Melanfield was unfazed. “Come on, Todd, let’s be friends. I’d think you could use a pal right now. Especially one who could put a lot of loot into your campaign coffers.” He paused. “Or your defense fund.”
“And you’re willing to give that to me?”
“Damn straight.”
“And all you ask in return?”
“Is that you reconsider your position on the Alaska wilderness bill. It’s your opposition that’s keeping the bill from getting out of committee.”
“You know what that bill would do.”
“Yeah, I do. It would allow us to stop being dependent on foreign oil. Which would allow the U.S. to stop meddling in the Middle East in a never-ending series of conflicts that only increase anti-American sentiment and kill thousands of U.S. troops.”
“By turning what is quite literally the last untouched wilderness preserve in the fifty states into a noisome oil refinery.”
“We’ve spent billions in the Middle East -”
“Inveighing against foreign policy I don’t support won’t persuade me to change my vote, Steve. I won’t do it. Not for your money or anyone else’s.”
“You know it’s going to happen, Todd. Eventually. Just a matter of time. When the people want oil bad enough, they’ll demand that their politicians find it, quick. And that’ll mean bye-bye, Alaskan preserve.”
Glancy sighed. “The sad thing is, you’re probably right. But it’s not going to happen on my watch. Now push off, will you?”
Melanfield rose to his feet, no longer smiling. “You’re making a big mistake, Todd. Mark my words-you’ll regret this.” He left the room.
“I think you just made an enemy,” Ben said.
“You can’t be a senator without making enemies. But a man has to draw the line somewhere, even in this day and age, when politics are dominated by big money. Can you imagine-letting the last untouched American wilderness be destroyed by oil companies? This is the country that invented conservation, the whole idea of preserving land from development. We had the first national park system in the world. And slowly but surely we’ve let that American ideal be eroded. Logging in the national forests. Commercial sponsors in the national parks. And now this. Well, I’m drawing a line in the sand. Whatever it costs me.”
“At least he’s a lobbyist, not a senator.”
“Right. Which means he has a lot more clout.”
“What?”
“Sorry to disillusion you, Ben, but lobbyists run this town. There are more than fifteen thousand of them running around any given time of the year. And they have enormous influence.”
“Because of their campaign contributions?”
“Money is good, no doubt about it. But what these guys really have that makes them indispensable is information. They can determine whether a senator comes off as an out-of-touch dodo or a sapient policy analyst.”
“But your staff-”
“Is overworked and underpaid. You have any idea how many thousand of bills we have to consider every year? No one could possibly be knowledgeable about all of them. But if the media catch you with your pants down, even once, they’ll crucify you. So we call on lobbyists to give us the quick and accurate info we need to seem informed. That’s the true source of their power. Pissing one off, any of them, can have serious repercussions.”
“Nonetheless,” Ben noted, “you just did it.”
He looked out the corner of his eye and smiled. “Like the distinguished representative from Arkansas said. Don’t let the bastards get you down.”
4
S handy hadn’t intended to invade anyone’s privacy. She just needed a few moments to herself. Sure, she wanted this job-had fought for it, in fact. Had done everything imaginable to get it. But what a day to start work! There had been almost no orientation, not even instructions on how to work the coffee machine. The moment she returned from the senator’s committee meeting and the keenly disturbing aftermath, that rhymes-with-witch Amanda (Shandy didn’t like to use sexist terms, even to herself) had shoved a pile of phone messages into her hand and told her to return the calls-without telling anyone anything. Good luck with that.
“But what position is the senator going to take?” “Will he consider resignation?” “What’s the reaction from his wife?” All Shandy could do was repeat over and over again, “I’m sorry, but we have no comment on that at this time.” A machine could have performed the job. And a machine wouldn’t have minded the hostility she met in almost every instance.
After that, Amanda had her reviewing and revising the press releases she’d drafted, a pointless exercise since Amanda was obviously the type of person who couldn’t take criticism from anyone. Then she had to make copies on that pathetic copying machine. Then she had to conference with a delegation from each party. Ironically, Senator Glancy’s party turned out to be far more hostile. She could tell the Republicans were enjoying this, savoring the opportunity to bring down someone who had been mentioned as a possible national ticket player. The Democrats, on the other hand, felt disgusted and betrayed. Why would Amanda send her on these no-win missions? Two explanations leapt to mind. First: she figured Shandy couldn’t tell them anything because she didn’t know anything, and second: Amanda didn’t want to face them herself. If Amanda had any hint of what Shandy had seen after the committee meeting, she’d have kept her under lock and key, but Shandy didn’t know what to think about all that yet, so she kept her mouth shut.
Shandy knew that as soon as Amanda spotted her again she would give her another unpleasant assignment-something as bad as or worse than what she’d been doing all morning-so she told Hazel she was stepping out to get some fresh air, just so she could have a minute or two to collect her thoughts and slow the onset of insanity. She didn’t think anyone (other than Amanda, if she found out) would mind. After all, they had told her where the senator’s hideaway was during the interview, and she had been there before. She knew it was quite nice-it had a sofa with a foldout bed, a television, a fridge stocked with soft drinks, even a faux fireplace. So she quietly wound her way down the stairs and into the basement, through the circuitous maze of passageways that led to the private hideaway.
Unlike the wide-open passages aboveground, down below the corridors were narrow and claustrophobic, made all the worse by the discarded furniture and equipment that lined the way, some of it junk so old she didn’t even know what it was originally designed to do. Stacks of yellowed paper, dented file cabinets, exposed wiring and rusted pipes: this was The Land That Time Forgot. She winced at the incessant clatter made by the electrical units, plumbing, and bizarre ancient subterranean air-conditioning tunnels. Finally she arrived at the hideaway, desperate to rest her feet, close her eyes, and just relax for one precious moment. She opened the door and stepped inside.
Her scream was so loud it could be heard all the way down the winding corridors and even upstairs, despite the rattling of the pipes, the humming of the exposed electrical wiring, and the sucking of the ancient air-conditioning tunnels. She screamed and screamed and when she finally stopped, it was not because she was no longer terrified, but because she was unconscious.