Brad Meltzer - The Zero Game

“Just give me five back,” I say to the cab driver, who’s taken far too many glances at us in his rearview mirror. Maybe it’s our silence… maybe it’s the fact Viv won’t even look at me. Or maybe it’s the fact I just gave him a crappy tip.

“Actually, keep the change,” I tell the cabbie as I paint on a warm grin and force a laugh at the Elliot in the Morning promo that screams from the radio. The cabbie smiles back and counts his money. People are far less likely to remember you when you haven’t pissed them off. “Have a great day,” I add as Viv and I climb outside. He gives us a wave without looking back.

“You sure this is legal?” Viv asks, forever the good girl as she follows me toward the squatty modern building.

“I didn’t say anything about legal — all I’m looking for is smart.”

“And this is smart?”

“You’d rather fly commercial?”

Viv goes back to her silence. We went through this on the ride over here. This way, they won’t even ask for ID.

There aren’t many places you can get a private plane in less than two hours. Thankfully, Congress is one of them. And all it took was a single phone call. Two years ago, during a key vote on a controversial aviation bill, the head of FedEx’s government relations office called and asked to speak to Senator Stevens. Personally. Knowing they never cried wolf, I took a chance and put the call through. It was a gorgeous chess move by them. With Stevens on board, it set the tone for the rest of the Midwest Senators, who quickly followed with support for the bill.

Exactly two hours ago, I called FedEx’s government relations office and asked them to return the favor. The Senator, I explained, didn’t want to miss a last-minute fundraising opportunity in South Dakota, so he asked me to call. Personally.

That’s what brings us here. According to the ethics rules, a Senator can use a private corporate jet as long as he reimburses the company for the price of a first-class commercial ticket, which we can repay later. It’s a genius loophole — and Viv and I just jumped headfirst right through it.

As we’re about to enter the building, an automatic door slides open, revealing a room that reminds me of a fancy hotel lobby. Upholstered head chairs. Victorian bronze lamps. Burgundy and gray carpet.

“Can I help you find your aircraft?” a woman in a business suit asks as she leans over the reception desk on our right.

Viv smiles but then makes a face when she realizes that the sudden helpfulness is directed toward me.

“Senator Stevens,” I say.

“Here you go,” a deep voice calls out just past the reception desk. I look over as a pilot with brushed-back blond hair nods our way.

“Tom Heidenberger,” he says, introducing himself with a pilot’s grip. From the handshake alone, I know he’s former military. He reaches over and shakes Viv’s hand as well. She stands straight up, enjoying the attention.

“Senator on his way?” the pilot asks.

“Actually, he’s not gonna make it. I’m speaking in his place.”

“Lucky you,” he says with a grin.

“And this is Catherine, our new legislative assistant,” I say, introducing Viv. Thanks to her navy suit and above-average height, she doesn’t even get a second glance. Congressional staffs are full of kids.

“So you ready to go, Senator?” the pilot asks.

“Absolutely,” I reply. “Though I’d love if I could use one of your phones before we take off.”

“No problem at all,” the pilot says. “Is it a regular call, or private?”

“Private,” Viv and I say simultaneously.

The pilot laughs. “Calling the Senator himself, huh?” We laugh along with him as he points us around the corner and down the hallway. “First door on your right.”

Inside, it’s a miniature conference room no bigger than a kitchenette. There’s a desk, a single leather chair, and on the wall, an inspirational poster of a man climbing a mountain. At the center of the desk is a shiny black telephone. Viv picks up the receiver; I hit the button for the speakerphone.

“What’re you doing?” she asks as the dial tone hums through the room.

“Just in case you need help…”

“I’ll be okay,” she shoots back, annoyed that I’m checking up on her. As she hits the button marked Speaker , the dial tone disappears.

I can’t say I blame her. Even forgetting that I got her into this (which she doesn’t), this is her show — and these two phone calls are ones only she can make.

Her fingers tap at the Touch-Tones, and I hear the ringing through the receiver. A female voice picks up on the other end.

“Hey, Adrienne, it’s Viv,” she says, pumping excitement into her voice. The show’s already on. “No… yeah… nuh-uh, really? And she said that?” There’s a short pause as Viv plays along. “That’s why I’m calling,” Viv explains. “No… just listen…”

The female voice on the other line belongs to Adrienne Kaye, one of Viv’s two roommates in the Senate page dorm. As Viv told me on the ride over, every night, when the pages get back from work, they’re supposed to sign the official check-in sheet to make sure everyone’s accounted for. For the thirty pages, it’s a simple system that works just fine — that is, until last week, when Adrienne decided to ditch curfew and stay out late with a group of interns from Indiana. The only reason Adrienne got away with it was because Viv signed Adrienne’s name at the check-in desk and told the proctors she was in the bathroom. Now, Viv’s trying to get the favor returned.

Within thirty seconds, the job’s done. “Great — yeah, no — just tell them it’s that time of the month; that’ll keep them away,” Viv says, giving me the thumbs-up. Adrienne’s in. “Nuh-uh… no one you know,” Viv adds as she glances my way. There’s no smile on her face.

“Jason? Never ,” Viv laughs. “Are you a nutbag? I don’t care if he’s cute — he can pick his nose with his tongue…”

She keeps the conversation going just long enough to keep it believable. “Cool, thanks again, Adrienne,” she says, finally hanging up.

“Well done,” I tell her as she stands in front of the desk and dials the next number.

She nods to herself, showing the tiniest hint of pride. The chase with Janos pulled her down a few pegs. She’s still trying to climb her way back up. Too bad for Viv, the next call will only make it harder.

As the phone rings on the other line, I already see the change in her posture. She lowers her chin, ducking down just slightly. Her toes turn inward, one shoe picking at the tip of the other. As her hand grips the receiver, she again glances at me and turns away. I know a call for help when I see one.

I hit the button for the speakerphone just as a female voice picks up on the other line. Viv looks down at the red light marked Speaker . This time, she doesn’t shut it off.

“Doctor’s office,” a female voice answers.

“Hey, Momma, it’s me,” Viv says, forcing the same amount of bubbliness through the phone. Her tone is pitch perfect — even better than the last call.

“What’s wrong?” her mom asks.

“Nothing… I’m great,” Viv says as she leans her left hand against the desk. She’s already having trouble standing up. Two minutes ago, she was seventeen, going on twenty-seven. Now she’s barely thirteen.

“Why’m I on speakerphone?” Mom asks.

“You’re not, Momma; it’s a cell phone that’s-”

“Take me off speaker — y’know I hate it.”

Viv looks my way, and I instinctively step back. She hits the button marked Speaker , and the call leaves the room. The good news is, thanks to the volume of Mom’s voice, I can still hear her through the receiver.