Tom Kelly sat patiently in his black leather chair behind an immense, mahogany desk. He stared at the back of a wiry man of medium height dressed in a hand-tailored, silk suit, the cost of which could feed a family of six for three months. The lobbyist was looking out the window that faced the US Capitol.
“I’ve always admired this view of the Capitol Dome from your vantage point, Tom,” Stanley Horowitz, the top pharmaceutical lobbyist in Washington, said, turning to look at the Senate majority leader. “It’s awesomely patriotic and inspiring, especially at night with the lights shining on it.”
Kelly smiled. He always preferred to meet the feisty lobbyist here, in his private senate office, instead of his more public office as majority leader. Kelly had occupied this space for the last twelve of his twenty-two years in the Senate. Black-and-white photos of smiling faces adorned his walls . . . trophies of a gilded past.
He said, “That it is, Stanley. However, I’d trade this view in a heartbeat for the one looking south at the Washington Monument.”
Horowitz smirked. “Can you actually see the Washington Monument from the Oval Office? I can’t remember.”
“You can see it clearly from the president’s bedroom.”
“Ah, to wake up and see the rising sun reflecting off that white obelisk.”
Kelly laughed. “Don’t go poetic on me, Stanley. I can’t stomach it.”
“Poetic I’m not, Tom, but a realist I am.”
And so much more, Kelly thought. The pharmaceutical lobbyist was a hard-nosed bastard. He had no soft edges. Even his smile had down-turned lines.
“And for you to realize your fondest dreams of waking up and catching that view,” Kelly said, sweeping his hand toward the window, “we need to tend to business.”
“Senator Dalton is a member of your caucus not on board, and for that I blame her overly eager administrative assistant, Michael Horne. He’s the one doing the digging.”
“She’ll come around,” Kelly half mumbled.
“Aren’t there a couple of other wafflers?” Horowitz snapped.
“Gavin Crawford and Jean Witherspoon are cautious senators. Nevertheless, they always follow the caucus when unanimity is required. They were never not on board, Stanley.”
Horowitz moved to the front of Kelly’s desk. Leaning in against it, he said emphatically, “It wouldn’t look good for a potential presidential nominee to be incapable of roping in his own senators on something so simple.”
“It’s a done deal,” Kelly said indifferently, meeting the pharma’s gaze. Horowitz thrived on intimidation. Kelly often wondered what the man’s life had been like before he had built his high-priced law firm and taken over the pharmaceutical lobby. He was considered to have more power than any non-legislator on the Hill.
Horowitz’s eyes were like slits. “Rogers’s cancer drug cannot be approved. We’ve done our job on the FDA’s administrative committee. They like the tens of thousands of reasons we’ve given them to see it our way, and I don’t want—”
“Harley Rogers is a tough old egg, admired.”
“He doesn’t have the clout of a two-year-old. His crumbling company proves that,” Horowitz said intensely, some of his spittle landing on Kelly’s desk.
“He’s a decent, well-respected guy, Stanley.”
“Don’t get all wishy-washy on me, Tom,” Horowitz warned. “It doesn’t become you. Harley Rogers went back on his promise to reduce the scope of Tutoxtamen to curing only one of the cancers. He tricked us into thinking he was going along. Well, now he’ll suffer the consequences. Do you understand what a ninety percent cure rate would do to the economy?” he asked, as he slapped the desk for emphasis.
“Rogers wants to become a damned historical figure, the creator of a miracle cure. The Salk vaccine would look like a cough drop compared to what his drug would do. You damn well better not weaken on me, Tom.”
The majority leader coolly suppressed a desire to stomp the arrogant egomaniac into the rug. “I am not weakening, Stanley. I just wish it didn’t have to be Harley.”
“Well, it is! His drug can never see the light of day. We need unanimous support from your party, up front, to give backbone to those squeamish FDA prigs. A couple of them are already waffling.”
“Fred Pembroke assures me the FDA will stamp it not approvable and send it into the purgatory of your dreams,” Kelly said smoothly. “And don’t worry about Dalton either; she’ll come around. She may be pure as the driven snow, but her husband was no saint. We can use that if . . . We’ll be FDA’s firewall, Stanley,” Kelly said assuringly.
And for emphasis, Kelly leaned forward in his chair. “Tutoxtamen will get buried in bureaucracy.”