"Do you think so? Ben Wade is one of Simon's staunchest friends."
"Was, my dear. Was. Old alliances are shifting. Publicly, Wade may stand fast in support of the boss, but I'll wager it's a different story behind the scenes." She leaned closer. "Is Simon still out of town?"
He nodded; the secretary had gone on a tour of the Western theater.
"Then it's the perfect opportunity. You won't be watched too closely. Go see Wade, and I'll order the invitations for a levee I'm planning for his wife and the senator and their circle. I may even invite George and Constance, for the sake of appearances. I suppose I can stomach her arrogance for an evening."
"All very fine, but what am I supposed to say to the senator?"
"Keep quiet and I'll explain."
Their meal forgotten, he sat listening, scared to the marrow by the thought of approaching the toughest and most dangerous of the radicals. But the more Isabel said — first urging, then insisting — the more convinced he became that Wade represented their means of survival.
Next day he secured the appointment, though it wasn't until the end of the week. The delay upset his digestion and ruined his sleep. Several times fear prodded him to plead for a different strategy. Wade was too close to Cameron; it would be smarter to approach the President's senior secretary, Nicolay.
"Wade," Isabel insisted. "He'll be receptive, because it's always possible to do business with scoundrels."
So it was that Stanley turned up on a bench in Senator Benjamin Franklin Wade's antechamber on Friday. His stomach hurt. He clutched the gold knob of his cane as if it were some religious object. The hour of the appointment, eleven, went past. By a quarter after, Stanley was sweating heavily. By half past, he was ready to bolt. At that moment Wade's office door opened. A small, stocky man with spectacles and a magnificent beard strode out. Stanley was too terrified to move.
"Morning, Mr. Hazard. Here to take care of some departmental business?"
Say something. Cover yourself. He was positive his guilt showed. "It's — actually, it's personal, Mr. Stanton." The small but intimidating man who stood polishing his wire-frame glasses was, like Wade, an Ohioan; a Democrat who had long been one of the best and most expensive Washington lawyers, and, more recently, Buck Buchanan's attorney general. He was also Simon Cameron's personal attorney.
"So was mine," Edwin Stanton said. His whiskers exuded a strong smell of citrus pomade. "I apologize that my appointment ran over into yours. How is my client? Back from the West yet?"
"No, but I expect him soon."
"When he returns, convey my regards and say I'm at his disposal to help draft his year-end report." With that, Stanton vanished into the Capitol corridors, which still stank of greasy food cooked while volunteer troops were quartered in the building, sleeping in the Rotunda and lolling at congressional desks and conducting mock legislative sessions when the hall was empty.
"Go in, please," Wade's administrative assistant prompted from his desk.
"What? Oh, yes — thanks." Numb from the unexpected encounter with Stanton and mortally afraid of the encounter to come, he entered and shut the door. His palms felt as if they had been dipped in oil.
Ben Wade, once a prosecutor in northeastern Ohio, still had that air about him. He had come to Washington as a senator in 1851 and remained for a decade. During the crisis of Brown's raid, he had carried two horse pistols to the Senate floor to demonstrate his willingness to debate Mr. Brown's behavior in any manner his Southern colleagues chose.
Stumbling toward the senator's big walnut desk, Stanley was intimidated by the scornful droop of Wade's upper lip and the gleam of his small jet eyes. Wade was at least sixty but had a kind of tensed energy that suggested youth.
"Sit down, Mr. Hazard."
"Yes, sir."
"I recall we met at a reception for Mr. Cameron earlier this year. But I've seen you since. Bull Run, that was it. Paid two hundred dollars to rent a rig for the day. Disgraceful. What can I do for you?" He fired the words like bullets.
"Senator, it's difficult to begin —"
"Begin or leave, Mr. Hazard. I am a busy man."
If Isabel was wrong —
Wade locked his hands together on the desk and glared. "Mr. Hazard?"
Feeling like a suicide, Stanley plunged. "Sir, I'm here because I share your desire for efficient prosecution of the war and appropriate punishment for the enemy."
Wade unclasped his hands and laid them on the burnished wood. Strong hands; clean, hard. "The only appropriate punishment will be ruthless and total. Continue."
"I —" It was too late to retreat; the words tumbled forth. "I don't believe the war's being managed properly, Senator. Not by the executive" — Wade's eyes warmed slightly there — "or by my department." The warmth was instantly masked. "I can do nothing about the former —"
"Congress can and will. Go on."
"I'd like to do whatever I can about the latter. There are" — his belly burning, he forced himself to meet Wade's black gaze — "irregularities in procurement, which you surely must have heard about, and —"
"Just a moment. I thought you were one of the chosen."
Baffled, Stanley shook his head. "Sir? I don't —"
"One of the Pennsylvania bunch our mutual friend brought to Washington because they helped finance his campaigns. I was under the impression you were in that pack — you and your brother who works for Ripley."
No wonder Wade was powerful and dangerous. He knew everything. "I can't speak for my brother, Senator. And, yes, I did come here as a strong supporter of our, ah, mutual friend. But people change." A feeble grin. "The secretary was a Democrat once —"
"He is ruled by expediency, Mr. Hazard." The pitiless mouth jerked — the Wade version of a smile. "So are all of us in this trade. I was a Whig until I decided to become a Republican. It's beside the point. What are you offering? To sell him out?"
Stanley paled. "Sir, that language is —"
"Blunt but correct. Am I right?" The frantic visitor looked away, his cheeks damp with cold sweat. "Of course I am. Well, let's hear your proposition. Certain members of Congress might be interested. Two years ago, Simon and Zach Chandler and I were inseparable. We made a pact: an attack on one would be considered an attack on all, and we'd carry retaliation to the grave if necessary. But times and attitudes — and friends — do change, as you have sagaciously observed."
Stanley licked his lips, wondering whether the unsmiling senator was mocking him.
Wade went on: "The war effort is foundering. Everyone knows it. President Lincoln's dissatisfied with Simon. Everyone knows that, too. Should Lincoln fail to act in the matter, others will, much as they might regret it personally." A brief pause. "What could you offer to them, Mr. Hazard?"
"Information on contracts improperly let," Stanley whispered. "Names. Dates. Everything. Orally. I refuse to write a word. But I could be very helpful to, let's say, a congressional committee —"
A verbal sword slashed at him. "What committee?"
"I — why, I don't know. Whichever has jurisdiction —"
Satisfied by the evasion, Wade relaxed slightly. "And what would you ask in return for this assistance? A guarantee of immunity for yourself?" Stanley nodded.
Wade leaned back, brought his hands up beneath his nose, fingertips touching. The jet eyes bored in, pinning his caller, expressing contempt. Stanley knew he was finished. Cameron would hear of this the instant he returned. Goddamn his stupid wife for —
"I am interested. But you must convince me you're not offering counterfeit goods." The prosecutor leaned toward the witness. "Give me two examples. Be specific."