The Return of Elliott Eastman (11 page)

Chapter Twenty-Four

If Nick Cobbings was furious when he walked off the House floor, he was purple faced livid when his exchange with the House video system made the evening news and all the rounds of the morning news shows as well.

“That was not me. I want to know who is behind this. I want the bastard’s name and the names of all his relatives!” he shouted as he tossed a chair across his office.

“Let’s get on the phones right now to every senator we know,” Cobbings said. “This damn bill is dead meat!”

Bainer and Whitback were reluctant to do so. The senators were off on break at the moment, but Cobbings’ rage was such that they felt compelled to make the calls.

He, Bainer and Whitback worked the phones far into the night calling in favors from senators they’d worked with over the years. It was Washington politics at its darkest. They cajoled, offered their votes on a senator’s pet project, threatened to withdraw a vote and even suggested an earmark or two, like a library in the senator’s district named after the good senator. They played every card they could and each ended their pleadings with the comment that all they were asking for was a no vote on a bill that was very questionable in the first place. They made each senator feel as though his or her influence in the Senate, their vote, would be so important as to be considered the final deciding factor on whether H.R. 2239 lived or died. The three men met with considerable success. Before the night was out they’d made arrangements to meet with several influential senators and contacted ALEC, the American Legislative Exchange Council, and arranged for a sit down the following day to brainstorm amendments to the bill that would effectively shelve it forever. Bainer’s statement to Bruce Bennett had been no empty threat. The freshman representative had indeed made some powerful enemies.

The meeting was held in Nick Cobbings’ private office and consisted of Senator Tom Coryn, Republican from Texas who sat on the Senate Armed Services Committee, Senator Wade Biggs, Republican from Nebraska who chaired the Senate Finance Committee, and Senators Jim Johnson and Brian Nelson who sat on the Appropriations Committee. Bainer, Cobbings and Whitback were there, as well as two senior consultants from ALEC, William Allison and Carl Hayden.

“So how badly do we want to damage this bill’s chance of survival?” Allison asked, setting the tone of the meeting as he sipped his coffee.

“I want it sent to the Banking, Armed Services and Appropriations committees,” Cobbings said with a sly smile. “I have friends there.”

The four senators laughed as one.

“I want to amend it in a myriad of ways. I want it so twisted by the time it leaves committee it will be unrecognizable,” Cobbings growled. He was no longer concerned with the merits of the bill. He was concerned with one thing and one thing only: vengeance. He wanted the bill utterly crushed and those backing it humbled for the entire world to see, just as he had been.

“Done,” Allison said as he jotted notes on a yellow legal pad.

“I want to hit them with every conceivable committee response and let them figure it out. I want it to be years before that bill sees the light of day,” Cobbings continued.

“Just who is ‘them’?” Allison wondered aloud.

“Good question,” Bainer chimed in. “I was wondering that myself. Some smart bugger is running the show behind the scenes. Bennett is too young and inexperienced to have pulled that off by himself.”

“Which reminds me,” Whitback broke in, leaning down and opening his brief case. He pulled several photos from it and laid them on the table.

“I have had several reports from some of our colleagues in the hallways that these two men are posing as lobbyists representing The Anvil Group, but they seemed more intent on gathering information from those who were waiting to speak to the various representatives on those committees. I have never heard of The Anvil Group, nor are they registered as a lobbying firm.”

The photos depicted Eddie Kelley and James Lally gathering business cards and information from the lobbyists waiting in the hallway outside the House Appropriations Committee hearings. Several were close up.

“And your point is?” Cobbings asked.

“We’ve got a situation where we were hornswaggled in the House and we have new faces gathering information for a company which doesn’t exist. I think there may be a connection,” Whitback explained.

Cobbings attention was instantly galvanized into action. “I want the names, addresses and life history of each of these jokers.”

“That will cost something,” Allison said.

“I’ll handle that,” Bainer interrupted. “I happen to know that Senator Graham, the Chairman of the Senate Banking Committee, has worked on occasion with a certain Doc Hastings. Doc has a certain individual who does a lot of night work, which is what we’re going to need here.”

“Doc Hastings of Breaux Lott Leadership Group?” Allison quickly asked.

“One and the same. You know him?”

“I know of him? How do you know him?”

“Senator Graham and I did some work together recently pushing through some earmarks for a pharmaceutical company, research funds and the like, which was authored and backed by the Hastings team. It was a last minute affair and the kickbacks didn’t go through the usual channels,” Bainer explained. “There’s a money drop tonight.”

“There’s actually to be two separate money drops tonight for Graham. The kickback is one, but there is a second drop from some banking groups to ensure Graham votes no on SB 1190. In fact, I happen to know from a very reliable source that the kickback payment is in the 50k range,” Wade Biggs interjected.

Cobbings released a low whistle. “Fifty thousand, well at least we’ve secured one no vote. We can be certain that Graham will vote against the bill,” Cobbings said with a laugh.

The other men in the room enjoyed a hearty chuckle.

“If you’ll trust me with the photos I’ll see they get to Doc Hastings,” Bainer said.

“They’re all yours. I have copies,” Whitback said, pushing the photos across the table.

“So, I think I have a reasonable understanding of the sentiment in the room towards this bill. Let me put some people to work on it and we’ll come up with wording for some amendments which should please you,” Allison suggested.

“We’ll meet a few days from now,” Bainer agreed.

They all shook hands and filed out of Cobbings’ office. Wade Biggs was the last to leave. As he was retrieving his heavy over coat from the guest closet Cobbings pulled him aside.

“$50,000 for one senator?” Cobbings asked in a low voice. “That’s a far larger sum than I’ve ever heard being delivered before. Are you sure of your facts?”

Wade Biggs smiled. “I am sure. I happen to know a number of the bank lobbyists personally. I believe there is a larger sum coming my way within the week.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Look Cobbings. I don’t think you understand what you’re dealing with here. They are worried. The over-the-counter derivatives market is 600 trillion dollars annually. It’s virtually unregulated and they can claim there are 1,100 commercial banks involved, but 80%, hell 90% of the business is controlled by five big banks. You know their names. They know that once the ball gets rolling and the feds start taxing the trades it’s likely to snowball. The feds need money desperately and the transaction fee is likely to grow in size. This will take a considerable chunk out of their earnings. They want this bill killed more than you do.”

Cobbings stared at Biggs in quiet disbelief. It was true he had little idea of the immensity of the market.

“I’ll tell you something else, just between friends; this derivative stuff scares the hell out of me. These banks are leveraged to the hilt. If we get another ‘credit event’ it will make Lehman Brothers look like a walk in the park. I, for one, don’t put my money anywhere near those banks. Good night.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

The following morning Elliott woke early after a fitful night’s sleep. He stared at the dozen pills in the palm of his hand. At one point he’d known what each of them was for, but he’d long since forgotten. Gulping them down with a cup of black coffee he clicked on the television remote and tuned it to CNN. Settling into his chair he switched on his computer as well. CNN repeatedly showed Nick Cobbings marching ashen-faced from the House floor while the scroll underneath indicated the Speaker had suddenly taken ill and would not be working today.

With a second cup of coffee he read the New York Times and the Wall Street Journal online. The account of the passage of H.R.2239 was second page news, but each paper covered it thoroughly. Each speculated that the effect of the YouTube videos, the text message onslaught, and the online infomercials and regular print attack ads had raised the awareness of the public as to the issues at stake and played a pivotal roll in pressuring the House to act quickly and responsibly.

“If you only knew the whole story,” Elliott murmured as his phone rang.

“Elliott here,” he said.

“Elliott, Paul White.”

“Good morning, Mr. President.”

“Not really. My people on the hill are telling me that Bainer and Cobbings have been calling all the power seats in the Senate demanding they be placed on any joint conference committee dealing with the ‘War on the Deficit’ bill. And Bainer is suggesting none too subtly that the Senate’s Finance Committee, where he has close friends, should be the first to review it as well as Armed Services and the Appropriations Committees. He’s out for blood.”

“We can deal with him,” Elliott said softly.

“I would caution you not to be over confident. Bainer has been around. He’s an old junkyard dog and I suspect Cobbings, who is no slouch either, is behind all these maneuvers as well. I can’t recall a time when so much attention was being paid to a bill behind the scenes to ensure which committee investigates. Once the wheels start moving in the Senate they can crush almost any bill, no matter how deserving it is of passage.”

“We’re going to pull out all the stops, Paul,” Elliott stated calmly.

“We’ll have to,” the President said. “They’re lining up a veritable who’s who of bill killers up there.”

“We’ve still got a few tricks up our sleeves. And Paul, I view this as the most important piece of legislation in our lifetime. I’ll not play their games this time around. If need be, heads will roll.”

When the ‘War on the Deficit’ bill reached the senate it was given new life as Senate Bill 1190.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Eddie Kelley’s sixth sense was telling him they needed more help. The test run was a success, but still they would need to bring some additional hands on board. He sent e-mails to former members of the Master Sergeant’s team from Iraq. There were a few dozen he knew he could trust completely. He outlined the multi-faceted plan in great detail to each of them and received unanimous agreement, with only Mike Murphy registering the slightest reluctance.

“Mike, we can’t hack phones or computers. Remember Rupert Murdoch and News Corp a few years back? That’s how they were busted. They could identify the hackers. We’re operating under old school rules with old fashioned listening devices.”

“Isn’t that kinda underhanded?”

“And you think these guys in the Senate are playing the game by the rules? You and I know they were bought off by big money years ago,” Eddie stated firmly.

Murphy laughed. “Okay, okay I get your point.”

“We’ve executed a successful test run. We need to know how to bring extraordinary pressure on key senators, enough to counteract the influence of the corporations, lobbyists and the Super Pacs. As I said, we’ve already made a test run. James Lally, posing as a United Parcel deliveryman, has already dropped in on several senators’ offices and some big time lobbyists, I might add, and slipped listening devices under the desks so the wheels are in motion. Can we count on you, Mike?”

“You bet.”

Twenty-four hours later Mike Murphy was seated at a posh Washington watering hole. It was happy hour and he was monitoring several interesting conversations using a pencil sized recording/video device. Senator Wade Biggs, head of the Senate Finance Committee, was seated in a booth with one of his secretaries, a married and very attractive red head. Mike’s miniature camera and recorder could work wonders picking up single conversations in a crowded and very loud room.

“Take my word for it. The bill will die a slow death,” Wade was saying as he caressed the woman’s leg. The video camera resting in Mike’s lap was recording every detail.

Meanwhile, Eddie Kelley followed Ricky Funk from his office at the lobbying firm Breaux Lott Leadership Group to the swanky Four Seasons Hotel in Upper Manhattan. Ricky liked to think of himself as an up and comer. He dressed in stylish suits, drove a big black Mercedes and liked to be seen with pretty women. He’d started work as a congressional page and then found himself on Senator Graham’s staff, often running ‘special’ errands. It wasn’t long before he’d come to the attention of Doc Hastings. They called him ‘Doc’ because he had a knack for fixing problems. Soon Ricky found himself in the personal employ of Doc and enjoying a six-figure income.

Once at the Four Seasons, Ricky took the express elevator to the penthouse. Eddie waited in the bar. Two hours passed before Ricky returned. He stepped out of the elevator, looked furtively both ways, and then made a beeline for the front doors. Eddie followed at a discreet distance. When Ricky opened the door to his Mercedes Eddie appeared beside him. Shoving a gun in the courier’s side Eddie said, “No quick moves. Get in and move over to the passenger side.”

“Who are you?” Ricky began to protest.

Eddie shoved the gun viciously into the smaller man’s side again and spat one word at him, “Move!”

Ricky complied. As Eddie climbed in after him he hit the record button on the tape recorder inside his jacket.

“You are Richard Funk from Breaux Lott Leadership and you just met with representatives of Senator Curt Graham. You delivered $50,000 in small bills in exchange for a vote against SB 1190. The money was provided by a consortium of big banking houses.”

“Who are you? How do you know all this?”

“It doesn’t matter who I am, but there is something you need to know. I am part of a grassroots effort to clean up our government. We’re targeting companies like yours. Now we’re going to turn in the facts regarding your little escapade tonight to the Justice Department. I can leave your name out of it. You’re just the bag boy, the little guy who usually gets 25 years to life while the bigwigs get a slap on the wrist. I want the name of your superiors who set this up.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Give me the name and I step out of your car and you never see me again. You don’t give me the name and we drive to a secluded location where a couple of my friends are waiting. They are not nice people and you give me the name anyway.”

For a moment Ricky hesitated and he cast a quick glance at the door handle. Eddie pressed the button on his side locking all the doors. Ricky sighed.

Ashen faced he whispered. “It was Doc Hastings.”

“Doc?”

“Arnold, Arnold ‘Doc’ Hastings arranged the drop, but I don’t know what companies gave him the dough.”

“Thank you. Have a nice evening,” Eddie said and disappeared into the night.

When he was a block away Eddie ducked into a bar and called Elliott.

“It worked like a charm. Got the name and recorded his admission of what went down at the Four Seasons,” Eddie said.

“Good. Nice work. So merely sticking a listening device under a desk we can snag their plans and throw a wrench in them.”

“I’ll say. It was like clockwork. And remember that was just an old garden-variety bug. I’ve got the DARPA stuff coming and I’ve been told those bugs will pick up the voice on the other end of the line as well. We’ll get both sides of the conversation,” Eddie added.

“What’s the world coming too?” Elliott asked.

“You said you wanted to go after them. The DARPA stuff is not even available on the commercial markets. It’s the stuff of legends.”

“I know, I know. I’ll send you an e-mail with the letter we’re going to deliver to our bag boy’s boss. Can you make copies of the tape?”

“No problem.”

“Can you contact James and tell him we need his skills as a United Parcel Delivery man again?”

“Sure thing, I’ll have him meet me tomorrow morning at the safe house in Alexandria,” Eddie replied and then added, “Say, are you feeling okay? Your voice sounds a little different.”

“I’m just tired. Thanks for asking.”

“Okay. Talk with you soon.”