youth. Root had promptly responded to the earlier e-mail and thought it was over. But apparently it wasnât.
He had survived in the snake pit of Washington politics for three decades. Now in his senior years, he thought about the fact that at the peak of his power, his past was finally catching up with him. It seemed that everything around him was suddenly collapsing. He seemed to be suffering from increasing bouts of anxiety and confusion. Whether it was age or his worsening physical condition he couldnât be sure. But lately it seemed that he was constantly perspiring.
The mess in Washington, the disarray within his own party, wasrapidly transforming the achievements of the previous year into a nightmare. They had come to power on the shoulders of voters with a promise of fresh politics and openness in government. Now, little more than a year later, they were left to founder on an agenda of costly social reforms that few on either side of the aisle embraced. In the end they had to be negotiated in the middle of the night behind locked doors, and purchased with billions of dollars in pork.
Root had been through tough times before, but never anything like this. With high unemployment and an ever present recession, voters across the country were growing restive. Their mood was increasingly ugly. An invitation to a tea party could mean anything from tar and feathers to a lynching.
The powers in Washington had lost control. In their place was a mob of itinerant Internet bloggers, constantly picking through political trash looking for dirt. The minute they found it, the story would play in a continuous loop over the national bullhorn, the round-the-clock cable news networks looking for ratings.
To Root, the delusional mood among leaders in Washington resembled the sense of serenity at Versailles the night before the French Revolution. Of course, his sense of dread was heightened by the knowledge he possessed.
The most odious scandal in American political history was bubbling like a hot yellow cauldron just beneath the surface of the nationâs capital. And with millions pounding the streets looking for work, the timing couldnât have been worse.
For as far back as Josh could remember, senior members of Congress had been raking in large sums of money from interested parties on legislation. The casual observer might ask, âWhat else is new?â But this money was not in the form of campaign contributions, and the sums being transferred would have dwarfed the national treasuries of a few small countries. It had been going on for years, long before Root arrived in Washington, and was without question the best-kept secret in town. Over the decades sizablepersonal fortunes had been transferred from multinational corporations, and in some cases foreign governments, into secret numbered bank accounts owned and controlled by powerful key members of Congress.
It was never discussed. No one ever talked about it. It was considered the poorest of form ever to put anything in writing. Votes were peddled with a wink and a nod, and the money wired in from overseas accounts where U.S. authorities had limited reach. The practice was of long standing, and was clearly understood by all the players, almost as if it were written in invisible ink and included in the Senate rules.
Virtually all of the numbered accounts were in Europe, in countries where the sanctity of bank-secrecy laws was not only time honored, but a principal pillar of the national economy. For a considerable fee these banks would quietly roost on your growing bag of gold with never a name attached to it, just a number, along with written instructions for periodic disbursements.
Senior members of Congress, including Root, were now sitting on stacks of money that would have shamed the Rothschilds. This while they beat their gums and railed over bonuses paid to corporate executives, people who were forced to genuflect because they flew into town on private
He had survived in the snake pit of Washington politics for three decades. Now in his senior years, he thought about the fact that at the peak of his power, his past was finally catching up with him. It seemed that everything around him was suddenly collapsing. He seemed to be suffering from increasing bouts of anxiety and confusion. Whether it was age or his worsening physical condition he couldnât be sure. But lately it seemed that he was constantly perspiring.
The mess in Washington, the disarray within his own party, wasrapidly transforming the achievements of the previous year into a nightmare. They had come to power on the shoulders of voters with a promise of fresh politics and openness in government. Now, little more than a year later, they were left to founder on an agenda of costly social reforms that few on either side of the aisle embraced. In the end they had to be negotiated in the middle of the night behind locked doors, and purchased with billions of dollars in pork.
Root had been through tough times before, but never anything like this. With high unemployment and an ever present recession, voters across the country were growing restive. Their mood was increasingly ugly. An invitation to a tea party could mean anything from tar and feathers to a lynching.
The powers in Washington had lost control. In their place was a mob of itinerant Internet bloggers, constantly picking through political trash looking for dirt. The minute they found it, the story would play in a continuous loop over the national bullhorn, the round-the-clock cable news networks looking for ratings.
To Root, the delusional mood among leaders in Washington resembled the sense of serenity at Versailles the night before the French Revolution. Of course, his sense of dread was heightened by the knowledge he possessed.
The most odious scandal in American political history was bubbling like a hot yellow cauldron just beneath the surface of the nationâs capital. And with millions pounding the streets looking for work, the timing couldnât have been worse.
For as far back as Josh could remember, senior members of Congress had been raking in large sums of money from interested parties on legislation. The casual observer might ask, âWhat else is new?â But this money was not in the form of campaign contributions, and the sums being transferred would have dwarfed the national treasuries of a few small countries. It had been going on for years, long before Root arrived in Washington, and was without question the best-kept secret in town. Over the decades sizablepersonal fortunes had been transferred from multinational corporations, and in some cases foreign governments, into secret numbered bank accounts owned and controlled by powerful key members of Congress.
It was never discussed. No one ever talked about it. It was considered the poorest of form ever to put anything in writing. Votes were peddled with a wink and a nod, and the money wired in from overseas accounts where U.S. authorities had limited reach. The practice was of long standing, and was clearly understood by all the players, almost as if it were written in invisible ink and included in the Senate rules.
Virtually all of the numbered accounts were in Europe, in countries where the sanctity of bank-secrecy laws was not only time honored, but a principal pillar of the national economy. For a considerable fee these banks would quietly roost on your growing bag of gold with never a name attached to it, just a number, along with written instructions for periodic disbursements.
Senior members of Congress, including Root, were now sitting on stacks of money that would have shamed the Rothschilds. This while they beat their gums and railed over bonuses paid to corporate executives, people who were forced to genuflect because they flew into town on private
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