The Return of Elliott Eastman (14 page)

Elliott laughed. “No I’m not. I would love to see you, but I’ve got a lot on my plate right now.”

“Alright, the young, I’ll bite. The first thing that comes to mind is what the banks and Sallie Mae have done. You know, reducing their interest rates. As I understand it this is just a temporary effort to help jumpstart the economy. Today’s kids are the most indebted generation in history, at least for that age group. But they are the flip side of the social security play. It’s a ‘get out of debt free’ card for future generations so they don’t have to pay the retirement bill for the elderly. You need to play that up.”

“That’s exactly what I told Paul,” Elliott exclaimed.

“Paul who? Paul White? You’ve been talking to the President. I knew you were behind this!”

“No, it wasn’t Paul White. It was Paul, Paul …”

Stephanie giggled. “You are the worst liar.”

“Okay, it was Paul White, but I don’t want that to leak out. Please don’t repeat that to anyone!”

“If you don’t agree to visit me I can guarantee the media will get hold of that information somehow.”

“Blackmail, will you stoop so low?”

“I will.”

“The truth is I would love to see you.”

“That’s better. I won’t press for an exact date for our rendezvous at the moment, but I want you to give it some thought. It’s something we should do. We aren’t getting any younger, but back to the matters at hand. I saw a YouTube video rather like the old Uncle Sam poster, ‘I WANT YOU!’, but with a young woman as the speaker. It seemed to be effective. I suggest you contact a photographer and film a video announcing the event. You know, dates and times to be in Washington for the vote. By the way, when is the vote?”

“It’s just been submitted to several committees, but as soon as I have a firm set of dates I’ll let you know,” Elliott promised.

“I’ll contact the various taxpayer groups and AARP and start the letter writing campaign and wait to hear from you.”

“Okay, thanks for everything. I’ll be in touch.”

“Elliott? I meant what I said. I would love to see you again. Are you in Washington or Colorado?”

“Colorado.”

“I want you to promise me you’ll call me when you are planning to come to D.C.”

Elliott glanced at the calendar on his desk and noted he had another dose of chemo to deal with in ten days.

“I promise you, Steph. I would love to see you. I still love you. I’ll always love you.”

“Oh, Elliott,” Stephanie cried and hung up before he could hear the tears in her voice.

Elliott sat staring at the phone. ‘He probably shouldn’t have said that,’ he thought. It was not fair to Stephanie if he were to reignite their passion for each other right before he … before he … left. The thought was not a pleasing one.

Suddenly Elliott felt very tired. He yawned and glanced at his watch. It was only noon, but a siesta seemed like it was in order. He went to the bathroom and brushed his teeth. As he brushed he studied his eyes, the yellow orbs staring back at him spoke of the stress his liver was under. They were slowly changing color to match the solid gold handles on the sink in front of him. The eyes, underlined with dark circles, sat in a face growing more hollow cheeked by the day. He also noticed that his hair was starting to thin due to the Chemo treatments. He’d grown so accustomed to the dull pain in his side that he barely noticed it anymore, but a new pain in his right leg just above his ankle was beginning to worry him. He pulled the brush from his mouth and noticed a faint pink to the bristles. After he rinsed his mouth he studied his gums and pulled at a tooth or two. One seemed loose and he noted blood seeping around the gums. For a moment he leaned heavily on the countertop and then in anger he spat a crimson glob into the sink.

He couldn’t let Stephanie see him this way. As much as he longed to see her, yearned to hold her once again, the person he was slowly becoming was not the one he wanted her to remember him as. They had always laughed and poked fun and simply enjoyed each other’s company. After a moment together she’d know instantly something was desperately wrong. It could not happen. In fury he threw the toothbrush at the mirror and retreated to the dark solace of his bedroom where he pulled a picture of her from his nightstand and sat holding it for a long time.

Chapter Thirty-Two

The following morning a fleet of chocolate brown mail cars left an old warehouse yard and sped towards Capitol Hill, the Beltway and the Senate offices. James Lally had briefed the men about how he’d approached the job and felt they would perform admirably. They were given three addresses each to visit. The senators in question had been chosen because they were seated on a committee or subcommittee that was going to be deeply affected by the proposed legislation and therefore were likely to be in a position to vote or amend SB 1190. According to the thick dossier compiled on each of them they had certain weaknesses that might be exploited, but this was to be the initial salvo; a simple invitation.

Each man carried a parcel which contained a glossy invitation to a brainstorming session at the Four Seasons hosted by American Defense International, Rodesta Group and Potomac Advisors. The lobbying companies had been chosen because they represented Lockheed, Raytheon and a number of other major players in the defense industry as well as the powerful big banks. The invitation spoke of a general evening of fine food and strategy sessions dealing with current affairs of special interest to senators. The first went to Jim Johnson, Democrat from South Dakota who sits on the Appropriations Committee, and specifically on the sub-committee for Military Construction, Veterans Affairs and Related Agencies. Another invite went to Robert Durbin, Democrat from Illinois who sits on the Financial Services and General Government Committee, and another to Brian Nelson, Democrat from Florida who sits on the Armed Services and chairs the Emerging Threats and Capabilities Sub-Committee. Brent Conrad, Democrat from North Dakota who chairs the Budget Committee, and James Bingham, Democrat from New Mexico who sits on the Fiscal Responsibility and Economic Growth Committee were invitees as well. All told fifty eight senators, all sitting members on key committees such as the Appropriations, Finance, Foreign Relations, Armed Services and the Banking, Housing and Urban Affairs received the gaudy invites for the meeting at the Four Seasons two nights from now. At the same time they were signing the United Parcel receipt book a microscopic bug was dropped on each of their desks near the phone. The feeds from the bugs were set up to transmit to ‘Backspace’ Conner’s set of servers down in Atlanta. Within an hour of the invitations being delivered, Senator Jim Johnson called Senator Brian Nelson and his secretary immediately patched him through. ‘Backspace’ was listening in.

“I saw your name on the invite guest list. Did you open yours yet?”

“Yeah, just did,” replied Brian. “What do you think?”

“I’m not going to miss it. I’m sure the food will be terrific, and those guys are some heavy hitters. It could pay some big time dividends down the road.”

“It seems a little strange to me. What does ‘dealing with the current affairs’ mean? Normally these invites are a little vague as to the topic, but this is down right mysterious.”

Jim laughed. “Now what do you think they could be hinting at with that wording? Maybe it’s the only topic on every ones mind in Washington. What is the one thing on the tip of everyone’s tongue?”

“SB 1190?” Brian suggested.

“Bingo, my good man.”

“And then to mention a ‘Strategy Session’? That seems odd.”

“Pretty bold, but I think these guys are shaking in their boots. Make no mistake about it. This is a meeting to map a plan of attack on SB 1190. The base closures will cost some big companies a fortune. The transaction fee on stocks and currency trades; I’ve already heard from some companies concerning the impact to some of the big players that trade millions of shares a day. And this whole prison thing down in Texas. I’ve heard they have so many escapees showing up and now parolees showing up they’re referring to it as the new prison model. Complete rehabilitation. The ‘for profit’ prison is going to be a thing of the past.”

“Was that in SB 1190?” Brian asked.

“It was added as a rider at the last second when the House passed it and will ultimately save the Federal government billions and save the states millions as well, and put the ‘for profit’ prisons and all their suppliers out of business.”

“Somehow I missed that part of it,” Brian Nelson admitted.

“Don’t worry about it. If you blinked you could have missed it.”

“Well, I’m going for sure,” Brian stated.

“My wife loves these dinners. She’ll be upset if she can’t go. There’s an R.S.V.P. phone number here. Maybe I’ll give them a call.”

“Go for it,” Jim suggested. “If there are any earth shattering revelations, let me know?”

Brian hung up and called the number on the invite.

Backspace had anticipated the possibility and knew he would need someone to help with the phones. He paid his ex-wife a queenly sum to handle the phones for a few days. Archie and Goldie had first met when he was on a photo shoot for a Dallas Cowboys Calendar. He’d noticed her right off. Not simply because she was astonishingly beautiful, but because of a quirky smile she had with deep dimples and a willingness to laugh out loud at his silly jokes. They’d hit it off from the moment they met, with Goldie pulling his moustache and saying he looked vaguely like Sam Elliott. Two years later they were married. But with her traveling schedule and his shooting assignments they saw little of each other. Two years later they were divorced, not because they were no longer in love but because it was so difficult on both of them. It was with sadness they slowly gave up trying to make time for each other. Archie always thought when they were at a different point in their lives they might re-approach the idea of marriage and felt Goldie still loved him. She had opened a pastry shop in Dallas with a couple of her cheerleader friends, which was a great success, and soon had several dozen shops across the southwest. He was living in Atlanta pursuing his freelance photography, video and general high tech career. When he asked her to help with the phones, she had initially refused, but he sweet talked her into believing she needed a few days away. He also had to promise a couple of nights out on the town in Atlanta as well as a free flight.

“Good afternoon, Potomac Advisors. How may I help you?” Goldie said in a velvety voice.

“This is Senator Brian Nelson. I received an invitation for a gathering at the Four Seasons two nights from now. The wording seemed a little odd to me. If it is to be a strategy session are wives invited?”

“I’m not sure, sir. That’s a good question. Can I place you on hold for a moment and find out for you?”

“Sure.”

Brian held while Goldie lit a cigarette and blew Backspace a kiss and then scowled. Backspace was busy monitoring three other calls between senators and could only blow her a kiss back and then mouthed the word, not!

A moment later she was back on the line. “I’m sorry to keep you holding, Senator. I spoke with one of the organizers and apparently this meeting will be a little different than others we have hosted. There will be some sensitive material discussed, so wives are not encouraged to attend.”

“Oh, alright.”

Goldie sensed the disappointment in his voice and quickly said, “Senator Nelson?”

“Yes?”

“Perhaps it would help soothe any injured feelings if a gift card for dinner for two at the Four Seasons courtesy of Potomac were to arrive at your home address in the next few days?”

“Yes,” Senator Nelson replied immediately. “That would be very nice.”

She jotted down his address and wished him a good afternoon.

Turning to where Backspace was seated at a bank of computers along the far wall she smiled sweetly.

“Now who is going to pay for that?” he asked.

“Anyone who can afford this beautiful office should be able to afford a dinner for two at the Four Seasons,” she quipped.

“We’re seated in my basement,” Backspace replied.

“Don’t remind me,” Goldie said stubbing out her cigarette.

Backspace placed a quick call to Elliott. “Better get your best party organizers ready because they are coming.”

“I’ve already booked a conference room at the Four Seasons. Ask Goldie to call her girlfriends from the cheer leading squad and line up the photographers. It’s a go.”

After he hung up he had a pang of guilt. He knew what he was doing was certainly not ethical or moral.

A famous statement came to mind and he found himself saying it out loud. “Ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country.”

Even though the plan he was contemplating was something that a few years ago he would never have dreamt of doing and today still proved very distasteful to him on many levels, there was the single focus and purpose to his actions that rose above all else, that justified everything. He repeated it for the hundredth time and wondered if it was becoming his mantra. “If we do this right we just might save our country.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

The Lincoln Conference room at the Four Seasons was lit up like Cape Canaveral at the moment of launch. The cavernous room was filled with linen covered tables and plush chairs. Orchids graced the center of each table and pitchers of lemon water stood alongside. Each corner of the room offered a bar with all manner of beverages including a tropical punch boasting a liberal dose of 151 Rum which was proving to be quite popular with the senators. Twelve breathtakingly beautiful women dressed in evening gowns with slits up to their hips and plunging necklines worked the crowd offering hors-d’oeuvres and cocktails. They garnered a great degree of attention from the assembled members of the Senate.

Senator Nelson leaned over to Senator Milton Whitehouse sitting beside him and whispered, “Wow, those babes could put the Baywatch cast to shame.”

Whitehouse agreed saying, “I’ve got to get the name of this catering outfit and put them on speed dial.”

Earlier in the day video cameras had been discreetly installed in the corners of the ceiling to record the event in vivid detail and two roving photographers made the rounds taking the occasional shot of the senators. Dinner consisted of an eighteen-ounce filet mignon served with a light béarnaise sauce and heads of romaine with choice of dressing. Red and white wines of the finest vintage were served in liberal quantities by the same gorgeous women throughout the meal. A fruit sorbet made with the same ingredients as the tropical punch was served as dessert. The speaker was an English stage actor who’d played rolls such as Julius Caesar, Abraham Lincoln and many other stately figures from the past. He had a commanding voice and a face that reminded some of the late great actor Richard Burton. As dinner drew to a close he stepped to a raised dais, the lights were lowered, and he introduced himself as Stewart Pourtnoy, CEO of Defense Analytics Incorporated.

“Gentlemen, I’d like to thank you for taking time out of your busy schedules to join us this evening. This discussion is not going to be a new one, but it is a discussion regarding something that threatens the very existence of our democracy and it is one that continues to grow. Even though it has reached crisis proportions it is still being discussed in terms that are not near realistic and will not be addressed until it is too late. Our national debt currently stands at over 18 trillion dollars.”

A faint groan coursed through the vast hall.

“Now bear with me for a few minutes. Perhaps the girls should offer another round of drinks to make this discussion a little more palatable.”

A round of applause greeted this suggestion and the women appeared a few moments later.

“The U.S. Comptroller stated recently that when a country’s gross debt levels tops 90% of Gross Domestic Product economic growth suffers. We surpassed that amount years ago. By 2021 the cost of annual interest payments on the debt alone will top that of the defense budget and consume over half of the government tax receipts. That’s because lawmakers have yet to seriously address how to rein in the country’s long term debt. Of course it has been feverishly debated, but always to no avail.”

The lovely ladies moved quietly through the assemblage serving drinks.

“Essentially the two ways that have been proposed to deal with this problem have always been to tweak the tax code and a reduction in spending across the board. The aspect of this problem that has hamstrung the discussions is the growing number of retirees and their demands on Social Security and Medicare. How do you cut our debt burden when those receiving government checks are growing exponentially? We should have, indeed we must have another source of revenue. Our problems cannot be addressed with a few cuts here and there. And this is exactly what SB 1190 does; it provides a huge new revenue source and a path to the future …”

Mr. Pourtney went on for another forty-five minutes painting a picture so bleak that the senators’ alcohol consumption not only kept apace but actually increased.

“I will conclude momentarily …” He was instantly interrupted by a loud round of applause. “By asking you to open the slim envelope you have in front of you with your name on it. There is a single question on the enclosed sheet of paper. It requires a yes or no answer. If you would be so kind as to answer the question then we can finish the night with another twenty of these beautiful ladies’ friends joining us for ‘Dancing under the Stars!’”

Most of the senators answered swiftly. Another bevy of beautiful women entered the room bearing bottles of champagne while a number of workers moved the tables out of the way. An old time rock and roll hit from the Righteous Brothers, ‘You’ve Lost that Lovin’ Feelin’ blared over the speakers. The women had been coached to aggressively approach the men seeking dance partners.

Two exceptionally beautiful blonds with very revealing gowns had been given explicit instructions and a photographer was dispatched to follow them around the room as they carefully executed the plan. They approached a senator and one would kiss him on one cheek and the other would kiss the other cheek. They were wearing heavy red lipstick which showed up well on the photos. They would generally smooch with the senator, kissing his lips and giggling like schoolgirls as the senators often kissed them in return while the photographer clicked away from a discreet distance.

The tropical punch was always near at hand served by waiters bearing full cups. The girls formed a dance chain, coaxing some of the men to join them as they snaked about the room. The party ended about three in the morning and Operation Anvil had several photo albums worth of very damning images.