Blowback

EIGHTY-ONE

If the tone of his message didn’t alert Senator Carmichael that he had news worth celebrating, then Brian Turner’s choice of a four-star hotel for their next meeting definitely should have. As an added extravagance, he had booked them into the eighth-floor suite that former Vice President Al Gore grew up in when his father was in the Senate and a cousin of theirs owned the hotel. He hoped the significance of their surroundings wouldn’t be lost on her.

After arriving early to check in and make sure the room was in order, Turner headed downstairs to the hotel’s Fairfax Lounge for a cocktail. Though he could have gone for a third martini, he made good on his promise to only have two. The senator had not been happy with the condition she had found him in the last time they met, although she did warm up considerably when he presented the information he had obtained for her. He knew today would be no different, especially with the bombshell he was about to drop, but he wanted to have a reasonably clear head when he did. Knowing Helen, she was going to be in the mood for champagne and would probably want to spend an hour or two in the sack before running with the dossier he had put together on the president’s personal covert action team.

When Carmichael arrived, she was all business. “You must have something pretty big to call me out of my office in the middle of the day,” said the senator as she brushed past the young CIA man and entered the luxuriously appointed suite.

“Nice to see you too,” he said as he closed the door behind her and crossed over to the minibar. “How about a drink?”

“I’ve got a floor vote in forty-five minutes, Brian. Why don’t we cut to the chase? Tell me what I’m doing here.”

She was one hell of a ballbuster, that was for sure, but she was Turner’s ticket to the big leagues, and he tried to keep that in mind as he said, “You think you’d show a little more appreciation to the person who was about to hand you the vice presidency of the United States on a silver platter.”

“What are you talking about?”

“On the desk,” he replied, nodding in the direction of a gift-wrapped package.

Carmichael walked over and picked up the box. Sliding the red satin ribbon off, she lifted the lid and found a plain manila folder inside. “What’s this?” she asked.

Turner picked up the room-service menu and flipped to the wine list. “Open it and see,” he said over his shoulder.

The senator sat down at the desk and began reading. “How the hell did you get hold of this?”

“I told you before. I’m very good at my job.”

“Brian, you’re better than good. This is absolutely incredible. This is going to knock Jack Rutledge out of the White House so fast, there’ll be skid marks down Pennsylvania Avenue.”

“How about champagne? Should I have room service send up a bottle?”

“You have them send up anything you want.”

“Cristal it is,” said Turner as he reached for the phone to place the order.

Carmichael continued to read. “There’s enough here to launch twenty years’ worth of hearings.” The senator was so excited, she could barely contain herself. “It will take me days just to figure out whether I should drop the whole thing or leak parts of it in dribs and drabs until it reaches such a critical mass that Rutledge and his people will be drawing hot baths and fighting over the razor blades.”

Turner had known the minute he uncovered the information that his position in Carmichael’s cabinet was all but assured. Now, as she set down the folder and walked over to him, the red satin ribbon dangling seductively from her hand, he knew it was a lock. “When the press asks me where I got my information,” she said, unbuckling his belt, “how am I to explain such a fortuitous discovery?”

“You’ll tell them it came from a source that was sick of seeing Jack Rutledge mismanage this country’s assets and flagrantly flaunting his disregard for the Constitution and the body of laws that make America great.”

“That’s quite a mouthful,” said Carmichael as she dropped to her knees and unzipped his fly.

As she did, the room-service operator came on the line and Turner told her he would have to call back.

In the next room, one of the FBI surveillance agents sitting next to Gary Lawlor removed his headphones, pushed himself away from the video monitor, and said, “Now this scandal has everything. Including its own deep throat.”