Hallorin's personal effects. Too late now.
The woman in it was quite beautiful, with medium length blond hair and the tall, thin body of a model. Next to her stood a much younger David Hallorin. His jet black hair was a little more severely cut and the crow's-feet around his eyes were a little shallower, but other than that he looked pretty much the same. The picture, Beamon knew, was at least ten years old that's how long Hallorin's wife had been dead.
"She was killed by a drunk driver," Hallorin said as he replaced the handset.
Beamon felt he should say something consolatory, but couldn't come up with anything that wouldn't sound stock.
"I remember the legislation you tried to have passed after her death."
Hallorin leaned back in his chair.
"Before she died, I didn't really know anything about the problem. The thousands killed every year."
Despite being something of a drunk himself at the time, Beamon had supported Hallorin's stand: Drunk drivers would have their licenses revoked for the rest of their lives on the first offense. He couldn't remember the proposed penalty for the second offense, but it probably involved pliers and thumbnails. More power to him.
"I'm sorry you never got it passed," Beamon said sincerely.
"I believed in what you were trying to do."
Hallorin looked him straight in the eye.
"That's because you and I are rare birds in the government, Mark. We put results above politics. The American people are just now coming around.
I think they'd sleep better knowing their children's stomachs were full than knowing that there " Beamon finished the sentence in his head. " are a bunch of generals at the Pentagon sitting on $700 toilet seats."
It was one of Hallorin's favorite lines.
"I'm sorry," Hallorin said.
"I'm making a speech."
Beamon studied the man. Had the senator seen through his normally infallible poker face and read his disinterest? He'd have to be more careful in the future.
"I have to wonder why we're meeting, Senator."
"Why do you think?"
"I assume that it relates to the Vericomm tapes. But I'm not sure what I can tell you that wasn't in my report or won't be on the transcript of today's hearing."
"The last tape just cuts off," Hallorin said bluntly.
"Why?"
"It's in my report, Senator. I was downloading those wiretaps from a central mainframe where they were stored. I lost the feed."
Hallorin laced his hands in front of his chest.
"You're sure?"
Beamon got the impression that they were negotiating but wasn't sure for what. Hallorin seemed to be searching for something in his expression.
Whether or not he was telling the truth? Whether or not he had a price?
"I'm sure, Senator."
Hallorin didn't respond, but continued examining Beamon's face for whatever it was he was looking for. After another thirty seconds or so, he must have found it.
"I know what you're thinking, Mark. That my credibility has benefited greatly from the discomfort of some of my colleagues."
Beamon looked on impassively. He really didn't want to be here. His life was already too complicated for him to comfortably manage, and frankly, he truly, deeply, didn't give a shit who the next president was.
"I've been critical in the past, it's true," Hallorin continued.
"But I think things are starting to get out of hand."
"I thought your campaign was about clearing the air," Beamon said, paraphrasing one of Hallorin's ads as respectfully as he could and concentrating on not letting his skepticism show.
"The air's getting a little too goddamn clear," Hallorin said, raising his voice a bit.
He stood, rising to his full height for a moment and then leaned forward against his desk.
"The people of the world are looking to be led out of the hole they've dug for themselves. If we don't do it, the Europeans or Japanese will.
We've just started a new millennium and we're at a crossroads. Will we regain our power or will we fall from grace?"
Beamon tried unsuccessfully to count the number of metaphors and cliches
The woman in it was quite beautiful, with medium length blond hair and the tall, thin body of a model. Next to her stood a much younger David Hallorin. His jet black hair was a little more severely cut and the crow's-feet around his eyes were a little shallower, but other than that he looked pretty much the same. The picture, Beamon knew, was at least ten years old that's how long Hallorin's wife had been dead.
"She was killed by a drunk driver," Hallorin said as he replaced the handset.
Beamon felt he should say something consolatory, but couldn't come up with anything that wouldn't sound stock.
"I remember the legislation you tried to have passed after her death."
Hallorin leaned back in his chair.
"Before she died, I didn't really know anything about the problem. The thousands killed every year."
Despite being something of a drunk himself at the time, Beamon had supported Hallorin's stand: Drunk drivers would have their licenses revoked for the rest of their lives on the first offense. He couldn't remember the proposed penalty for the second offense, but it probably involved pliers and thumbnails. More power to him.
"I'm sorry you never got it passed," Beamon said sincerely.
"I believed in what you were trying to do."
Hallorin looked him straight in the eye.
"That's because you and I are rare birds in the government, Mark. We put results above politics. The American people are just now coming around.
I think they'd sleep better knowing their children's stomachs were full than knowing that there " Beamon finished the sentence in his head. " are a bunch of generals at the Pentagon sitting on $700 toilet seats."
It was one of Hallorin's favorite lines.
"I'm sorry," Hallorin said.
"I'm making a speech."
Beamon studied the man. Had the senator seen through his normally infallible poker face and read his disinterest? He'd have to be more careful in the future.
"I have to wonder why we're meeting, Senator."
"Why do you think?"
"I assume that it relates to the Vericomm tapes. But I'm not sure what I can tell you that wasn't in my report or won't be on the transcript of today's hearing."
"The last tape just cuts off," Hallorin said bluntly.
"Why?"
"It's in my report, Senator. I was downloading those wiretaps from a central mainframe where they were stored. I lost the feed."
Hallorin laced his hands in front of his chest.
"You're sure?"
Beamon got the impression that they were negotiating but wasn't sure for what. Hallorin seemed to be searching for something in his expression.
Whether or not he was telling the truth? Whether or not he had a price?
"I'm sure, Senator."
Hallorin didn't respond, but continued examining Beamon's face for whatever it was he was looking for. After another thirty seconds or so, he must have found it.
"I know what you're thinking, Mark. That my credibility has benefited greatly from the discomfort of some of my colleagues."
Beamon looked on impassively. He really didn't want to be here. His life was already too complicated for him to comfortably manage, and frankly, he truly, deeply, didn't give a shit who the next president was.
"I've been critical in the past, it's true," Hallorin continued.
"But I think things are starting to get out of hand."
"I thought your campaign was about clearing the air," Beamon said, paraphrasing one of Hallorin's ads as respectfully as he could and concentrating on not letting his skepticism show.
"The air's getting a little too goddamn clear," Hallorin said, raising his voice a bit.
He stood, rising to his full height for a moment and then leaned forward against his desk.
"The people of the world are looking to be led out of the hole they've dug for themselves. If we don't do it, the Europeans or Japanese will.
We've just started a new millennium and we're at a crossroads. Will we regain our power or will we fall from grace?"
Beamon tried unsuccessfully to count the number of metaphors and cliches
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