Separation of Power

chapter FORTY-SEVEN
U.S. Capitol, Monday evening

A promising day had turned out to be a complete disaster. Hank Clark sat in the dark in his hide on the fourth floor of the Capitol. He had a large snifter of cognac in one hand and a cigar in the other. His chair was turned toward the open window with his feet up on the sill. Cold air rushed in from the outside to battle with the century-old radiator. It was just another example of government inefficiency. Smoking was officially forbidden in any federal workplace, but the people who wrote the laws sometimes chose to ignore them. Clark took a big puff from his Diamond Crown Figurado cigar and blew it out into the cold night air.

The combination of nicotine and high octane cognac had him buzzing. His mind was nearing that place where he desperately wanted to be, the place where booze actually elicits clarity of thought. It was difficult to both achieve and maintain, and very easy to overshoot and get lost in the sluggish orbit of drunken stupidity.

The senator's grand plans were in tatters, and he was trying to figure out how he'd been so badly outflanked. He was in full retreat, scrambling to salvage enough to fight another day. The President's move had been brilliant. His poll numbers would be near eighty percent by Friday and Mitch Rapp wasn't a national hero yet, but by the time the press got finished with him, he would be. Kennedy's stock had risen, too. She was seen as a cool professional in the midst of a crisis. The type of person we needed running the CIA. No one on the Hill was going to risk their career trying to take either of them down at this point.

Albert Rudin was all the example they needed. If ever a politician was finished it was Rudin. The President had just jumped from the bully pulpit and squashed him like a bug. The man was radioactive. By tomorrow morning he wouldn't be able to get a table at Burger King. He wouldn't have a single ally left in Washington.

Unfortunately, Clark knew Rudin well enough to know that the stubborn old bastard would not simply slink back to Connecticut and retire quietly. Washington was his lair, and the Democratic Party was his life. He would be a desperate man, and desperate men rarely think wisely. Rudin was now a major liability.

Clark took another sip of cognac and tried to assess the damage that the cantankerous congressman might cause him. It didn't look good. Clark could try to take the high road and dismiss Rudin's ranting and raving as those of a bitter beaten man, but the President would still wonder. And then there was the issue of Steveken and Brown. If the President was serious about the FBI pursuing a criminal investigation, they were in trouble, and that meant he was in trouble. Rudin had to be convinced to keep his mouth shut, or Clark would be up the of' shit crick without a paddle. Money was the most likely way to solve things. He would approach Rudin on principle, and if that didn't work he'd have to pay him off.

Clark looked out the open window down the National Mall and puffed on his cigar. He tried to calculate his odds for success. Rudin was a cheap bastard. The money just might work.

Suddenly, someone began banging loudly on the office door. Sitting alone in the darkness Clark was so startled that he leapt to his feet. He placed a hand over his racing heart and tried to calm himself.

"Open this damn door, Hank! I know you're in there!"

It was Rudin. Clark wasn't so sure he wanted to talk to him yet. He stood in front of the open window afraid to move.

"I can smell your damn cigar smoke! Open this door right now!" Rudin screamed. "The FBI wants to talk to me tomorrow and they've advised me to bring a lawyer, Hank! I need to talk to you right now."

With great reluctance Clark set his drink down and turned on a desk lamp. He went to the door, unlocked and opened it. Rudin shouldered his way past Clark muttering obscenities as he went. Clark closed the door and turned to address the congressman. "Albert, I feel horrible about what happened tonight. I can understand the President's frustration, but I think he's crossed the line a bit."

"Understand his frustration," Rudin snapped with spit flying from his mouth. "He just f*cked me over in front of the entire country, hell, the entire world, and all you can say is you understand 'his frustration! What about my frustration?" Rudin barked.

Clark made a calming motion with his hands. "I'm here to help you, Albert. Your screaming will accomplish nothing."

"Here to help me," he bellowed. "You're up here hiding. F*cking help me, my ass." The senator sighed and told himself to stay calm. "You're right, Albert. I'm sorry."

"Well, sorry ain't gonna cut it. You gonna make things right."

"Albert, I want to help you, but before I do that you have to admit to some blame here."

"Blame!" he screeched with an angry face. "The only blame I'm going to take is for listening to you. You were the one who sent that oddball Steveken to see me. You were the one who told me to go on Meet the Press and tell the world about Mitch Rapp. If I hadn't listened to you, I wouldn't be in any of this."

Clark's calm demeanor began to unravel. "Oh, Albert, I think you can take more than a little bit of the blame for the position you're in."

"Bullshit. I'm right and you know it."

"Everything the President said tonight was true. Especially the part about you having a vendetta."

"F*ck you, Hank." Rudin furthered his point by raising his middle finger.

Clark leaned in. "You'd better watch it, Albert. I'm probably the only friend you have left in this town."

The senators size managed to intimidate Rudin enough to force him back a step. In defense he said, "I'm desperate! I'm a desperate man. You have to help me!"

Clark remembered his own earlier thought. Desperate men do desperate things. It was as if he'd been given a sign. The fog had cleared, Clark saw a way out of the entire mess. He placed a hand on Rudin's bony shoulder and said, "Come here. I want to show you something that I think will help." Rudin hesitated at first, but Clark nudged him with his large hand. The two men walked over to the open window, and Clark pointed off in the distance toward the Washington Monument. It was bathed in a bright light on all four sides, shooting up out of the middle of the Mall as if it were a rocket ready for flight.

Clark gazed out window and said, "You fought the good fight, Albert. Just like Washington did, only you didn't have history on your side"

Rudin shook his head angrily and said, "History f*cked me."

"Well, I'm going to make things right. You and I are going to go see the President in the morning, and I'm going to get him to call off the FBI." Clark patted Rudin on the back and said, "Don't worry, I'll take care of it."

Rudin's shoulders sank in relief. "Oh, thank you, Hank. Thank you .. . thank you ... thank you."

"Don't worry about it." Clark patted him on the back again and said, "That's what friends are for." And with Rudin finally relaxed, Clark took a half step back and placed both hands in the middle of the wiry congressman's back. With one good push the senator sent Rudin toppling out the open window. There was a brief bloodcurdling scream and then an instant later a dull thud. Clark stuck his head out the window and looked down some eighty feet to the stone terrace below. There lay Albert Rudin's lifeless body.

Clark went to his desk and grabbed his snifter, where he downed the remainder of the liqueur in one gulp. Next he grabbed his mobile phone from his suit coat and dialed a number. When a woman answered on the other end he said, "This is Senator Clark. I need to speak to the President immediately. Something terrible has happened."