating, but it delivered on its
promise by swinging many political neophytes to the right-wing
cause.

And it provided the perfect national stage
for a character like Senator Hadian to strut upon.

He spared no straw men from his anger: the
Raft, the gays, the liberals, the foreigners... all blamed for the
decline of American greatness. Pass the 28
^th
Amendment
and America could once again take its place as the envy of the
world, the home of free enterprise, the land of the brave, the home
of the free.

It was the most disgusting sight Rachael had
ever seen.

After the Convention, the proposed amendment
made its way to the State legislatures for ratification. There,
Senator Hadian's political theater collided with political reality.
Three-fourths of the State legislatures would be required for
ratification: thirty-nine. The first two-thirds, those that
initially called for the Constitutional Convention, the flyover
states and the Deep South, quickly affirmed their support. But the
last four states turned out to be hard nuts to crack.

The Amendment was unpopular on the two coasts
and Hawaii, states that had already legalized gay marriage or
same-sex unions in some form. Above all, the Amendment was
unpopular with the American people, with polls showing an almost
two-to-one disgust at the idea of persecuting a minority group in
such a fashion.

Puerto Rico finally succumbed, as did
Illinois, for inexplicable reasons. After a year with the fate of
the Amendment in doubt, the Senator was no closer to federally
defining marriage than he had been before calling his Convention.
He just needed two more states, two state legislatures to back his
Amendment...

But the Left had entrenched itself, circling
the wagons for one last hell-for-leather battle. There'd be no
budging in New England, Democratic support there was far too
strong. Senator Hadian decided to focus his attention on his home
state of Washington, where west-of-the-mountain liberals were
almost equally balanced by east-of-the mountain conservatives.

Senator Hadian, with his seat on the Finance
Committee, brought in a lot of taxpayer dollars to subsidize
agriculture in his home state. A defeat for his Amendment at home
would be a personal humiliation as well as a political one. The
Senator dug in his heels.

He cajoled, he bribed, he threatened, but he
couldn't wring the result out of the Washington legislature that he
demanded. Six months of trying and a dozen up or down votes and the
Senator was at his wit's end. Washington was not going to go his
way, even if it meant the loss of Federal dollars and the
postponement of many needed infrastructure improvements. Rachael
had never been so proud to call herself a Washingtonian as she had
been the day the Senator's Amendment was shot down for the last
time. She applauded, she cheered, she cried.

But the Senator wasn't totally beaten.

Article V, as well as provisioning for the
proposal of a Constitutional Amendment via convention, also
provisioned for the ratification of an Amendment by the same
process.

This section of the law, surprisingly, was
not untested. The 21
^st
Amendment, and the repeal of the
18
^th
Amendment, had been ratified in this fashion.

But could a Constitutional Ratification
Convention be called
after
a State legislature had rejected
an Amendment? The law was unclear, and that cloud of fear still
hung over the whole affair as Rachael sat at Maggie's galley table
waiting for the call from Special Agent Galahad.

Hadian's attempts in both Washington and
Oregon to convene Ratification Conventions were before the US
Supreme Court. Should the Court decide in favor of the Senator,
then the 28
^th
Amendment would pass, and gay marriage in
the United States would be ruled illegal. But should the Court
decide the opposite, or should the Senator befall some sort of
political scandal...

Rachael had it all right in front of her: the
means to put an end to the whole Amendment. She could do so much
good with one small telephone call...

It was twisting her up inside, the
anticipation. She wanted the Senator to be guilty so badly she
could hardly see straight. It took every ounce of her willpower to
maintain her professional ethics, not to jump the gun and let the
facts find the story later. One call and it could all be over. No
more 28
^th
Amendment. No more Senator Hadian.

One call.

Chapter 15

The phone rang, stirring Rachael from her
stupor. She tapped its screen and raised it to her ear.

“You might as well have asked for John the
Baptist's head,” Kid Galahad growled, unconcerned with who was on
the other end of the phone.

“Jezebel did get her prize,” Rachael
replied.

“Indeed she did,” Galahad continued. “And you
can tell your friend that she has hers. The Senator is back in town
for four hours, then he has a plane to catch for the other
Washington. So this farce you've both created better be over before
then. Tell Ms. Straight her twenty-four hours has started. There
will be an SPD vehicle waiting at the lighthouse at West
Point.”

The phone went dead. Rachael's look of
triumph was enough to tell Maggie everything she needed to
know.

“Well I'll be damned,” Maggie said with a
chuckle.

“You're surprised?”

“In fact, I am. I was playing a long
shot.”

“Well, you only have a few hours to get
ashore, and up to the top of Queen Anne. There'll be a car waiting
at Discovery Park.”

“Then there's not a moment to waste.”
Suddenly, after so many hours of idleness, Maggie was all action.
She hopped to her feet and sprang for the companionway.

#

It took them less than forty-five minutes to
maneuver across the last expanse of the Sound into the water of
Shilshole Bay.

The evening was beginning as Maggie weighed
anchor and began to lower her small launch down from the stern of
the
Soft Cell
. The air was warm, scented with the flowers of
summer. Everything about the weather spoke to Rachael of an evening
ripe for lazing on the back deck of the house, talking over her day
with Peter and watching Margaret play in the yard. But the
anticipation knotting up her stomach reminded her no quiet even at
home awaited her onshore.

When Maggie had the fiberglass dinghy in the
water, she installed the tiny, electric outboard. Soon, she and
Rachael were motoring towards a sun-soaked strip of sand, dotted by
beachcombers and playing children. They plowed through the water
towards the small lighthouse that sat at the beach's western
tip.

“You have to promise me that you're going to
behave,” Rachael began as the dinghy bobbed on the tide.

Maggie feigned disgust. “Rachael, what you
must think of me to say such a thing.”

“I mean it, Maggie. I know how offensive you
must find the Senator's very existence. Trust me, I can't stand the
son of a bitch, either. And you're not exactly his idea of a great
American, the female, homosexual, secular, racially-mixed, liberal
tax dodger that you are. But you have to behave. How we act in
front of the Senator will reflect on the paper, and the
Times
has no interest in alienating itself from such a
powerful figure.”

“You mean I shouldn't accuse him of murdering
his crack-whore mistress?”

Rachael shuddered. “Yes, Maggie, that's
exactly what I mean.”

Maggie's launch ran aground softly, scraping
up against the wet sand of low tide. Maggie sprang from the craft,
quickly dragging it up and out of the licking waves of the Puget
Sound. She uncoiled the mooring rope, letting it unravel on the
sand, as she walked backwards up the beach towards the high tide
line. There, she hammered in a stake and tied off the rope.

Rachael threw her feet over the gunwale and
began to put her boots back on.

“Ah,” Maggie had a revelation as Rachael
climbed nimbly out of the small boat.

“What?” Rachael asked, tucking her pant legs
into her boots.

“I forgot... I mean, I don't actually own...”
Maggie looked at her toes, letting them curl in the sand.

“You don't have any shoes?” Rachael asked in
surprise.

“Nope.”

“Not even heels? For a special occasion?”

“Nope, no need...”

Rachael shook her head. “Well then, just
watch where you step.”

There was a black SUV up beyond the tall
grass that backed the beach. A man in a suit stood beside it, his
hands held up to shade his eyes against the evening sun. When
Rachael and Maggie turned their attention to the car, the man
raised an arm and waved.

“That must be our ride,” Rachael said,
starting up the beach. Maggie followed, looking down at her feet.
She wobbled as she walked, unsure of her footing on the soft sand.
The wobble didn't abate when they cleared the beach and began along
the short length of blacktop between the lighthouse and the SUV.
After a few steps, she stumbled.

“Are you okay?” Rachael asked, holding out a
hand to help Maggie back to her feet.

“I don't think I have my land legs yet,” she
said, taking Rachael's hand.

“Ms. Straight? Ms. Bigallo?” The man in the
suit had stepped away from the SUV. He was a short, athletic Asian
man with a good-looking, genial face. “I'm Detective Sargent Yi, I
work with your husband, Ms. Bigallo. Are you all right, Ms.
Straight?” he asked.

“Fine, fine.” Maggie dusted off her
jeans.

When Rachael had Maggie back on her feet, she
offered the free hand to the young man. “Thank you, Detective
Sargent.” They shook.

“If I understand the situation,” Yi smiled.
“You first have an appointment with Senator Hadian at his home.”
The Detective Sargent turned back to the SUV and opened one of the
large passenger doors. “Those Agents from the FBI: Galahad, Rolph,
and Chesterton, I'm told they'll meet you there. Then I'm to take
you to County.”

Yi held the door open as the ladies climbed
into the backseat. When they were inside, he swung the door closed
softly and circled around the car.

To Maggie, the SUV was enormous, an
American-made behemoth. She only vaguely remembered that vehicles
on land were made in such grandiose proportions. And luxurious,
too. The soft leather seats were a sensory pleasure. Maggie took a
moment to enjoy the interior as Yi climbed into the driver's seat.
The lights faded and the console softly illuminated as he turned on
the ignition. Beautiful.

Detective Sargent Yi brought the SUV around
in a wide arc, and pulled away from the beach with enough torque to
push Maggie back gently into the plush comfort of her seat. Thrust,
Maggie remembered, the power of a gasoline engine. So many
sensations were returning to her after a five-year absence. She
smiled.

Soon they were climbing up the hillside away
from the beach, a long, straight hill climb that made the engine of
the truck strain. The Detective Sargent was speaking but Maggie was
distracted at the sight of trees passing outside her window. She
rolled it down, letting the scent of the pines waft in her
face.

“So forgive me if I put my foot in my mouth,”
Yi chuckled. He was talking and driving, glancing up into the
rearview mirror to look back at his passengers. “But I was told to
extend Ms. Straight all diplomatic courtesy. Is that on the level?
I mean, are you some sort of Raft ambassador?”

Maggie was oblivious. As the park gave way
and the buildings of Magnolia appeared beside the road, Maggie
looked on in enthralled wonder.

Rachael, however, was polite. “Ms. Straight
is...” Rachael searched for the words. “She's not really here, if
you know what I mean, Detective Sargent. This visit is all
unofficial. The Raft doesn't know she's here and the Feds have
agreed to turn a blind eye. As you can imagine, for tax
reasons...”

“I get it, I get it,” Yi nodded at his rear
view. “I saw nothing, I drove no one nowhere.”

“Exactly,” Rachael smiled.

A right, then another right, and then the SUV
was on a more major thoroughfare. The sight of Salmon Bay was to
their left with the Ballard Bridge crossing it, glistening in the
sun. Maggie watched it all with a childlike wonder.

At Dravus they took a left. There, they met
with their first significant traffic. A light turned red and the
SUV rolled to a halt.

“Ooo, ice cream, let's get ice cream,” Maggie
said, spotting a 7-Eleven beside the road.

“Maybe later,” Rachael replied.

“I can't tell you the last time I had ice
cream.” The light turned green and the SUV again began to roll.
Maggie watch the 7-Eleven pass by with disappointment.

“We'll get ice cream,” Rachael assured. “But
later.”

Across 15
^th
, Dravus began its
climb up the side of Queen Anne Hill. The SUV roared, its engine
revving, as it climbed up the switchbacks. At the summit of the
hill, the afternoon sun vanished behind the canopy of leafy,
tree-lined streets. Left and right the SUV maneuvered until Maggie
was hopelessly lost. Even Rachael was unsure of their exact
whereabouts until the SUV rolled out onto Highland Drive and began
to pass the grand mansions that faced out over Elliot Bay.

“Here we are,” Yi said as he brought the
truck to a halt before one of the larger homes. There were two
other SUVs like Yi's already parked in front of the house, along
with a police cruiser. A uniformed officer stood in the drive way
of the home, holding a rifle. As Yi stepped out of the SUV, the
officer acknowledged him with a wave. “This way,” Yi said to the
ladies.