K STREET NW, DOWNTOWN WASHINGTON, D.C.
WEDNESDAY, 12:45 P.M. EST
In her sixth-floor office, Mariana Leibowitz pressed the button on her treadmill to accelerate the speed. Forty minutes in, she was drenched in sweat and her heart was racing. But it wasn’t the workout that was elevating her heartbeat.
—
Mariana was comfortable in high-pressure situations. She thrived on stress. The lobbyist had built her practice exactly by taking on some of the toughest clients in the tightest jams. At twenty-two, she’d moved from Miami to the nation’s capital with bright eyes and brighter ideals. She wanted to use her publicity training and natural negotiating skills to make the world a better place. Mariana had gotten her start as a junior associate with a big public relations firm that represented foreign banks and embassies in Washington, D.C.
From the inside, she saw how the firm collected hefty fees but didn’t deliver much for their clients. They arranged meetings, often with the wrong officials. They wrote press releases and, for a large bonus, placed op-eds in the newspapers, but usually to no effect. It was a con.
She increasingly realized that her own firm was taking on wealthy problem clients, but mostly playacting because actual resolution meant the end of the contract. They didn’t want to solve clients’ problems. They wanted those problems to drag on forever, along with a robust retainer. All the commotion was a series of clever diversions. A con.
The senior partner, a former intelligence officer who had lost his security clearance from drinking on the job, called them decoy kills. It was macho nonsense. The PR firm was generating a lot of activity, pretending to be working hard to eradicate a problem but leaving the actual source untouched. It was all theater to keep the cash flowing. It was all a confidence game. It was all bullshit.
Mariana held her nose and tried to learn the ways of Washington. But when her company declined to take on a jailed journalist in Egypt because the fee was too low, that was the final straw. Mariana quit to break out on her own.
Leibowitz Associates International, her new one-woman shop, agreed to take the Egyptian case pro bono. She made a few phone calls, stopped by a few offices unannounced. She argued, cajoled, flirted, and horse-traded. Mariana triangulated between the State Department, the Pentagon, and the White House. She worked her meager contacts on Capitol Hill and in the newspapers. In the end, Mariana managed to get her client’s plight into the talking points of the Undersecretary for Political Affairs during a stopover visit to Cairo. Voilà, two days later the journalist was free.
For that first client, Mariana had stumbled upon a winning formula. Make friends, collect information, trade favors, and, most of all, play American officials off each other. Turn the dysfunction and infighting inside the U.S. government to your advantage. If State and Justice won’t talk to each other, if the Pentagon and the White House are bickering, that was exactly where a well-connected outside force could exert maximum manipulation. This was Mariana’s secret to success. And fighting like a pit bull for your client.
Over the years, she’d created a successful lobbying business at a prestigious K Street address all on her own. She’d built a reputation as a D.C. operator par excellence. That’s how she’d once gotten a private meeting with the Secretary of State for a no-name freedom fighter in the Congo. That’s how she’d repeatedly managed to ensure that specific spending items would be quietly inserted into the annual 1,200-page appropriations bill. That’s how she’d gotten the State Department to be aggressive after a coup in Mali that deposed the President, Boubacar Maiga. And how she convinced Judd Ryker to work behind the scenes in support of human rights lawyer Gugu Mutonga in Zimbabwe. And that’s how she planned to save the life of Bola Akinola.
—
As Mariana ran on the treadmill, she surfed the cable news channels. None of them were running anything on Nigeria. CNN was leading with the Secretary of State meeting with the visiting Chinese foreign minister to reduce tensions in the South China Sea. The screen showed U.S. naval warships on patrol, oil platforms under construction, and remarkably sharp Google Earth satellite photos of artificial islands the Chinese had built. Mariana grabbed the remote and changed the channel. Flip. MSNBC was reporting on the same story with the same stock video. Flip, flip, flip. Ditto over on the three networks. Flip. BBC News was running a special report on the end of the construction boom in Dubai. Flip. Fox News was airing a talk show arguing about the fortunes of potential future U.S. presidential candidates.
“A few months ago, I would have bet my left foot that our Secretary of State would be the next President of the United States,” declared the on-air pundit, a balding man with tiny round spectacles in a split-screen box. “But after the foreign policy debacles in the Middle East, Mexico, and now the South China Sea, her candidacy is all but dead.”
“I don’t think the Secretary’s quite dead yet,” argued a tall blond woman in another box on the screen. “But she’s on life support.”
“If she’s going to turn her fortunes around, we’re going to need to see some progress with China during the foreign minister’s visit today. I think this is do-or-die for the Secretary,” said a third talking head.
“What happens with China doesn’t matter as much as her ability to rally her own party. I mean, come on! How is she going to respond to the challenges coming from the governor of Idaho and Senator McCall from Pennsylvania?”
“What about Shepard Truman? The Congressman from New York is starting to gain attention. Politico is reporting this morning that he’s met with key party donors to explore a Senate bid. Truman’s a rising star—” Flip.
Mariana changed back to CNN and put the television on mute.
She decided to try again, sticking headphones into her ears and pressing REDIAL on her phone while she ran. The phone clicked, bleeped, and finally rang.
“Hello?” said a familiar voice.
Mariana punched the emergency stop button on the treadmill and tried to catch her breath. “Bola!” she gasped.
“Yes, Mariana. It’s me.”
“I’ve been trying to reach you for hours. Are you okay? Are you safe? Where are you?”
“I’m very okay,” he said calmly. “Don’t worry, my friend.”
“But where are you?” she pleaded.
“I cannot say on the phone.”
“Who’s listening, Bola?”
“I cannot say. But I am somewhere safe. I have many friends and they are protecting me.”
“For now!” she snapped. “I have someone coming to help you.”
“Don’t say anything more on the phone.”
“He’s a troubleshooter. He’ll help. He’ll give you refuge. At the place I mentioned before.”
“Thank you. Again. But I don’t need help,” Bola said.
“He’s already on his way. Maybe you can help him, too.”
“Mariana, do you know about the tortoise and the crab?”
“What crab?” She wiped her face with a towel. “What are you talking about?”
“It’s an old Yoruba creation story. The tortoise and the crab.”
“Folktales?” Mariana exhaled. “Bola, you know it’s a terrible cliché for an African to tell wildlife fables to his white friends.”
“The crab and the tortoise are enemies. Everyone knows that.”
“Of course, everyone,” Mariana said sarcastically.
“Well, one morning the crab and tortoise are on the beach. It is a beautiful day and they both feel very good. The tortoise says, ‘I am the strongest in the world.’ The crab says, ‘No, I am the strongest in the world.’ They fight to decide who is strongest. But because both have hard shells, neither can hurt the other. The fight ends in a stalemate.”
“Are we talking about Nigeria or Washington, D.C.?”
“Let me finish the story,” Bola says. “So the tortoise says to the crab, ‘We are both very strong, but our shells are so hard that no one can hurt us.’ The crab says, ‘You are correct. We are both so strong and well protected.’ The tortoise agrees: ‘We are both the strongest in the world.’ ‘Yes, yes,’ says the crab.”
“Is that it?” Mariana asks.
“Almost,” Bola says. “Just as the crab and the tortoise are feeling good that they are both the strongest creatures in the world, a small boy walks past. He picks up the crab with one hand and the tortoise with the other. He takes them both home and boils them for dinner.”
“Okay, Bola. I get it.”
“I knew you would.”
“Sure,” she lied. “But I’m still sending my friend to help you.”
“If you must.”
“He’s our friend. You can trust him.”
“Very well.”
“You have to be careful, Bola,” she said. “They’re going to try again to kill you. They won’t give up.”
“Someone is always trying to do that,” he chuckled.
“You’re laughing? You’re telling animal stories? This isn’t a joke, Bola!”
“This is Nigeria, Mariana. We laugh. We tell tales. We celebrate life. That’s how we survive. Don’t you remember?”
“I don’t remember making jokes while someone was trying to kill me. What happens to all your hard work if you die? You aren’t going to let them win. I won’t let you let them win.”
“Thank you, my friend.”
“What for?”
“For sticking with me. For fighting for the truth. And for sending our new friend to me. As you wish, I will meet him.”
“That’s what I do, Bola. I’m not going to allow Washington to let a good man go down.”