Murder at Union Station - Margaret Truman [22]
Widmer, who seldom spoke with reporters, particularly television reporters, issued a written statement through his press secretary: “The Democrats would like to whitewash the inadequacies of the CIA. The truth is, that agency has been weakened by the Democratic administration of President Parmele and his unwillingness to stand up for a strong and effective intelligence effort, even though this nation is faced with continuing and evolving terrorist activities against its citizens. The people my Democratic counterparts on the committee want to parade before us represent nothing other than business as usual, and I will not waste the committee’s time, nor that of the American people, with such a transparent ploy.”
And so the war of words went.
Widmer’s mood was particularly foul this day, and few escaped his wrath during the meeting, with Lowe receiving his share of the senator’s anger. When he was finished berating his staff for failing to think things through, Widmer abruptly adjourned the meeting and announced he was going home for the day. That left Lowe to do what he often did in his boss’s absence, abandon his own office to sit at the senator’s desk in his spacious suite. It was filled with mementos of a long career, dozens of photographs of political bigwigs inscribed to him, his arm about the shoulders of past presidents, plaques and framed citations extolling his contributions to America, family pictures, a glass-front cabinet filled with antique handguns, and other spoils of having been a public figure for so long.
“Did I hear?” Lowe said into his cell phone in answer to Rich Marienthal’s first question. “Did I hear?” he repeated, his voice louder and angrier. “Yeah, Rich, I heard. Where the hell were you?”
“We got tied up in traffic,” Marienthal replied. “There was an accident on the Lee Highway and—”
“I don’t give a goddamn about some fender bender, Rich. Do you realize what a spot this puts me in?”
Marienthal started to say something, but Lowe cut him off.
“Do you realize what a spot it puts the senator in, Rich? Do you realize that the senator doesn’t care why Russo was killed or why he’s not here to testify before the committee? Christ, I just came from a meeting with Widmer. For starters, he climbed all over me, reamed me out, nailed me to a cross and left me to bleed to death.”
Ellen Kelly came to the doorway to Widmer’s office, but Lowe brusquely waved her away.
“Look, Rich, I didn’t go along with your goddamn idea to see it get screwed up at the last minute.”
Had Lowe been talking with Marienthal face-to-face, he would have seen a quizzical expression cross the writer’s countenance. Marienthal didn’t say what he was thinking, that the idea had come from Lowe after he’d heard about the book Marienthal was in the process of writing. But maybe that wasn’t entirely accurate. The scenario that had unrolled just seemed to develop as they talked, at first an almost whimsical scheme that soon developed into something much more serious and complex. Besides, what did it matter who’d come up with it first? What did matter was what to do now that the highlight of the plan had so dramatically and definitely unraveled.
Lowe drew deep breaths to calm himself. He said, “Look, Rich, there may be a way to salvage this. I told the senator I’d come up with something by the morning. Where are you now?”
“Home.”
“Meet me in an hour. Downstairs at Kinkead’s.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Public life is a situation of power and energy. He trespasses against his duty who sleeps upon his watch, as well as he who goes over to the enemy.”
Chet Fletcher, political adviser to President Adam Parmele, liked to quote Edmund Burke’s take on power, loyalty, duty, and their uses. He was fond of such sayings and seemed always to have a dozen of them ready to be dropped into conversation.
Fletcher watched the news on a small, cable-connected TV set while eating breakfast in the kitchen of