The Zero Game

Switching on the radio, Lowell lost himself in the mental massage of talk radio. His grandmother used to love talk radio, and to this day, Lowell still used it to, in his grandmother’s words, catch his calm. As the car was filled with the top news stories, Lowell finally took a breath. For one full minute, he forgot about Harris, and Wendell, and the rest of the chaos circling through his head. But as a result, he missed the black sedan that was trailing a few hundred feet behind him as he pulled out of the parking garage and into the daylight.

70

“TRUST ME, I know how Harris thinks. We want him to talk, not panic.”

“But, sir…”

“Good-bye, William.”

Tucked back among the rows of cars and hidden by nothing more than a nearby parking spot, Janos watched the exchange from the front seat of his black sedan. The crinkle in Lowell ’s forehead… the desperation on his face… even the slant on his assistant’s shoulders. Lowell asked William to stay quiet, but he was still protesting. Janos narrowed his eyes, focusing intensely on William’s slouched shoulders. From this distance it was hard to get a read. The creases in his white, wrinkled button-down said he was still wearing his shirts twice to save cash. But his brand-new belt… Gucci… Mom and Dad bought that. The kid’s from cash – which means he’ll follow his boss’s directions.

“I told you Lowell wouldn’t sit still… he won’t focus on anyone but himself,” Barry said through the cell phone.

“Quiet,” Janos warned. He didn’t like talking to Barry – the paranoia was always too much, even if it was a perfect button to push. Still, he had to admit, Barry was right about Lowell.

In the distance, Lowell slammed the car door shut. His tires howled as he pulled out of his parking spot. For a few seconds, William lingered, craning his neck as he watched his boss disappear… then finally headed back toward the stairs.

With a twist of his wrist, Janos turned the key in the ignition. The sedan coughed awake, but Janos quickly looked down, putting his open hand on the dashboard. Typical, he thought. Bad idle. The cam needed more lift.

“You should’ve called me in earlier,” Barry said in his ear. “If you came to me before you went to Pasternak-”

“If it weren’t for Pasternak, Harris would’ve never been in the game.”

“That’s not true. He’s more jaded than you think he is. He just wants you to think-”

“Keep believing that,” Janos said, giving Lowell just enough of a lead. As the silver Audi turned the corner, Janos hit the gas and slowly pulled out after him.

“Any idea where he’s headed?” Barry asked.

“Not yet,” Janos said, leaving the parking lot and turning onto the street. Directly in front of him was a classic orange Beetle. Four cars ahead of that, Lowell ’s Audi wove in and out of traffic. And a mile or so beyond them all, at the end of Pennsylvania Avenue, the dome of the Capitol arched toward the sky.

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” he said to Barry. “He’s not going very far.”

71

“NEXT GROUP, PLEASE! Next group!” the Capitol policeman calls out, waving us toward the visitor’s entrance on the west front of the Capitol. Shuffling behind the twenty-person group of high-schoolers armed with Future President baseball caps, Viv and I keep our heads down and our government IDs hidden beneath our shirts. On average, the west front handles four million visitors a year, making it a constant crowded mess of map- and camera-wielding tourists. Most days, staffers avoid it at all costs. That’s exactly why we’re here.

As the group shoves its way inside, I’m once again reminded that the Capitol is the only building in the world with no back – both the west front (overlooking the Mall) and the east front (overlooking the Supreme Court) claim to be the true front. Mostly, it’s because, with so many self-important people in one place, they all want to think their wonderful view is the best. Even the north side and south side get into the act, calling themselves the Senate entrance and House entrance. Four sides of a building, and not one of them is the back. Only in Congress.

Lost amid the tour groups, we’re in the one place where no one checks our ID or looks at us for more than a second. With this many people moving, all we can do is blend in.

“Put all cameras and phones on the X-ray,” one of the guards says to the group. It’s a simple request, but the students turn it into the final moments on the Titanic. Talking, bitching, moving – everything a fuss. As the kids make their usual scene, Viv and I slip through the metal detector without a second glance.