Capitol Crimes. H.L. Katz

      Apprentice House

      Loyola University Maryland

      4501 N. Charles Street

      Baltimore, MD 21210

      410.617.5265 • 410.617.2198 (fax)

      www.apprenticehouse.com [email protected]

      To my wife for her love and patience and without whom this book would not have come into existence.

      To my children who have made my life worth living.

      One

      Wednesday, August 3, 2011

      The FBI sniper peered through the scope affixed to the top of his government-issued McMillan TAC-338 sniper rifle. He pulled his jacket lapel closer to his mouth and steadied the weapon on his right shoulder. His index finger tapped the trigger, softly, every few seconds. He pressed the Talk button of the black Motorola walkie-talkie strapped to his uniform.

      “Not sure I can get a clean look even if there is somebody out there, Captain,” the sniper said. He never removed his eye from the scope. “Can we do anything about this crowd? This is nuts.”

      The crowd he was referring to began lining up as soon as word spread of the hearing which would begin within the hour. Traffic on the street was at a standstill due to a combination of pedestrian gridlock surrounding the Hart Senate Office Building and the usual D.C. morning commute. From the few who had slept on the sidewalk to the thousands who had arrived on the streets of the Capitol before the crack of dawn, each of them hoped to secure one of the precious few seats inside the hearing room. Their goal on this humid summer morning was to be present at what USA Today called “the most important twenty-four-hours since the Tea Party at Boston Harbor.” The morning editorial of the Washington Post wrote that the events in the Senate today were, “as crucial for the country as any testimony since Watergate,” while the New York Times labeled the witness at the center of the firestorm, “the most controversial private sector figure in American history.”

      On the steps of the east entrance of the Senate Building all of the major news networks jockeyed for position while bloggers, sprinkled amongst the crowd tapped their laptop keys with real-time updates for their websites. Everyone was live from the eye of the storm. Meanwhile, a few hundred feet above the ground, FBI snipers scattered along the rooftops surveyed both Constitution Avenue and 2nd Street for any suspicious activity.

      Mixed-in among the mass of people were two Middle-Eastern looking men, one dressed in faded blue jeans and a Kansas City Royals tee-shirt, the other in black Dockers and a blue Nike golf shirt. They searched the crowd in vain for the witness they were hired to silence. They soon realized, along with the rest of the gawkers in the crowd, that she was nowhere to be found.

      When Callie Wheeler arrived at the Central Hearing Room through an underground walkway that connected the two Senate office buildings, she was very much aware she was national gossip fodder. Dressed in all white, including her Jimmy Choo heels, Callie was an image of tranquility at the witness table next to her attorney, Miles Goodman. A veteran jurist of more than thirty years, Goodman came straight out of central casting complete with the sandy brown hair and young features that made him look twenty years more youthful than he was. On the tablecloth in front of them were two microphones, four drinking glasses and two pitchers of water. To Callie’s left, a bay of television cameras were poised to record her every move, while behind her, the room slowly began to fill. The retractable brown walls had been moved and extra chairs were set to accommodate the overwhelming press requests and public demand.

      On a normal day, the hearing room hosted over 300 people but as of twenty-four hours ago, everyone involved with the United States Congress knew this would not be anything close to a normal day.

      “Did you want me to tell them that you’re planning on making an opening statement?” Miles Goodman whispered into Callie’s ear.

      “I’d rather keep the bastards guessing.”

      “You’re the client,” Goodman said. “But you know they’re not gonna be happy.”

      “Like I give a shit. Fuck ‘em.”

      Seated on the “U” shaped dais at the front of the room were twenty-six United States Senators, twenty-one men and five women. The Committee on Lobbying Affairs had broken down along party lines. There were thirteen democrats seated on the left and thirteen republicans on the right. Of all the committees in Congress, none could be considered less appealing than COLA, but the substantial perks kept the committee’s membership packed with leaders from each party. The majority of the Senators that were present had made the rounds on early morning television, strategically placing themselves in interviews that were sure to be watched by their constituents on a day when Congress would be the focus of the national news cycle. A few of the more prominent among them were huddled together behind the platform, occasionally peeking at Callie and her attorney. Shortly after their strategy session had broken up, Chairman Lester Rice, a thirty-two year veteran of the Senate, gaveled the morning hearing to order.

      “Ms. Wheeler, on behalf of this committee, I want to welcome you and thank you for appearing before us today. We understand that agreeing to testify could not have been an easy decision for you to make, but we appreciate your choosing to help our committee, especially on such short notice.”

      Callie, as always, looked as if she was better suited for an advertising campaign than a Senatorial proceeding. She always had. Having just turned twenty-nine years old, she knew she would only get one shot at this regardless of how messy it got. She would take full advantage of the opportunity.

      Maintain eye contact, Callie reminded herself as Rice continued with his instructions.

      “Ms. Wheeler, each Senator will ask you questions for a period of five minutes and it will continue that way until such time as we determine your testimony has concluded,” Rice said. “Do you have any questions?”

      With a calm, controlled elegance, Callie reached for the microphone in front of Goodman and moved it closer to speak.

      “Mr. Chairman and members of the committee, I want to thank you for the opportunity to testify before you today. As you know, my testimony here is not without controversy. Nevertheless, I feel it is my duty to address this Body and I do so against the advice of counsel.”

      Callie nodded to her attorney.

      The room fell eerily silent as everyone focused their attention on Callie Wheeler. She paused to purposely milk the moment. The crackle of the court reporter’s stenograph was the only noise that could be heard throughout the venue.

      “My experiences on Capitol Hill have taught me that things are never quite what they seem. When I think back on my almost