The Return of Elliott Eastman (17 page)

Chapter Forty

Senator Graham took up residence at the back of the cloak room where much wheeling and dealing took place beyond the prying eyes of the public and the press. He made it a point of bending the ear of any of his fellow congressmen who wandered into the room regarding what he perceived as the negative aspects of SB1190.

Senator Jess Willow was a heavy-set man in a pudgy sort of way and given to wearing inexpensive suits and colorful bow ties. He was soft spoken and considered a moderate in the Senate representing the state of Maine. He made frequent visits to the cloak room for a soda and to relax on one of the plush sofas that dotted the room. Senator Graham moved over beside him the moment Senator Willow took a seat.

“Hello Jess, how is it going out there in Maine?”

“Maine’s a mighty fine place.”

“What are your thoughts on this ‘War on the Deficit’ bill?”

“I think it has merit. It’s high time we get serious about the deficit. The darn thing is like a coiled snake lying right at our feet. It’s only a matter of time before it rears up and bites us in the behind.”

“Come now Jess, you can’t be serious. All kinds a fees on top of fees and more fees is not what the country needs right now. It will rock the recovery back on its heels. We need to stop this thing in its tracks right now.”

“I know you’re against it, but I’m not sure why?” An uneasy Willow replied, looking over at the craggy face of the Senator from Nebraska.

“Look Jess. You know I chair the Senate Banking Committee. I can tell you right now, we are very concerned that this is a deeply flawed bill with many unknown impacts on the economy. It’s not going to pass, I guarantee it, so why waste your vote?”

“It seems like we must do something about the deficit,” Jess said hesitantly.

“Look, we don’t know what’s going to happen in Conference Committee. It’s a wild card situation. We need to be prepared,” Graham insisted.

“I heard it was in trouble in committee. I heard it might not even come out of committee,” Jess insisted.

“I know, I know, I heard the same thing, but you just never know. I tell you what I’ll do. I know you’ve tried to get the Jess Willows library off the ground up there in Portland and are having a devil of a time.”

“That’s for damn sure,” the portly Senator responded sitting up a bit and listening intently.

“What if I were to promise you I’ll see you get the funding as a rider on an amendment or an earmark on some other bill?”

“I’d really appreciate it.”

“Consider it done. If you vote no on SB 1190 I’ll see to it your library gets built,” Graham offered expansively.

“I told my grandkids about it … the library I mean, and they keep asking me when it’s going to get started,” Willows mused softly.

“Shake my hand, promise me you’ll vote no, and we’ll both get to work making your grandkids happy,” Graham said, thrusting his hand at Willows.

Reluctantly Willows reached for the outstretched hand and Graham’s clamped down on his. “You won’t regret this Jess. You’ve made the right decision.”

“Thanks Graham, I’m trusting you to get me that funding.”

“I can hear the hammer and saws going already.”

Willows made his way back out to the Senate floor.

And so it went for the next two days. Any Senator who ventured into the cloak room and some that Graham coaxed in as well were all subjected to similar arguments convincing them of the fruitlessness of voting for a bill when the banks and the military establishment were going to be so negatively impacted and would obviously fight fiercely to defeat it.

Bainer and Cobbings were doing much the same in the House of Representatives: holding meetings, dinners and outings with critical members of the Armed Services Committee, the Banking Committee and Appropriations exhorting them to vote against the bill and the futility of fighting the banks and the entrenched military establishment.

Chapter Forty-One

“So what have we got?” Elliott asked.

“We have good news and bad news. We have the still photos from the party at the Four Seasons,” Archie replied. “Mike Murphy got some good video of Senator Graham and one of his female assistants, and Jim and Gordon took it upon themselves to visit with Richard Soro. He was quite cooperative.”

“That’s strange,” Elliott said. “I don’t know him, but I would think anyone Doc Hastings has as an off-the-books employee would be tough as nails. I would have expected him to clam up.”

Archie chuckled. “Well, he was at first but then with a little gasoline …”

“That’s okay. I don’t need the details,” Elliott interrupted him.

“Anyway, he mentioned something about a lease Cobbings was concerned about, so they went to Cobbings’ office and um, borrowed some files. Get this, his wife’s PAC leases office space from Cobbings and he’s not declared it on his taxes,” Archie explained. “We’ve already sent copies of the leases and his tax returns to the House Ethics Committee, but you know how slow they are to respond. In the meantime Eddie and James are posing as investigators and contacting every Representative Cobbings has talked to in the last year and they’re following up with questionnaires and requests for meetings with them. I think Cobbings’ credibility will be toast in week.”

“So what is the bad news,” Elliott asked.

“It’s Bainer. We got nothing on him.”

“Damn, he’s chatting up every member on the Conference Committee, ringing up the no votes as fast as he can.”

“Goldie has an idea, but you’re not going to like it.”

“Don’t tell me,” Elliott cautioned. “I’d hate to have to testify against you.”

Archie laughed. “I know you better than that. You’d go down in flames before you’d rat any one of us out.”

“True, but I still don’t want to know. Is it legal?”

“Borderline, but definitely very, um, shall we say creative. So what do you think?”

Elliott was quiet for a moment. This was a point where all the cards were on the table. You either bet the house or meekly fold and walk away.

“Run with it, Archie. Do whatever you need to do and hit them as hard as you can.”

“You got it.”

Suddenly overwhelmed by exhaustion, Elliott retreated to his bedroom and lay down on his bed.

Chapter Forty-Two

Approximately one hundred and eighty 8 x 10 glossies went out in forty four different envelopes the following morning to each of the partygoers from the Four Seasons along with a short, curt letter. “You will be expected to vote for SB 1190 or a copy of this photo will be sent to your wife, released to the news media and numerous websites. Please consider your options carefully. Democracy at the behest of corporations is not democracy.”

Eddie and James refused to stand on the sidelines and despite their injuries they couldn’t have looked more ominous, dressed in black suits and wearing dark sun glasses, when they caught up with Republican Representative George Madsen of Minnesota getting out of his taxi in front of his D.C. apartment.

“Mr. Madsen?”

“Yes.”

“Jones and West, IRS,” Eddie said opening his coat and letting the congressman catch a glimpse of his badge along with the butt of the gun in his shoulder holster. “We’d like to ask you a few questions regarding Nick Cobbings.”

“Right here?”

“It won’t take long, or perhaps we should step inside your apartment?”

Madsen looked terribly uncomfortable.

“Let’s step up near the front door and I’ll try to answer a couple of questions,” the congressman suggested.

The three men walked up the flight of steps until they were near the front doors to the upscale condominium complex where Madsen rented a unit.

“Are you aware of Cobbings leasing part of his office space to his wife’s Political Action Committee?”

“I most certainly am not.”

“Strange, you were mentioned in our briefing as a close associate of his.”

“I am no such thing. Sure, I’ve spoken to him a few times, but that’s about the size of it.”

“Are you aware of his concealing his wife’s income from the IRS?”

“Absolutely not. What kind of questions are these? How would I know anything about his personal taxes?”

“These are merely routine questions we are required to ask,” James said.

“Do you, or have you ever, been in a business partnership with Nick Cobbings?”

“No, never. Did he say that?”

“No, but the Bureau indicated you and he have met on many occasions away from the congressional buildings.”

“Wrong, we may have met a handful of times, wait you said the Bureau?”

“Yes, as you know a member of Congress must declare their financial holdings. The IRS will investigate when we believe a case of tax evasion has occurred, but not declaring properly for the Congressional Journal is a crime and that draws in the FBI.”

“I don’t think I want to answer any more questions unless my attorney is present,” Madsen said slowly.

“We understand,” James responded. “Thank you for your cooperation.”

“And please, don’t leave town,” Eddie added as they stepped away.

A shaken Madsen opened the front doors, took the elevator eight flights up to his unit and immediately got on the phone to one of his aides.

“Luanne, find Nick Cobbings and have him call me as soon as possible. Tell him it’s an emergency.”

Twenty minutes later the phone rang.

“Madsen here.”

“George, what’s the emergency?”

“I just had a personal visit from two IRS agents. They are investigating your lease arrangements and apparently the FBI is involved.”

“Damn. And rumor has it the House Ethics Committee is beginning an investigation of me.”

“Are the accusations true?”

“It was an innocent mistake.”

“A mistake that you were funneling money to your wife’s PAC while she was leasing space from you?”

“It’s nothing. Hell, half the House has got similar arrangements,” Cobbings growled.

“I think you are exaggerating just a bit. I know of no others, and if you’re convicted you’ll obviously lose your seat.”

“I know.”

Madsen sat for a moment in silence not sure what to say and finally merely stated, “I wish you luck.”

Eddie and James had similar conversations with a dozen members of the House over the next two days. It was just enough to set the House abuzz with speculation as to Cobbings’ fate.

Meanwhile Judy, all ninety pounds of her, read the lines Goldie had typed for her for the seventh time and said, in her high squeaky voice, “I think I have it down, Goldie.”

“Remember, you’re angry and sobbing.”

“Yes, Goldie,” Judy replied rolling her eyes.

“Okay, are you ready?” Goldie asked.

“Yes.”

“This is me dialing,” Goldie said with a smirk as she pressed the numbers on the phone.

A moment later, after a few rings, the voicemail kicked on.

“Hello, you have reached the offices of Congressman John Bainer. The offices are closed at this time. Please leave a message at the tone or visit our web site at www.johnbainer.com.” The phone beeped and just as Judy began to speak Goldie gave her thigh a fierce pinch. Judy inched away and immediately began sobbing uncontrollably and cried.

“What you did to me was horrible. I’m only seventeen years old and you, you … you raped me. You are a monster! I’m going to tell the police what you did. I hate you. I hate you!”

Judy set the receiver down in its cradle.

“Perfect,” Goldie breathed as she turned off the tape recorder.

“I was pretty good, wasn’t I?” Judy said with a beaming smile as both women emerged from the phone booth.

“Now let’s get this tape off to the police,” Goldie said. “We’ll go to the post office together.”

The following morning Mabel Hessling, Bainer’s aging secretary of twenty plus years, turned the key in the front door lock and let herself into the office at seven a.m. As soon as she set her overcoat on the back of her chair she noticed the light blinking on the phone at her desk.

Sitting down at her desk she responded to the series of commands that allowed her to access the voicemail message. She stared in horror at the phone as she listened to the hysterical woman on the other end of the line. After listening to it three more times, with her senses reeling, she quickly dialed Bainer’s cell phone number.

“John, you must come to the office as quickly as possible.”

“What is it?”

“There is something you must hear.”

“It can’t wait? I haven’t even finished the Times yet.”

“You must come now.”

“Mabel, Give me some idea of what we’re talking about.”

“I … I can’t, John.”

“Okay, I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Bainer grumbled, “but this better be a true emergency.”

“Believe me, it is.”

Mabel waited patiently for the congressman to arrive and all the while her thoughts leapt about. Could he have done it? Either way he was going to be disgraced. Would he go to jail? Would she? She would undoubtedly be questioned. She would need to find another job.

After Mabel paced the floor of her little office for a number of minutes wringing her hands, she sat down again and began to quietly cry. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she thought about how bright eyed, naïve and optimistic she was when she first joined the Bainer operation. She, no they, were going to change the world. Slowly she’d learned how favors were doled out. Plumb positions for loyal constituents, and favorable legislation for big money donors was arranged. Her disillusionment grew and was eventually complete, but she stayed on the job because the market for someone with her limited skills was simply not there.

‘And now this,’ she thought.

Finally she decided her only course of action was to go to the police first. It would help absolve her of any complicity in some sort of cover-up and was the right thing to do. This poor young woman had been violated and needed to be protected.

Withdrawing a sheet of stationary from a nearby drawer she stifled a sob, pushed a strand of graying hair out of her eyes and quickly began typing her resignation letter.