The Zero Game

She’s right behind me. She may be mad, but she understands the danger of being by herself. The fear alone sends her from anger back to acceptance, reluctant though it may be. As she falls in next to me, she takes one last look at Oscar the Grouch. “You really think it’s smart to go all the way to South Dakota?”

“You think it’s any safer here?”

She doesn’t answer.

Sure, it’s a gamble – but not nearly as risky as a company betting on a gold mine that has no gold in it, then keeping all the locals away so no one sees what they’re really up to. Even a seventeen-year-old knows something here stinks – and the only way to find out what is by going directly to the source.

29

TWO HOURS LATER, WE’RE in the back of a taxi in Dulles, Virginia. The sign out front is easy to miss, but I’ve been here before. Piedmont-Hawthorne’s Corporate Aviation Terminal.

“Just give me five back,” I say to the cab driver, who’s taken far too many glances at us in his rearview mirror. Maybe it’s our silence… maybe it’s the fact Viv won’t even look at me. Or maybe it’s the fact I just gave him a crappy tip.

“Actually, keep the change,” I tell the cabbie as I paint on a warm grin and force a laugh at the Elliot in the Morning promo that screams from the radio. The cabbie smiles back and counts his money. People are far less likely to remember you when you haven’t pissed them off. “Have a great day,” I add as Viv and I climb outside. He gives us a wave without looking back.

“You sure this is legal?” Viv asks, forever the good girl as she follows me toward the squatty modern building.

“I didn’t say anything about legal – all I’m looking for is smart.”

“And this is smart?”

“You’d rather fly commercial?”

Viv goes back to her silence. We went through this on the ride over here. This way, they won’t even ask for ID.

There aren’t many places you can get a private plane in less than two hours. Thankfully, Congress is one of them. And all it took was a single phone call. Two years ago, during a key vote on a controversial aviation bill, the head of FedEx’s government relations office called and asked to speak to Senator Stevens. Personally. Knowing they never cried wolf, I took a chance and put the call through. It was a gorgeous chess move by them. With Stevens on board, it set the tone for the rest of the Midwest Senators, who quickly followed with support for the bill.

Exactly two hours ago, I called FedEx’s government relations office and asked them to return the favor. The Senator, I explained, didn’t want to miss a last-minute fundraising opportunity in South Dakota, so he asked me to call. Personally.

That’s what brings us here. According to the ethics rules, a Senator can use a private corporate jet as long as he reimburses the company for the price of a first-class commercial ticket, which we can repay later. It’s a genius loophole – and Viv and I just jumped headfirst right through it.

As we’re about to enter the building, an automatic door slides open, revealing a room that reminds me of a fancy hotel lobby. Upholstered head chairs. Victorian bronze lamps. Burgundy and gray carpet.

“Can I help you find your aircraft?” a woman in a business suit asks as she leans over the reception desk on our right.

Viv smiles but then makes a face when she realizes that the sudden helpfulness is directed toward me.

“Senator Stevens,” I say.

“Here you go,” a deep voice calls out just past the reception desk. I look over as a pilot with brushed-back blond hair nods our way.

“Tom Heidenberger,” he says, introducing himself with a pilot’s grip. From the handshake alone, I know he’s former military. He reaches over and shakes Viv’s hand as well. She stands straight up, enjoying the attention.

“Senator on his way?” the pilot asks.

“Actually, he’s not gonna make it. I’m speaking in his place.”

“Lucky you,” he says with a grin.

“And this is Catherine, our new legislative assistant,” I say, introducing Viv. Thanks to her navy suit and above-average height, she doesn’t even get a second glance. Congressional staffs are full of kids.

“So you ready to go, Senator?” the pilot asks.

“Absolutely,” I reply. “Though I’d love if I could use one of your phones before we take off.”

“No problem at all,” the pilot says. “Is it a regular call, or private?”

“Private,” Viv and I say simultaneously.

The pilot laughs. “Calling the Senator himself, huh?” We laugh along with him as he points us around the corner and down the hallway. “First door on your right.”

Inside, it’s a miniature conference room no bigger than a kitchenette. There’s a desk, a single leather chair, and on the wall, an inspirational poster of a man climbing a mountain. At the center of the desk is a shiny black telephone. Viv picks up the receiver; I hit the button for the speakerphone.

“What’re you doing?” she asks as the dial tone hums through the room.

“Just in case you need help…”