I woke refreshed at 6:30 in my hotel room, showered and dressed, went down for a light breakfast, and read the local paper. When I returned to my room, I called Jerry.
“I’m pretty sure Harley has an ace up his sleeve. Rufus knows, but is not talking. He gave me a little parable, with four choices, one I’m sure fits Harley. Dalton told me her father likes playing games, to see how smart the other person is.”
Jerry laughed. “He doesn’t know who he’s going against, if he’s taking you on.”
I love my husband. “It’s time. Give my boy a hug . . . tell him his mom loves him.”
“He already knows, but I will tell him anyway. Love you.”
“Love you.”
Johnny was waiting, parked right outside the hotel’s front door. We chatted comfortably while he drove along a scenic road to the McAllister’s. “The governor sure has been enjoying your visit. He’s looking forward to the picture-taking,” the likable man, who had a friendly child-like demeanor, said.
We arrived in twenty minutes. The photo crew was already busy at work. The photographer told me he had visited a week earlier to get familiar with the grounds. All of his ideas sounded fine to me. The only request I made was that he get pictures of the governor astride his horse. The photographer understood.
The shoot went well. The photographer and Lori Chow had agreed that for the space she could give it, the house was the only place they’d shoot.
I enjoyed watching. Mrs. M was atwitter. I noticed fresh flowers in the living room and large foyer. We got Rufus on his horse. Both were up for the occasion.
At our food break, we all were treated to a gracious and plentiful lunch. Afterward, there were two inside photo sessions. It was over by 3:00. At one point, I had a little time with Mrs. M. That was a trip. She was vapid and noncommittal. Even with my prompting, she skirted all talk about Reggie and Rusty, except for flowery remarks about their lovely homes and beautiful children.
When the crew had gone, I discovered that Rufus had as well. I walked around the estate for about an hour, freshened up in my room, and went down for cocktails and another scrumptious supper. It was just the three of us. Mrs. M was more engaging this time. They both talked about the senator. The memories were golden.
The McAllisters were marvelous hosts. I had checked in with Lori earlier. The photographer had emailed her the pictures, and she was delighted. Because there was now no need for me to stay on for a supplemental morning shoot, I was able to move tomorrow’s flight from early afternoon to 11 a.m. Johnny drove me to the hotel, and Rufus came along.
As I got out, he thanked me for coming and for what I was doing for Ro. “Johnny will pick you up at 9:00 tomorrow.”
“Thank you for your hospitality and wonderful conversation, Rufus. I can honestly say I enjoyed my entire time.”
I didn’t see him the next morning, but that didn’t surprise me. We’d said our goodbyes. Johnny was sweet and gracious. We talked a little at the beginning of the drive to the airport, but fell into silence for the rest of the ride. When I alighted, with Johnny holding the door, he handed me a white, card-size envelope.
“This is from the governor, ma’am. He asked if you would please wait until you are in the air before you open it,” he said precisely and politely.
Why wait I wondered? “Thank you, Johnny. Tell him I will do as he asks.”
“Yes ma’am.”
Johnny retrieved my carry-on from the trunk, gave it to a skycap, and returned to me.
“I was going to carry that on, Johnny.”
“Yes ma’am. I just asked the man to see you through security, make sure everything goes okay. You’ll have your bag. He will take good care of you. I already took care of him.”
With that, he tipped his cap and went to the limo.
The skycap was waiting for me. “If you’ll have your ticket and ID out, we can get you right through, ma’am.”
We were in Rufus McAllister country. Although the line at the security gate wasn’t very long, one word from my escort and we were moved over to the first-class gate. I had well over an hour before my plane and browsed a sundries shop, buying a book entitled Fix-Up Tips For Your Home.
Once my carry-on was in the overhead and my computer bag under the seat, I sat back and flipped through the in-flight magazine, stopping to scan a story on Georgetown in DC. They had most things right except about Metrorail, where they had revised history. A quote from a merchant complained that they should have gotten a Metro station, saying they were overlooked for political reasons back when the system was planned.
The writer didn’t editorialize or give the real reason. The truth was that, back in the 1950s or 1960s when Metrorail routes and stations were being planned, the Georgetown residents and merchants overwhelmingly turned down having a Metro stop in their community. They didn’t want undesirables having such easy access to their precious village.
It was not Metrorail’s or the planners’ fault. It didn’t take many years after Metro was running deep into the suburbs that Georgetownians realized their mistake. Now riders have to walk five to twelve blocks from the Foggy Bottom station; trek back across the Potomac River on Key Bridge from the Rosslyn, Virginia, station; or clog the roads with their cars.
History revisionists drive me crazy. I stuffed the magazine into the seat pocket, like it was the publisher’s fault. I took Rufus’s letter from my bag. The plane was sparsely filled, and I had no row mates. I put up the arm rest between seats, checked my seat belt, and laid my head back, closing my eyes. I’m always a little anxious during takeoff.
Once we were airborne, I looked at the envelope. I stared at my first name on the face of it, and then opened it.
Dear Laura:
Thanks for being a good friend to Ro. You will find she will be a good friend in return. I’ve given a lot of thought to what I’m going to tell you. Ro doesn’t know this, but my association with Harley began with a phone call from him well before Ro was a senator. My call to him before your visit to New Jersey is as you know it to be.
Harley is going offshore to manufacture his drug and will distribute it through a German pharmaceutical company. That’s all I know.
He called me a couple of years ago about security companies. He ended up using an outfit I believe is thorough and trustworthy. That’s all he wanted from me. Please convey this to Ro for me?
I know she will think I’m involved because of her, putting in my two cents. But I assure you I am not. My hope is that with you telling her, she can rest assured I am not meddling in her affairs. I don’t want her thinking that my talking with Harley was because I thought she needed help. That’s not true.
The only call I made to Harley was, as I have said, to tell him that the Senator Dalton who was sending two people up to talk to him was my daughter.
I didn’t ask for anything. I only wanted him to know that. I love my daughter, Laura, and I am immensely proud of all she is doing and will accomplish. In no way do I think she can’t do it without my help. Shoot, she’ll do it a whole lot better without me.
Much thanks. You’re good people.
RMcA
My eyes teared before I finished. I wiped them away. Family relationships are so complex. Roanne was the only one of his children he stood a chance with, and he feared one misstep on his part could cause him to lose her.
I thought of the years that were lost between my parents and me. Thank God for my Mom, who took the chance of being rebuffed by me—again— when she wrote me a month after I had broken the serial-killing story. That was how she’d known I was pregnant, because Dad had run excerpts of my exclusive breaking story and subsequent pieces by me in the Star.
I had shown Jerry the letter from Mom. He was noncommittal, only saying it was nice, but offering no advice. It took me a week to get around to writing her back. That began my recovery with my parents. I put Rufus’s letter away and blew my nose. My concern now was how to go around Michael to talk with the senator alone.
As soon as I was on the ground, I called Michael’s cell. He answered after the first ring. I gave him a rundown on my meeting with the governor and concluded with, “I think he’s inserted himself into the Rogers’s project; however, I don’t think the senator needs to know that now.”
“I agree.”
“Did she ever call Harley Rogers?” I remembered he was going to suggest she might make that call.
There was silence on his end.
“Michael?”
“Shit,” he said, half under his breath. “I forgot to tell her.”
Actually, that was good, because that told me the senator didn’t know what Harley had told her father.
“Hold on a sec, Michael.” I was out on the sidewalk and found the taxi stand. “North Arlington,” I told the dispatcher. He put up three fingers meaning I was third up in the Virginia line.
“Okay, Michael, I’m back. If the senator wants—”
“Your editor called me . . .”
A bolt of adrenaline shot through me.
“. . . to schedule the shoot,” he finished.
Not Lassiter, Chow.
“Lady!” The dispatcher called. “You’re next.” He pointed to a cab just pulling up.
“Hold on, Michael, I’m getting into a cab,” which I did. “Clarendon.”
The driver grunted and pulled away from the curb. “Okay, Michael, I’m back.”
“We suggested next Wednesday to your editor.”
“Time?”
“Nine, in our office. Then we’ll go from there.”
That sounded fine, as I relaxed in the comfortable leather seat of the cab. “Things getting busy on the Hill?”
“Sort of,” he said offhandedly.
He wasn’t being his talkative self. “How’d Tyrell make out?”
“Well, both ways, from what he said.”
I laughed. “The perks of spydom.”
“I guess.”
He was in a funky mood. “Michael, what’s wrong?”
He didn’t answer, so I waited.
“It’s the guy,” he said very quietly. “Tyrell says he’s in over his head; they own him.”
“They?”
“The pharmas.”
I hated having to drag it out of him. “Own him?”
“He’s in deep. Let me back up. After their respective dates last week, Tyrell waited a day, then called the guy. Tyrell’s reason was to see if they could get together, without dates, get to know each other better. The guy agreed, and they had lunch.
“I’ll give you the short story. The guy’s up to his eyeballs in trouble.
Being close to the leader, he constantly received gifts, trips, cash . . . . He had become a high-roller, Tyrell said. The guy even broke down when telling him. His wife and two-year-old daughter had left him and gone to her parents in Michigan, and they might not come back.”
“She knows about his philandering?”
“I don’t know what she knows, except that she did complain about all the gifts he brought home and his spending money that she didn’t think they had,” Michael said disgustedly.
“Yeah, the pharmas bought him hook, line, and sinker,” I said softly, in case the driver knew English.
“He’s very vulnerable.”
“Can we turn him?” I whispered.
“We’ll probably have to threaten him with exposure.”
A pang of concern shot through me.
“We have no other option, Laura. We have an opportunity to get inside the Kelly slash pharma camp,” Michael said strongly.
I didn’t like dragging innocents into . . . yet Michael was right. Besides, this was in his backyard. He could go it alone and probably would.
“Our intention . . .”
Our? Did that mean Dalton was in on this?
“. . . is to garner information . . . names, places, that sort of thing. We’ll set up a dinner, something that’s part of the guy’s normal social routine.”
“His goose is cooked regardless of which way he goes,” I suggested.
“I guess. Maybe we can orchestrate a way for him to get another job, be fired, something to keep the wrath of the pharmas from coming down on him. Try and get him off the hook, give him a way to set things straight with his wife.”
Michael is a major conspirator.
“How many scenarios have you developed?”
“Well, I’ll talk to Nancy—”
“Oh, they’d make a pair,” I said sarcastically.
“Nancy is a solid citizen. If you saw her work, you’d see what I mean.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, catching his tone. “I didn’t—”
“It’s my fault for divulging her private—”
“No. That’s me. When I know people, I tend to joke around. Let’s get back to your plan,” I said, hoping to right the ship.
“Okay,” he said calmly. “I thought you, me, Nancy, and the guy could have dinner. We’d start out with Tyrell, but a prearranged phone call will call him away. Then we’d be two couples—”
It sounded like he had interrupted himself, so I waited.
“Laura, would you do that?”
“Sounds safe enough. I can be a member of your staff, like in New Jersey. You sure about Nancy? They may know each other. She works for Pembroke.”
“Ouch. Maybe using Nancy isn’t such a good idea. Besides, I momentarily forgot, she’s working on Gordon. How about you, me, and Tyrell having dinner with the guy?”
I’d forgotten about Nancy and Gordon too. “Sure. Maybe have the senator—”
“What?” came his sharp response. “She won’t agree . . . I won’t let her. That’s not her style. You said so yourself.”
“It wouldn’t be asking her to go against her principles.”
“I can’t allow that,” he said assertively.
I found his objection a little hollow considering what was at stake.
However, I agreed to it being Michael, Tyrell, and me. Then I broached the sensitive issue of wanting to talk with the senator, even though we would be getting together Monday.
He told me he’d check with her and get back to me, adding that I shouldn’t worry about the potential mole. “The guy wants a new start.”
We said our goodbyes. I told the driver to stay on the Parkway and exit at Spout Run. I sat back in the seat, eager to talk to Roanne Dalton. My cell phone rang.