The iCongressman, page 28
part #2 of The Michael Bennit Series Series
“Glad I’m not the only one feeling that way,” Amanda seconds.
“That’s because it is,” the congressman deadpans.
“Didn’t we run our campaign on the promise we wouldn’t do stuff like this?”Amanda is not handling this idea very well.
“Look where that got us,” Vince states. He’s always been the one most eager to mix it up. “If you’re not willing to play with fire, you can’t cook dinner.”
“That’s a ridiculous analogy, Vince!”
“Politics is a dirty business. You can’t appreciate what we’ve been through from the cozy confines of Vassar, Peyton!”
“You’re a sellout, Vince!” Amanda scolds.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. When we ran against Beaumont, we sat around for hours castigating him over this exact behavior. We swore we would do it different. Look at us now.”
“You’re not down here in the trenches with us, Amanda. Don’t think you can pass judgment―”
“Don’t you dare―”
Under normal circumstances, the congressman would let this debate rage just as he did in the classroom. Always the teacher, he has never been shy about allowing us to voice our opinions. It’s the one thing he’s trying to bring back to the lower house of Congress, but this is already getting testy, and that’s not tolerated.
“Enough! Both of you! Play nice in the sandbox, or no milk and cookies for you after recess.”
“We’re not children, Congressman.”
“Then stop acting like one, Vince.”
Vince is bold, and his confidence has done nothing but grow in the time we’ve been here. He’s brazen and brash, but he’s also smart enough to know not to press the issue with the congressman. He has been like a father to Vince, and there is no one my friend and colleague holds in higher esteem.
Mister Bennit takes a moment to walk over to the window and stare out at the gloomy day that’s enveloped the Capitol. “Remember that day back at Briar Point when I asked how you beat Bobby Fischer at chess?”
When we ran our first campaign, none of us had any idea what to do. We were going to try to win the traditional way until Mister Bennit pitched the idea of running a campaign completely over social media. It was a fresh approach that the press latched on to and the people loved, but at the time, none of us knew it would work.
“Yeah, you said we had to make him play Candyland,” Vanessa answers.
“And we did. It’s a game we’ve played very well, only there’s one small problem now.”
“Everyone knows that’s our game,” I say, more to Vanessa, Vince, and company than to the congressman.
“You got it.”
“I don’t see the point. What does this have to do with our plan?” Peyton asks.
“When everyone thinks you’re playing Candyland …” I decide to finish his sentence, if for no other reason that it’s the first time in a long while we’ve been on the same page.
“Play Chutes and Ladders.”
-SIXTY-ONE-
SPEAKER ALBRIGHT
“I need everyone to stand up and step away from their desks right now!” I hear a voice boom from outside my office. What the hell?
“Mister Speaker, please step away from your desk,” one of the two uniformed Capitol Police officers announces as he steps into my office. I comply immediately, a shudder of fear making its way down my spine.
“What is this all about?”
“Have any of you opened any mail today?” he responds without answering my question.
“I asked you a quest―”
“Sir, there has been a credible threat against you. Now answer my question. Has any mail been opened?”
“Uh, no, I haven’t opened―”
“Has any been delivered today?” the officer asks, cutting my secretary off.
“No. We haven’t received any yet,” my clerk offers, appeasing the urgent appeals of the officer.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes, sir.” He turns and mumbles something into the radio microphone clipped to his shoulder as another officer approaches me.
“What is this all about?” I demand.
“The Capitol and all legislative offices are on lockdown. Envelopes containing white powder were mailed to at least several prominent representatives,” the officer explains.
“Good Lord,” is all I can mumble. “Is it anthrax? Is there any cause for alarm?” I ask nervously in quick succession. “Tests are being run now,” the officer replies curtly.
“When will you know?” I almost shout.
“Sir, I need you to calm down, please. I am giving you all the information we have. I know this is stressful, but you have to be patient. The situation is still developing.”
I feel like a fool for letting my nerves get the best of me. I take a couple of long, deep breaths and try to regain my composure.
“Do you at least know who the letters were mailed to?”
“We are searching the entire mail system right now, Mister Speaker. As of right now, we’ve identified three targets, all members of the House.”
“Who?”
“You, Majority Leader Harvey Stepanik, and Minority Leader Dennis Merrick. They were intercepted in the mailroom after an anonymous tip was phoned in. We still need to determine if there were any others sent.”
“They targeted the leadership. Someone doesn’t like what’s going on in Washington,” I surmise, but nobody is listening. The officer would rather be doing anything else other than holding the hand of a politician, so he meanders over to join the conversation his colleague is having with my secretary and a staffer.
For the first time in my life, I am legitimately scared. Not for my political career or for losing a vote, but for my life. Threats are a way of life when you are a prominent elected representative, but this is different. It’s the first time somebody may have tried acting on one of those threats. Nothing like this has ever happened to me personally.
This is eerily reminiscent of the 2001 anthrax scare where letters containing anthrax spores were mailed to several news media offices and Democratic U.S. Senators Tom Daschle and Patrick Leahy. Five people died and seventeen others were infected during a time where the nation was already on edge following the terrorist attacks on 9/11.
“Sir, your office appears to be clean, but the building is locked down, so please don’t attempt to leave,” the head of the Capitol Police detail says to me once he finishes talking on his radio. “I will leave an officer here with you.”
“Do you know who sent the letters?”
“No, sir, as I’m sure my fellow officer mentioned, the investigation just started. Right now our primary concern is ensuring the safety of everyone on Capitol Hill. The National Archives, Supreme Court and all surrounding buildings have been evacuated. All Senate and House office buildings are locked down. We are trying to determine if―”
The radio screeches and the officer again steps away. A few awkward moments pass. I don’t know what I should be doing. I want to help, but I have learned it’s best to let the professionals handle the situation. The Capitol Police are like the Secret Service for members of Congress, and their instructions are law in a crisis like this.
“I have to go,” the officer says after rushing back into my office with a look of grave concern on his face. “Since you are the Speaker of the House, I need to inform you that at least one letter containing a white powder was delivered to a member of the House and it was opened.”
“Oh my God! Who was it delivered to?”
“The office is being evacuated and the occupants transported to G.W. for observation,” he relays, ignoring my question.
“I asked who it was delivered to,” I demand anxiously.
“Michael Bennit.”
-SIXTY-TWO-
MICHAEL
Working in a high-risk workplace like Capitol Hill means dealing with threats most Americans will happily never have to experience. Biological contamination is one of them. Fortunately, being a logical target for any terrorist, domestic or otherwise, means there is a whole suite of protocols first responders are drilled on in the event of a crisis.
Anthrax is a serious disease caused by Bacillus anthracis, a bacterium that forms spores that remain dormant until the right conditions bring them to life. Of the three types of infection, inhalation anthrax is most severe. In 2001, nearly half of the cases of inhalation anthrax ended in death.
During my time in Special Forces, I was vaccinated against anthrax prior to my first deployment overseas to a combat theater. The vaccine is not available to the general public, so nobody else on my staff is. For that reason, we were immediately evacuated to George Washington University Medical Center for treatment while tests are performed to determine if we have been exposed.
“How’s she doing?” I ask Chelsea, who returns from her shower dressed in hospital scrubs. To prevent further exposure, we all were required to shower and change clothes. Chelsea was the last to go.
“They sedated her. She’s pretty shaken up. We all are,” she responds meekly.
The blood curdling scream was probably heard in Baltimore. Ashley is one of my newer junior staffers, joining the ranks six months after I got elected. One of her responsibilities is to sort and open the mail.
She has been trained to spot suspicious envelopes and packages, but there wasn’t any telltale warning signs on this one. There was a return address, no apparent signs of danger, and proper postage affixed. It wasn’t until she opened it and the white powder spilled on her desk did she know there was a problem. The note just heightened the panic.
“How long are we going to have to wait before we learn if we’re going to die?” Vince blurts out.
“That’s not funny!” Emilee cries out.
“I wasn’t trying to be, Em.”
“Still not cool, Vince.”
“Take a deep breath, guys,” I console, trying to ratchet down the tension. “We’re not going to die. If the tests come back positive, we’ll be treated with an antibiotic. Early detection and treatment is the key, and we are in the premier facility in the world for both.” Everyone looks at me, probably wondering how I can state that with such certainty. “I have a little training in this.”
My phone vibrates for the hundredth time. This one is a text from Cisco who is pleading for information. I type a quick response and hit send. Friends help you move, real friends help you move dead bodies. Friends like Cisco will do everything in their power to make sure you don’t end up one.
Minutes pass in silence, each of us left to wonder if this is a serious attempt to infect us or a cruel prank. Fortunately, the office was not nearly as full as it usually would be. Many of my junior staffers were out performing errands, and my old students went out for coffee. When Ashley opened the envelope, only Chelsea, Emilee, Vince, and I were in the office.
“How’s Kylie holding up?” Chelsea asks, finally breaking the long silence.
“Scared to death. She’s here, waiting in the visitors’ room for the all clear with Brian, Peyton, Blake, and Amanda.”
As if on command, a doctor comes into the room along with several officers from the Capitol and Metro Police. Anthrax is not communicable between people, so there is no risk to them. Even so, I regard the fact that he is not wearing a surgical mask as a good sign.
“Congressman, I’m Doctor Fleming. I have good news. Initial tests have come back negative for anthrax in your bloodstreams.” There is an audible sigh of relief from all of us. The officer he walked in with speaks next.
“We also have the initial results back from testing the powder in the envelope. It was not contaminated with any known pathogen or toxin. It is just plain baking soda.”
“We are going to keep Ashley here overnight for observation, just to be on the safe side,” the doctor informs us. “The rest of you are free to go.”
* * *
The reunion in the waiting room was a tearful one. At once, the wave of relief led to embraces that felt like they lasted hours. Kylie was especially emotional, and even when she let go of our hug, she clung to my arm tight enough to where I was losing the feeling in my hand.
Everyone is on edge, but overall, we are coping. Threatening e-mails and letters are one thing, but this was a much more surreal experience. After about a fifteen-minute impromptu group therapy meeting, we all started going our separate ways. Given our state of mind, no work would get done tonight even if we did have access to our office. The police won’t let us return until tomorrow.
Chelsea is still a little shook up by the whole drama, but is handling it better than she would have a few months ago. I think Blake may already be having an influence on her. Once they leave, Kylie and I are left alone in the waiting room. We’re about to follow suit and get out before they decide to draw more blood when my favorite secret agent ninja slips into the room.
“I was wondering if you would show up,” I say to Terry. “Please tell me you have something more than the police do.”
“I wish I could say I do,” he laments. “There is no real information to give other than what was contained in the letters.”
“Did you expect anything less, honey? He is only the senior coordinator for a think tank. Why would he?” Kylie challenges, baiting him to tell us who he really works for and what he actually does for them.
“Are you still going to stick with that story?” I ask him.
“Yes,” he states plainly. A man of many words, isn’t he?
“Yeah, right,” Kylie utters in disgust.
“Okay, so tell us what you do know. The envelope had a return address. Have the police tracked it down?” I ask. The authorities said they were investigating the source of the letter, but haven’t bothered to update us.
“Two zero six Washington Street, Boston, Massachusetts. I’m surprised you didn’t recognize it, Congressman.”
“I didn’t realize I should,” I reply, racking my brain for any idea why I should know that address. I’m at a loss.
“It’s the physical address of the Old State House that sits next to the intersection of State and Devonshire Streets.”
“Ah, crap,” I bemoan in a moment of realization.
“What?” Kylie asks, both confused and concerned. “What’s special about that place?”
“Nothing today,” Terry tells her. “But on March 5, 1770, British Army soldiers killed some civilians there.”
“It’s next to the site of the Boston Massacre, hon.”
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”
There’s some symbolism for you. Things were tense in Boston that year as relations between the citizens and the British soldiers stationed there deteriorated. A mob formed around one British sentry and harassed him until eight of his comrades showed up. Things escalated, and they fired into the crowd, resulting in the eventual death of five colonists. It was one of a series of formulative events that eventually led to shots being fired at Lexington Green and the onset of the American Revolution.
I struggle to draw a comparison between that incident and present day. Are we the soldiers or the hapless colonists on the wrong end of the rifle? Or am I reading too much into it? Maybe they were just hinting that these letters were intended to be a prelude to a modern day massacre.
“Do you have anything else, Terry?”
“As I said, we’re still―”
“So what are you doing here?” Kylie interjects, the impatience dripping off her tongue. Does she think he’s at fault for not somehow divining this would happen and warning us?
“Searching for information I don’t have so we can continue our inquiry.”
“What kind of information?”
“I need to know what your letter said.”
“Important principles may, and must, be inflexible. The price for dishonesty is death. This envelope has anthrax, and now so do you.” I only looked at the note for a few seconds before clearing my staff out of the office and calling the authorities, but I will never forget those words for the rest of my life.
“Abraham Lincoln,” Terry says, recognizing the quote.
“I’m impressed. I figured it would take a Civil War buff or history teacher to pick up on the first sentence.”
“Does it mean anything to you?” Kylie asks, inquiring if there is some hidden, darker meaning behind the quote.
“No, but it wasn’t the same typewritten text as the others.”
“What did the others say?”
“The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph. This envelope contains anthrax.”
“That’s it?”
“From what I’ve been told, yes,” Terry states blandly.
“Do you recognize the quote?”
“Thomas Paine,” I tell her, before turning back to Terry. “It sounds like a history buff targeted the leadership in the House. Different parties, different roles, different opinions.”
“Yeah, but it’s forced. Someone is trying too hard, and that implies a conspiracy,” he states with an unnerving amount of confidence. I don’t see it.
“How so?” Despite being on edge about the attack, Kylie is eager to get to the bottom of this. All her fears almost became reality today.
“Your note was different than the others. I think the others were a smokescreen, and why an anonymous tip was phoned in before they were delivered. The message of this attack was aimed at you. Someone thinks they can influence you by scaring you.”
-SIXTY-TWO-
CHELSEA
Our relationship is only a week old, and we haven’t really had much time to enjoy it. I have not had a lot of boyfriends, but whenever I started dating a guy, I felt giddy with excitement. It was new, fun, and … exhilarating. Of course, that was all before I took this job.
Blake and I have spent a lot of time together, but sadly, most of it has been work related. We have a bill to defeat, and have been doing everything we can to ensure that happens. Essentially, that means working long days, endless nights, and little sleep to prepare for either when the sun comes back up. Our romantic dinners have been limited to pizza and Chinese takeout in the office. It also means my quality time with Blake tonight, as with the last several, has been spent working over as the clock ticks toward midnight.
