Dana took a deep breath and tried to calm down. The president couldn’t kill her as long as she had the pictures, but she knew his agents would stop at nothing to get her-or anyone who was helping her-to tell them where they were. The pictures were her only way out of this mess, and she could think of only one person who could negotiate her safety with the president. Dale Perry had gotten her into this mess, and he was going to get her out of it.
Chapter Thirteen
The chambers of the United States Senate were impressive but they were also small because only one hundred citizens of the United States were entitled to hold the office. Maureen Gaylord was one of them. Everyone who watched her stride across the Senate floor toward the podium was impressed by her poise and air of command. This impression had not been left to chance. Gaylord’s hairdresser had worked on her at home early this morning and a makeup artist had come to her office. The outrageously expensive suit she was wearing made her look businesslike but approachable. She knew this because this suit and several others had been paraded in front of a focus group earlier in the week, as had several versions of the speech she was about to deliver.
Senator Gaylord, a former Miss Ohio, was a wholesome-looking brunette who had used the scholarship money from several beauty pageants to finance a degree in business at Ohio State and a law degree from Penn. She’d grown up as trailer trash, which gave her credibility with the common folk, her years as an attorney for a major corporation worked for conservatives, and her Ivy League credentials played well with intellectuals. Gaylord was a political everywoman who was wily enough to avoid committing to the right or the left but duplicitous enough to make those who approached her believe she was on their side.
The president pro tempore of the Senate gaveled the chamber to order, and Maureen stared into the television cameras. There weren’t many people in the gallery that hung over the Senate floor but there were plenty of media representatives in attendance, and that was all that counted.
“I am standing today in the most august deliberative chamber in the world thanks to the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Six months ago, a homegrown group of radical Islamists calling themselves the Army of the Holy Jihad conceived a despicable plan to attack the office buildings of the United States Senate with enough explosives to inflict massive casualties. One of the offices that would have been destroyed was mine. If it had not been for the brilliant work on the part of the Bureau these evil men might have succeeded. The fact that these deluded maniacs were willing to attempt such a brazen act highlights the absolute necessity of giving as much support as possible to the gallant men and women who risk their lives daily so that we may live our lives in freedom.
“I am proud to be a cosponsor of the American Protection Act, which will greatly add to the weapons the Bureau, Homeland Security, the CIA, and other groups on the frontlines of the war on terror presently possess. Some people have carped about various provisions of this act. One complaint I find especially galling is that which has to do with the profiling, investigation, and possible internment of Arabs living in or visiting the United States, including citizens of Arab descent. Those who complain about these important provisions of the act have let political correctness blind them to reality. With few exceptions the perpetrators worldwide of acts of atrocity have been Arabs, and some of these Arabs, like the Army of the Holy Jihad, have been the homegrown variety. They have reaped the benefits of democracy and capitalism while spitting in the face of those who educated and protected them and gave them opportunities few other countries give to their citizens.
“Yes, a few may suffer unjustly if this act is passed, but if we are going to protect our citizens, sacrifices must be made in this age of suicide bombers and terrorists unfettered by the laws of common decency. Our wonderful justice system can be counted on to correct most of these injustices, but our great American political and judicial systems must be protected so they may continue to help the United States remain the greatest country on Earth.”
Senator Gaylord spoke about various sections of the bill for forty more minutes then held a press conference before walking back to the Russell Senate Office Building through one of the underground passages that connected the Capitol to her office. She could have taken the subway, whose small, open-top cars reminded her of a Disneyland ride, but Gaylord preferred to walk so she could have some quiet time. Some supplicant for some special interest took up almost every minute of her day, and her greatest gift to herself was her rare moments of solitude.
Gaylord knew that the American Protection Act had no chance of passing, but her defense of the act had solidified her support among the conservatives in her party. She was also certain that Christopher Farrington was going to condemn the bill, which would give her a chance to paint him as soft on terrorism. The president was so wishy-washy on so many issues that the label had a chance of sticking. Incumbent presidents were usually hard to defeat, but Farrington hadn’t won his position. She didn’t even think of him as a president. He was a political hack who was merely saving her place in the line of succession. Without the mantle of the presidency, Maureen knew that Farrington wouldn’t stand a chance against her, and she was convinced that she could strip away the cloak that was concealing his true worth from his shoulders and expose his inadequacy to the world. By the time Senator Gaylord walked through the door of her office she was feeling righteous and self-confident and ready to do whatever was necessary to pound Christopher Farrington into dog meat.
“Good speech,” Jack Bedford said from his seat on the couch. Her chief of staff was a former political science professor with degrees from Boise State and the Kennedy School at Harvard.
“I knew it would be. Any reaction yet from the press?”
“Fox loved it, and MSNBC vilified you. They brought up all that World War II stuff about interning the Japanese.”
“That’s to be expected.”
“But I’m not here to talk about your speech.”
“Oh?”
“Something happened that I thought you should know about.”
“And that is?” Gaylord asked disinterestedly as she took a brief look through the stack of documents on her desk that her AA had put in the priority pile.
“A girl named Charlotte Walsh, who worked at campaign headquarters, was murdered by the D.C. Ripper.”
Gaylord stopped what she was doing and looked up. “That’s horrible,” she said with genuine emotion. “We’ll send condolences to the parents and order flowers for the funeral. Nothing cheap.”
“Already done.”
Gaylord looked upset. “I hope the Ripper isn’t one of our staff or volunteers.”
“The FBI was questioning everyone at campaign headquarters but Reggie Styles has everything under control. If the Ripper is involved in your campaign there’s no evidence to show it. He’s probably some deranged, Caucasian loner who lives with his mother. That’s what the profilers always say.”
Gaylord grunted then she grew uncommonly quiet. Bedford sat patiently. His boss always got like this when she had an idea.
“Do you think we can use the presence of a successful serial killer in the D.C. area to paint Farrington as weak on the crime issue?”
“I’ve already written a line for you to use when you meet the press about Walsh’s death. ‘If Farrington can’t protect the people who live in his city how can he protect an entire nation?’ What do you think?”
Gaylord smiled. “I like it.”
Bedford grew serious. “There’s something else. Walsh may have been a spy for Farrington.”