The Senator's Secret

Senator Harold Reeb, Kansas Republican, loved his office. Large bay windows displayed the enchanting view of the National Mall, statuesque white buildings soaring into the clear blue sky. The mahogany bookshelves displayed titles that varied from literary classics to Chris Matthews' Hardball; the handsome shelves also held a plethora of knick-nacks from all over the world: little Dutch shoes; a handcrafted Swahili flute; an ornamental fan encrusted with jade and amethyst.

He leaned back in his leather Valencia chair -- a vintage 1809, refurbished but originally from Buckingham Palace -- and took a long, leisurely drag from his Gurkha cigar, fragrant smoke drifting around him in a blue spiral. He closed his eyes. The latest meeting of the Committee on Foreign Relations had not gone according to plan, and he was not looking forward to reporting this latest roadblock to the Weavers.

A sharp rap sounded on the door, and Senator Reeb sighed. His secretary, a beautiful blonde named either Amber or Courtney, only let a select few pass her desk. This was important.

"Come in," he called.

The rolled gold plate door handles turned, and the intruder, a tall, thin man, strode inside. Senator Reeb noted with disgust the trail of dirt the man left on his Persian rug.

"Been hiking, Coordinator?" Reeb asked.

A smirk grew on the man's face. "You're best off not knowing."

Reeb put out his cigar and allowed the silence to fill the room.

The Coordinator tapped his muddy foot. "Well?"

Reeb shrugged, meeting the man's electric blue eyes. "They didn't appoint me."

He watched the Coordinator's expression transform from anticipation to undisguised fury. "You failed," he whispered. Somehow, his quiet tone sliced deeper than a raised voice. "The effort, the men, the years we poured into your damn campaign, and you can't even cinch a simple appointment."

Reeb stood up, smiling pleasantly. Ten years as a Senator had calloused him to this sort of verbal abuse. "Would you like a drink, Coordinator?"

When the man did not reply, Reeb strode over to the liquor cabinet and poured Patron into two crystal cups. He set both cups on the desk and motioned for the Coordinator to take one.

Senator Reeb sipped, ice cubes clinking. "Relax," he said. "The appointment to China is an important one indeed. However, my exclusion does not necessarily imply that North Korea is out of my --"

"You are a fool," growled the Coordinator. "You underestimate your opponents, as always. Do you think Senator Ashworth is merely following party line politics? We have irrefutable evidence that he is one of the Initiated, and he has his eye on you. I risk much to even visit you here. They are careful in tracking my movements."

That was a surprise: Senator Reeb's eyes widened. He coughed. "Ah ... well. I had my suspicions, Coordinator. So Ashworth is Initiated. I have not let much slip through my bid to visit China with the President; half the committee wanted to be appointed to the --"

"Your specialty is Europe. Your aroused his suspicions, especially since you've never displayed the slightest interest in the affairs outside of Western nations. In his report to the Initiated, Ashworth described you as a "bigot" who never quite understood the implications of the rise of the East. He stated his surprise that you would suddenly take the initiative to dive into Chinese foreign policy and worries that your turnaround might be under Influence. Do you not see, Reeb? You've been careless. You haven't played the game. One more mistake and we might decide you are no longer of use to the --"

"I spend my life searching for your damn talismans, your amulets." Reeb's hand shook, and he set his glass down. "You cannot deny that I am your best. Do not threaten me, Coordinator. You need me."

A slow smile spread across the Coordinator's thin face. "As always, you overestimate your worth," he whispered. He strode forward, and with a swift motion, knocked over his previously untouched cup. The alcohol spread across the Senator's desk, staining papers and memos.

Senator Reeb scrambled to salvage his belongings as the Coordinator turned and strode back out. It took a good few minutes before the Senator had a control on his temper again. He breathed in; he breathed out. His mind buzzed.

He lit his cigar once more and took a deep drag as the tumble of thoughts began to unravel. He had been too long under the power of the Weavers. This could no longer continue. His decision made, he pressed the intercom button on the phone.

"Yes, Senator Reeb?" The secretary's pleasant voice filled the office.

"Send for Anthony Haber. Tell him it's urgent."

"I'll call for him immediately. Thank you, Senator."

Senator Reeb sighed once more, a smile drifting over his face. Things would work out in his favor. They always did.