the ominous label “foreign propaganda,” as if you were Tokyo Rose
calling for the overthrow of the U.S. government, instead of, in
Danny’s case, selling his soul to get crop seeds and powdered milk.
After bending a few more ears on the phone, then studying a few hundred
pages of briefing materials, he had decided to call it a day. A
glamorous day in the life of a typical Washington lobbyist, which
usually ended with him collapsing into bed, except that today he did
not have that luxury. Instead, he was here in this downtown hotel,
attending yet another political fund-raiser, and the reason was
standing in the far corner of the room sipping a glass of white wine
and looking extremely bored. Buchanan headed over.
“You look like you could use something stronger than white wine,”
Buchanan said.
Senator Russell Ward turned and a smile broke across his face as he
looked at Buchanan. “It’s good to see an honest face in this sea of
iniquity, Danny.”
“How about we trade this place for the Monocle?”
Ward put his glass down on a table. “Best offer I’ve had all day.”
CHAPTER 27
THE MONOCLE WAS A RESTAURANT OF LONGSTANDING on Capitol Hill’s Senate
side. The restaurant, and the U.S. Capitol Police building, which
itself used to be an Immigration and Naturalization building, were the
only two structures left in this location that formerly housed a long
row of buildings. The Monocle was a favorite place for politicians,
lobbyists and VIPs to gather for lunch, dinner and drinks.
The maitre d’ welcomed Buchanan and Ward by name and ushered the pair
to a private corner table. The decor was conservative, the walls
adorned with enough photographs of past and present politicians to fill
the Washington Monument. The food was good, yet people didn’t come for
the delights of the menus; they came to be seen, do business and talk
shop. Ward and Buchanan were regulars here.
They ordered drinks and perused the menu for a moment.
As Ward studied his menu, Buchanan studied him.
Russell Ward had been called Rusty for as long as Buchanan could
remember. And that was a long time, since the two had grown up
together. As chairman of the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence,
Ward was a powerful influence on the well-being–or not–of all the
country’s intelligence agencies. He was smart, politically savvy,
honest, hard-working, and he came from a very wealthy northeast family
that had lost its fortune when Ward was a young man. He had gone south
to Raleigh and methodically built himself a career in public service.
He was North Carolina’s senior senator and worshipped by the entire
state. Under Buchanan’s classification system, Rusty Ward would be
absolutely labeled a “Believer.” He was familiar with every political
game ever played. Ward knew all the inside stories on everyone in this
town. He knew people’s strengths and, more important, their
weaknesses. Physically, the man was a wreck, Buchanan knew, with
problems ranging from diabetes to the prostate. Yet mentally, Ward was
sharp as ever. Those who underestimated the man’s massive intellect
because of the physical ailments had all lived to regret it. Ward
looked up from his menu. “Anything interesting on your plate these
days, Danny?” Ward’s voice was deep and sonorous, and so wonderfully
southern, all traces of clipped Yankee long gone. Buchanan could sit
and listen to the man for hours. And he had done so on many occasions.
Buchanan replied, “Same old, same old. You?”
“Had an interesting hearing this morning. Senate Intelligence. CIA.”
“Is that right?” “You ever hear of a gentleman by the name of
Thornhill? Robert Thornhill?” Buchanan’s features were impassive.
“Can’t say that I know the man at all Tell me about him.”
“He’s one of the old powers there. Associate DDO. Smart, cunning,
lies his ass off with the best of them. I don’t trust him.”
“Doesn’t sound like you should.”
“I have to give the man his due though. He’s done terrific work,
outlasted numerous CIA directors. Really served his country
extraordinarily well He’s actually a legend over there. They let him
do more or less what he wants because of that. Such a policy, however,