William Bernhardt - Capitol Threat

“Trudy told me you arranged the whole transportation setup.”

“That much is true. But it was not because I wished it. It was because Victoria wished it. All I did was make the arrangements. Victoria and I have done…much business together. Both professional and personal. Naturally, I hoped for this relationship to continue. So it was a simple matter to arrange the ride for her.”

“Why did she wanna go?”

“I believe that she and someone at the conference…had unfinished business. She owed me money. And she believed that this visit might assist her fund-raising efforts.”

“How?”

Renny’s eyes narrowed. “Now you are asking me questions such as I cannot possibly answer. As I said, it was her business, not mine. And now she is dead.”

“You must have some idea. Especially since you two had this close relationship.”

Renny did not respond.

“I’m waitin’,” Loving said impatiently.

“I have told you what I know. Anything more would be speculation. Or might endanger other professional relationships. With the living.”

“What relationships? What the hell are we talkin’ about? What were you and Victoria into?”

Renny paused for a long time, then sighed wearily. “It is so difficult to know how to begin. Do you know anything about art?”

“Art? You mean, like that picture in your back room of the bearded guys on the boat?”

Renny’s eyes traveled skyward. “Yes, like that priceless Rembrandt— Storm on the Sea of Galilee. Which has been missing for many years.”

“Missin’? I just saw it.”

Renny only smiled.

“Look,” Loving said, “I’m tired of these games. I want to know what this Victoria person was doin’ at the press conference. I want her real name.”

Renny seemed to be staring beyond him, not making eye contact. “That I cannot do.”

“That you will do, you Europimp, or I’ll take you apart piece by piece.”

“If I give you her name, then you will be able to learn everything.”

“That’s the general idea.”

“That, I cannot allow.”

Loving rose to his full height, inflated his chest, and pounded his fists together. “I don’t see that you’ve got a hell of a lot of choice. You’ll tell me what I want to know and you’ll do it now, or I’ll separate your neck from your head!”

The door behind them slammed open.

Loving whirled around. To face Max and Pretty Boy.

They were both armed.

Renny smiled. “I guess I would say that I see the situation differently than you, Mr. Loving. It is, after all, simply a matter of perspective.”

45

“We’re not out of the woods yet,” Ben kept saying, but no one was listening. Everyone in Washington he knew, and several people he didn’t, were packed into his office. Champagne glasses were clinking. Everyone was congratulating Roush, shaking his hand, slapping him on the back. He appeared pleased—a little stunned, perhaps, but pleased. It was a brief but heartfelt celebration. Another fifteen minutes, and then they had agreed they would put the booze away and let the press in. Then things would really become chaotic.

“Appreciate it,” Roush said as Ben approached the center circle where Roush was speaking to Sexton, Carraway, Senator Hammond, and others. “But I can’t take credit. I owe this one to Senator Kincaid.”

Ben waved the compliment away. “I had lots of help.”

“I know. And I’ll thank everyone. But you turned the tide. You made the people of America sit up and listen, voice their opinion, give it a second thought. You made it possible for Senator Matera to do what she did.”

“Maybe,” Ben said quietly, “but remember, we’re—”

Everyone present recited the rest of the sentence in unison: “—not out of the woods yet!” And then burst out in riotous laughter.

Christina approached with a trayful of champagne refills. “Ben, don’t be a wet blanket. We’re celebrating here.”

“But we don’t have anything to celebrate yet.”

“Tad got out of committee, fooling every pundit in the city. I’d say that’s worth celebrating.”

“But he still has to go before the full Senate. And the Republicans hold a majority there, too.”

“Then you’ll turn them around just like you did the committee.”

“I’ll be lucky if I’m allowed to speak. There won’t be a hearing. The senators will debate, then vote. Period.”

“Polls show an increasing groundswell of support for our nominee,” Beauregard said, clutching his clipboard and somehow holding a champagne glass at the same time. “More and more people are setting aside their problems with homosexuals and focusing on his qualifications. Much as it pains me to admit it—you made that happen, Ben.”

“I think Senator Matera had a little something to do with it, too.”

“She fanned the flames. You started the fire.”

“Got to agree with that,” Senator Hammond said. “And speaking as the Senate Minority Leader, let me tell you that this is a service that will not soon be forgotten. You need to get your hat in the ring for reelection, Ben. I think you’ll be surprised by how much support you get.”

“Speaking as a lowly lawyer,” Sexton said, “I think anyone with your natural skills is wasted in the courtroom, Kincaid. You’ve found your niche here in Washington, and you’ve been given a lucky break most people would covet. Make the best of it. The voters will remember what you’ve done here today.”

Ben shrugged. “All I did—”

Christina hung on his shoulder. “Ben, stop resisting and accept the compliments.” She bounced up on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek.

Ben’s face instantly turned bright red. “Christina,” he said under his breath, “I’ve told you before—”

Once again, the crowd finished his sentence in unison: “—not in the office!”

This time the laughter was so loud, so infectious, Ben couldn’t help but give in and smile.

“Hey, you wild and crazy party animals!” Jones was standing on his desk, trying to be heard above the fray. “Are you taking media calls yet? I’ve got a reporter from the Post just dying to talk to our Supreme Court nominee.”

Roush started toward the phone, but Ben stopped him. “This is your party,” Ben said. “Enjoy it while it lasts. I’ll take the call.”

“Are you sure?”

Ben nodded. “We told them to wait till six. I think I’m capable of saying ‘No comment at this time’ as well as you are.”

Ben wove his way through the crowd and took the phone receiver from Jones. “Look, we don’t have anything—”

The female voice on the other end of the line cut him off. “This is Brandi Barnett with the Washington Post. Do you have a comment on the Fox News report?”

Ben found himself swallowing air. “The what?” He started over. “We have no comment at this—”

“I understand from a highly placed anonymous source that the Republicans are planning to filibuster if they can’t muster the votes to stop the confirmation process. Can you confirm or deny?”

“Can—the Republicans? What—?”

“I also have a White House source saying the President is going to publicly ask Roush to step down and that he has already done so privately. Can you confirm or deny that?”

Ben didn’t know what to say. Information was speeding by much faster than he could process it. “What are you talking about?”

“Should I take that as a denial?”

“You should take that as an I-don’t-know-what-the-hell-you’re-talking-about.”

And then she told him.

Ben returned to the celebratory circle, a somber expression on his face. “Tad,” he said quietly. “I need to talk to you.”