“Move away!”
“Shohreh!”
“I don’t want to hurt you, Loving. You have done so much for me!” Her voice lowered. “But I will, if I have to. To get to him. Now move away.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then I will be forced to kill you.”
No wonder she wouldn’t call the police. One look into her eyes told Loving she meant what she said. Reluctantly, he stepped aside.
Shohreh crept down beside the addled General. She took his collar in one hand and pressed the gun against his face. “Do you know who I am?” she shouted.
The General’s eyelids fluttered. “Little Djamila.”
Loving did a double take. “What? You’re Djamila?”
Shohreh’s eyes became glassy, as if focused on some distant point. “That was my birth name. Back in Iraq. Before the war. After my parents were killed, I was lost, alone. I tried to survive, but the chaos was too great. I-” Her fingers tightened around the General’s throat. “This man said he would protect me. Care for me.”
“I did!” the General protested. “I fed you, clothed you. Without me, you might have died.”
“I did die. You killed me. Djamila died a thousand times over at the hands of your filthy customers!” Tears sprang unbidden to her eyes. “When I was too old to be of service to his clients anymore,” she told Loving, “he allowed me to join his cell of assassins. Finally I found the strength to leave him, but even then he lured me back to Oklahoma City. After that last betrayal, I knew there could never be peace for me. Not so long as he remained alive.”
“Shohreh,” Loving said, inching closer. “Think about this. You don’t want to be a murderer.”
Her eyes were cold black dots. “I do.”
“Then you’ll be no better than him.”
“I would never do the things he has done to me. And hundreds of other children.”
If he could just get close enough to get that gun away…“Shohreh, you’re making a mistake.”
“Perhaps, but there is no choice.” She pulled back the hammer. “This is for Djamila.”
“No!” Loving sprang forward, but he was much too late. The bullet burst into the General’s face point-blank. The wall was splattered with blood and brains.
Shohreh stepped away, dripping. “I will go with you,” she said, handing Loving the gun. “To the police. Whatever you think should be done.”
Loving took the gun and carefully emptied it. “You know that you’ll go to prison. Maybe for the rest of your life.”
Shohreh nodded slowly. Then, at last, her eyes turned back to the dead and motionless figure of the man who had tormented her for so long. “It was worth it.”
50
Ben couldn’t help feeling guilty about leaving the Senate chamber in the midst of the heated debate, but the truth was, it was likely to go on for days, and the flaming oratory taking place was not going to persuade anyone of anything, nor was it intended to do so. The senators were taking advantage of the television coverage to explain themselves and to shore up their support with their key constituencies. Viewed from that perspective, the speeches were little more than free political ads, and on those rare occasions when Ben was able to watch television, he habitually skipped the commercials.
One political truth had become apparent to him in his short time in Washington: If there was any persuasion occurring among senators, it did not take place on the Senate floor. It happened in the proverbial smoke-filled rooms, where private deals were done. Any persuasion came not as a result of flaming oratory but pursuant to standard quid pro quo; you give me something I want and I’ll give you something you want. And we both go home happy. A little.
The conference room to which the folded note had directed him was not filled with smoke, but he knew the principle was the same. Smoking was supposedly forbidden in the Senate complex now, although Ben knew that in reality it occurred fairly frequently behind closed doors. He hoped his visitors didn’t indulge; he still couldn’t be around cigarette smoke for more than a minute without gagging.
A few minutes later, the door opened and Senator Dawkins entered, trailed by the new minority whip, Senator Pollitt of Pennsylvania. They took a seat on the opposite side of the conference room table.
“Here we are again, Ben,” Dawkins said, smiling faintly. Dawkins had been on the Senate Judiciary Committee when Ben represented Judge Roush during his Supreme Court confirmation hearings. Dawkins had been bitterly opposed to Roush’s nomination. To say that there was no love lost between the two was an understatement in the extreme. Ben wondered if the lingering tension between them was the reason he had been chosen by the powers that be for this meeting.
“Our fearless leader couldn’t make it,” Dawkins explained. “He’s going to be speaking soon. Doesn’t want to miss his turn. He gave me full authority to deal.”
“That’s swell,” Ben said cheerily. “Shouldn’t we get the new majority leader in here?”
“Why bother? Everyone knows you’re the one in charge on this bill, even if you are supposedly a Democrat. You’re the president’s hand-picked playmate.”
“I wouldn’t put it quite like that.”
“The truth hurts, huh? And to think people were concerned that you would prove too liberal for the modern Democratic party.”
“I follow my conscience, not my party. The president and I just happen to agree on this proposal.”
“Right. You’re a man of conscience.” He gave Pollitt a knowing look. “Hard to imagine anything that could be more trouble in Washington than a man of conscience.”
Ben had heard this trite line of reasoning so many times, it was hard to resist the urge to drum his fingers. “I assume you’re authorized to make some sort of deal?”
“Well, now, that’s very direct, isn’t it? No monkeying around for you.”
“I have a busy schedule.”
“Ah. As opposed to the rest of us slackers.” He gave his companion the nod. “Read him the formal proposal, Dan.”
Pollitt looked down at his notes. “We’re willing to trade SB-4582 and SB-4888 for the proposed amendment.”
Dawkins’s eyebrows danced. “What do you think, Ben?”
“I think I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“We’re offering to support the amendment in exchange for your withdrawal of support on two other matters. That would include the support of any senators who have made pledges to you with regard to those bills.”
“And I’m supposed to recognize the bills by their numbers?”
“Most of us do.” He paused a moment. “But you rely rather heavily upon your chief of staff, don’t you? Let me spell it out for you.” Dawkins leaned forward, laying his hands flat on the tabletop. “We’ll throw our support behind your amendment-a guaranteed twelve votes you don’t have yet-in exchange for your dropping these two other bills.”
“I can’t believe your magic twelve will go against public opinion on such a high-profile issue. Every poll has shown that a majority of the general public wants this bill.”
“That may be so, but the twelve senators I have in mind come from very liberal jurisdictions. They aren’t going to suffer any damage from failing to support a Republican president’s initiative that appears to abridge civil rights.”
“The amendment only creates a temporary-”
“Yes, yes, I’ve already heard your song and dance, thank you. Note the use of the word ‘appears.’ The point
