Chapter 51 -- TTMIPHWAKIICXO
Dorothy Harrison looked out at the window of the limousine as it rolled along
Maryland Avenue. Congress was in recess and by tomorrow afternoon she would
be back in California. Sitting beside her was her senior aide, a thirtyish
woman from Los Angeles and a friend of the family. Not especially a friend
of hers - she was over forty years younger and Dorothy Harrison didn't have
friends - but as the daughter of her a
longtime associate of her husband, she had been well vetted before joining the
staff eight years earlier, when she became Speaker of the House.
That being Speaker would be her highest achievement had once annoyed her. At
ten years younger she might have had a shot the presidency, even though
members of Congress were rarely elected to that office. Times had changed and with her party
effectively in unchallenged control of the country, anything might be possible.
But she was too old and she knew it. And if she completed this term, whether
there would be another was questionable. Her body was going downhill fast,
and already she was wondering if it was worth it. She hated the diapers she
had to wear in public, and hated the fact that by now all of her staff and
therefore, most everyone in Congress, knew it. And of course it was by now
public. She had seen the looks, from people who did not have to fear her, as
they turned away to snicker and gossip to their friends.
That did not matter. The government was as good as theirs, and she
would be memorialized as one of those who brought about the new America. She
shifted in her seat to accommodate the bulky undergarment, panicking for a
moment as she felt an urge rise, wanting to contain it and knowing she could
not. It would come, if it did, and there was nothing she could do about it
except have her aide go to the restroom with her to clean up. And everyone
present would know what was in the bag she carried.
It passed and relieved, she glanced over at Alexis. She was looking out the
window and she could not tell if she had noticed her discomfort. She had seen
it often enough anyway. They were leaving Maryland Avenue, onto a side street
leading to the restaurant. Alexis released her seat belt and prepared to help
her employer.
They would be dining with Henry Wortman, chairman of the powerful Ways and
Means committee. Wortman, at sixty-eight, was much younger that Harrison but
even so had been in Congress for a long time. In his eighth term he was far
behind the thirty-two years Harrison had been in, but he had risen fast with
the support of the powerful New York political machine. His elections were
guaranteed as long as he did not fall out of favor with the party, and he had
no intention of doing so. His dinner date with Harrison was little more than
a casual signal to the other members of his status as her likely replacement
when she retired, whether in another two years or four.
'The old bag can't last forever' Wortman thought as he sipped his scotch and soda.
He didn't especially like her. In fact, he didn't like her at all, and was
fairly certain she regarded him with a certain amount of contempt. Their
relationship was purely business, and whatever had to be done to achieve their
goals had to be done. They were only in Washington about half the year,
actually less, and the time spent there was by no means lost. Never much of a
golfer, he played only when it seemed advantageous to accept an invitation, so
that particular time-wasting part of a politician's life did not much affect him.
Which left more time for women and booze, and other diversions. He
wondered what was keeping her. He had left early - as Speaker she was
likely to have been delayed by some sycophant. There were plenty of those,
with each of the past three elections adding a few new faces. He was glad he
didn't have to put up with them - the Speaker would have difficulty avoiding
them, but as his only distinction was being a committee head, he had fewer
such irritants.
"They're on the way in now," said Dennis. His young assistant put his phone
away. "Another drink?"
"Sure. I need to be well ahead of her to get through this."
He finished the drink, his second, as Dennis signalled for a waiter. He
watched the entrance to he room, and as Harrison and her aide entered he rose
and went around the table to pull out their chairs and greet them. The usual
pleasantries were uttered and drinks ordered, and the usual small talk ensued.
Alexis favored Dennis with a smile that might have passed for real, had she
been capable of one. She ought to chat him up once in a while, she thought.
He could be useful for her plans after Harrison retired, or she might want his
position. She wondered what the prospects were for seducing Wortman. She was
young and fairly attractive, not to mentioned experienced. One learned a lot
of things in this environment. He wasn't in any way good-looking, but she had
serviced worse, and would again if the reward was worth it.
The waiter soon arrived and took their orders, and she and Dennis sat watching
their bosses talk, occasionally looking at each other. He seemed to take an
interest in her, so certainly he could be a good avenue to explore. She had
met him a few times, but had never asked if he was married or noticed if he
wore a wedding ring. She looked at her boss again, alert for any sign she
might be about to have an incident.
Outside, vehicles were being positioned and watchers stationed in strategic
places around the entrance to the restaurant. Two men dressed in black BDUs
took up positions inside two vans in the livery of an electrical contractor.
Two other men waited in cars and two more, in casual dress, patrolled the area,
without ever lingering long enough in any location to arouse suspicion. The
parking lot was relatively full but not congested, and the getaway cars were
positioned so their exit could not be blocked. When the two limousines used
by the targets moved to the entrance, it would be time to move.
The short-range radios they were using had a clean channel with no other
traffic, and the six men kept up regular transmissions to keep each other up
to date. The men, particularly the two shooters, had studied their quarry for
weeks, and had stalked them in the final days leading up to this night. The
summer solstice was past and the daylight was ending earlier, but daylight
savings time had not yet ended. It looked as if the strike would occur just
before sunset, with the urban landscape creating a varied environment of light
and shadow.
Presently the parking lights on one of the target cars came on, and a few
seconds later those of the other came on as well. The shooters readied their
weapons and prepared for action. The vans were parked near the entrance, back
to back.
The headlights of both cars were on now, and they left their parking spaces
and made their way to the restaurant entrance. The shooters left the vans
through the back doors and move, almost invisible in the shadows of the vans
and the foliage along the wall of the building. Side by side they leaned back
against the sides of the vans, as the dinner party exited the restaurant. The
drivers had gone around to open the doors, the passengers now were crossing
the brick floor between the last step and the street.
In a silent, fluid rush the two shooters moved from behind the vans,
shouldering the light .40 caliber carbines, the dots of the laser sights
finding the two targets, both standing rather conveniently side by side, with
their assistants just to one side.
The drivers had just begun to move when the shooters opened fire, placing a
half-dozen rounds each into the selected target in less than three seconds.
Other than some slight jerking the targets didn't move at all for a couple of
seconds. Then both fell into motionless heaps. Each of the shooters tossed a
flash-bang toward their victims and ran into the parking lot just in time to
rendezvous with two cars. Each one entered a car and they sped away.
Across the parking lot, two of the men who had been patrolling the lot had
moved into vantage points that gave a good view of the entrance. As the
shooters had moved into position each had activated a camera, recording the
shooting and the few seconds after. Well outside the area of the action, they
casually walked to a car driven by the third man, who drove without haste back
onto Maryland Avenue. They had gone several miles before they encountered a
police car going in the direction of the restaurant.
"I hope the pre-op diversions went as planned," one of the shooters said.
"Some of the teams may not have had as much cushion as we did."
"Yeah," said the other. "You figure two or three minutes to get a call in and
get an answer - it's a Friday night - and then another minute or so to give
them the info. Then a couple of minutes to call and a response from the nearest
car. We were long gone before then."
"Good show," the other said. "Let's see if we can raise the photo team."
He activated a phone and called a number, conversed briefly and hung up.
"They shot the scene and egressed about a couple of minutes after us," he said.
"Excellent," his partner said. Then both slumped back in the seats, the
carbines across their knees. The driver would keep them out of trouble with
traffic cops, if any were available by now. The police force would soon have
every cop and car occupied, if they did not already.
Herbert Colbert finished his third after dinner drink and looked across the
table at the young junior senator from Missouri. Not yet fifty-one, he was
one of the youngest senators, in a body with an average age over sixty-five.
Colbert himself was seventy-one but looked ten years younger, something he
he enjoyed being told. And unlike the old woman over in the House, he thought,
he still had all his faculties. The ease with which he had found success with
his objectives in the past several years sometimes disappointed him. With the
other party so outnumbered now that even token resistance was rare, he missed
the fights. Now the Senate Majority Leader, he was mostly herding the body
into into shape. More, he missed the adulation of the party
operatives, and having a bank of microphones and a array of cameras awaiting
whenever he walked out of the Senate building.
He had been sizing up Erskine McCormick since his arrival after the previous
election. The young Missouri Attorney General had made his bones as a
prosecutor in St. Louis, displaying a talent for demagoguery and rabble-
rousing that impressed the old New Jersey senator. And a fortuitous
assassination attempt on the eve of the election virtually guaranteed his
already likely victory. And it made good material for his frequent diatribes
arguing for more restrictions on firearms.
Already on a couple of prestigious committees, his loyalty unquestionable, he
could be a future Majority Leader, even if he was a little young. Colbert had
four years left on his current term, and was debating retirement. That would
put McCormick and fifty-five and him at seventy-five. He liked the idea of
retiring, and figured he would get McCormick through even if he was young and
a one-termer.
"Well, Erskine," he said. "It's been a good year. I'd say from
here on it's pretty much a matter of reaping the rewards. Any chance of
opposition is gone for good now, and this term just confired it. We can
write our own tickets now, and there's nothing between us and all we want, of
whatever we want."
"I'm certain you're right," McCormick said. "It's good to be here as it starts.
Do you ever wish you were younger?"
"Sometimes," Colbert laughed, "but only because old age isn't much fun some days.
Still, I'm in pretty good shape physically, and should have some good times in
the years ahead. Not that the ones in the past haven't been good ones."
"Are you thinking of retiring then?" McCormick asked. A waiter brought new
drinks, and he took a sip before answering.
"I'm seriously considering it," Colbert replied. "From the way it looks, the
next four years will be even easier than this. No opposition, and no one to
criticize, no matter what we do. The president will be, has he has been for
the last two terms, a selection of the party. And the party will rule, in
comfort and style. The Russians definitely had it right, as do the Chinese.
As long as you play the game right, don't rock the boat, you'll have a great
life."
"I can certainly see that," said McCormick. "I always knew, young as I am, how
things were going. I'm glad to be in. There were sacrifices along the way,
at times, the the results are all that matter."
"Speaking of sacrifices," said Colbert, "how are you feeling these days, physically?"
"Quite well, thank you. The wheelchair can go soon, I think. I'll probably
keep the cane for a while longer. I may have to, as I still have a slight
limp, but the last surgery helped a lot."
"I'm happy to hear that," Colbert said. "You won't be having any trouble being
reelected now, as many times you wish. You're lucky to be so young, you can
probably do just another two terms if you wish, and retire quite comfortably.
And truthfully, being here is more and more like retirement all the time."
They both laughed. Life was indeed good, McCormick thought, and he had
arrived at just the right time. The money was already pouring in, and even
the small speaking fees, the royalties from the ghostwritten book published
just after his election, and in just two years the growth of his stock
portfolio almost scared him. And he thought, it would only get better.
He looked at his phone. If they left soon he could rendezvous with the young
staffer from his hometown. She had worked on his campaign and had been
rewarded for that, and more importantly her performance in bed, with a staff
position. His wife who even before his rise had become rather indifferent
about their relationship. Each of them pursued their own affairs, only
getting together for photos and occasional business-related parties. She was
well paid for a no-show job with a wealthy contributor and divided her time
between the social scenes of DC and St. Louis. He hadn't seen her in several
weeks and that was quite satisfactory. He wondered if she was enjoying life
as much as he was.
Colbert finished his drink and began to rise.
"It's about time to go," he said as McCormick rose as well. "Are you going
home in the morning?"
"No," McCormick replied. "I'm going to spend a few days here, rest a little.
There's nothing urgent at home."
Colbert of course knew what McCormick would be doing. There were few secrets
among the members, particularly as the gossip of their staffs took care of
anything they neglected to share.
"Well, then I guess we'll get together in a few weeks," he said.
They walked toward the door, Colbert in front.
Outside two men in light summer suits stood in the parking lot, a couple of
feet apart, conversing. One was facing the door, the other had his back to it.
As Colbert and McCormick exited the restaurant, about twenty feet away, the
two men casually turned and headed towards them. Completely unaware of danger
the two politicians closed the distance in seconds. At ten feet the men drew
pistols from under their coats and, almost casually, each fired six shots into
the center of one of the senators' chests. They crumpled to the pavement, the
two shooters turning to jog towards the two cars approaching them. In seconds
they were in and gone.
The doorman had not seen what happened, and at the sound of the shots he turned,
saw the men falling, and reached for the door handle, hurrying inside without a
backward glance.
The two cars quickly covered the two hundred feet to Carver Street,
disappearing into the four lanes of traffic. Inside each car, the shooter
replaced the empty magazine with a full one. In the unlikely event they had
an encounter with the police, it wouldn't do to be short of ammunition. In a
few minutes more they were on an entrance ramp to the freeway. It was several
minutes before they saw a police car headed their way, likely to the scene of
their hit, or perhaps one of the others that were occurring at about that time.