Senate Cloakroom Cabal (30 page)

“Laura, I have to go to a meeting with Al. I'll call you if there is a change to the 6:00 meeting. Fred is known for changing things midstream.”

71

M
eetings, telephone calls, and researching a long list of speculations filled my day. It was a relief to get out of the paper and head for Roanne's office.

Michael and I waited for Senators Dalton and Crawford to return from the Senate chamber. When Ro showed after an hour-long wait, she was without Crawford. She said he had stopped to use her restroom. His meeting with Senator Pembroke had been very hard on him. Michael went for a pitcher of water and glasses, returning just ahead of Crawford.

The senator's tie was loosened. He looked drained. We sat around the coffee table and waited as Crawford took a long pull on his water.

“This is the most difficult thing I've ever gone through as a senator.” He cleared his throat. “Fred's usually very prompt. I waited fifteen minutes and then checked the Senate chamber, but he wasn't there. So I went back into the Cloakroom.

“He came rushing in around 7:10, barely acknowledging colleagues, and plopped into the chair next to mine. He was definitely not himself.

“He said, ‘I'm stepping down as chairman of HELP, Gav. You're the first person to know. It's true, what was on that tape. I took the money.' He impressed on me he had never asked for it. It had started with $2,500 in cash in a brown envelope. No name. Just a note:
For the kids' education.
He remembered talking about having two kids in college and a third about to start, and how he and Sally had scrimped; she'd even taken a part-time job, so they could give the kids the things they'd been promised. He chided himself for being so stupid, because now he had completely failed them and Sally.

“Fred told me the pharmas opened up an offshore account as Mort had said. Over $30,000 the first year. He said Stroble was right; he had never taken part in anything else . . . not the women, nothing. He said it was the euphoria of power . . . the chairmanship, the prestige, and the money . . .they blotted out reality. He asked me about you, Laura.”

“Me? Why?”

“He wanted to know if you were a good person. I told him Ro had confidence in you, and that from what little I'd seen, I'd say yes.”

I was confused. Why would he ask about me?

“He said the story you wrote about Ro was a good one. He was sorry about how he'd handled you, Ro. He was under pressure from Kelly and Horowitz. He asked that I tell you that.”

“Is he planning to leave the Senate?” Ro asked.

“It's possible. He plans to tell Tom about stepping down in a few days.

Then he really got me when he said, ‘Stroble didn't have to die, Gav,' and then abruptly got up and walked out. I couldn't believe what I had just heard.”

“I found Gavin in the Cloakroom,” Ro said to me.

“I was stunned and appreciate you giving me my space, Ro. Fred's saying the tape is true implicates Kelly . . . he's guilty, too, you know. Look, folks, Fred's a good friend; this has taken a lot out of me.”

“I truly feel sorry for him,” Ro said.

“Telling his family will be the hardest part for him. He's a great father, family man. Ironically, that was his undoing. It's tragic.”

“I remember H.T. telling me—”

The phone rang, interrupting her. Michael grabbed it and immediately showed shock.

“Senator, it's your father. He—”

“Finally,” she said, rising.

“He says they're under attack!”

“Attack?” I said incredulously, jumping to my feet.

Ro took the phone. “Dad?”

Panic flashed across her face. She put the call on speaker, and we heard sounds of gunshots and explosions.

“My God! Who?” she exclaimed.

Crawford was on his feet. “I'll call DOD,” he said rushing into Michael's office.

Rufus's voice was weak and overpowered by the sounds. “. . . one of our security men is down; there are a bunch coming at us. Sherman got hit, Johnny and I are . . .” There was a loud explosion amidst sounds of close-in rifle or machine-gun fire. Then the phone went dead.

I had my address book out looking up Harley Rogers's cell number.

“Dad! Dad! Can you hear me?” Ro yelled. There was no answer. She plopped into her chair, elbows on her knees and her head in her hands.

Michael stood, stunned.

Crawford rushed in. “Michael, punch up line three.”

He did.

Crawford said, “Okay, General, I'm in Senator Dalton's office. You're on speaker.”

I was punching in Harley's number.

“Senator Dalton, where was your father calling from?” the general asked.

“It's all been so secret,” I heard Ro say. “He's in the Caribbean, southern part, I suspect.”

“What do you mean, secret?” the unnamed general asked, upset.

“General, let me explain, give you what we know,” Crawford said.

Michael comforted Ro, as Crawford explained things to the general. I got a recording. I selected the emergency number and finally got a live voice at the answering service. I told her my name and explained as clearly as I could why it was imperative she find Mr. Rogers or put me through to him. She was hesitant, then adamantly said she couldn't.

“His son is in extreme danger and every second talking to you may be one too many to save him. Call Mr. Rogers and give him my name and the message.”

She asked me to wait. After what seemed like an eternity, a male voice came on.

“Ms. Wolfe? This is Harley Rogers.” His voice was shaky and husky.

“Your island is under attack. We have—”

“I just heard. How—?”

“Rufus called. I'm with Senator Dalton. We think the governor got hit.

He said Sherman had. We heard gun fire, explosions. Where is the island, sir? We have a general on with us and—”

“It's Carmaya, an archipelago off South America. I'll give you the coordinates.”

“I'm ready,” I said.

He recited the latitude and longitude.

“Senator Crawford,” I called, waving the paper as I rushed to him. “This is from Harley Rogers. It's Carmaya, an island archipelago.”

The surprised senator took my note and read the information to the general.

I asked Harley, “Please give me a direct line where—”

“I'll give you two.”

I had my pad. “Okay.”

Ro was still slumped in her chair with Michael beside her. I signed off with Harley and went to her, crouching down. Tears streamed from her eyes, and several wet tissues lay in her lap. I put my hand on her arm and said, “We know the island's location. DOD's got it now. Let's get away from here. I don't know what they can do, but . . .”

“Hopefully, send in the Marines,” she said hesitantly, crying.

72

I
called Jerry. True to form, Ro had food and soft drinks brought in from somewhere. I wished we were in a situation room instead of her office. We were in a cocoon—what we in Senator Dalton's room knew nobody around us knew. Our umbilical of information was our open line to some office in the DOD.

Senator Crawford, who had been on the phone in Michael's office, came in to tell us that some sharp general had ordered a detachment of Marines out of Gitmo, in full battle gear, to get airborne ASAP.

To help us understand the logistics of what a plane full of combat-ready Marines might face in Carmaya, Gavin had requested DOD fax us a recent satellite map of the Carmayan archipelago. I saw it was close to South America, as Harley had said. I teased Ro about the Marines actually getting sent in, but got no reaction.

The Marines' plane had already been airborne about five minutes when Crawford had passed the coordinates to DOD. I found them very proactive even before Crawford announced that they had dispatched their closest ship, a destroyer, to the island.

Senator Crawford's AA, Gordon, had joined us and was working with Michael. He came in to Ro's office and said, “We just got off the phone with the State Department. They've been in contact with Carmaya's president. The Rogers compound is on a small, previously uninhabited island two miles from the main island, in the five-island archipelago.”

“Did he send troops to—?”

“He only has a police force. They sent a helicopter, which was shot at, and it hightailed out of there. The pilot said he saw smoke billowing up from a large building.”

Some of us sat, some walked around. Time hung heavy on all of us. I was on and off the phone. Michael came in from the mini war room in his office and broke the long, somber mood.

“Everybody, Harley Rogers is on the phone. You're on speaker, sir.”

“Senator Dalton, my security chief reported they have repelled the attackers.”

A spontaneous cheer went up from all of us.

“Chief Driscoll said four of the attackers are known dead, two are wounded and in custody. He didn't think there were any more. Your father was hit by shrapnel in the shoulder, arm—”

Gasps and “what,” “oh no,” “how is he?” came from us.

“He seems fine,” Harley shouted. “He also has a small scalp wound, but whatever hit him did not penetrate the bone. He is alert, telling people what to do. Old war horses never change.”

Ro asked, “When can I talk to him? We can't get through on the numbers you gave us,” she shouted. “What about Johnny?”

“I have a satellite connection. I'll have Driscoll get me a phone you can call. Don't worry; your father and the others are being cared for. I have two EMT-trained personnel on the security force. The worst thing is two of my people were killed, and Sherman is in bad shape.”

“Oh, I'm so sorry . . . what can we do from here?” Ro said empathetically.

“You already have. I hear the Marines are on their way. I've got to go.”

“What about the wounded attackers?” Crawford asked anxiously.

“We have a lead on who they worked for and have given that to DOD. Driscoll is calling me. I'll get back to you as soon as I can.”

“Thank you, Mr. Rogers,” Ro said to a dead line.

Now we had another wait. It would be hours before the Marines reached Carmaya.

73

I
saw one of Michael's aides enter Ro's office. “Senator Dalton, Mr. Rogers needs to talk with you.”

That got all our attention. Ro had been napping in a high-back easy chair and took a moment to orient herself. Michael came in and went to her. I had been relaxing on one end of the sofa. She slowly rose with Michael's assistance, and he walked her to her desk and put the call on speaker.

“Harley?” she said huskily.

“Senator, we're loading my plane with medical supplies, doctors, nurses—”

“Yes, I'd like to go. How—?”

“I thought you would. We've cleared a flight into Dulles for around 11:30. You can meet us there. We had prepared for this type of event and have pallets full of medical and food supplies ready to go. The trucks are rolling. I'm leaving for Newark airport now.”

“How many may I bring with me?”

“A few, eight, ten.” The line went dead Ro called B&G and asked for assistance, namely picking her up. I wanted in and called Jerry at home. Crawford said he, too, would be going and left for his home to get some clothes.

Jeff would drive Michael home and then meet up with the others or drive him directly to Dulles. On the drive home, I called Max and brought him up-to-date regarding Carmaya and our flying down there on the Rogers medical plane. I also filled him in on Crawford's meeting with Pembroke.

“Sounds like you're in for a long night. I'll call Reed. By the way, Michael

Horne called this afternoon about the young women. We will be talking to them.”

I next called the paper, leaving messages for Lassiter and Barton about the attack and gave them my particulars.

Harley had called Ro's cell while I was calling the paper.

“A change has been made,” she told me as soon as I had gotten off my calls. “Harley is landing at Andrew's Air Force Base, you know, where the president's plane is kept. There had been a snag at Dulles about not being able to handle the refueling needs quickly.”

Ro then called Michael and Crawford in rapid succession. While she was on with Crawford, I suggested that he come to our house and leave his car. She agreed and gave me her phone to give him directions. Ro was dropped off first, a reversal of the original plan, because she lives closer to Andrews than I.

Jerry had a bunch of stuff laid out for me. Bless his heart, he tried. I packed. Crawford arrived, and he and Jerry worked out the parking arrangements. The two men were getting along like old school buddies when I got downstairs. I put my overnight bag and computer bag by the front door. I then raced back upstairs to give my sleeping son a kiss. I wanted to pick him up and hug him, but I instead gave him a light kiss on his blond head. I raced back down, gave Jerry a hug and a kiss, promising to bring him back a coconut.

Crawford and I were quickly in the B&G SUV and on our way. We picked up Ro ten minutes later. A travel problem had come up for Michael and me; we didn't have passports. Being a beat reporter and never traveling, I had never needed one. But Ro had already rectified that.

“A State Department official will meet us at Andrews and issue you and Michael temporary diplomatic status. That person will also fly with us to mediate any problems.”

“General Towers called,” Crawford said. “Two counterterrorism agents out of DOD will be accompanying us. They'll do the forensics on the island.”

Ro had called her mother, brother, and sister from her condo. While waiting for the refueling to finish, I called Jerry.

He blurted, “It's on TV from Carmaya. A reporter was on the island for another reason. He reported by phone that government authorities were not allowing anyone on the little island. People along the shoreline of the main island said there had been some explosions.”