Free Senate Cloakroom Cabal by Keith M. Donaldson

that’s what Mr. Horne has on his mind.”
    I logged in and surfed the paper’s archives, rummaging through drug approvals. It was a lot of dull reading. Tiring of that, I swung over to articles on the new baseball team and the proposed construction of a new ballpark. I hard-copied half a dozen new stories and set up a file. I called a contact in City Hall and asked for copies of all City Council discussions or actions pertaining to the ballpark. The arduous part was researching these people, looking for connections. I felt a gurgle in my stomach and checked the time. It was a little after noon.
    I told Mary I was heading to the cafeteria. A few minutes after I settled down to eat a grilled chicken salad, my cell phone rang. It was Mary. “What’s up?”
    â€œMr. Horne is probably rounding the corner, as we speak,” she said.
    â€œDoesn’t give us much notice, does he? I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
    I entered the newsroom and headed for Mary’s desk. A medium-sized man with dirty-blond, curly—no, tousled—hair stood by Mary’s desk holding a thin, black briefcase.
    â€œMr. Horne,” I said, walking up behind him.
    He twirled to greet me. “Ms. Wolfe.” It was a statement.
    â€œI put another chair in your cubicle,” Mary said flatly.
    â€œThank you, Mary. Mr. Horne,” I said, motioning in the direction of my desk. “Let’s go to my cubicle. It’s small, but homey.” For all his casual, thrown-together look, I sensed tenseness in him. He sat in the chair that Mary had provided and placed his briefcase on his lap. He unlatched its two hasps and removed a file folder, thinly filled.
    â€œYou will find the information in this folder is devoid of people or company names. Everything in here has been retyped on plain bond paper. I assure you that, other than the identities, we have not edited or characterized the sensitive information these pages contain,” Michael Horne said firmly, as he handed me the folder and removed another.
    â€œI have a duplicate of what I just gave you. If you like, I can wait while you browse it, maybe answer any—”
    â€œI appreciate that. However,” I said softly and non-threateningly, “I would prefer to take this home and read it at my own leisure.”
    â€œNo. No, that’s fine.” He sounded relieved.
    I smiled. “I’m so used to working on my own, I have built-in study habits.”
    â€œBelieve me, I understand.” He slid his folder back in and snapped the hasps. “The senator would very much like to meet with you privately. She suggests her place in Crystal City tomorrow night, if that fits your schedule.”
    I noticed he held my gaze easily. There was no come-on in him. He portrayed earnestness without acting pushy.
    â€œWe’ve been struggling with this issue,” he said, “but when we addressed our leadership, we were rebuffed. If you’ve followed anything on this subject, you may identify a senator or two, maybe even a particular company. If you choose to go forward, we will provide you with everything.”
    He flashed me a self-effacing smile.
    I studied him as he spoke. He was around my age. His attire, to me, represented a disguise. He wore earth colors, not the dark suit so typical in Washington.
    â€œI will read this at home this afternoon. I work short days here right now.”
    â€œYes. I saw in the news reports that you recently gave birth to a boy. Congratulations. I hope our suggestion for an evening meeting isn’t an inconvenience.”
    â€œNo, if we can make it about 7:00. We like to get my son’s last feeding in around 10:00.” I was going to say breastfeeding, but some men are squeamish about that.
    â€œThat should be fine.” He stood and handed me his business card. I rose.
    He said, “Thank you for seeing me so quickly. We feel time is working against us. My home number is