The Return of Elliott Eastman (18 page)

Chapter Forty-Three

Congressional pages slipped between the men and women seated at the enormous table laying thick sheaves of paper beside the glasses and vases of water.

Bainer leaned back in his chair, cleared his throat and said, “I’m comfortable with Senator Carl Nevin continuing to chair this meeting.”

Nevin looked up from the papers he was studying. “My last stab at chairing a committee meeting was not a scintillating experience,” he said gazing pointedly at both Portman and Coryn.

“Come on, Carl,” Bainer said in his water well deep voice. “This is Conference Committee. It doesn’t get more informal than this. We’re just gonna kick around some ideas and be out of here in a few hours.”

Senator Nevin hesitated for a moment and acquiesced. “I’ll continue on, but I want some promises we’re going to work hard to make some real headway.”

“I think we can do that,” Bainer replied glancing around the table.

Carl picked up his papers and moved to the vacant chair at the head of the table fifteen feet away.

He immediately dropped his gavel and said, “The meeting for purposes of reconciling the differences between the House and Senate versions of the ‘War on the Deficit’ is now called to order on this, the eighteenth of February, 2018. Who would like to open the meeting?”

“I’d like to make a statement in hopes of setting the tone for this meeting,” Senator Bruce Bennett said.

“You may proceed,” Nevin said.

“I would like to say that I hope we can all come together and make some responsible choices, some responsible compromises that will change the very course of our country. This could be recognized in years to come as a turning point in the history of our nation, where we embarked upon a path of fiscal sensibility with a vast new revenue source and some long overdue spending cuts. A path where we begin a serious reduction in the enormous debt we and our children face.”

“Humpf,” Cobbings snorted.

Bennett’s face reddened, but he bit his tongue and held silent.

After a moment of consideration Coryn took the lead and said, “I move that any wording regarding the Financial Transaction Fee be stricken and that the military base closure be reduced from eighty in the next seven years to sixty.”

There it was, the gauntlet had hit the table once again.

Portman was the first to speak. “Are you saying you’ll accept no transaction fee whatsoever?”

“Don’t forget,” Cobbings said with a sneer, “we never had a chance to amend the bill in the House due to a low down dirty trick.”

“I believe it was voted on, was it not?” Representative Kathryn Morris Rodgers stated firmly.

Cobbings snorted again. “If you wish to call it that, you may do so.”

“Well then perhaps we should consider changing the task completely and have no new revenue stream, which means we’ll need to close 200 bases and cut military spending in other areas like pulling all our troops out of Afghanistan and Iraq and Libya within six months,” Bennett said.

“That will never fly,” Bainer said.

“It’s worth a try,” Bennett replied staring Bainer down. “I can summon my assistant and get the wording rolling in a matter of minutes.”

Bainer glared at the young House member.

“Or I’ll add it as a rider once we get something passed here,” threatened Bennett.

“I’ve sat on the Armed Services Committee, and I can guarantee a 200 base cut is never going to fly,” Whitback interrupted.

“Maybe we should lock in those low interest rates the bankers have agreed to and make them permanent. We can amend the wording and include a clause doing just that,” representative Rosa Sparks suggested. “My constituents would love it.”

“Point of Order,” Bainer snarled, turning to the chair. “Carl, I object. The sole purpose of a Conference Committee is to reconcile the differences between the House and Senate versions of the bill. The bank rates were a voluntary gesture. As you know, there is no provision in the Conference Committee rules allowing for new amendments.”

“You yourself said this is the most informal of meetings,” Carl replied. “I’ll listen to whatever you folks want to bring up.”

“I move to adjourn,” Cobbings said in a low threatening tone. “This is nonsense.”

“We have barely begun,” Senator Kathryn Morris Rodgers said, looking about the table in dismay.

“I second the motion.”

“Meeting adjourned,” Carl Nevin quickly said with obvious relief in his voice as he banged the gavel down, “until Thursday, February 21st at ten a.m.”

The news of the shortest Conference Committee meeting in history quickly made the rounds of the Hill, but what was perhaps more important was the rumor that a summons requesting Nick Cobbings appear before the House Ethics Committee for a preliminary investigation at 10:00 a.m. the following morning had been served.

Meanwhile, later that evening two plain clothes policemen knocked on John Bainer’s front door and gently insisted he come with them for questioning. He made his one phone call to his personal attorney and was humbly escorted to the waiting unmarked car.

Senator Wade Biggs opened his mail when he got home and discovered the video disk and note. Puzzled, he retreated to his home office, clicked on his desktop PC and inserted the disk. A moment later he could clearly see his face and that of his red headed assistant Maggie seated in a restaurant. The camera then panned down and showed his hand caressing the inside of her thigh and her hand moving his away while she said in hushed laughter, “Not here, Wade.”

The Chair of the Senate Finance Committee looked furtively about, shut the computer down, broke the disk into many pieces, took it out to the garage and pushed it deep into the trash. In a quiet seething rage he marched back into the house and sat in his office, read the note several more times and then quietly began making calls to a number of his friends in the Senate attempting to explain why he was changing his position on SB 1190.

Lastly, several dozen members of the Senate received the photos from the Four Seasons party and the accompanying letter. There was much anguish, gnashing of teeth and sleepless nights, but more importantly there was a decisive change in the attitude towards SB 1190. Apparently the bill did have some merit after all. They all began to see the light and beat a hasty retreat from their previous stance regarding the bill.

Graham received his and promptly put a call in to Doc Hastings, explained what had happened and concluded by saying, “I want to know who is behind this. Spend whatever you must, but I want answers.”

Doc put a call in to Soro saying, “Hire whoever you must. We need answers. The two jokers you roughed up will be your best lead. They must have been hired by someone. Find out and find out fast.”

“I’d be glad to but the two jokers burned my Escalade. I won’t have wheels for another day or two,” Soro lamented.

“Rent a car and send me the bill. Get moving,” was Hastings’ terse reply.

Chapter Forty-Four

Elliott sipped his coffee on the covered deck while Greer forked hay to the horses. He’d taken his fistful of pills and some of the new pain pills Dr. Yates prescribed. ‘The tiny pink pills really worked quite well,’ Elliott concluded, for he felt better than he had in several weeks. He was reading The Washington Post and flipped to page two where a long article began by asking the question; ‘What is going on behind closed doors on the Hill?’

The article speculated about the nature of the acrimonious debate which had led to one of the shortest committee meetings in congressional history. It went further saying; “This author would give his right arm to be a fly on the wall in that room. Cobbings, Bainer, Graham, Coryn, Biggs and Whitback wrangling with Carimendi, Bishop, Bennett, Portman, Spitzer, Kathryn Morris and Rosa Sparks is like Cardinal Richelieu’s men against the King’s Musketeers. There can only be one outcome; winner takes all. A gathering that is designed to promote a meeting of the minds and some measure of compromise is now filled with those that would rather bury each other in a pit and fill it with lime. Will one of the most significant bills since the Civil Rights Act wind up dead because a handful of people with utterly opposing views were locked in a room for a few days? It would be disgraceful if they can’t give us something worthwhile to work with considering the impact on American life this bill would have. The shortness of the meeting bodes ill for the fate of the bill.”

Elliott was just starting on a full a page article in Time Magazine with the heading of ‘The Legislation of Visionaries’ when his phone rang. He noted it was the President’s cell and answered.

“Talk to me Paul.”

“What the hell did you do?”

“What do you mean?”

“One moment Graham, Cobbings, Bainer and company are ringing up votes like a Wal-Mart cashier and the next thing I know they’re being shunned like lepers at a pool party!” The excitement in his tone was hard to disguise.

“I can’t say I did anything other than set a few wheels in motion.”

“Well, those wheels are rolling all right. My people on the hill are telling me vast changes are afoot. Cobbings is contemplating recusing himself from the Conference Committee. Bainer and Cobbings are both possibly under investigation by the Ethics Committee. Thirty of the Conference Committee members are beginning to suggest the bill is perfect in present form. And word has it another forty not on the committee are actively urging their protégés to move forward with a vote in the affirmative when the bill comes out of committee,” the President concluded with undeniable joy in his voice.

“That’s terrific news,” Elliott exclaimed.

“I know. My spies on the hill hear whispers we may have it out of the Conference Committee with the Senate and House members agreeing to the House version within three days.”

“The House version was unchanged from the original version,” Elliott said softly. “Could we be so lucky?”

“From what I’m hearing we just could, and then it goes on the legislative calendar for three days before it can be heard on the floor,” Paul added, calculating the number of days.

Elliott let out a low whistle. “We’re so close.”

He could feel the excitement growing within him.

“I was thinking, considering a worst case scenario, if it doesn’t get out of committee,” Paul said in a decidedly different and more serious tone, “I’ve got an idea for calling an emergency session of the joint houses of Congress so a few guest speakers can voice their opinions regarding the bill. We’ve talked about that before. Anthony Lascala, the Treasury Secretary will address Congress regarding the Financial Transaction fee. Bob Gates, the former Commander-in-Chief of the Armed Forces will speak regarding base closures along with several others and, well, I’d like you to speak also.”

“I don’t know Paul. I’ve been away from Congress for what, eight years? Half those freshmen congressmen have no idea who I am. I doubt my presence would prove much good.”

“My friend, you underestimate yourself. A lot of these young congress people remember you and me in their growing years. They remember how president after president granted Big Pharma years of locked in profits by eliminating Medicare’s ability to negotiate for cheaper prescription drugs, and how you and I took them on and crushed them. We reduced the senior citizen’s drug costs by a trillion a year.”

“That was a fight,” Elliott agreed, “and a good win.”

“And they remember Libya and how we almost got caught up in a land war. We shot that down.”

“I think you’re being a little generous towards us. There are thirty bases scattered about Libya and we’ve got 80,000 troops still there.”

“Yeah, between the two of us and some major arm twisting we got us out of a major land war there. Our bases were built by Exxon-Mobil and are concentrated in the area of the oil fields of Libya.”

“Yeah, didn’t see that one coming,” Elliott said wryly.

“Sure, but you understand what I’m saying,” Paul concluded. “Many in Congress still remember the ferocity of the Master Sergeant when his sense of fair play was offended. And that’s why I have to insist on your speaking.”

“Paul, please, I have no idea what I’d say.”

“Elliott, I’m the President. I expect to see you in Washington in 48 hours. Air Force One will be in Colorado Springs evening after next.”

“Wait Paul, I’ve got something to tell you … !” Elliott cried, but the line was dead.

For a moment he was tempted to call Paul back and inform him that he was dying of cancer, but instead he slowly set the phone down. Suddenly Elliott found himself with a beaming smile spreading across his face. They had not played by the rules, not by a long shot, but by God it looked like they were going to do it. They were on the brink of the most massive change in the fate of the nation since the end of World War II! It felt good.

But there was the next step which was critically important. He swiftly dialed Stephanie’s number. She answered on the first ring.

“Steph, its Elliott. From what I’m hearing the bill may be out of committee in three days and then it has to sit on the legislative calendar for three more days before it can go to vote. So we’re less than a week away … !”

“Wait, slow down. Are you saying it’s going to come out of Conference Committee with no amendments?”

“That’s what I’m hearing.”

“Oh Elliott, you’ve done it! You are the most wonderful man on earth!”

“Stephanie, I didn’t do this alone and there’s still much that could go wrong.”

“Don’t you even go there, Mr. Eastman!”

“Alright, alright, don’t get your Irish up. The purpose of this call is to alert you that your part of the task just kicked in.”

“AARP has the Minute Men ready to go along with tens of thousands more members. The websites that are in support of SB 1190 are unbelievable. There are literally thousands of them. Common Cause, Alliance for Democracy, Policy Watch, True Majority Action, Taxpayers for Common Sense, Center on Budget and Policy Priorities, United for a Fair Economy, Washington Tax Fairness Coalition, People for the American Way and a hundred others. It’s going to be amazing.”

Elliott sounded a little choked up when he said, “Thank you so much for doing such a marvelous job.”

“It was my pleasure. I’ve set it up as a group e-mail so I press one key, type my message and it goes out to hundreds of people and websites simultaneously.”

“Terrific work, Steph.”

“Thank you Mr. Senator. I assume you’ll be traveling to Washington soon.”

“I might.”

“You promised to let me know.”

“I will. I’ll let you know as soon as I have a flight scheduled.”

“Okay.”

“Bye.”

Elliott stood up and steadied himself, then quickly sat back down. It was one of those surreal moments when he wasn’t sure if he was dreaming or not, but it was happening. SB 1190 was going to the floor. Standing up again he stepped out onto the deck.

“Greer!” he cried. “Greer!”

The butler looked up from where he was slopping the hogs.

“SB 1190 is going to the floor! It’s a tequila morning!”

The two old friends hadn’t had a tequila morning in years. There was one when Elliott returned home from Iraq, another when he had been elected to the Senate and then again when he’d retired from the Senate, but that seemed a lifetime ago.

Elliott could see his main man’s smile from forty feet away as he said, “Not to worry boss, I got the limes cutting in my mind already.”

While Greer gathered limes from the block house, Elliott stepped back inside to the bar where he reached to the top shelf and pulled down a twenty year old bottle of Asombroso Reserva Del Porto; arguably the finest and most expensive tequila in the world. The two men sat on the deck smiling like young boys with a brand new video game. Elliott filled Greer in on the latest developments. Several shots later Elliott stood and announced, “I feel like singing, but I don’t know what song to sing.”

“I know what I’d be singing,” Greer said.

“Really, and what would that be?”

“I Feel Good.”

“Hmmm, a little James Brown might be just the thing.”

Elliott did his best impersonation of the bump and grind while he belted out the first refrain, and then tried the classic James Brown pirouette. He was three quarters around when a loud crack sounded and he fell to the deck clutching his right ankle. Greer was instantly on his feet by Elliott’s side.

“I think I broke my damn ankle,” Elliott said through gritted teeth.

“You stay right here. I’ll call Dr. Yates.”

Before he rushed off for the phone Greer took one last glance at Elliott. Their eyes met. Elliott said, “Be sure to tell him it’s my good leg.”

The two men gazed at each other for a moment longer, and then Greer said, “you only got one,” and burst into laughter. Elliott followed suit.