This time he rang her at home, the brownstone in Georgetown. She picked it up and recognized his voice instantly, the chill up her spine, the hound from hell.
“I thought we weren’t doing this anymore, conversing on the phone.” It was after nine in the evening. Maya Grimes was in no mood to be jerked around. She’d had a tough day on the Hill. Her smile muscles ached from greeting people she disliked.
“As I recall, that was one of your rules, not mine,” said the Eagle.
“What is it this time?”
“Got another job for you.”
“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”
“No.”
“Fine.”
“I want you to call the White House,” he said. “Talk to some people. The appointments section, judicial nominations. You know lots of people there.”
“Go on,” she said.
“There’s two slots open, an open seat on the Federal District Court, Southern District, your state, as well as the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals in San Francisco. I want you to put a bug in somebody’s ear. Do it first thing tomorrow morning. Tell ’em you’re pushing two candidates, one for each position. And as far as you’re concerned, they’re the only people for the jobs.”
“Who are they?”
“I’ll give you the names later.”
“I can’t tell them I’m supporting people and then refuse to give them the names.”
“Sure you can. You’re a US Senator. You can do anything you want. Tell them if they try to nominate anyone to fill either spot you’ll use your office to stand in the way. You’ll give them the names as soon as your staff is finished checking the candidates out. Tell ’em it could take a while.”
“Senatorial privilege,” said Grimes.
“You got it.”
“You can’t just leave these positions open. The one on the Ninth Circuit already has a short list of qualified candidates approved by the ABA, the American Bar Association.”
“They have their criteria, I have mine,” said the Eagle.
“I’ve already committed,” said Grimes.
“Tell them you’ve changed your mind. Woman’s prerogative.”
“The White House will think I’m crazy.”
“Tell them you’re going through a change of life. I don’t care what you tell them, just do it.” He slammed the phone down in her ear.
What the Eagle wanted was to keep the positions vacant so he could use them when the time came. Under the ritual of senatorial privilege, the senior home state senator could effectively blackball a nomination to the federal courts in his or her own state. Or, as in the case of the Ninth Circuit, block any candidate coming from that state and then wheel and deal with other members of the Senate to get what he or she wanted. It was an unholy practice. But even members who didn’t like it had to go along, part of being in the club.
Because the judicial nominations required Senate confirmation before they became final lifetime appointments, a hearing would never be set unless the candidate had the blessing of the state’s senior senator. It was a corrupt custom dating back eons and had been used more than once to shake candidates or their supporters down for money, or to exact favors from other politicians and the White House.
The Eagle knew that if Grimes used her muscle, she could keep both positions vacant indefinitely. It was nice owning your own US senator. The Eagle possessed a stable of them, like racehorses, and with a single phone call he could work any one of them into an instant lather.
TWELVE
The Tarnished Eagle wished he was in the bar, the private club with the lawyer and the girl. At least he could have had a drink. He could have used one, but there was no time for that now.
“Do we know what they talked about?”
“If I had to guess, I’d say he was trying for a date. We lost at least half, maybe sixty percent to background noise.” The transcript was going to have major holes, train loads of blank white space labeled “Unintelligible.” The gain on the mic from the lawyer’s cell phone simply couldn’t handle the constant blast of the bass from the music.
“Why couldn’t they have met in a library?” said the Eagle.
“He’s out of the building.” The voice at the other end suddenly came alive.
“Where is he headed?”
“Hold on. Looks like the other man has joined him out in front of the building. They are both headed back toward the car. They’ve crossed the street. Yes, they’re back in the car.”
“Do we have sufficient assets to track them?”
“Got it covered.”
“Are they moving?”
“Not yet.”
“Keep an eye on them. Where is the girl?”
“One second. Looks like they’re on the move, backing up.”
“Where’s the girl?”
The Eagle could hear voices conferring at the other end of the line.
“We think she’s still inside.”
“What do you mean, YOU THINK?”
More panicked voices at the other end. “No. No. She’s inside.” This seemed to be the consensus.
“Are you sure?”
“That is confirmed. Feet on the ground inside. She is still there.”
The Eagle settled down. Maybe she had already told them what it was they wanted to know. At least she hadn’t left the building with them. He thought for a moment and considered the options. Then again, maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. “What do we have on the man’s vehicle?”
“Plate number, aerial profile. Not to worry, we have it covered.”
“That’s not what I meant,” said the Eagle. How old is it?” He was thinking about the target possibilities.
There was a delay at the other end. They were gathering the information. “That’s a negative,” said the other man. “Cannot be used.”
The lawyer’s car was too old. Their man on the ground had checked it out while the two occupants were in the club. Just his luck. More than a million lawyers in the country and they had to find the one riding around in a dinosaur.
“We could try to hijack a cue ball,” said the voice from the other end. “That is, if they try to use his ride. But that is problematic.”
“You think?” Sarcasm dripped from the Eagle’s voice.
What the man at the other end was talking about was to electronically hijack another car or preferably a large late-model truck and use it like a missile to destroy the target vehicle.
“As I recall, that didn’t work very well last time.”
“We got the target.”
“You got half a target. The reason we’re doing the drill over again,” said the Eagle.
“Not our fault.”
“OK! All right!” said the Eagle. “Let’s not be splitting hairs on an open line.”
“We’ve got movement. The vehicle,” said the man on the phone. “Moving slowly, westerly direction. Away from the building. They do not appear to be in a hurry.”
“Any sign of the girl?” asked the Eagle.
“No. One moment.” Seconds went by, almost half a minute.
“Talk to me,” said the Eagle.
“They’ve stopped again. Half a block down heading west, stopped at the intersection. Looks as if they’re not exactly sure. . hold on. They turned left and picked up speed. Wait a second.”
“What is it?”
“They pulled into a parking lot.”
“Where?” said the Eagle. He was getting too old for this. The stress, the long days, it was taking a toll.
“One moment.” More seconds passed.
“It’s a motel.”
“Damn it!”
“One of them is out of the vehicle, headed toward the front of the building. Looks like he’s gone inside.”
The Eagle knew it. They had set up a meeting. He wondered how much the lawyer already knew. A transcript with more holes than Swiss cheese, she could have told him anything inside that club. The girl was likely to remember him, right down to his silver-handled cane. She had commented on it, the fact that she’d never dated someone who carried a cane before. She called it “elegant.” He wondered if she was putting him on or putting him down. What was an old man like him doing in a club like this? Business, if the truth be told. Champagne and a room upstairs, conversation and money changing hands. Services rendered, but not the usual kind. Sweet girl, and bright. She didn’t miss a trick.