The Senator's Mistress

By Rhodri Walters

The characters and events in this novel are entirely fictional. Any resemblance to persons or events past or present is entirely unintentional. Any unauthorized copying, reproduction or selling of this work is strictly prohibited. © Copyright R.J.Walters 12th January 1999. All rights reserved.

The Senator's Mistress: A Synopsis

Life has been good to Senator Jack E. Wilson, a good God-fearing Republican from North Carolina. The President's aide, Party spokesman and deputy-leader of the Senate, things have been going pretty well for Jack. With a good friend in the Health Secretary, Senator Finley; two trusted lieutenants in Jim and Frank, and a beautiful personal assistant in Monique, little seems likely to trouble his road towards becoming House Leader of the Senate.

Then, in apparent spite of his late wife Grace, who died of lung cancer, trade and industry Senator Anello decides to build a giant tobacco plant in his home town of Raleigh, North Carolina. Jack vehemently opposes the location of what at first sight appears to be just another irrational whim of big industry, but soon finds that the stakes are a lot higher than they at first seemed.

A trail of murder and malice follows this bitter conflict between these rival camps. Eventually something has to give, somebody has to betray, and someone has to lose in this deadly game whose winner stands to gain a lot more than just a forest in North Carolina.

ONE

Fortuna fortes iuvat

Jack had always considered himself lucky. Even his clouded misfortunes seemed to have yielded more in the way of silver lining than despair. Ever since he was a boy Jack had led an enchanted existence. He'd hated school, not the social side though - for he had always been the most popular boy in his class. Yet all the reading, writing and arithmetic had seemed as dull, when compared to the icons viewed tantalizingly through the school room window, as washing the pots and pans were to the pleasure of his Ma's home cooking. In fact, he had spent most of his school days in Raleigh staring out through the window from his mooring, gazing dreamily across a tranquil lawn of sunny green, shaded only by the cherry blossoms. His yearning took him beyond these tamed delights of Nature, out of the school gate and across to the other side of the road. The other side of the fence was not greener though, far from it. It was a warm brick red. He would delight to watch the summer sun chase the brilliance of fresh white gloss paint, and contrast it against the sanguine and earthy new brick, flawlessly constructed for the newest, biggest and best law practice in town. Fourteen was not too old, nor perhaps too young for the first summer passions of youth, and what a long and glorious summer had graced his fourteenth year.

Every day, for his pleasure, white cotton blouses would pass fleetingly before the brick-red canvas, their beauty momentarily framed by the windows. His span of attention was not too short to catch the regular visions coming and going through the main door on some pre-textual errand or another, floating or skipping along the main street to the local printers, stationers or dress-makers. Katie, Samantha and Annie were, without need for debate or deliberation, simply the three loveliest secretaries in town, one each for Messrs. Randolph, Samuel and Roebuck, Partners in Law, as was boldly and proudly engraved upon shiny brass by the oak door.

Katie was a buxom blonde in her early twenties. She never did disclose the something to Jack, even after many a passionate hour of seemingly endless bliss amidst the deep grass on a secluded bend of the riverbank. Barely reaching the chest of his precocious six-foot frame, Katie loved to hang upon his strong, young shoulders, reaching upon tiptoe to kiss the softness of his neck, her blue eyes glistening in the warm sunlight, his soul relaxed by the gentle backdrop of a slow, warm river in June.

July's conquest had been Samantha, and perfection was the only word that sprang from his memory's evergreen forest. Samantha had seduced him, or perhaps it had been the other way around, the only one to know for sure had been the Fate concerned, for it is nigh impossible to unravel two strands of matched yarn. Her lithe and firm young figure, perfect in height and weight had pushed his long and rangy frame onto willing knees, made comfortable by the firm bed of the shaded woodland floor. Brown eyes flashed willing submission as she sighed and brushed the skin of his soft, strong white chest with her flushed red cheeks and soft brown hair. He remembered only the breathless euphoria that melted into some near form of heaven as he stretched forward and lay upon the tender pink of her newly disclosed flesh. Jack melted with the memory as his old chin sank deeper into the warmth of his supporting hands, driving his elbows deeper into the sumptuous leather inlay of his mahogany desk.

Annie had taken him until the end of August of that long, magical summer. Finally his wily innocence and boyish smile, framed by a handsomely chiselled jaw, had prevailed over her better judgment. After a long, humid morning of praise at the local Baptist church, over which his father proudly presided, she had succumbed. Jack had pressed himself against her, dressed in best blouse and long skirt, throughout the service, fascinated by her ever-growing warmth and flushed cheeks, as the heady, sweaty scents of the summer grew more potent. The hayloft had lain but a short five minute walk off the well-trodden path that led back down towards Raleigh's sober, sleepy streets. That dull sobriety seemed an eternity away as Annie wrapped her arms around his slender waist and tip-toed until the point of her chin was level with his. Softly, she delivered her well-practiced kiss, pressing her plump succulent lips to his, finally sealing the union of the four lovers. Their passion was renewed with the freshness of every spring, until, inevitability, his dutiful ascent into manhood had tearfully taken him from them.

Apart from the loving and unseen influence of his ever-devoted mother, one of the other two empowering influences of his early life was his father. It had now been but seven short years since his father had been relieved from his duties in this mortal coil.  He had followed the ascent of his beloved wife, from whom he had been parted in slumber not six long months before, to share their well-deserved residence beyond the pearly gates. Yet not even a tear had fallen from his Father's wrinkled eyes, not so much as a drop. Pop had just smiled with his eyes and had gone real quiet, not that awful quiet that accompanies tragic loss, but a quiet of the form of a mellow, inner peace that told him that his work was done and that his rest was well due. He and his brother Randy had remained solemn all of that year, and perhaps even a little beyond into the new spring. But how could they be sad or regretful of such happy memories. Although it may have become difficult talking to Ma and Pop in prayer alone, and given that the family Sunday lunch had become a decidedly smaller affair, how could he or Randy ever mourn such a legacy? Their parents had left no great money or estate to speak of, but something far greater: they had left Jack and Randy; their grandchildren, and a whole dynasty of love and fellowship with Jesus their Lord right down through to the great-grandchildren they had only seen from on high. And a fine father Pop had been too. He was noble and kind, with strong, massive hands that had seemed to offer only fellowship and guidance, and which had never threatened any malice to a soul, well none that the rose-tinted spectacles of his memory could remember anyhow. What was their legacy? The significance of this question caused him to straighten before his desk, relieving the dull ache within his elbows, and to sigh contentedly. They had left a legacy of principle.  No more than that, they had instilled a strong sense of right and wrong. With this rising sentiment he straightened his back proudly and lifted his chin high, a gesture that met with a stiff creak of approval from his well-padded antique chair. They had instilled a sense of purpose, no more than just purpose, destiny. God had not intended Jack to become Senator of North Carolina if it had not been his destiny. Certainly it was so, for how else could he explain all of his good fortune and success if it had not been so ordained by the Almighty? A warm flush radiated as a wave of pleasure throughout his body, and he responded by exhaling strongly and confidently, puffing out his massive barrel of a chest to its full extent. Without hesitation he reaffirmed his undying loyalty to the memory of his father and his vow never to miss a Sunday service, wherever his busy life might take him, a promise he had not broken in seven long years. In fact, so strong was his dedication to his Father's memory that he insisted that Monique arrange all his travels around the premise that a suitable church was within walking distance of his hotel, a duty that had become the bane of his assistant's administrative duties.

A seedling of doubt crept into his subconscious and was swiftly deprived of light. Of course the Lord's hand had been instrumental in his charmed life. After all, who else could have had saved his life in Korea, who else? For most of his contemporaries a lack of interest at school had resulted in a life of dull inadequacy in a back office, or worse still, rough hands and a bad back. Yet Jack had been blessed by the Muses, appearing to him in the form of Kirsty who was, way back then, a warm and sensuous brunette of twenty-five unblemished years.  The Muse of Poetry had graced Kirsty with plump, ruddy cheeks and sugar-sweet red lips.  So dedicated was Kirsty that she had made it her personal cause to keep Jack in regularly after school during the long evenings when he was not bound to meet up with Katie, Samantha and Annie after football practice. For three long evenings a week Katie and Jack would spend three drawn out hours engrossed in each other company, fulfilling those carefree, happy years that heralded his entry into College. She would smile a toothy white smile as she ran her long nails through his dark hair, and rub her cheeks into his to relax him in preparation for the two hours they would later spend reciting the great romantic works. Jane Austen's 'Sense and Sensibility', Charlotte Bronte's 'Mina Laury', and D.H.Lawrence's 'Love among the haystacks' were amongst the countless works which still to this day rhymed rhythmically through his gilded memories. A soft smile appeared upon his aging lips as his wallowed in sweet sentiment. To this day, forty years on, he could still remember the passages she would recite to him by heart. He would still occasionally cite them when he wrote back to Kirsty, who had long since retired to Fort Lauderdale, although Jack could never understand why such a pretty lady had never married.

Indeed, Katie's devoted attentions and his duly receptive mind had so imprinted the classics upon his soul that his family friends would remark upon recital that he was able to perceive the very essence of the writers' souls. Such a gift, coupled with his newfound love for literature, had so impressed the Princeton admissions' committee that he had not only been awarded a Football scholarship, but also a scholarship in literature. This great luck not only relieved his parents of any financial burden, but also gave him enough spare change to run his pride and joy, a gleaming white Ford Mustang charged with five hundred and seventy three cubic inches of vibrant life. Such good fortune allowed him to devote most of his energies to attending to his two great passions, football and the fairer sex. His position as Princeton's reserve quarterback, and his diligent attendance of literature classes provided him with a seemingly endless supply of excited companions.  Janie, Mary-Lou, Mary-Jane, Sarah and Molly were but a few names he recalled from the pageant of beauties who had in turn adorned the red leather passenger seat of his gleaming white Shelby Mustang.

At this point his chin promptly sank several inches further into the leather inlay, as another great sadness returned to the fore of his memory. He nodded fatefully. Few doubted that he would have been starting Quarterback in his final year at Princeton, or that his future would have been anything but bright. Well, they had been right in that respect at least.

As Mother Fortune would have it, war had broken out in Korea only a matter of months into his sophomore year. At first his mind was sceptical as to the importance of shedding young American blood for foreign soil, and he grew weary of ominous warnings of an impending yellow peril, a jaundiced view he felt to be the figment of an over-fertile military imagination. Yet deep within he had felt a cold wind gathering, made chilling in moments of solitude by fearful imaginings. Indeed, December's icy wind had come to blow and with it had ended not only his promising athletic career, but as fate would have it, his academic path also. Receiving a hastily-contrived snap late into the fourth-quarter, his offensive line had driven forward to make headway for the rush whilst he strode backwards, looking in vain for the opportunity of a long pass down field. Instants later his right leg fell pray to a hungry defensive end and voracious nose-tackle, springing ominously through the holes in his offensive line. Six months later, the plaster that had stolen his youthful gait was removed, but a slight limp had remained with him to this very day. In one fraction of an instant his Fate had stolen his athletic grace and carefree gait, despite the public optimism of his prestigious Princeton surgeon.

Depression had set in soon after Christmas, and his mind had even drifted from the classics as June and the torrid veracity of the exam season approached in earnest. To nobody's surprise he had not fared well, but the committee met and taking circumstances fully into account, he was allowed to retake his sophomore year with full honor intact. But depression had stolen from him his winning smile, and the heavy limp his youthful grace, and even the Muses no longer seemed to smile upon him. Inevitably he lost his athletics scholarship, and with it went the Mustang, Janie, Mary-Lou, Mary Jane and all. Increasingly withdrawn and introspective, he had sought fresh motivation and direction, and found it one fine summer's day as he wandered in lonely isolation down the shady boulevard towards the coach home to Raleigh. The military were out in force, their polished brass shimmering and resounding triumphantly, diligently accompanied by black polish stepping crisply in time to the music.  Such military regalia was seldom seen in Raleigh, and his parents had never talked to him or Ralph about the Great Wars, or their two uncles who had perished on Flanders' field. To his Folks war was the work of the Devil, pure and evil, and the less spoken of it the better. However Jack found himself carried by the pomp, splendour and spirit of the military spectacle, and for the first time that year he raised his head high and straightened his back. He stopped awhile to listen with awe and child-like fascination, until at last the vanguard had started past and he had turned his shoulder in preparation to leave. Just then a fresh-faced and pretty blonde in her late teens strode boldly up to him, brandishing a sealed invitation for him to enlist. The spirit woke him from his dream time and he came alive again. She smiled at him provocatively, and then blushed red when he smiled handsomely back.  Jack’s spirit was further lifted by her look of awe and fascination. Her words and vision remained as crisp in his memory as the day she recited her invitation,   

“Can you help Uncle Sam and America?” she demanded boldly before biting her lip as she gazed dreamily upwards into his eyes.

“How so?” he replied with a wry grin.

“By signing up to free Korea from Communism of course!” she replied, laughing as she realized that he was a College student, free from the gravity of such earthly concerns.

“Oh yeah, of course, sorry!” It was Jack’s turn to blush as her blue eyes sparkled forgivingly in the brilliant June sun.

"Well do you want to take my invitation, or don't you?" she insisted softly, thrusting the sealed roll into his limp hand.

"Well... why not?" he replied firmly clutching the scroll in symbolic acceptance, "What's your name?"

"Cindy", she had replied bashfully, but that was not part of the script. Then as suddenly as she had appeared, a call from the vanguard caused her eyes to break contact with his and the spell was broken. Casting him a farewell smile, she dashed back across the street to chatter excitedly about tall handsome College boys with her friend. Jack smiled inwardly at his desk, his well-worn eyes wrinkled by the beauty of the memory.

This simple seduction had been the turning point of his life. Soon he had enlisted, despite parental reservations, and fitted into the officers' mess at West Point like a white velvet glove on a well-fleshed hand. The training had been as tough as it had been brief, and the time flew by with fine companionship, and before he had even begun to settle in as a lieutenant in the Marine Corps, they were headed out to sea, as part of MacArthur's great counter-attack.

His company were amongst the first to land. Behind enemy lines, or so they had been told. Light resistance expected, or so they had been led to believe. He and his eighty men landed in the first wave midst a firestorm. He found himself fifty yards from the beach, wading deep in troubled waters. An icy chill shuddered with the resounding announcement of heavy machine guns, as ten, maybe twenty comrades, tumbled lifelessly into the turbid waters as the bullets raked their lines. Thirty yards from shore, and Joe took his share of the hot, hurtling thirty-millimeter metal, and Jack's face was sprayed with his brother's lost love. His knotted intestines tightened as the waters turned blood red with his men, the waves churning it upwards in revulsion. Ten yards from the line and ten more failed to reach shore. Thirty marines reach the shore, ten falling heavily upon barbed wire, declaring their love with anguished cries of determination. The smell and sound of hot metal grew louder and he lost his count. Eighty yards to the ridge, noting gun emplacements right and left. 'Cover me' brother, and love lost, fire at will, red hot metal and shoot to kill. Al falls, and Johnny follows, up onto the hill and down into the hollows. Grenades and teeth, tear and throw, pause for the roar and face the foe. Charge, Tommy gun blazing, into the bunker, there's no time for paining. Slanted eyes respond too late, guns chatter, declaring their fate. Numb shock then dull pain, where there was a leg, now there's just pain. Dizzy, bleary, blood-soaked eyes spy Johnny, knife to his throat. One last discharge from Tommy and a China-man falls, no sympathy for the dying, Johnny's my all. Must drag him home to mother, or she'll cry. Down the hill, down the slope, no time for pain, Johnny's my hope. Come on Johnny, don't drag your knees, you're becoming a dead weight, now hurry back please. Blackness, blackness all around, someone help Johnny- but there's no one around.

Jack had awoken in a bed upon the hospital ship some two days later, or so the Doc had told him. "Where's Johnny?" he'd moaned in semi-consciousness, until the morphine had finally taken hold. Another three days had passed in delirium and all that had concerned Jack was the whereabouts of young Johnny.

"Was dead long before you brought him down to the beach", his Captain had told him. Aware at last, Jack was distracted by bloody red bandages hastily wrapped around his right leg.

"What happened to my leg?', he had whimpered in shock.

"Shrapnel in the thigh and a slug through the knee".

"Will I walk", he had started crying, although whether it was for little Johnny Tucker, or the remnants of his leg he was never sure, but he cried like a baby and rested his head in his Captain's arms. 'Too early to say Jack, but the Doc says you's going home".

Going home. The tears trickled through his wrinkled eyelids, weeping down in little torrents between his thick fingers, the pain seeping through the cracks, splashing and soaking the rich leather inlay of his desk. Jack collected himself, sniffed and dried his eyes, shutting out the images, shutting out the pain.

They'd returned to harbor fewer than three months after setting sail amidst the roars of a partisan crowd. But that was as nothing compared to his homecoming. News had arrived well before him. MacArthur had been victorious, driving the Yellow Peril back from the abyss of American National pride, not all the way to China, but sufficiently far to smash the myth of invulnerability that had held the American people in fearful awe. The relief shone from the faces of the crowd in the warm September sun. They wanted a hero they could touch and the gods delivered had delivered them just the man.

"First onto the beach! Hey!" cried an excited reporter, pushing his trilby back over his head in order to obtain a better view.

"Yeah! Took a gun emplacement out all on his own!", shouted another, pushing to the front with a note book in hand, "Seven I heard!".

"Hey, let me take that down!" came a shrill voice of a young hack to his left.

"Say, practically won the day in one charge didn't you!" yelled a voice from behind. A flash bulb suddenly exploded in front of him, blinding him as he shut his eyes in belated defense.

"Pure all American hero! Written all over his face!"

"Christ! Sure! The slanty-eyes don't stand an earthly chance with boys like you!"

"Hell no! Say, what's your angle Lieutenant? Did you kill ten, or was it twenty?" a hack thrust his eager note pad towards Jack's chest, scribbling creatively.

"Are you crazy, there were a hundred slanty eyes up there on that on the ridge!"

"I heard thirty!"

"What did'ya say? Thirty! Just let me take that down..."

And so the news-casting had proceeded, until he had single-handedly taken the ridge, rescued a fallen colleague supported by only one leg, and had been prevented, screaming deliriously, gun at the ready, from rejoining the fray. He was pure, vintage all-American hero, and a newly victorious nation, reprieved after the shock of Tet's offensive, wanted their icon, and heaven had sent him right on cue.

From the harbor, things suddenly became a blur of events and lights. He'd returned briefly to Washington to formally debrief his senior officers, and had received, together with the fifteen other survivors of his victorious company a full white glove and brass reception. That afternoon he shook the generals' hands firmly and watched them beam with pride. If anything, his crutch seemed only to add dignity to the spectacle, as though a living testament to his heroics. That day his General announced, only fourteen months after he'd joined the draft, that he was to be discharged with full military honors. A week later he and four fellow officers had been paraded before President Truman watched by an inspired American public and the new medium of television. His Medal of Honor glinted along with his smile under the proud mid-day Washington sun, and midst the warmth and enthusiasm a contented smile at last returned to his lips. Jack sat up straight and gazed nostalgically at the immortalized scene on the wall of his Washington office. His new subordinates, especially those damnable green-horns, were traditionally given the full half hour tour of his picture collection, as he colorfully recounted the history of MacArthur's great counter-offensive that had 'inspired America's lasting protection of the free world'. One young wisecrack, fresh from Harvard's velvet glove, had asked if his triumph in Korea had also inspired the Bay of Pigs and Vietnamese humiliation. Such insolence had promptly found itself parking the cars outside the senators' offices until his inaugural year's contract had expired. Jack tolerated no such insubordination, for he was an honest, straight-talking, God-fearing Republican, and if unconditional respect for senior officers held good for the army, it held good for Washington too. He straightened his tie and glanced over at the vanity mirror, placed discretely over in the far left-hand corner. Jack was a stickler for public presentation, and would always ensure that his tie was straight, his expression firm and friendly and that his jacket had been donned before he acknowledged any knock on the thick beech wood panels of his office door. After all, he had quite some fearsome reputation to maintain in Washington. The democrats had been swept from power in a tidal wave during the 'dirty' elections of Y2K. Even Vice-President Gore had been unable to dissociate himself and his party from the quagmire of sexual scandal and financial impropriety that had brought the Administration down amidst a white-water cascade of humiliating court cases.

Since the elections, Jack had become something of a father figure to the Senate. Through his design the Republicans had swept into power upon a flaming chariot pulled by the twin horses of family values and diminished American prowess overseas, and he had led that very charge. Clean, responsible and tough, he symbolized the very flag that the Republicans had fought under, and was widely tipped to be leader of Congress if the Grand Old Party were to win an overall majority in the 2002 elections. Whenever there was a low key function or press statement regarding the Grand Old Party, Jack would be groomed in readiness for the cameras and paraded before them if the matter were not sufficiently pressing for the President, Vice-President or incumbent Leader to address. Jack relinquished his new role as elder statesman of the Party, and he lived for it.

Jack's very entry into politics was a point of frequent nostalgia. For Jack had walked straight in, yes-sir-ee, straight in through the front door of the White House. Before his feet had even had a chance to return to ground after his short and fateful war, he had been summoned to the White House and offered the position of the chief military liaison officer. Largely a political position, it had afforded him both a military and political status, a status that he used to full advantage ten years later when he had first sought elected office as a representative of his home state of North Carolina. Still very much a local celebrity, and newly wed at thirty-two to Grace, Raleigh's home-coming queen after a whirl wind romance and engagement, he had swept into office, although it had been strenuously denied by local party officials that it was part of a carefully orchestrated preparation for the elections. In time he had grown to love and treasure Grace who became in time a close and trusted companion and beloved mother to his fine, handsome sons. In fact, so assured had been his ascension to office, that the Democrats had only dared field a token candidate. Ten years later, at forty-two, he had ascended to the Senate, a natural move which had been effectively ordained by the retirement of old Joe O'Reilly, his late mentor and life-long friend. People liked Jack. A firm hand shake, a strong look in the eye and an honest tone. People knew where they stood with Jack. He never broke his word, was never late, and above all was never failing in his loyalty to either his friends or the Party. Jack didn't even have a vice, well maybe a spot too much and a drab too often in his whisky glass, and...Jack paused for reflection. The sensation of euphoria drained from him with a long sigh. Well... no, Monique wasn't a vice. Plenty of men his age had lady friends thirty, even forty years their junior, well... hell to it! A man didn't reach his prime until fifty! It was only natural, and Grace, she hadn't really minded, even though she still dearly loved him and was well past the age of satisfying a red-blooded man. He caught the lump in his throat and tried to swallow it. No, it wasn't infidelity, it wasn't. She had even told him that she'd long known, after she'd walked in on Jack and Monique in the office, and afterwards had insisted that she hadn't really minded. A tear trickled through the cracks forming in the dam of his emotions. It was closely followed by a second, then a third and finally by a spring of grief. His throat dried up. No, it wasn't that had made her go so quiet. No it wasn't him and Monique; it was the Big C. He sniffed assertively, trying to regain his composure, suddenly aware again of his surroundings. Grace had died only a few months later, darn those infernal cigarettes, passing away in grief and agony early that same Fall. Hell, she never even got a chance to enjoy his glorious return to office with the Republicans. She would have enjoyed that. Grace always used to smile when Jack was happy, she liked to see him happy. Grace was a fine wife, the best wife a man could have. A man never had a more faithful wife. His throat became an impasse and his eyes and nose streamed with emotion.

A short and determined march over to the drinks' cabinet and a stiff Glenfiddich restored his composure, forcing open his airway. He returned to his desk, blew his nose, sniffed, and glanced hurriedly towards his afternoon agenda that Monique had diligently prepared the day before. No, Monique wasn't a vice. She was love. Love perfect in form, grace and face. He'd only met her three years ago, back at his residence in home-town Raleigh, a grand old house set into the hillside a stone's throw from his father's old Baptist church, a vantage point from which he could gaze fondly down over the woods where he had learnt to love. But Jack was no fool. He always avoided the never-ending stream of debutantes that percolated down through Washington's corridors of power. They were easy to spot, disgracing the soirees, parties and dinner-dances of Washington society. All practiced smiles and expensive hair, they wore the season's dresses that were most revealing of their well-cultivated figures. Almost invariably between twenty-two and twenty-seven, most fresh from College, they would beam with an assured air and hang upon every monotonous word the aficionados of Whitehall politics uttered. They came from all walks and disciplines of life. Young lawyers, musicians, journalists and reporters, all fresh upon the circuit hoping for an express ride upon Washington career bandwagon, proud that they had been able to engineer their invitations into the circles of political power. Most quickly circulated round the bed chambers and hotel rooms of Washington and disappeared as quickly as they had arrived, as most hadn't the wit or the wisdom to discriminate between their use and abuse in the Washington gravy train of full-bodied wines, cars and debutantes. The aficionados of Washington soon learnt that the supply of falling women was as plentiful as it was readily disposable. A few though, had taken scalps for their pains, not least the last great Democratic president. But he had been sloppy, and unlike Jack had taken the ones who were most forward, and worse from those functions from which they were invariably hand-picked and planted by the spin doctors of Washington's powerful back-room offices. But Jack was nobody's fool. He had long since realized that the only safe source of beauty was to be found within the scarce supplies of spontaneous, naive and shy girls, especially not those groomed in the fine art of seduction within the Ivy-League Colleges.

Monique though was different. Despite three years as his personal secretary in Washington, she had stayed faithful to him, and never mixed or gossiped with the other girls. Blissfully content in her large apartment that overlooked Washington's reflecting pool, Monique preferred to enjoy the simple pleasures that life afforded, painting, her sister Laura and her frequent visits from Jack. It was not lust, just a natural extension of love, and she seemed to be both satisfied and fulfilled by Jack's experience and ample manhood. Hell, he was a lucky guy, about the only Senator in Washington with a bona-fide girlfriend and not one of those College bimbos who made their men friends the laughing stock of the rest-rooms, with their tales of parties, polygamy and curious inadequacies. Monique wisely avoided their company. He stopped himself, and tried to clear the bitter taste cynicism from his mind, aided by a knock at the door. Hastily Jack cleared his throat and checked his tie. The well-tailored jacket slipped easily from the back of his seat over his broad shoulders.

"Come in!" he replied firmly through the thickness of the door.

Sparkling blue eyes and a brilliant white smile, elegantly framed by full red lips quickly followed a wave of freshly permed blonde hair.

"Morning, Senator Wilson", she purred softly.

"Good morning Monique", he replied warmly, "And it's Jack!"

"Sorry, silly me Jack! I keep forgetting!" she blushed candidly, "Your morning coffee's ready."

TWO

Monique

11:00 am, Friday 20th April, 2001, Senator Jack E. Wilson's offices.

"Thank you Monique". Jack smiled broadly, "Please bring it in".

A full bosom, demurely tucked into a silk turquoise blouse, slipped in gracefully between the heavy door and its frame. The heavenly vision entered, as it was accustomed to do at eleven each morning, hips swaying in practiced time to the silent, smooth abrasion of white gossamer tights. The apparition was lent some modesty by a tweed skirt that terminated at some point between the knee and the stockings. Monique knew that Jack liked his women to dress conservatively. Not too conservatively mind, Jack liked to leave plenty to the imagination, but at the same time depriving the casual observer of an unwarranted intrusion into another man's paradise. Then again, Jack liked to flaunt the trappings of his success, and so Monique would spend at least two hours of her every day bent over in devotion attending to her nails, facial treatments, highlighting and other essentials of her Washington life. Not that it cost her anything mind. Her job, lavish apartment decorated in soft pinks and furnished in Fall colors, and indeed any expenses that she could think of or be bothered to recount were all courtesy of her position as personal secretary to Senator Jack E.Wilson. Jack of course continued to maintain a high profile in hometown Raleigh, North Carolina, despite being exclusively based in Washington. Almost every free weekend he would ritually undertake the long drive from the marble palaces to his beloved Raleigh, to pay respects to his Ma and Pop, to be with his family and to collect his mail from his Raleigh office. Piety was another of Jack's more redeeming features.

Monique smiled at him affectionately. Jack grinned back at her, his mottled teeth and gold fillings seeming only to augment the handsome lines carved by his square jaw and prominent cheekbones. There could be little doubt from the glint in his eyes that her very appearance held him mesmerized, his eyes as brown and narrow, and his lips as thin and square as when they had first met. It had been a fateful Fourth of July reception at his Raleigh mansion, where and when she had spilt a tray of punch over his gray-blue satin suit and fresh white shirt. In fact throughout the entire evening she had diligently attended to his eye and his glass, kept near to overflowing with a fruity and full-bodied red. At first, after the stunned silence that had broken with the crystal, his broad shoulders and massive chest had frozen stiff in horror, his expanse of sun-darkened skin turning a dark shade of red. Yet the startled vision of her bright blue eyes and the innocence of her virgin-white smile had soothed his intemperate rage, his embarrassed features soon softening from a grimace to a grin of good fortune.

Of course, she had managed, quite dexterously, to spill the remnants of the freshly laden drinks tray backward over her white silk blouse, with all the attendant eye-catching consequences. As she had hoped, being the perfect society gentleman, he had hastened her an apology and offered her the full use of his bathroom. Sweetly he had personally attended to the provision of a warm, fresh, fluffy towel and a fine silk blouse from his wife's wardrobe. The Senator had accidentally intruded upon her emerging from the bath, at which point she had advertently overlooked her modesty, exposing a more than ample display of her fleshy curvature under the soft, warm golden light. Realizing her situation, she had blushed in startled embarrassment, and appearing anxious to return to her duties, had been swiftly assured that no haste was necessary. The skilled seduction was sealed with a furtive glance over her shoulder as she had let slip her towel in flattered acknowledgment of his awestruck features. Suddenly acutely conscious of his presence, Jack had hastily apologized to the young woman and closed the bathroom door behind him, returning dutifully to his guests.

The trap had been laid, and was sprung successfully only twenty minutes later when the bathroom door was boldly re-opened just after eleven. Jack had feigned surprise when, after rushing in through the door, he found that she was still in the bath. She in return had grinned sheepishly, asking for a towel with an inviting waft of her hand. Jack hastily and clumsily reached for one embroidered with his name from the nearest gold rail. The warm, fresh towel had not yet reached her hand, before she had stepped with feline grace from her foam-free bath, her moist pink flesh and pert nipples shimmering and steaming under the golden glow of the lights. Jack uncharacteristically stammered nonsensically at the perfection of her form, unsure whether to apologize or advance in acceptance of a divine gift. She had swiftly silenced his confusion with a ring finger pressed gently to his lips, her generous, warm, damp bosom pushing its invitation firmly into his fresh dress shirt, finally completing her conquest as she married her lips to his. For a timeless hour Jack had forgotten himself, and she remembered how he'd eagerly explored her every curve and moist crevice with his strong, practiced hands, lifting her onto him, pulling her into him, raising her into a train of orgasm upon orgasm.

From that day she had never had to look backwards, or worry for any material need, save for that one dark evening in his Washington office when she had burst in on them. Grace had arrived suddenly and unexpectedly, foregoing her customary knock upon the door of Jack's inner sanctum. Monique had believed that she had long suspected the two of them, but had either never wanted to confirm her suspicions, or had accepted Jack's needs as instinct rather than betrayal. Monique had noticed how Grace had seemingly begun to ritually avoid their favorite meeting times, times that she had in her finer years, once reserved as her own. Grace well knew Jack to be a creature of habit. Yet something dark within Monique had almost relished the shock of realization that had crossed Grace's features when she had surprised them. Call it a woman's intuition, but it was as though her spirit had fled her features upon that terrible moment, that moment when a woman knew for sure that she had lost the love of her life. Still Monique had secretly come to admire the presence of the woman, and the dignity and composure of a lady whose heart she knew was breaking before her very eyes.

Monique enjoyed Jack. He was a father, a lover, a companion and, despite his age, a source of intimate pleasure to her.

"Gone away to the happy hunting ground again Monique?", Jack chortled, awaking her from her dreamtime. Jack beamed at her approvingly. Monique shook her head gently, and fondly returned his smile.

"Where did you go this time", Jack toyed with her, "Hawaii? Long Beach ? Nassau ?"

Monique laughed, for Jack knew women. He was a master at reading their moods, at making them laugh, at weaving their emotions into a fabric of his design. She had seen him play many a woman along, young and old alike, molding them like warm putty in his giant hands. It was undoubtedly a trait that leant success. Monique realized that he wasn't going to let up until she had relented and his curiosity was satiated,

"Raleigh! Fourth of July, nineteen ninety-nine!", she exclaimed precisely, then laughed, tossing her fine head of blonde hair back over her shoulders. Jack sat momentarily mesmerized as it floated down to rest gently across the full width of her soft, young shoulders, a silken continuation of a divine form. Jack would never forget that Independence Day at his July Fourth reception, held annually at his Raleigh residence. Anybody who was anybody from Raleigh, Durham and the North Carolina backwaters of the Republican Party came to Jack's Independence Day ball. All-embracing, but ever cautious, he would only invite couples to attend his functions, anxious not to have his much vaunted spectacular celebrations and his friends' relationships tawdried and debased by that loathsome parade of career prostitutes and debutantes who decorated and disgraced the sophisticated soirees of Washington. Only children, couples and caterers attended Jack's gatherings, whereupon his wife Grace and his two fine, strong sons would dutifully assist him in asserting his reputation as a fine, upstanding family man.

Monique had been but one of a dozen hostesses supplied by his good friend Tom Gilman for the evening. Tom, a fine Republican and a fine businessman, never gave anything other than of his best, and Jack had found that Tom had always been there for him. Lobbying on his behalf for Congress, lobbying for him for the Senate, and all Tom had ever asked for in return was a recommendation or two for his business and a good word when it mattered. He and Tom went a ways back to their days as schoolboys in Raleigh, and a man could not wish for a closer or surer confident. His friend would often slip in a little bonus package or two, on the house as it were, knowing that Jack was partial to straight-talking, straight-forward, good-looking Southern girls, although Tom was careful not to pick them from too close to home.

That evening of July Fourth however, Tom had surpassed even himself, and as he glided around between guests with his customary efficiency, Jack could not help but come to notice that evening's offering. He watched with wry amusement as a slim, but generously proportioned blonde of, he guessed, and usually pretty well, twenty-one years of age, cast frequent glances in his direction. In fact she spent the evening making the over-filling of his glass with Mouton Rothschild her sacred responsibility. Jack enjoyed a blonde, perhaps even more than he enjoyed a bottle of vintage red, and had been duly flattered by her attentions. Such a vision of innocent beauty made that evening a little extra special; perhaps it was by the Lord's grace that he was allowed such rewards so late in life. It was whilst he was making his polite excuses from conversation with Raleigh's incumbent Mayor and his good lady wife, that he had clumsily turned around and bumped into the blonde vision carrying a fully laden drinks tray, sending a shattering spray of crystal and red wine in all directions. Their fresh white silk shirts had turned a bloody red, covering each other's hearts in naked embarrassment. Shocked by the sensation of a cold torrent running down his shirt on a hot, humid summer evening, and by the accompanying silence that followed the shattering of fine crystal upon polished parquet, he had clenched his teeth in anger. His guests had turned their gazes away slowly and politely as though to confirm that nothing untoward had passed. After the initial shock of the noise, the sudden cold and the wetness, he remembered himself, and his manners. Recovering his presence, he recalled how he had gazed down sympathetically at the young girl's horrified features, her thick pouting lips and baby-blue eyes and voluptuous contours exposed as the cold Mouton Rothschild clung to her full, soft, warm young breasts. His composure restored, he had smiled down at her, placed a firm, reassuring hand upon her shoulder, and politely offered her a change of clothing.

From that point on, where they had first collided, everything had seemed to be all golden lights and happy memories. But that first night could never have been surpassed, no not possibly. Not by any of the women who had graced his side or passed by under night's sleepy veil. Though somewhat surprised by her lack of modesty, he had attributed her haste in disrobing to a long, torrid night of running around with a heavy drinks tray after five hundred guests. Well, hell, he could never have supposed that Tom would have supplied him with an innocent, but how could she have been so receptive to a man on his first night? Jack inhaled deeply through his nostrils assuming an air of final judgment, but then again, Jack fanned his fingers out fully upon the thick leather inlay of his bureau as though rising to meet her, was he not an inconsiderably attractive man.

"Jack?" Monique interrupted jack's fond reminiscences with a cup of strong Colombian roast, bringing the fine china cup and saucer to rest gently upon a coaster. She stirred in a sugar with an uncommon delicacy and smiled furtively inches from Jack's glazed expression.

"Hmm", Jack stopped gazing through her, and focused her porcelain features.

"I just wanted to remind you about this afternoon's meeting with the Health and Industrial Appropriations Committee at three", she paused politely for an interjection, "I have all the briefing papers already prepared for your..."

"I read them last Tuesday", Jack interrupted in his firmest, most authoritative tone, not wanting to appear undisciplined or poorly prepared. Instead he lent an air of scholastic appreciation to the ten minutes he had spent skimming through the agenda between lunch and his two-thirty golfing appointment with Senator Danson, "But thank you kindly for the thought all the same Monique. I'd best read through them again just in case there are any more questions that spring to mind".

"Of course Jack", she smiled, apparently impressed by his command of the situation, "Shall I also bring in the memorandum on the proposed European American Tobacco expansion in Raleigh?"

The words brought a startled look to Jack's comforted expression,

"What expansion?", Jack exclaimed in obvious surprise, and then hesitated as Monique frowned playfully. Disconcerted, Jack hastily found a convenient memory, and cleared his throat, nodding with appropriate gravity, "Ah yes! That expansion...please do Monique...and would you kindly bring in another two copies of the brief, one for Mr.Daniels and the other for Mr.McLeary".

"Certainly, will that be all Jack?", she raised her voice an octave, softening her countenance in obeisance of such commanding authority.

"Yes, thank you Monique", his tone mellowed responsively, his eyes meeting hers; a reflection of his will, "Nine o'clock?"

"Nine", replied Monique, purring her assent. She then straightened herself, and turned towards the door, trying not to allow her smile to collapse into a smirk, aware that Jack's concave mirror in the left corner had been positioned with cunning. Using a Zen trick she focused her gaze upon the lush pile carpet to distract her amusement; the European American Tobacco memorandum had only just arrived upon her desk.

Closing the door firmly and quietly behind her, Monique scurried across the corridor towards her private office. Opening the door she found Julie, her young assistant, busy typing out the Senator's replies to the week's business which she'd spent the best part the early morning drafting. Jack hated such trivia, and she never ceased to be surprised how swiftly he signed some of her replies to the ceaseless stream of mundane humdrum that filtered down to his office from the cascade of Washington bureaucracy. Jack professed a simplifying intellect, insisting upon handling only the 'social' and 'power-play' business personally, which all in all amounted to barely a tenth of the weekly haul. Jack would love to quote the wisdoms of his predecessor and one-time mentor, 'Cut out the fat and the lean will see you through'. She'd heard that defense every time one of his pressing golf appointments seemed threatened by a surge of material that required urgent attention. In effect all this economizing on effort left Jack with ample time to move and shake effectively in the Washington power game, schmoozing amongst the great and the good, and just as importantly it left him with good time to prepare and present himself well when it really mattered. Jack would sometimes laugh aloud and joke that as military attaché to the White House he greatly enjoyed the time available to him by virtue of his 'rank filing' system. If a form or letter was not signed by an officer of superior or equal rank, he would simply file it in the trash, and if, in the unlikely event that it transpired to be of some genuine significance, it would surely come back in a week or two's time duly signed by a higher ranking officer. 'And that', Jack would proclaim triumphantly as though his point had been well made, 'had only happened to him a half dozen times in as many years'. Just what that amounted to for Monique, was one hundred hours plus hours of office work a week between her and Julie, divided sixty-forty. Well, that was seniority after all. In a short two years Monique had become expert in dictating neutral replies, making subtle modifications to existing form letters and in number crunching, and Monique had come to pride herself upon her twin virtues of adaptability and focus. Quality time, that's what got the job done and the car back into the garage by six.

* * *

Monique picked up the E.A.T. memorandum, and leafed through it as though every page weighed heavily, cautiously noting its intricacies. She paused a moment and turned her ear a few degrees towards Julie, who was, as usual, typing fluently,

"Julie?"

"Yes Monique?" Julie's soft brown fingers arrested their frantic activity, and the sparkle in her brown eyes looked upwards at her mistress.

"Who put this on my desk?", Monique tilted the front page of the memorandum towards Julie.

"Mr.Daniels", she paused blankly, as if to recall any significance in yet another stapled bundle of A4, "Yeah, he said it was kind'a urgent so he brought it across himself...everything okay?"

"Uh-huh. Must be pretty important for Jim to drop it off in person", Monique smiled inwardly and paused as though she'd captured a fond memory, "Did he say anything else?"

Julie gave her a wry and knowing smile, "Oh yeah. He said to 'Say hi to Monique for me', and then he disappeared in a hurry". Julie waited, anticipating another clue from Monique, but none was forthcoming, "Any reason you ask?"

Monique's features darkened at the impertinence and Julie's smirk swiftly straightened,

"Give Senator Wilson three copies of the memorandum, and...", Monique paused pensively, "Do one for me as well. And you'd better give him another copy of the meeting agenda or he'll start off huffing and blowing about cancer and social responsibility again, and you know how that only upsets Senator Anello and what happens then...".

Julie smiled in admiration. Monique knew best how to manage the Senator's time, and even Senator Wilson would laugh from time to time when Julie communicated Monique's instructions to him.

"Sure thing Monique"

"Please arrange for Senator Finley and Senator Anello's parties to be seated on opposites of the table in the Eldermere Room", Monique mentally constructed the scene,"And best to put Mr.McLeary and Mr.Daniels on either side of Senator Wilson at the head of the table".

Monique smiled, as she always did when something looked just right in her mind's eye, and at that point she began to add the finishing touches, "Better put the crystal decanter and nine glasses in the center of the table. The meeting starts at three so I'll bring them some coffee or tea in at four-thirty, and if they're still at it at seven, coffee and some cookies as well".

"Seven!", exclaimed Julie in horror, and then thought better of raising an objection as Monique cast her a sharp glance.

"Yes Julie, you'll be taking the minutes until seven", Monique was as always firm and polite, never raising her voice,"I've got a feeling that this is going to be a long one". Monique smiled knowingly to herself and donned her Aquascutum coat and heading for the door,

"I'll be back at two".

"Yes Monique".

THREE

Power play

12:15pm, Friday 20th April, 2nd Street. Monique's stride shortened and quickened. Her head was bowed consciously, soft blonde locks falling forwards, brushing her cheeks, succeeding in concealing her identity much as the metaphorical ostrich's head lying underground. Jimmy Lynch took a precise note by Dictaphone from the seat of his dark brown '99 Ford Mercury.

"Miss Stanswick enters O'Reilly's restaurant, 2nd Street, on Friday 20th April at a sixteen minutes past twelve".

An old-style telephoto lens was hastily pushed through a half-open window to snap her exquisite curvature as it slid deliciously through the stained-glass door. After several attempts he managed to clear the residue of nicotine, tar and mucus from his throat, vowing to himself once again that he should quit for good. Retracting the camera, his tie became entangled in its strap and in a sudden fit of annoyance he yanked it free, a maneuver that merely served to cause a dollop of tomato sauce to fall from its intimate marriage with his quarter pounder onto the mid-section of his bulging shirt. He became agitated and thumped the dashboard with the back of his right hand. The internal tension caused a shooting pain to appear in his left shoulder, and he let the camera fall onto his lap. Old Jimmy Lynch winced and relaxed his left hand, breathing slowly in an attempt to alleviate the sharp pain. A slice of red-green gherkin slid inauspiciously from the burger and onto his hand-held Dictaphone.

"God dang it!", he exclaimed through clenched teeth. He took five slow, deep breaths just like the ones his Doc has told him to whenever his angina took hold. Then, forcing himself to focus upon the job in hand, he flicked the rogue gherkin back in general direction of the burger with his left index finger, and discarded the residue of his burger by letting it fall onto the floor encased within its polystyrene coffin. Old Jimmy Lynch felt free to return to the business at hand.

"Miss Stanswick takes seat in recess of right window aisle joining young man in gray suit and tie with her back to street window. View obscured by reflection of sunlight from glass. Moving car around block across to other corner of O'Reillys".

Dropping his Dictaphone onto his well-padded lap, Jimmy proceeded to pick up his GSM, pressed star and four and then permitted it to ring four times.

"Jimmy?"

"Hey-there Liam! Everything in place?"

"Not quite as yet Jimmy", the response was quiet, almost subdued.

"Whaddy'a mean not yet you little dipstick!", bellowed Old Jimmy Lynch, cruising around the block.

"Don't you go getting all shirty with me now Jimmy! Now how's I supposed to know which table she'd be sitting at?"

Jimmy snarled in annoyance,

"Recognize the suit and tie?"

"No he ain't no regular"

"And is she?"

"No".

"Well who dy'a think Miss Pretty Nose was going to be meeting all dressed up and perfumed? A guy in a lumberjack shirt or a baseball cap?", Old Jimmy paused for effect, but the simple logic was wasted, "Now get your little pea-brain over to their table and put the salt and pepper pots down along with the mustard and call me when they've got there!"

"What if they don't want mustard?"

"Jesus screaming Mary Joseph! Just get the darned condiments onto their table and do it quick while they're still orderin'!" Jimmy refrained from the futility of further recrimination, at least until the job was done, "And make sure you take their drinks order so as they don't notice you putting the condiments down, and don't you go lookin' nervous neither!"

"No Jimmy, err yes Jimmy", Liam spluttered.

The mouthpiece of Jimmy's mobile snapped shut in contempt. A slow shake of a sagging chin said that he had to let the boy go, but he'd said that before many times, and he'd never yet found anyone other than Liam who'd do it for the money. Besides, Liam was so youthful, stupid and cute that most anyone that clapped eyes on him would, out of pity, take him in for work at short notice with a quick-fix reference from old Jimmy Lynch of course. Jimmy leant forward and pushed his automatic into neutral and switched on his surveillance rig. With a triumphal clearance of his throat, he tuned in his receiver and placed the phone in his right ear.

Monique was hunched over her Lemon Spritzer, arms folded on the table. Her eyes gazed firmly into Jim's, who was laid back against his seat, engaged nervously in the consumption of a cigarette, trying to appear unconcerned.

"Don't worry Jim, you're doing just fine"

"Geezz I don't know Moni", Jim spoke darkly, his eyes not daring to meet with the force of hers, as though they might impart some awful, irreconcilable truth, "I reckon as he's got his eye on me Moni - says things you know"

"What things Jim?", Monique's tone softened and Jack found her voice soft, reassuring, and opened up, "Things like 'I'd be careful where you put those eyes young Jim', and 'You won't go far around here with such a surreptitious manner young man' ", Jim scratched the back of his neck, looking for a distraction from the awkwardness.

"Jack's just playing with your nerves", Monique frowned at another account of Jack's darker side, "Relax. He doesn't know anything, he just likes to keep a watchful eye on me, and a careful measure of you and Frank that's all". Jim scowled at the reference. Monique continued softly in an attempt at reassurance, "Listen, just play it as I told you. Keep calm, give strategic and well-informed advice when it is asked for, Jack likes that in you. Make sure that you're well read and keep one ear open in the corridor and you'll be all right, you'll see". A pained grimace told her that Jim still wasn't convinced, "Look Jim, Jack likes to play the odds. He knows that you're useful; that you do his reading for him; that you work out his best moves and explain them to him clearly. That leaves him plenty of time to schmooze, play power games and enjoy himself. You're far too valuable for him to let go - and he knows it". She enveloped his spare hand in hers reassuringly.

"No one is inexpendable", Jim recounted gloomily, "That's what he always says".

"Treat 'em mean, keep 'em keen, that's old Jack, as cunning as an old grizzly", Monique sighed ruefully, "Its just gamesmanship Jim, simple psychology. You have to just try and rise above it!"

"Easier said then done Moni!", Jim's brown eyes at last found the courage to make contact. She smiled at him responsively, clasping his hand softly, "Listen if he's feigning it Moni, he's sure good at hiding it". Jim paused pensively and he voice became a whisper, "Do you think that he suspects us?"

"Jack lives his whole professional life on the premise that if everything's too quiet, then something must be wrong or else someone up to no good", Monique's voice went darkly quiet, "He suspects everybody. I even think he has me followed from time to time, but then I just put it down to paranoia. Don't let him get to you Jim, that's how he keeps a hold on you - through your fears. He's not really an ogre, he just likes people to be afraid of him". She smiled affectionately at a memory, "Jack always says 'I like to have a man's respect or his fear, it's the same difference', then she looked up at Jim with a wry smile, "A little warped I agree but..."

"I'd say!", interjected Jim acidically.

"But underneath the big Grizzly exterior he's just a giant Teddy bear who wants to be everyone's pop", she caressed his hand softly, "Look as far as Jack's concerned you're his blue-eyed boy and he wants you to succeed... really".

"Wants me or McLeary to!", snorted Jim, unconsoled.

"Look just do as I told you and you'll be just fine".

"Okay Moni. Will do. Look's as though I got no other choice either way".

"Smart boy. You'll go all the way, I know", Moni gave him a wry grin, causing Jim to blush and smile sheepishly, "Think so?"

"Know so. Saturday at ten?"

Jim grinned, "Sure thing Moni".

A gentle hum started outside, inaudible and invisible to the two confidants. Two rows of mottled yellow and brown teeth, interspersed between irregularly spaced gaps and mercury amalgam, met the afternoon's proceedings with approval, before disappearing behind the whir of an electrically operated window. Smoothly and quietly the brown sedan pulled away, a burning stub of ash falling from the crevice that remained above the tinted glass of the driver's window. Jimmy nodded with satisfaction, thinking about that nice big, friendly bonus he'd been promised.

* * *

Friday 20th April, 1:07 pm, Arlington Golf Club, Washington DC.

"Now there's a beaut!", exclaimed Jack immodestly, watching as his seven iron successfully floated his ball onto the fringe of the green, allowing it ample time to come to rest just a few yards short of the pin,"Not bad hey Tom!"

"No", sighed Senator Finley unenthusiastically, "Not bad at all", muttering darkly to himself that it was more normal to wait for praise than to solicit it.

As usual Jack ignored his colleague dour cynicism, and instead offered some equally unwelcome advice,

"You'll never get out of that tight-lipped bunker with that stance Tom!", Jack scratched his chin imperiously, "Try and stand back away from the ball so that you meet it on the up-swing".

Senator Finley cursed under his breath, took Jack's advice for an easier life, and proceeded to raise a sandstorm. After the view of the green had been restored and the sand had settled, the ball was discovered to have moved only a few feet deeper into the face of the bunker, forcing Senator Finley to concede the hole rather than take a drop. He was already six holes down with ten to play.

"Want me to give you another stroke Tom?", Jack teased triumphantly. Senator Finley refused to dignify such gamesmanship with an answer. The two Senators handed their clubs to their respective caddies and continued on towards the panoramic view of the ninth hole, one which Senator Finley was doggedly determined would be their last, regardless of any flippant suggestion from Jack that they ought to carry on as it was on the way back to the club house.

A few dozen strides further on and Senator Finley decided to broach the reason for their round of golf,

"Well now Jack", Senator Finley spoke clearly with the musical lilt of an Irish-American accent, "What was it you were wanting to talk to me about ahead of this afternoon's meeting?", Senator Finley inquired tentatively. Jack's opening was equally cautious,

"Well now Tom", the two quickened their stride to take them from earshot of their caddies, "A little angel brought me news this morning of a planned expansion of European American Tobacco in North Carolina".

"Yeah so I heard, Raleigh isn't it?", Tom reply was guarded.

"Cigarettes?"

"Yep".

"Factory?"

"Uh-huh".

"Woodland development?"

"So as I understood".

"This wouldn't be a personal attack on me now, would it Tom?", Jack's tone softened and darkened at the same time, "Everyone knows that I hate cigarettes".

"Sure they do Jack", came the sure reply.

"Killed my Grace".

A deathly silence ensued, followed by a moment's reverence. Tom did not dare tread that emotional minefield and held his tongue wisely, waiting for Jack to continue. It was the calm before the eruption,

"Now building a God'darn factory in my Raleigh woods..."

"Hang on now Jack, that site is only a proposal", Tom attempted to assuage Jack.

"Building a God'dam factory anywhere near my Raleigh....", Jack paused for effect. Tom lowered his chin further towards the ground, searching for an escape, "Well now that's a downright...darned, God'dam declaration of war!"

Tom remained silent.

"Who's idea was this?"

"European American Tobacco, I guess?", Tom offered unconvincingly.

"Hell Tom! Who d'ya think you're kidding here? Everyone in the game knows that I'm the big bad bear who hates the accursed tobacco industry. Hell, do you know that if the costs of all the lost man hours and health care that were lost every year through smoking were measured against the gross domestic product of the tobacco industry, why this country would be saving...".

"Minus the costs of prolonged pensionable incomes, loss of associated trade and industry...". Tom interjected without success.

"Hell Tom, you're even beginning to sound like them! Come on now you're the God'dam Secretary of State for Health and Social Security for the Lord's sake. You taking a pay-off or something?"

Tom went red, and raised his hand to stop Jack.

"Come on Jack! Don't go getting all personal on me now. You know that the arguments are not all that clear-cut. This country can no more suddenly axe the cigarette tomorrow than it can the automobile, it's an integral part of the economy".

"So's prostitution Tom!", Jack's reposte was piercing, for Tom was well known within Congressional circles as a frequenter of Washington's soirees and call-girls. The attack left Tom stung and his cheeks reddened, but he didn't want to cross swords with Jack, the Mr. Clean of the Republican party machine. Tom knew that the Republicans' didn't need a scandal so early on after the success of their "Clean up the Hill" campaign, but if the Democrats should find a leaky faucet before the mid-term Congressional elections, Tom knew he'd be out with the broom.

"Don't you go leaning on me now Jack!", Tom responded vigorously, "I'm strictly impartial in all of this".

"Baloney Tom! You sit on the select committee. You get a casting vote on the how, and why and where of this. I want a firm commitment that you'll help me to block this one..."

"Now you know I just can't do that Jack! That factory's got to be built or..."

"Does it Hell! What's wrong with Indonesia or Mexico?", spat Jack indignantly.

"Jack", Tom engaged his irate partner with a firm, respectful tone, endeavoring to slow down the conversation and regain control, "Nowadays people want jobs for Americans. Unemployment is rising again Jack, what with the trade war with Europe, the fall of the yen and the collapse of the Far Eastern Markets. Trade ain't what it used to be Jack. There's a recession. We're still importing a ways more than we are exporting. The trade deficit's at an all-time high Jack. People need jobs, and we just can't go on exporting those like we used to Jack. We're looking towards the internal market to stabilize the economy..."

"Like we did in the Thirties right up until Wall Street ?"

"Listen Jack. That factory's going to be built, whether you like it or not. The holy crusade of the self-righteous anti-smoker has gone along with the good times. Hard times make people realize what's important in the world. They don't care about ten years' less retirement money when their friends or family can't pay the rent".

"Yeah, okay Tom", Jack was calmer now. Tom was always a man of reason, and that appealed to Jack, "But it doesn't have to be Raleigh, or North Carolina, that's mud in my face Tom. I'm the virtual figure-head of the anti-tobacco lobby in the South", Jack again became frustrated, "This is a personal attack Tom, sure as eggs are eggs". Tom reluctantly had to nod his agreement, and sensing the empathy, Jack continued, "I just can't back down on this one Tom, you know I can't".

"There'll be ten thousand new jobs for Raleigh Jack".

"I can't Tom, I simply can't".

"And twenty thousand more will come into the area in the form of services and associated industries.."

"I'd be near finished Tom. Clean living and no smoking is my wagon Tom, if this gets through..."

"Jack, North Carolina has been badly hit by the recession. People need jobs, Jack. Voters need jobs".

"Tom, I need your help on this one", Jack sounded forlorn. A tone that was almost pleading came uncharacteristically to his voice.

"I'll see what I can do...."

"Hell I hope so, or may be we'll both be out", came the wistful reply.

* * *

Friday 20th April, 1:15pm, Office of Monique Stanswick.

"Hey there Julie!". A young man in his late twenties breezed into Monique's office, a carefully-managed parting giving order to his wavy brown hair.

"Hi'ya Frank!", Julie looked up from her word-processor and gave him a big, white, toothy grin.

"What's a cooking Julie?", he inquired nonchalantly, leaning over her desk as though to express an interest that transcended the mere content of her current sheet of A4 paper. Julie blushed. Attention of such a nature from a young high-flier was always welcome, especially when it interrupted the copious quantities of dull, lonely work that ceaselessly flowed through her desk. His light Brooks Brothers' jacket hung open at an angle, unleashing the broad confidence of a red and blue tie. After a judicious pause, her childish brown eyes took the bait,

"Why, anything you care to eat, Frank", offering a reply as flirtatious as his opening. Frank grinned expectantly,

"Tex-Mex, Vietnamese... or I know this great new Jamaican place where they do this Jerk chicken that you just wouldn't believe..."

"Okay Frank!" Julie laughed. "Consider me taken! Now what is it I can do for you?"

Frank paused for a moment, as though nothing pre-meditated had passed his mind. Pursing his lips he gazed up to the heavens as though in search of inspiration. His prey smiled, unconvinced by the latest character innovation. At last he clicked his fingers, snatching a moment's contrived inspiration.

"Meeting this afternoon, right Frank?"

"That's right! Got any info for me?"

"Just the briefing that you got five minutes before you came to see me Frank", Julie replied, smiling wistfully.

"No, I was thinking more background information Julie", he scratched his chin comically, searching for the missing information. "You know, more kind of factual stuff..."

"You mean the Senator's personal briefings?", Julie mused.

"No, no, no Julie, of course not! I couldn't possibly ask you for those...", Frank adopted the little boy lost look, and Julie, as usual, met him half-way, having already prepared him a couple of extra photocopies from research papers on the state of the tobacco industry that Jack would never find the time, or the inclination, to read.

"Here you go Frank", she tossed him over an hour's fast reading, "Here's some A.T.F. and N.I.H. homework for teacher's pet" she added playfully. Frank responded to her with sparkling eyes and a boyish grin,

"Why thank you Julie!", he thumbed through the clutch of stapled pages, "Hmmm....interesting..."

"Uh-huh?", replied Julie rhetorically, fluttering her eyelashes.

"You're a pearl!"

"Actually, I prefer diamonds".

"Tonight, at eight? The Jamaica Shack?"

"Busy", Julie replied, feigning disinterest as she inspected her manicure. Frank played along,

"Tomorrow at nine?"

"Already got a date!", she teased playfully.

"Oh yeah! Who?", inquired Frank, expressing a jealous scowl as his face chased Julie's bashful smile.

"You!".

* * *

Friday April 20th, 2:30 pm, The door of Senator Jack E. Wilson's offices.

The door opened within a minute of a rapping at the door and the Senator's giant frame appeared, holding the door ajar.

"Afternoon gentlemen", Jack towered over his two personal advisors, disarming them with a warm smile. Mr.McLeary and Mr.Daniels paused for a moment's respect before the door of Senator Wilson's hallowed office.

"Afternoon Senator", chimed Frank, radiating self-confidence.

"Afternoon Senator", accompanied Jim, in more reserved mood.

"Jack", came the traditional reminder. Friendly, but not too friendly, that was how Jack liked it and he smiled approvingly at the ritual tribute, "In you come then boys!". At that invitation the door swung open wide and his two lieutenants entered in single file beneath his watchful gaze, before taking their respective places on either side of the great desk, facing the Senator. As ever Jack took his time to be seated, the additional elevation of his chair making his presence all the more imposing. Jack added a pause for effect,

"Well gentlemen, now where shall we start?" His gaze was formidable, and Jack was ever a hard man to please. Frank shot his rival a wry glance, and then started the bidding,

"I've been reading some figures and done one or two calculations...", he paused a instant as Jack beamed at him expectantly, "If European American Tobacco try to move in on us in North Carolina..."

"Raleigh", Jack interjected tersely.

"Yes, err...sorry, Raleigh..., then the costs of adding the required infrastructure to the State and Federal tax payer would amount to at least two hundred and fifteen million dollars in the form of additional roads, supply lines and services." Frank paused, the Senator was listening, "The lost revenue from timber harvesting alone would cost the state fifty million dollars a year and..."

"The turnover's fifty million Frank", Jim snapped, "The profit from which is less than ten million, of which the State of North Carolina receives less than two million per annum in tax revenues..."

"Yeah Jim", Frank sneered in irritation, "But that's fifty million Keynesian dollars flowing through the economy", Frank's reply was terse, as though asserting the authority of his Harvard MBA in his finest Irish-American accent. Jack nodded his approval, "So before we even start listening to the jobs and profits argument, we have to lay down tax losses of more than two hundred and fifty million, plus fifty year lost from the regional economy until the factory is completed".

Jim turned in his seat to face his waspish adversary, visibly stung by the slight, his dark brown eyes burning fiercely into Frank's. He waited a moment before replying,

"Well by my estimation that's at least five years worth of construction and maintenance contracts. Now let's see how much of that two hundred and fifteen million is going to flow right back into Professor Maynard Keynes' economic model, huh Frank?" Frank hesitated, knowing that a glib remark at this stage would appear weak and ill-considered, allowing Jim to continue his riposte, "So before we go in and get cut down by Senator Anello's henchmen, suppose we think our arguments through a little more carefully".

A wry smile crossed the Senator's face. Jack didn't much care for Mr.Daniels - far too self-assured and easily-risen for his liking, but he talked good, plain common sense and Jack liked that. It sounded good in the boardroom, good in the conference hall and good in front of the cameras. Jim sensed the Senator's approval and gained in self-confidence,

"So before we even start to count any financial benefit from bringing thirty thousand new jobs a year into the state economy, there's...let me see...", he hesitated as though calculating the figures freshly in his mind, "Thirty-thousand Keynesian jobs at an average twenty thousand per capita, plus another ten thousand each in overheads making a grand total of nine hundred million dollars a year before we even start to talk about profits..."

"Jim", the Senator interjected, "Frank was only trying to help us by providing us with financial counter-arguments". Frank nodded, looking as though he needed the help, "It's as clear as day that they've got us on the arithmetic", Jack was emphatic, "But Frank's got a point, until the God'dam factory's built...which it sure as Hell won't be just so long as I'm Senator, the tax payer loses money, and that sounds good on the sound-bites. So we'll start with that as our rush offence", Jack paused, noting that Jim looked crest-fallen, "But that's a damn sound argument Jim, Frank can you dig us up a counter?"

"Yeah, think so...", Frank paused for reflection, "The money for construction and services will go to Federal Contractors, unless we push for local state contractors..."

"Which I won't", added Jack with a wry smile.

"Right. So we'll run the big Washington gravy train story through the North Carolina media", Frank responded to the twinkle in the Senator's eye, "And we'll use regional distrust of Washington big government to bolster local opposition".

Jack looked pleased,

"Jim have you memorized your health lines?"

"Sure Jack", Jim nodded, "I've done my homework", Jim cleared his throat for rehearsal, "Every year, in the United States alone, over four hundred thousand deaths and fifty billion dollars in medical costs are attributed each year directly to smoking...."

"Stop there Jim. That says it all, quote your source and refer to the section detailed in the memorandum, that argument's always a K.O! Never fails!" Jack smiled at his troops and checked his watch. It was a ten to three. "Thank you gentlemen, excellent work. Shall we go next door?"

FOUR

The good, the bad and the ugly

Friday April 20th, 3:00pm, The Eldermere Room.

Monique had lent her usual grace and elegance of touch to the Eldermere room. The long, broad mahogany table, carved and curved exquisitely at either end, amply filled the room, its center geometrically aligned beneath the splendor of an eighteenth century crystal chandelier. Giant portraits of illustrious former Presidents Lincoln and Washington held pride of place over the mantelpieces above the two fires, whilst a row of lesser deities lined the walls either side of the table. A silver tray laid with immaculate porcelain formed the center of a T, together with the sheets of note paper, blotting pads and silver pens that were arranged for the three groups of representatives positioned on either side and at the head of the great table. One could only imagine that Roosevelt himself sat in judgment in the great chair at the far end of the table.

Jack stood at the entrance to the Eldermere room, Frank at his side, waiting impatiently for Jim to return from what he had insisted was an urgent call. Senator Finley, the Republican health spokesperson and his two advisors had already arrived, and were seated to the left of Senator Wilson's pride of place at the head of the table. Presently Jim arrived, appearing even more nervous than Jack was accustomed to,

"Please excuse me Jack, I'm not late I hope?".

"No, no you're not late. We're still waiting for the Italian delegation", Jack replied brusquely.

Jack turned to Senator Finley, who was engrossed in hushed consultation with his two advisors.

"I certainly hope we're not keeping you Tom".

Tom nodded his understanding, Jack was a punctual man and expected the same of others, "That's all right Jack. We're just running through some of the health costings associated with increasing tobacco consumption in the U.S.".

Jack smiled and nodded approvingly at his friend. With a subtle motion of his palm he gestured first for Frank, and then Jim to take their places at either side of his chair of the table. Scratching his nose, Jack grimaced in annoyance at being delayed by the Italian for the umpteenth time. Jack was not especially partial to Italians, 'Church on Sunday, kill on Monday' being his favorite epithet, not that he had ever known too many. As far as Jack was concerned, the proximity of a high-ranking Italian official to the Mafia was not an open question, and at best was a degree of separation, and his intense dislike for Senator Anello had done nothing to appease that prejudice.

Presently Senator Anello arrived, a good ten minutes late, and proceeded to irritate Jack further as his leisurely gait conveyed him to his seat as though time were no object, his two advisors shuffling to in attempt to stay behind him,

"Good afternoon Jack. Good afternoon Tom", Senator Anello's grin was a picture of conceit in Jack's eyes, "I do hope that we haven't kept you waiting unduly?".

Jack refused to rise to the bait,

"All the more time to prepare my position Sal".

"Like Xerxes' legions huh?", Sal, as ever, was slow and effective as ever in his delivery. The Senator pondered the significance of the classical reference, effectively ending the exchange before it had begun. Senator Anello sat slowly down, and slid into a relaxed posture wearing the seemingly permanent smile that never seemed to fade. His mottled brown teeth, decorated by half a dozen gold fillings, betrayed a lifetime of self-indulgence, as his left hand swept back his silver hairs over his bronzed scalp, a visage cultivated from a lifetime of winning experience. Senator Anello closed his eyes and smiled to himself as Jack took his seat last, as was customary, sitting down with intent.

"Well gentlemen". Jack paused again for effect, scanning either side of the table for signs of respectful anticipation, succeeding only as far as the seat of the grinning Senator Anello who had since closed his eyes, "We'll begin at item one of the memorandum, "List of proposed sites for the proposed E.A.T. development. Sal, as industry spokesman, would you please start us off?"

"Why of course Jack. I'd be delighted to". Sal beamed as he shifted forward slightly in his chair, and slowly peeled back the top sheet of his copy, as though he were a Grand Master preparing to develop his queen's position, "Well let me see now... according the most recent amendment passed by the Clinton administration, '...priority in Federally-assisted industrial development programs will be targeted to the industrialized areas of highest levels of blue-collar unemployment'. That leaves us with a short list of Mississippi, Missouri, Detroit, Michigan, and of course North Carolina...".

Jack reclined in his seat, adopting a position of relaxed authority,

"So why Raleigh, Sal? What's wrong with Steeltown or the Ole cotton fields?"

"Simple Jack, cigarettes need paper, and we're cutting down a half a woodland for the factory and its newly associated paper mill", he grinned, his eyes burning with mischievous intent into Jack's, "There's also skilled labor down South that doesn't require an expensive relocation package. Mississippi-Missouri has a way too many labor disputes, and E.A.T. won't have it, despite the attractive option of river freight for exports...before you come around to mentioning it".

Jack nodded patiently as though Senator Anello's arguments had his full understanding, and then promptly disagreed,

"So Idaho, Montana, Wyoming and Nebraska haven't got any trees left then Sal?"

"None where there's twenty thousand skilled and semi-skilled people to build a factory. Last Government project that traveled to the mid-West went Mexican; couldn't get any industrial folks to settle there. They like their home towns Jack"

"And Florida? Tampa, Miami, Orlando?"

"Too hot, workers are statistically less productive when its over ninety degrees and ninety percent humidity. Besides, there's no Federal aid package to support E.A.T. expansion there, it's not classified as a depressed area".

Jack's face darkened, his voice thickening with a surge of blood,

"So the Government needs to subsidize the tobacco giants now does it? Baloney! How much did those critters make last year? If it's cheaper for them to go to Mexico, then so be it!"

Sal seemed unperturbed,

"That's not the point Jack", he replied firmly, relishing the whip-hand, "We can't go on exporting our jobs anymore. The collapse of the Far Eastern Markets in ninety-eight and the recession have meant that we have to supply as much of the need of our internal markets as is reasonably possible. That Government policy, you know that Jack The trade deficit's still twenty billion dollars a month and rising. The only way forward is to cut our imports and to maintain our high technology exports to developing markets". Senator Anello had attained a scholarship to Columbia, and Jack felt that he wallowed in assumed intellectual superiority. Jack decided to concede arguments over global economics argument as a lost fight,

"Nonetheless, I still don't see that the provisions of the bill covers the subsidization of highly profitable industries like tobacco".

"I'm afraid it does Jack", interjected Senator Finley softly, the great bags under his eyes seemed to be sagging ever more under the burden of worldly wisdom, "The bill's an incentive, not a benefit and applies equally to all industries seeking to relocate to economically deprived areas. Profits are profits, and as far as U.S. industry in concerned, the more the better. E.A.T. only looks at the bottom line Jack, they're not going to sniff at a Federal aid relocation package that worth close on a hundred million to them".

Jack sat still awhile, his arms crossed in frustration. His opening questions had received blanket coverage, and he could sense no chinks in the armor of the Federal case. Frank felt the vulnerability of the silence and used the moment to steal his Senator's ear,

"It's okay Jack, everything's going to plan, we weren't expecting to win any ground on item one. Let's hit them now on the new anti-tobacco legislation and tax structure".

Jack nodded and smiled, he was glad he'd taken the youngster on, he was green sure, but he knew his place and his stuff. Jack cleared his throat confidently,

"Well gentlemen", he paused and bowed his head in acknowledgment of Senator Finley's pretty young brunette, "And lady", she smiled flattered at the attention, "Shall we move onto item two of the agenda, which covers the projected effects of the new development as pertain to the 'Clean public air bill'. As we can see from the copy of last spring's bill, under Section four, amendment (b), there is a passage which clearly states, 'It shall be deemed illegal to smoke tobacco-based products in all unlicensed premises, confined public places and communal workspaces unless such a license has been previously obtained from the city and/or state legislature' ". Jack smiled triumphantly at his crowning achievement. He had successfully pushed his first bill through Congress in only the first year of the new administration: - Jack knew how to pull strings, "May I continue?", he did not trouble himself to wait for a reply, "Please note also section five, provision (c), 'Tax shall be levied both Federally and provincially upon all tobacco-based products in proportion to current estimates of National and Regional Health costs of tobacco-product related illnesses, inclusive of those mortalities and health provisions attributed to those illnesses related to both primary and secondary exposure to tobacco-based products, as shall be determined by the annual report of the Surgeon General'". Jack paused triumphally, "Well as I'm sure you'll all agree, this recent legislation augurs both a fall in profits from tobacco-related industries and a fall in demand for tobacco-based products within the U.S.. Thus I put it to you that it might be deemed a misappropriation of Federal tax dollars to subsidize a potentially loss-making industry which many analysts have predicted will continue to decline steadily over the next ten years in the U.S.. If there is to be a contraction, then there can clearly be no justification for the proposed expansion, and certainly not on the scale submitted before this committee", Jack clutched the lapels of his jacket with his fingers and did his best to look victorious before the jury. "Please add that to the minutes Miss.Brown", Jack turned theatrically towards Julie, who was discretely tucked into the corner hunched over her word processor. Julie nodded and smiled, grateful at last for a recognition of her presence. He then sat down with a smug expression.

Senator Anello chuckled to himself, unperturbed by Jack's ostentatious display,

"Jack", he sighed as if he were commiserating, "The proposals that have been circulated clearly state that the primary projected market for the E.A.T. expansion is the developing world, and specifically developing markets in China, India and the Far East."

Jack could not help himself,

"Oh so we're going to poison them too huh? Well I suppose that's all right then, first we give them Bhophal and now lung cancer..."

Senator Finley felt obliged to restore order to the debate, and interrupted,

"Such moralizing is not going to stand up in Congress Jack, not against the arguments of jobs, tax revenues and a two hundred and forty billion deficit. That's what voters respond to..." Jack became irritated and lost his composure, again rising from his chair,

"Are you the God'dam secretary for health or industry Tom?" Senator Finley turned a dark red and shrunk into his seat, declining further redress.

"Tom's right I'm afraid Jack", Senator Anello grin seemed to have grown wider, "The average life expectancy in China and India's not going to change much with tobacco consumption Jack. Premature mortality from tobacco-related illness remains a central statistical issue in the First World, where the tobacco weed that you so despise in fact annually saves the U.S. billions in pension allocations and health care provisions alone, dollars that would otherwise be spent on maintaining the existence and health of an increased life expectancy."

"And health care costs from tobacco-related illnesses?", Jack seemed momentarily confused.

"People gotta' die from something Jack, might as well be emphysema or lung cancer as Alzheimer's or cardiac congestion. Just saves on the waiting for the hospital bills that's all". Senator Anello folded his arms in finality. Jack turned and looked upon old adversary in disgust, and raised his voice again,

"And the American dream? The Golden Retirement due to every hard-working, God-fearing citizen of this Great nation of ours? Your saving on old age is bigger than the costs of the four hundred thousand premature deaths and fifty billion dollars in medical costs that the weed costs this country every year?"

"Four hundred thousand premature deaths each year, ten years earlier than the seventy allocated by your good book, at fifty thousand dollars per capita in health costs and pensionable income annually..."

"Not all pensioners Sal, not all sick!"

"That's four million multiplied by fifty thousand", Senator Anello nodded, "Minus the fraction who are not of pensionable age..."

"Guess-timations Sal, not facts and figures!"

"That's a saving of between fifty and one hundred billion dollars a year Jack, just think of it!"

The sarcasm was not wasted on Jack,

"Don't buy your fictional figures Sal! Where's your data? Where are your sources? Where are the figures for lost productivity at work and sick leave? It's just blatant profiteering Sal, there's no financial justification for human suffering!"

"Get real Jack! We can't afford your perfect world, even less the losses in trade", Senator Anello's grin finally passed and for a rare moment he became emotive, "Italy has one of the oldest populations in the world Jack, and the lowest birth-rate on record: less than one child born per woman. They're in chronic social decline Jack! No E.A.T. and big problems!" Senator Anello suddenly became self-conscious, "Oh and Miss Brown?", Senator Anello turned his head and shoulders marginally in Julie's direction, "Please scrub this little discussion from the record".

Julie blushed anxiously, clearly disturbed by the tone and texture of the conversation, and turned sheepishly towards Senator Wilson looking for guidance. Jack nodded his consent and Julie's mouse scurried to erase a block of text from the screen of her word processor. Jack finally drew a curtain upon the argument, indicating his disdain for Senator Anello's views with a loud 'Hurrumphh'. Senator Anello merely evaded Jack's ferocious glare and nodded quietly.

After sitting still for a rare moment Jack decided that affairs had become decidedly over-heated and rang the bell for coffee. Monique presently arrived in the doorway, modeling a blue cotton jacket and sapphire brooch set in silver, color-coordinated with a tasteful calf length blue skirt and silk blouse. Jack nodded approvingly, prompting Monique to enter the room and usher in a second silver tray bearing a fresh pot of coffee, a bottle of mineral water and a decanter of freshly squeezed orange juice. The maid attentively poured the drinks out, whilst Jack amused his eyes, scanning Monique's exquisite curvature with critical appreciation. As ever, Monique could be relied upon to bring a breath of fresh air to proceedings, and such a display of feminine beauty and grace had certainly brought a smile to the faces of the three Senators, and to Jim's. Frank was more astute, scribbling notes, pretending not to notice the forbidden fruit on display. Jack noted Jim's smirk displeasurably, and then motioned with a nod and a smile for Monique to take her leave. Monique curtseyed to the crowd pleased with the attention, enjoying her power. Jack enjoyed another sip of his orange juice from its crystal prison, and the smoothness relaxed his sore throat and helped him to clear his voice.

The break was declared to be at an end as Jack pulled his leather chair decisively back towards the table,

"Okay Sal, if it's primarily for export, then why were you earlier making a big show about supplying our internal market?"

Senator Anello tossed his eyes dismissively,

"Because the projected volume of the new plant is intended to saturate both the domestic market, undercutting the wave of cheap Cuban imports, without contravening the General Agreement on Trades and Tariffs. Not only will the new plant cut down imports and satisfy domestic consumption without necessarily increasing consumption, its allows us to launch more competitive products at the developing markets Jack".

Senator Wilson resented Senator Anello's patronizing tone, and retorted by borrowing a leaf from Jim's hastily prepared notes,

"Wouldn't we, or should I say E.A.T. get bigger profits way down in Texas or New Mexico using skilled Mexican labor from across the border?"

"Yeah sure, Jack", and for a rare instant Senator Anello hesitated, examining the lurid orange-yellow stains on the fingers of his left hand, "Sure we'd make more paper profit, of course, but we'd lose, to quote our young up-and-coming Chicago economist", Senator Anello nodded approvingly in Jim's direction, "Virtual 'Keynesian' dollars in the form of the wages and income taxes recirculated within the American economy and," Sal sighed as though he was getting rather tired of affairs at hand, "Aren't we're going round in circles Jack?"

Jack finally decided to go for the jugular argument, playing his home field advantage,

"Listen carefully Sal, the people of Raleigh and North Carolina aren't going to buy the idea of Federal contractors moving in on their turf, destroying their natural woodlands and the aesthetic character of their homeland, just so as a filthy, profiteering tobacco company can move in and rake in profits from their cheap labor," Jack had tired of the economic charade, in what he felt was merely a thinly veiled personal attack, "Big government contractors, burning Federal tax dollars and felling domestic jobs in the local timber industry. You think that the people of North Carolina are going to sit by and watch you chopping down their ancient woodlands to turn into paper for cigarettes? I think I know my people and the local media better than that Sal!". Jack retaliated glibly, returned to stronger ground as local defender and champion of plain common sense. Senator Anello merely smirked, clearly unperturbed,

"Oh yes they are Jack. Unemployment's at nine point seven percent in Raleigh Jack. They've waited for their Senator to give them jobs and so far he hasn't delivered", Senator Anello chuckled, enjoying himself, "Statistically, Jack, that's one in three homes that has an unemployed member of the family. Oh and by the way Jack, I've just arranged for all contracts to be tendered to local or State contractors, where possible, to appease local objections, and, for the record, the partially deforested area will be made into a state nature reserve, with trails and a picnic center where the local people can enjoy their new-found prosperity and leisure time, courtesy of European American Tobacco- the 'big, friendly giant'". Senator Anello grinned first at Jack and then at Jim with an air of self-satisfaction that Jack found unbearable.

Jack seemed as though he was ready to explode. Sensing the prevailing tension, Jim wiped his brow anxiously and Frank looked dazed and shocked at the scale of their defeat. Meanwhile, Jack was lost for words, tears of anger welling in the corners of his eyes above reddened cheeks. Finally he could contain himself no longer, rose menacingly over Senator Anello and promptly exploded,

"Tom! Sal! That factory will be built in North Carolina over my dead body!", and with those parting words of defiance he stormed from his seat and the Eldermere room, leaving the door wide open. Jim and Frank following hastily behind, their heads bowed anxiously, as Jack strode fiercely down the length of the corridor towards his office. Senator Anello quietly nodded his consent to Jack's parting wishes, listening with pleasure as the distant mutterings faded into the distance.

FIVE

The counter-offensive

Friday 20th April, 4:41pm, Senator Wilson's offices.

Jack stormed back into his office, flinging the heavy door open with a resounding crash. For once he did not bother to stand on custom and sent Frank and Jim straight in wearing masks of anxiety and concern.

"Sit down! Both of you!", Jack's face was a confused shade of red and purple. Jim could not remember such a violent loss of temper, but Frank recalled the memory of another Congressman making an unwelcome advance upon Monique, and lay his arm around her curvaceous hip after he had cornered her in the office. Unfortunately for the young rake, he had mistimed his advance to coincide with Senator Wilson's entry and found himself flung head before hindquarters through a heavy door that was only half-ajar, propelled by Jack's massive form and a bellow. But this was worse, Jack was powerless to vent his spleen. Instead he could only sit down abruptly. Frank's jaw had dropped in terror and Jim could not even bring himself to make eye contact with the Senator's desk. Jack sat and looked at each of them in turn. He calmed himself, as best he could, suddenly aware of the repercussions of his behavior. The Lord had blessed Jack with a keen mind, sharp instincts and, above all a very good sense of smell. Jack sensed that he smelt a rat.

"Well gentlemen? Do either of you remember the trials and tribulations of Quintus Valerus and his three legions?"

Jim and Frank looked at him blankly, Frank preferring to think of it as a rhetorical question.

"So who's old Q.V., Jack?", mused Jim, trying to infuse a little light humor. His feeble attempt at humor was only met with a fiery glance from the Senator, and Jim ducked his gaze towards his lap.

" 'Q.V." is, or should I rather say, was the Roman general who was charged with guarding the northern provinces of Rome against the Germanic hordes."

"So something went wrong I guess, huh, Jack?", Frank interjected quietly.

"You sure bet it did!", snarled the Senator, "The Germanic tribes played hit and run in the forest, and then finally ambushed and massacred three entire Roman legions".

"Tough break", murmured Frank, "And our take home message?".
"Spies within the camp!", snapped Jack, "Kept the Germans in tune with Roman troop movements and of the positions of their scouts so's they could mislead them as to the whereabouts of the main German army".

"You don't think it's one of us do you Jack...", stammered Jim, nearing apoplexy.

"I don't rightly know as yet", Jack muttered darkly turning away from eye contact, stroking his chin theatrically, "How could Anello possibly have anticipated my blocking of Federal contractors, which I was sure that he'd already arranged, or else moved to appease the environmentalists. I mean Hell! He's never given two hoots for a green, grassy field in his whole rotten, sleazy, selfish life", Frank sensed the venom in the Senator's words and noted that Senator Anello and Jack went back a long way. Jim provided the voice of calming reason,

"Errhmmm", he cleared his throat and caught Jack's divided attentions, "Jack, seems to me as the potential size of the opposition to the building of a giant tobacco plant would be self-evident, even to Senator Anello, and he knows he's gotta dig awful deep to sell it."

"But to sell it on my home turf? Now that's just got to be personal! Wouldn't you agree, huh Mr. Daniels?", Jack leaned forward over his desk supporting his weight on the heels of his palms and gave Jim a long, hard stare. Jim's left leg started to shake uncontrollably, and his voice cracked,

"Yea-huh, uh-huh, Jack", Jim's eyes searched the carpet between his legs nervously, searching for an answer. Jim, for all his weaknesses, was never slow-witted and returned the Senator's strong gaze firmly, anxious to diffuse the palpable tension, "Now let me see Jack. He's gotta build his factory right? After all, stands to his business reason?"

"Right, so?"

"So why not kill two birds with one stone?"

"What do you mean precisely?", Jack's voice softened with the tone of curiosity.

"Well he doesn't much care for you Jack, not since you took the job he wanted as Party spokesman".

"True enough"

"So he's bound to want to go the extra mile and forego his privileges of subcontracting lucrative Federal contracts so he can settle a personal vendetta. As for the environmentalists, their objections are an easy call".

Jack nodded, apparently convinced, and the clarity of his suspicion dissolved. As always, Jack preferred the voices of logic and reason over the hazy senses of smell and instinct; - for they always provided a much more comfortable ground on which to tread. He mused awhile, chewing the idea over in his mind. Jack nodded inwardly; to be on the safe side he'd make his next move without giving warning or taking counsel - just to be sure.

"Okay gentlemen, that'll be all for today. Have a good rest and I'll see you before our next meeting", a slight smile curved the corner