Blowback

THIRTY-FIVE

Growing up in South Philly, one thing Neal Monroe was not was a punk. He had learned early on to mind his own business and never anyone else’s. At the same time, his grandmother had brought him up as a good Christian and someone who knew the difference between right and wrong. And what his boss, Senator Carmichael, was doing was wrong. There were no two ways about it. That was why he had put the call in to Charles Anderson, tipping him off that Carmichael was on Scot Harvath’s trail. While Monroe didn’t know Harvath personally, he had learned enough about him over the past three days to know he didn’t deserve what the senator was preparing to do to him, all in her pursuit of the White House.

Contacting the president’s chief of staff, especially when he was of the opposing party, was tantamount to committing political suicide, but Neal Monroe didn’t care. He had come to Washington for one thing — to make his country a better place — and promised himself that no matter what, he would always do the right thing. If Carmichael knew what he was doing, there was no question she’d fire him. There was also no question that he probably would never find another job in DC either, but at least his conscience would be clear.

As an African American, Monroe liked to joke with the other two minority staffers in the senator’s office — a young Asian woman named Tanya, and George, a Hispanic guy who grew up in Neal’s neighborhood — that they formed the perfect little Rainbow Coalition right there in Carmichael’s office, demonstrating how worldly and open-minded she thought she was. Though the senator didn’t intentionally mean to be patronizing, she always was whenever she asked them how “their people” might feel about a specific issue or piece of legislation she was working on. Tanya was so removed from her Asian heritage that she was the first one to ask for a fork every time they ordered Chinese, and though George put on a good show of being of Mexican descent, he couldn’t speak a word of Spanish.

The bottom line was that Carmichael only saw what she wanted to see, and in slow-roasting Scot Harvath over an open flame, she saw her ticket to the White House. Maybe it was that his distaste for his boss had been simmering for so long that it was bound to bubble over onto the stove at some point; maybe it was because he had put himself through college on the GI bill and saw Harvath as a fellow soldier; or maybe it was just the Christian thing to do, but however you cut it, Neal Monroe didn’t care if he lost his job or not. At the end of the day, he wanted no regrets.

Once he had called Rutledge’s chief of staff, Neal felt totally absolved of any further responsibility. But all of that changed when he discovered how the senator was getting her information.

Now, as he walked through the Discovery Creek Children’s Museum, he thought about what he was going to say to the man Charles Anderson had sent to talk with him. Standing near a small placard that illustrated how trees grow, Monroe spotted his contact. “They didn’t have any of this in the neighborhood I grew up in,” said Monroe as the man joined him.

“In my neighborhood, we didn’t even have trees,” replied Gary Lawlor.

Monroe offered the man his hand, and Gary shook it. “You’re a brave guy, Neal. You know that?”

“Why? Because I’m airing the senator’s dirty laundry?”

“If what you told Chuck is true, her laundry is well beyond dirty.”

“Suffice it to say that I don’t like the way she’s conducting the people’s business.”

A group of children was approaching, and so Lawlor suggested they take a walk. As they did, he looked around and said, “I’ve had clandestine meetings in a lot of interesting places over the years, but this is certainly one of the most unique. Why’d you pick it?”

“I knew it was the one spot where we’d never bump into Helen. The senator hates kids.”

“But I thought she had a daughter,” replied Lawlor.

“That’s a neighbor’s kid. They just rent her for photo ops.”

Gary laughed. “So what have you got? Chuck mentioned you’re pretty confident you know where Senator Carmichael is getting her information.”

Neal nodded his head. “I knew it was coming from one of the intelligence agencies. I just didn’t know which one. Until this morning that is.”

Lawlor couldn’t believe it. “You know who’s feeding her the information?”

“No. I only know where it’s coming from, not who’s behind it.”

“That’s still a start,” said Gary. “What’s the source?”

“Langley, Virginia. The Central Intelligence Agency.”