Lethal Trajectories - Michael Conley [171]
61
Hart Senate Office Building
3 April 2018
“I just don’t understand it, Hugo,” muttered Tom Collingsworth. “How could things have unraveled so fast? What did we do wrong?” The rain beating against the office window matched the pervading atmosphere of despair inside.
“I wish I knew, Senator,” said Bromfield, currently more concerned with his own well-being than that of his nincompoop boss. He had another job offer on his desk from a newer member of the Senate—a demotion, to be sure—but it was starting to look better all the time as he considered how far the Collingsworth star had fallen.
“It simply amazes me,” Collingsworth continued. “The country has never been in such a horrible mess, and the worse it gets, the higher the approval ratings seem to be for McCarty and his cohorts.”
“That’s true, Senator, but what bothers me most is that the better his ratings get, the worse your ratings are. There are powerful forces working to strip you of your chairmanship, and I honestly don’t know if we can fend them off.”
Collingsworth poured himself another stiff double scotch, not offering Bromfield one, and scratched his head in dismay. “Our partnership with Wellington Crane had gone so well for so long, we seemed unstoppable. What on Earth happened?”
“Hard to say, Senator, but for one thing, Wellington’s popularity has plummeted. He’s losing followers and sponsors now that he’s viewed more as a negative voice than a positive influence. Wellington’s gone off the deep end, and I’m afraid he’s taking us with him.”
“He’ll be calling me shortly to talk about his show next week. He wants me to throw a few bombs on McCarty’s handling of the oil embargo and economy. The last three times I’ve been on his show, the mail has been four to one against me.”
“There’s no doubt, Senator, you’re digging your own grave by showing any support for Wellington. I’ve tried to tell you,” Bromfield said with growing anger, “you need to distance yourself from Crane and send a few olive branches the way of the White House. But you refuse to listen.”
“You’re right, Hugo, I know you’re right, but I just don’t know how to sever my ties with Wellington. He’s not one to forget disloyalties, and he’d kill me if I abandoned him.”
At that, the anger and resentments Hugo had swallowed over the past four months erupted in a venomous fury. He lit into his terrified boss like a fighting-mad Marine Corps gunny sergeant tearing into an incompetent new recruit.
“I’ve had it with you, Senator,” he screamed. “I’m fed up with carrying the water for you. I’m tired of crafting positions for you that you don’t follow and doing damage control every time you open your mouth without thinking. Your star is falling, Tom, and I don’t know if I can save you. I don’t know if I even want to. Certainly I can’t save you if you stupidly fail to follow my advice.”
On a roll, Hugo could not control the invective spewing out in waves, and it was obvious that Collingsworth was too stunned to fight back. Finally, emotionally spent and totally dejected, Hugo concluded, “I’m probably the only friend you have left, Tom, and I’m leaving too if you don’t tell Wellington where he can shove it. Your choice, Senator, I’ve had it with you.”
As luck would have it, his secretary tapped on the door at just that moment to tell the senator that Wellington Crane was on the phone. Collingsworth quickly gunned down another double scotch before picking up the phone.
“Yes, Wellington, what can I do for you?”
“I’m calling to nail down talking points for my show next week, Senator, and …”
“I won’t be able to be on your show next week, Wellington,” Collingsworth interrupted loudly as Hugo glared at him with disdain.
“What do you mean you won’t be able to be on my show? Is this some kind of joke?”
“No, it’s ah, it’s not a joke, Wellington, I just can’t make it,” he muttered, obviously feeling