William Bernhardt - Capitol offence

"Do you have it?" the man asked brusquely. He spoke with a thick accent. Talk about another cliche. Was it wrong for him to wish there was no Middle Eastern origin? Why couldn't he get a nice white backwoods bully determined to bring down the federal government by blowing up innocent citizens?

"I have it. Do you have my money?"

The man opened a steel-shell briefcase. It was all there, all in cash, all in small unmarked bills. More than enough to take care of his immediate needs.

"I'll get the pig."

He walked to the back of his truck and wheeled out the small covered bucket. He would not be sorry to get rid of that. He had been keeping it far too long. The cesium was supposedly safe so long as it stayed in the bucket-safe from contamination and safe from being detected by law enforcement officials with spectrometers. But it still creeped him out. Made him wonder if he should be sleeping in a hazmat suit.

"Still active?" the other man asked.

"I'm no scientist. But I'm sure it is."

"And no one knows? We have heard what happened in Tulsa."

"Dr. Sentz may have been an idiot, but at least he had the sense to realize that he couldn't keep making little withdrawals forever without eventually being noticed. He took everything he could get the last time, then only sent as much as you asked for with Shaw. This is what's left."

"We are concerned that the police will find us."

"No chance. Shaw knew nothing about you."

"But if they investigate-"

"They will find nothing. Trust me. I've been watching the investigation very carefully."

"And if they find you?"

"They won't. The only one who knew I was involved was Christopher Sentz, and he's dead. The rest reported to him. I communicated with his brother through anonymous text messages. They knew there was a higher boss, but they didn't know who he was. Who I am."

The man smiled with admiration. "We do things much the same in our own cells."

"I know you do. That's where I got the idea."

"I hope we can do business again sometime."

"I appreciate that, but I have to keep my nose clean for a while. I'm going to be under a lot of scrutiny. Besides, my source has run dry. But who knows?" He shrugged. "In four years, I'll probably need money again. And that should give me about enough time to find another source of cesium."

They made the exchange with minimum fuss. He took the briefcase full of cash and returned to his truck. He waited for them to leave, then started his engine.

It was a long drive back to Tulsa.

He plugged in his iPod and spun up the John Prine playlist. Nothing better than Johnny for a long drive. Down-home, smooth, easy to listen to, and very smart. Country music for those who can't stand country music.

He thought about what the man had said. Would the police ever trace the cesium back to its buyers? He knew the current investigation would never get them there. He would like to think something would, someday. Before the big boom. Not that he wanted to see his most reliable source of funding dry up. But he did feel an itching at the base of his conscience that was hard to ignore. Like he should be a member of the French Resistance, but instead he was collaborating with the enemy. Still, he knew it was going to happen, and he knew someone was going to profit… and there was no point in beating himself up about it. Right?

He chuckled a little when he thought about the whole Dennis Thomas inquiry. Who was the mystery man who'd signaled Christopher Sentz to refuse to open an investigation into Joslyn's disappearance? Kincaid was all around it, but he couldn't see the answer, even when it was right before his eyes. Dennis had never gotten a good look at him, barely a glimpse, back at the police station. And no one else had noticed he was there. Ironically, those dunderheads assumed that if such a person existed, it must not be anyone they knew because they didn't remember him. The truth was, they didn't remember him being there because he was in there all the time.

David Guillerman adjusted his rearview mirror and peered into his own eyes. Still blue, still crystal clear. Nothing had changed. He was the same person he had always been. Right?

It takes a lot of money to mount a campaign these days.

Ben opened the door of his Senate office in the Rayburn building, R-222, and inhaled. And started coughing. This place had been closed too long.

"Glad to be back?" Christina asked.

He shrugged. "I'd rather be back on our roof at home, staring at the stars."

Christina immediately walked toward her desk and started sorting through the huge pile of mail that had accumulated while the Senate was in recess. As his Chief of Staff, she generally got more mail than he did. She had tried to keep up with some of the work at home, by email, but there was no substitute for being here, in the locus of governmental power.

"You seemed pretty absorbed during the flight. Spent most of the time gazing out the window. What were you thinking about?" Christina asked.

"Oh… I don't know."

"Fine, I'll guess. You were gazing at the constellations and thinking, One of those beauties should be named for my Christina."

"Got it in one."

She walked over to him and laid her hand on his shoulder. "But seriously."

"I tell you, that was it."

"You were wondering if the stars are really big gaseous nuclear reactors spitting helium into the universe."

"Uh, no."

"You were wondering if there's extraterrestrial life."

"Not at the moment."

"You were trying to remember if Ursa Major is the same as the Big Dipper."

"No."

"You were trying to count the stars."

"Still no." He sighed. "I was trying to… outwit them."

She pulled a face. "What are you talking about?"

"Nothing. Anything beats thinking about the case. Over and over again."

"Still beating yourself up, huh? Pretending you could have done a better job?"

"Sometimes."

"It worked out in the end."

"No thanks to me."

She took his hand. "Look, Ben. I want to apologize."

"For what?"

"For being such a pain. From the start. I'll admit it-I just didn't like Dennis. I didn't trust him. I know how easily you're bruised, and I didn't want to see you hurt."

"Who says I'm easily bruised?"

"Are you kidding? You're like the most hypersensitive person since Spider-Man. Except his Spidey-sense is useful. Yours, not so much."

"A lawyer should be able to empathize with others."

"Is that what you're doing? Because I think it would be hard to go around feeling the way you do."

Ben made no reply.

"My point is just that I didn't mean to make this affair more difficult than it already was."

"You didn't," Ben replied. "It's always good having someone thinking over your shoulder. Catching what you miss." He squeezed her delicate freckled hand. "I need you."

She blushed a little. "Well, yes. You do. But it's nice to hear you say it." She fluttered her eyelashes. "So if that's not what's troubling you, what is?"

"Our temporary insanity defense failed."

"Well, insanity is such a subjective concept. You remember that quotation I showed you from Angela Monet? 'Those who danced were thought to be quite insane by those who could not hear the music.'"

"Clever. But it doesn't change the fact that my defense flopped."

"I know. I was there."

"We did eventually get him off."

"There for that one, too."

Ben paused for a moment. "But… we never proved he didn't pull the trigger."

Christina stared back at him. "Shaw testified that they drugged him."

"Which explains why Dennis doesn't remember what happened. No matter how intense and memorable it might have been. They gave Loving the same drug, and as a result, he lost his memory of everything that happened after he was captured. Anything could've occurred after Dennis went to that hotel room. Dennis would've forgotten it."