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“Good to see you, Senator,” said Jake, warily.

  Dressed in Bermuda shorts and an expensive-looking golf shirt, Tomlinson sauntered up and pointed to the trio of coolers resting on the grass beside the big gas grill. “Help yourselves,” he said, grinning. “Beer, coke, Gatorade, whatever you want.”

  “Before you do,” Santino said, “I can only stay a few minutes, and I have a little announcement to make.”

  O’Donnell drifted up to them. Like the senator, he was wearing shorts and a sports shirt.

  “I had a meeting with Bryan Perlmutter this morning, in the Capitol,” said Santino, his expression somewhere between cheerful and sly.

  “This morning?” Tomlinson asked.

  “Yes. We’ve come to an agreement.”

  “You have?” O’Donnell blurted.

  “Yes. He will not oppose my election to Majority Leader and I will support his bid to be the party’s vice presidential candidate next year.”

  Jake felt the air gush from his lungs. Just like that, he thought. You give me what I want, and I give you what you want.

  “You’ve saved the party from splitting apart,” Tomlinson said, sounding almost awed.

  Still smiling, Santino made a stiff little bow. “I suppose I have.” But then he went on, “Of course, we’re going to have make a minor concession or two to the energy plan.”

  “Concession?” Jake snapped, suddenly frightened.

  “Yes. We reinstate the ethanol mandate for the next five years and put the methanol idea under study, instead of pushing for its immediate implementation.”

  Jake yelped, “But that tears the heart out of the plan! It wrecks everything!”

  “No,” Santino said firmly. “It merely delays certain phases of the plan. You’ll still get your MHD pilot plant in Montana, your tax breaks for solar installations, and just about everything else you wanted.”

  “But it won’t be revenue neutral anymore,” Jake countered. “It’ll cost billions.”

  “That can’t be helped. On the other hand, the plan’s costs will be spent in Ohio and Montana and plenty of other states that can use the federal money.”

  “Including Rhode Island,” Jake growled.

  O’Donnell grabbed at Jake’s arm, and Senator Tomlinson said, “I’m sure this will all work out for the best.”

  “Indeed it will,” said Santino. “Indeed it will.”

  And Jake thought, It’ll work for Santino’s best. He’s going to be Majority Leader, and Perlmutter’s going to run for vice president. But the plan’s being picked to pieces.

  One look at O’Donnell’s grim face, though, was enough to make Jake keep his mouth shut.

  The Morning After

  For the first time in his life, Jake got roaring drunk. He left Tomlinson’s party shortly after Santino did and drove Tami to a sports bar near their apartment, then proceeded to down several scotches in quick succession.

  “So the energy plan gets its balls cut off, so what?” he grumbled as they sat at the bar, where four huge TV screens were showing four different baseball games. “Santino can say his committee has produced a plan we can all be proud of. Big fucking deal.”

  Tami tried to shush him. “It’s a beginning, Jake. It’s not the end of the world, it’s the beginning of what you want.”

  He looked at her blearily. “Half a loaf is better than none, huh?”

  “Yes, it is,” she said firmly.

  “Half a loaf isn’t worth shit,” Jake said. “I didn’t come to Washington to do a half-assed job.” Raising his voice, he cried, “Give me liberty or give me death!”

  Some of the other patrons sitting around the bar threw unhappy glances at Jake. One of them said, “Tone it down, pal.” Another, older man just grinned at him.

  Tami slid off her barstool. “Come on, Jake, it’s time for us to go home.”

  “Home is where the heart is,” Jake said, slurring his words slightly. “Home is where, when you go there, they have to take you in. Did you know that? Robert Frost said that.”

  Tugging at his arm, Tami led Jake out of the bar and to his Mustang. “I’ll drive,” she said.

  “I’ll walk,” said Jake, weaving slightly while he stood in place at the curb.

  Tami opened the passenger side door and helped Jake fold himself into the car. “You’re in no condition to walk,” she said.

  * * *

  Jake slept most of the morning, and when he finally got out of bed, his head throbbed dully.

  Tami had already gone to work; she had left a note on the kitchen counter, a lopsided heart with “Luv U” printed inside it. Alone in the apartment, Jake phoned her office.

  “Hello, dear.” Her voice sounded as pleasant as always. “How do you feel?”

  “Like an idiot,” he said.

  “You were pretty looped last night.”

  “Yeah. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. You were trying to drown your sorrows.”

  “Stupid.”

  “Are you going to your office?”

  Jake frowned, contemplating the alternatives. “No, I think I’ll phone in sick. I don’t feel up to talking with Frank or Kevin. Especially Kevin.”

  He could sense Tami nodding. “Okay. Try to relax, Jake. And remember, most of the plan is going to get through. It’s a good beginning.”

  “Yeah,” he said halfheartedly. “I guess so.”

  After a shower and shave Jake felt good enough to watch C-SPAN. The party’s caucus was strictly off-limits to the TV cameras, but late in the afternoon the announcement came through. Senator Mario Santino was elected the Senate Majority Leader by acclamation, a unanimous voice vote.

  Santino and Perlmutter appeared side by side before the cameras, all smiles and handshakes and good fellowship.

  “We intend to put up a united front as we move forward toward next year’s presidential election campaign,” Santino said, with his best saintly smile.

  Perlmutter nodded hard enough to make his wattles shake. “Our party is united, and we’re ready to show the world what we can accomplish.”

  Yeah, Jake said to himself. Like using my energy plan for toilet paper.

  * * *

  Alone in his apartment, Jake opened his laptop and tried to figure out how much was left of the energy plan. Without the central concept of producing methanol from the carbon dioxide that electric utility power plants emitted, the plan was pretty much of a shambles. He tried to pick up the pieces: MHD for Montana, renewables for states like New Mexico and North Dakota, even the nutty tidal energy project for Rhode Island.

  And the mandate that required gasoline manufacturers to include a percentage of ethanol in the products they sold. Perlmutter’s farm lobby is guaranteed another five years of that.

  It’s not a plan anymore, Jake realized. It’s not a comprehensive program that brings together new energy technologies and the nation’s natural resources. It’s a pork barrel. Just like so much else of Washington’s political wheeling and dealing.

  Disgusted, Jake closed the laptop and leaned back on the futon. It had never been a comfortable piece of furniture; now it felt like a medieval torture rack.

  McGrath and Santino had a fight. That thought came back to him like an inescapable truth. Those two self-contained old men were screaming at each other like fishwives. Why? What did McGrath find out that made him drop his support for Santino?

  Whatever it was, McGrath took it to his grave with him. Jake sat up straighter, fists clenched on his knees. There must be some way I can find out what it was. There’s got to be.

  But how?

  Would Perlmutter know? And if he does, how would I go about getting the secret out of him?

  Maybe Jacobi could help me, Jake thought. Santino said he’s good at plugging leaks. Maybe if I told him there’s something that Perlmutter’s holding over Santino’s head …

  Jake shook his head. You’re grasping at straws. Besides, the last time you visited Jacobi, you got mugged a few nights later.


  He got to his feet, went to the kitchen, and made himself a cup of instant coffee. It’s lousy, Jake thought as he took a cautious scalding sip, but at least it’s coffee.

  His cell phone buzzed. Jake hurried to the bedroom and picked it up off his night table. The phone’s minuscule screen read: KEVIN O’DONNELL.

  “How’re you feeling, Jake?” O’Donnell’s voice asked.

  “Hung over,” said Jake.

  “One too many, eh?”

  “Three or four too many.”

  O’Donnell chuckled. “You heard the news? Santino’s our new Majority Leader. By acclamation.”

  “Whoopee.”

  “Franklin wants you in the office bright and early tomorrow. He wants to get the energy plan out on the floor of the Senate as soon as possible.”

  “What’s left of it.”

  “Don’t be a sore loser, Jake. You’ve still got more than three quarters of what you want.”

  Jake squeezed his eyes shut and decided not to argue. “Tell Frank I’ll be there bright and early tomorrow.”

  “Good. Now go back to bed and sleep it off.”

  O’Donnell clicked off. As Jake folded his phone shut, a new thought struck him.

  If McGrath knew something that shook Santino down to his shoes, and if I find out what it is, maybe I could use it to get Santino to reinstate the methanol program and make the plan whole again.

  Rework

  Jake did indeed arrive at the office bright and early. Hardly anyone else was there. The young receptionist by the suite’s front door was putting on some dark red lipstick. The other desks that Jake could see were unoccupied. He didn’t even smell coffee perking.

  The receptionist put her mirror down and said to Jake, “The senator wants to see you.”

  Surprised, Jake blurted, “Now?”

  “He said you should go to his office as soon as you showed up.”

  Jake headed directly for Tomlinson’s office. A glance at his wristwatch told him it wasn’t yet eight a.m.

  Sticking his head through the senator’s partly opened door, Jake asked, “You wanted to see me?”

  Tomlinson nodded and gestured to one of the chairs in front of his desk. “Have a seat, Jake.”

  Kevin O’Donnell came in before Jake could get himself settled in the leather chair.

  “Better close the door, Kevin,” said the senator.

  O’Donnell shut the door quietly and took the seat beside Jake.

  Tomlinson said, “I want to rework the energy plan and get it out on the floor of the Senate as quickly as possible. Now that Santino’s the Majority Leader, we need to cash in our chips before he forgets that he owes us.”

  “If he hasn’t already,” said O’Donnell, in his usual dour tone.

  Ignoring that, the senator focused on Jake. “Most of the plan is intact. You’ll have to put the ethanol mandate in and move the methanol idea down to a study status.”

  Jake objected, “That ruins any chance we had of making the plan revenue neutral.”

  “Can’t be helped.”

  O’Donnell pointed out, “The fiscal hawks in the House aren’t going to like that. They’ll say the plan’s another goddamned pork barrel.”

  “That’s what it is now, isn’t it?” Jake said.

  Tomlinson frowned. “Jake, don’t make the best the enemy of the good. There are a lot of good things in your plan. Just because we didn’t get everything we wanted doesn’t mean we abandon your plan.”

  So it’s my plan again, Jake thought.

  “How soon can you cobble together a document that covers the ethanol and methanol details?” O’Donnell asked.

  “It’ll also have to reinstate the whole carbon sequestering business,” Jake realized. “The coal lobby will love that.”

  “How soon?” O’Donnell repeated.

  Sullenly, Jake said, “Give me a week.”

  “No more than that, Jake,” said Tomlinson. “I want to get this through the committee and out for a floor vote while it’s still hot.”

  “Yeah. Right.”

  * * *

  It took Jake exactly four hours to rewrite the parts of the plan that needed to be changed. Vic Wakefield is going to be disappointed, he thought as he worked. But what the hell, he’ll get a fat study contract out of this. Not the full-steam-ahead methanol program I promised him, but he’ll have to be satisfied with what I can get for him.

  Briefly he thought about Isaiah Knowles at NASA and his dream of building space power satellites. The meeting between Tomlinson and Knowles’s NASA brass had never come to fruition. Well, maybe later, Jake said to himself.

  By six p.m. Jake had completed the rewrite of the plan. As he sat at his desk reviewing it, page by page, on his computer screen, O’Donnell popped into his office unannounced.

  “Sun’s over the yardarm, Jake,” said the chief of staff. “You in the mood for a drink?”

  Jake realized O’Donnell was trying to be nice to him, but he shook his head. “I did enough drinking Monday to last me for a while.”

  O’Donnell laughed and said, “Okay. See you tomorrow.”

  Jake stayed at his desk, rereading the butchered plan all over again, but his mind kept returning to the question of Santino and why he and McGrath had had that screaming match.

  How can I dig into this? he asked himself time and again. Who would know how to begin?

  Reynolds, he told himself. Earl’s a PR guy, he knows a lot of people around town. Maybe he’d have a lead for me. Jake got up and headed for Earl Reynolds’s office.

  Reynolds was closing his door, briefcase in hand and blue blazer buttoned, just about to leave his office as Jake approached him.

  “Got a minute, Earl?”

  The public relations director glanced at his wristwatch. “For you, Jake, ninety seconds.”

  They went back into Reynolds’s office. He leaned his rump against the edge of his desk without letting go of his briefcase. “It’s your nickel, kid.”

  Jake remained standing. “A couple of weeks before McGrath died, he and Santino had a loud argument. I need to find out what it was about.”

  Reynolds gave a little snort. “Santino and McGrath? Lotsa luck, friend.”

  “How do I dig into this?” Jake asked. “Who might know something about it?”

  “Damned if I know. Are you sure it actually happened, and it’s not some news guy’s fishing expedition?”

  “It happened.”

  “The Little Saint and Mr. Straight Arrow.” Reynolds shook his head. “You can’t touch either one of them.”

  “But somebody must know something.”

  “Forget it, Jake. It must have been something personal between the two of them. Let it go at that.”

  “Come on, Earl. I need to find out. The senator could use the information.”

  “That kind of information could backfire on Frank. Better to steer clear of it.”

  Jake suddenly thought, “Lady Cecilia! She knows everything about everybody, doesn’t she?”

  His handsome face settling into a scowl, Reynolds raised a finger. “One: if she knew, she’d have already put it on her blog.” A second finger. “If it hasn’t been on Power Talk, then either she doesn’t know, or…”

  “Or?”

  “Or it’s too damned dangerous for public consumption.”

  “Too dangerous?”

  “Some subjects are too hot, even for Power Talk.”

  Jake thought that over for all of three seconds. “I can’t imagine Lady Cecilia being afraid of anything.”

  With a hmpf, Reynolds replied, “She’s got more brains than you do, kid. If Lady Cecilia knows anything but hasn’t made it public, it must be pretty damned scary.”

  Snooping

  Lady Cecilia was fascinated with Jake’s story.

  “McGrath and Santino were screaming at each other? About what?”

  “That’s what I’d like to know,” said Jake.

  They were sitting in Lady Cecilia’s living room,
he on a plush sofa covered with garish stripes, she on an oversized upholstered armchair that reminded Jake of a royal throne. The chair was much too big for Cecilia’s diminutive figure: she looked like a chubby little girl sitting on it, her feet resting on an ornate ottoman.

  Her eyes narrowing slightly, Cecilia murmured, “Georgie McGrath was very widely admired in this town. Not an enemy in the world. Now that he’s dead, digging into his past would be seen as disrespectful. People would get angry.”

  “What about Santino?” Jake asked. “How much do you know about his past?”

  Cecilia pursed her thick lips, thinking. “Nothing scandalous. He isn’t called the Little Saint because he’s a hell-raiser.”

  “Family?”

  “Confirmed old bachelor. Never a hint of shame about him.”

  Jake thought, If she doesn’t know anything, then nobody does. On the other hand, if she does know, she’s not telling me.

  “Look,” he said, “I’m not trying to hurt Santino. He’s my boss’s committee chairman—”

  “And Majority Leader of the Senate,” Cecilia added.

  Nodding, Jake went on, “I want to protect the senator from a potential source of embarrassment.”

  Cecilia smiled knowingly. “Come on, Jake. You want to get him to reinstate the parts of your energy plan that he wants you to chop out.”

  “You know about that, eh?”

  “Of course I know. Don’t you follow my blog? I’ve done three items on Senator Tomlinson in the past three days.”

  Jake admitted defeat and left as graciously as he could.

  * * *

  That evening, Jake poured out his troubles to Tami over a takeout pizza dinner at home.

  Tami said, “If Cecilia knew anything juicy it would have been on Power Talk already.”

  “I don’t think she knew about the argument between McGrath and Santino,” Jake replied as he sprinkled red pepper flakes on his slice of pizza. “That took her by surprise, I’m pretty sure.”

  “Then maybe she’ll start digging into it.”

  “Maybe.”

  Tami insisted on washing the dishes, such as they were. Jake had served the pizza on paper plates; there was nothing to wash except the two forks and knives they had used. They hadn’t yet finished their bottle of Chianti.