He had to get to Congressman Allard before Allard got to the camera.
Last night he'd heard a TV newsreader mention that they'd be interviewing Congressman Allard today on the revival of the Joint Committee on Medical Ethics and Practice Guidelines. Duncan had decided then to be here bright and early. This was too rare an opportunity to miss.
He climbed to the top of the Capitol steps and gazed back along the green expanse of the Mall. A mile and a half away, past the Capitol Reflecting Pool, past the towers of the Smithsonian and the museums and galleries that lined the Mall, the obelisk of the Washington Monument gleamed like a spearhead in the morning sunlight and cast a narrow shaft of shadow toward the white rectangle of the Lincoln Memorial behind it. Above them, the Delta shuttle glided toward a landing at Washington National.
Flanking the Mall to the right and left, Pennsylvania, Constitution, and Independence avenues were thick with traffic, all heading this way.
And all around him a steady stream of men and women, mostly men, dressed in suits and carrying briefcases or attache cases, scurrying up the steps. They obviously were not tourists, no Bermuda shorts, cameras, and "I't Washington" caps, and he knew they weren't senators or representatives or staffers. The people who worked here, who belonged here, moved back and forth between the Senate and House office buildings on underground shuttles. These were lobbyists, armed with checkbooks loaded with the grease that keeps the wheels of Congress turning.
The kakistocracy was in session.
Duncan sighed as he watched their hurried, purposeful climb toward the House and Senate chambers. God, there were an awful lot of them.
The Congress of the United States, he thought with a grim smile. The best government money can buy.
Far below, at the bottom of the steps, the soundman nodded as the reporter checked his mike. Good. They were ready. All set up and waiting for U. S. representative Kenneth Allard. Duncan was waiting for him too.
And then he saw him. Allard stepped out on the House side flanked by three of his aides. Pushing sixty, medium height, and on the glabrous protuberance that passed for his head, a thatch of dark brown hair that had once belonged to someone else. He had a paunch but a small one.
It had been much larger before Duncan had gone to work on it with the liposuction tube. What had been protuberant and tremulose was now flattened and firm.
Not a bad job, he thought as Allard started moving toward him across the open, granite-paved expanse, even if I do say so myself.
But a face only a bacteriologist could love.
A good many of the arriving lobbyists smiled deferentially and waved to Allard as they passed. He was something of a legend on the Hill, admired, almost revered, by his colleagues in the kakistocracy for the innovative approach to campaign financing he developed while serving on the Committee on Energy and Commerce. A couple of campaigns ago, when Congressman Allard became aware that his reelection coffers were down to their last million or two, and the PACs weren't coming up with fresh money fast enough, he introduced a flurry of bills that would have devastating impact on the coal, oil, gas, and timber industries.
Suddenly the energy PACs and lumber trade associations, not to mention the associated unions that would be hit hard by the new Allard bills, were swarming around him with open checkbooks. He collected eight million in three months, some of which probably paid for his surgery.
After gorging himself on the pecuniary viands, he withdrew the bills from committee. The procedure had been imitated by his colleagues many times since.
But none of that had anything to do with why Duncan was here today.
He watched Allard nod to a few of the passing lobbyists, but the congressman was more interested in conferring with his aides, he looked like a quarterback huddling with his coaches, only they were all in suits.
Duncan wondered if he was the only one on Capitol Hill wearing something other than a business suit.
"Good morning, Kent, " Duncan said as he neared the group.
Allard looked up at the sound of his sobriquet and squinted at Duncan. An instant of confusion, Duncan could almost hear him thinking Who the hell? , and then recognition.
"Doc, " He cleared his throat. "Duncan! What are you doing up here?
Welcome to the Hill." His expression was wary instead of welcoming.
Doesn't want to call me Dr. Lathram. Probably afraid someone will recognize the name and want to know what fixups I performed on him.
Duncan stuck out his hand and delivered his lines smoothly.
'"Waiting for some relatives from out of town. Promised to show them the sights . . . tour guide for a day. You know the drill, I'm sure.
" Chicklet caps flashed. "I sure do." Casually, Duncan reached into his blazer pocket and gripped the oblong bulk of his pager. He felt the sweat collecting under his arms. He was close now, but he wanted to be closer still. Just to be sure.
"You're looking good, Kent. The cameras down there are going to love you." Bat nowhere near as mach as you love them.
The smile faded. The wariness reemerged. "Thank you. ' Don't worry, Congressman, Duncan thought. I'm not going to say anything about the liposuction.
But he couldn't resist turning the screw a little tighter.
"How do you stay so young looking? " Allard's smile returned, but looked forced now. "Clean living." You son of a bitch.
"I must try that sometime.
They both laughed. Duncan flipped the ON switch on his pager and it began to beep. He pulled it from his pocket. A vintage model, considerably larger than the new ones. He stared at the blank message window, trying to still the ague tremor of his hand.
"Looks like my service wants me. I'd better find a phone and see what they want." He edged past Allard and his aides, coming within a few inches of the congressman.
This is as close as I'm going to get, he thought.
His finger found another button on his pager. The special button. But he hesitated. No turning back once he pressed it.
Old questions assailed him again. Isn't this going too far? Is it really worth the risk? What if I'm caught? And the most disturbing of all, Is this something a sane man would do?
Then he remembered what Allard had participated in five years ago .
.
. and today's clean-living remark.
Duncan pressed the button.
This time the pager made no sound, but he felt it vibrate against his palm.
Allard winced and rubbed his right thigh.
"Good luck with the TV folks, Kent, " Duncan said. "And think of an eighteen-year-old named Lisa."
"Pardon>" Allard said.
"Her name was Lisa. Keep that in mind." I want it to be your last coherent thought.
He turned and almost bumped into a dark-haired young woman.
wIn"T Gin tried to speak but found her voice locked. Not from the shock of seeing Duncan on the Capitol steps, but from the look on his face as he'd turned away from Congressman Allard. His eyes, arctic cold, cobalt hard, full of rage and hatred so intense she thought they'd leap from their sockets. Never in her life had she seen an expression like that.
For an instant she thought she was facing a feral stranger.