Dragos steepled his fingers under his chin and smiled from his plush guest chair on the other side of the upwardly mobile politician's desk. "God bless democracy, and the United States Supreme Court."
"Indeed." The senator chuckled somewhat uncomfortably, his Adam's apple straining against the starched white collar of his tuxedo shirt and crisp black bowtie. His flawlessly styled golden blond hair was combed back loosely from his handsome face, the dusting of gray on either side of his temples giving the thirty-something senator an air of wisdom and distinction. Dragos wondered if he'd earned those distinguished-looking stripes at a pricey salon, then decided he didn't care. It was the senator's politics - and his elite Ivy League connections - that interested Dragos the most.
"I'm honored that you and TerraGlobal have demonstrated such faith in my campaign's objectives," he said, adopting an earnest look that probably scored Boston's charming, mosteligible bachelor everything he'd ever asked for in his privileged young life. "You have my personal assurance that all the money you've contributed will be put to prudent, good use."
"I have no doubt, Senator Clarence."
"Please," he said, sliding the check into the top drawer of his desk and locking it. "You must call me Robert. Ah, hell, call me Bobby - all my friends do."
Dragos returned the polished smile. "Bobby it is."
"I want you to know, Mr. Masters, that I share your commitment to the real issues that are impacting our great nation. I've promised to do my part in Washington to help bring us back to where we deserve to be - where we need to be, as the greatest country in the world. And I want you to know that my fight is only beginning now that I have the honor of holding this office at such a crucial time in our history. I'm here because I mean to make a difference."
"Of course," Dragos intoned, patiently sitting through the red-white-and-blue highlights of a stump speech he'd heard more than once while Bobby Clarence was on the campaign trail.
"You and I share many of the same interests. Not the least of which being your dedication to antiterror initiatives. I admire your zero-tolerance stance on those who would engage in such deplorable activity. I commend you on being willing to draw a hard line when it comes to matters of national security."
Bobby Clarence leaned forward across his desk, eyes narrowed with practiced intensity.
"Between you and me, Drake - if I may?" Dragos gestured for him to continue, smiling to himself as he granted permission for the human to address him by one of his many aliases.
"Between you and me and these four walls, I wouldn't be opposed to bringing back public executions when it comes to any and all terrorist scumbags, especially the ones sprouting up like weeds from our own American soil. Hang the bastards by their balls and turn a pack of starving dogs on their entrails, I say. Unfortunately, my handlers would probably tell me that doesn't make a great campaign slogan."
He broke into a gregarious laugh, humor that Dragos shared, though not for precisely the same reasons. Dragos's chuckle was one of private amusement and the almost giddy anticipation of the moment he would pull the strings that would result in his ultimate triumph over the Order. The speakerphone on the senator's desk buzzed with an incoming call. He politely excused himself, then lifted the receiver to his ear and pressed the button. "Yes, Tavia? Mmhmm. All right, that's fine. Ah, damn. Is it that time already? Please phone the chairman's office and apologize for me, will you? Tell him I'm in my last meeting of the day and he'll have to go on ahead of us to the benefit. We'll join up with him and the others as soon as possible. Yes, I know how he hates last-minute changes of plans, but I'm afraid he's just going to have to deal with it." Bobby Clarence sent a good-old-boy wink in Dragos's direction. "Tell him I'm delayed on account of a Homeland Security matter. That ought to give him something to chew on until we get there."
The senator wrapped up the call from his aide and offered Dragos an apologetic shrug.
"No one told me that getting elected would be the easy part of this whole gig. Staying on top of my schedule is something else, especially around this time of the year. I tell you, I've spent more time in a damned tuxedo the past month than I have in the trenches where I belong."
"You're a man in demand," Dragos replied, sensing that the exasperation over fat-cat parties and frou-frou social functions was just part of the golden boy's public facade. It had certainly played well in the elections, and that was all that mattered to Dragos, since he was betting a good deal of cash on the fact that the shiny bright star from Cambridge would get him face-to-face with humankind's true power brokers.
"You have appointments to keep, and I shouldn't delay you any longer," Dragos announced, rising from the guest chair despite the senator's rush to assure him he had all the time in the world to talk with him. "Thank you for agreeing to see me on short notice and so late in the day, besides."
Senator Clarence came around the desk and helped Dragos shrug back into his cashmere coat. He reached out and took Dragos's hand in a friendly clasp. "It's been my pleasure talking with you today, Drake. I welcome the opportunity to do it again, anytime."
He walked with Dragos to the door and opened it for him. Standing on the other side, her hand raised before her as though she was only a second away from knocking, was a very tall, very attractive young woman dressed in a charcoal gray business pantsuit and high-collared, ivory blouse. Her thick, caramel-brown hair was fastened in a long ponytail at her nape, not a single strand out of place. All combined, it was a look that might have been offputting on a less beautiful woman, but not here.