Capitol Threat

32

Christina had tried chocolate milk. She had tried word games. She had even resorted to playing Bobby Darin songs on her harmonica. Nothing worked. Ben was in a blue funk and showed no signs of emerging.

“That was disgraceful,” he muttered, over and over again. “I let Keyes and his cronies walk all over me.”

“You did not,” Christina assured him, stroking the side of his face. “You fought like a tiger.”

“Please.”

“Keyes backed off.”

“Keyes backed off after he had accomplished everything he wanted. He couldn’t push it any further without betraying whatever semblance of impartiality he thinks he still maintains.” Ben’s eyes darkened. “And worst of all—he isn’t done yet. Of that I’m certain. He has something big planned. And we don’t have a clue what it is.”

Kevin Beauregard entered the conference room, a clipboard in one hand and a cell phone pinched between his ear and his shoulder. “Have you seen this?” He punched a button on the television set and it flickered to life. CNN was replaying key moments from the previous session.

“Ugh,” Ben said, wincing, then turning away. “The only thing worse than being there being trounced is watching myself being there being trounced.” Now and ever, he hated seeing himself on television. All he noticed were the flaws—every stutter, every slouch. His bottom teeth were crooked and the camera appeared to be intentionally positioned to highlight his bald spot.

“Actually, the overnight polls aren’t bad,” Beauregard said.

Ben looked at him incredulously. “You must be joking.”

“I’m not. A lot of people think Keyes went too far. I think you’ll see him pulling back next session. Acting with a greater facade of impartiality.”

“He’ll get someone else to do the dirty work. Potter, or Matera, or some other toady.”

“Very likely. But every little bit helps, right?”

Ben was forced to agree, which went against his almost pathological instinct to oppose anything said by any person who made decisions based upon polling results.

“If only there was some way to stop the murder investigation,” Beauregard added.

“What? Why?”

“In most Americans’ minds, the murder is a big unresolved question mark. The fact that the police are still investigating—and apparently not getting anywhere—only makes it harder for us to make a case for Roush. Even if we can’t solve the murder, it would be better if we could get the investigation stopped.”

“And how exactly do we do that?” Ben asked.

“Make it political. Call it persecution. Act like it’s all something that’s been trumped up by Roush’s opponents. Polls show that Americans love conspiracy theories. The more complex and unlikely the better.”

“Kevin…” Ben said, not sure just how to put this. “A woman is dead! She was murdered. In Tad’s garden.”

“I’m aware of that. But the police don’t know who did it. They probably never will. Can’t you get them to close the investigation? Maybe call one of your friends in law enforcement?”

“No, I can’t. And I won’t. If the police decide to give up, they’re going to have to do it on their own.”

Beauregard frowned, then changed the subject. “Here’s another thing we learned from the polls. You struck a chord with many viewers when you told them you tried to have the hearings delayed until after the police had completed their investigation of the murder. A lot of people didn’t know that, and it raised some questions in their minds. Gave the whole proceeding a political taint.”

“Swell. But how does that help us?”

“Should make Keyes back down even more,” Christina suggested.

“I agree,” Beauregard said. “And it will make it harder for the President to rush in with a replacement nominee. If he can’t do that, there’s no point in trying to terminate the hearings prematurely.”

“There are still more votes on that committee against us than for us.”

“We’ll have to change their minds,” Christina said.

“We’re not going to change anyone’s mind. Who knows what really lurks in people’s minds? The votes are being controlled by power brokers like Keyes. That lock isn’t going to be changed by anything they learn during the hearing.”

“You can change the committee votes,” Beauregard said firmly.

“Excuse me? How?”

“By turning the tide of public opinion. If popular sympathy swings in favor of Roush—admittedly a long shot at this point, but if it does—you’ll see Keyes and his cronies back down. They’d have no choice, really. They’re elected officials. And most of them would like to be elected again at some time in the future.”

Ben shook his head. “I don’t see how Roush is going to accomplish that.”

“I don’t, either.” Beauregard snapped his cell phone shut and passed the clipboard to Ben. “I think it has to be done by you.”