Behind her, she felt a strong hand on her shoulder. “You okay?” Barry asked. “Need any help?”

Jerking away, Viv yanked the notebooks from the chair and stumbled around the other side of the desk, acting like the weight of the books was keeping her off balance. Within seconds, she steadied herself and took a last look at Matthew’s desk.

“Sorry about your friend,” she said.

“Thanks,” Dinah and Barry said simultaneously.

Forcing an awkward grin, Viv speed-walked to the door. Barry didn’t move, but his cloudy blue eyes followed her movements the entire way.

“Just make sure we get them back,” Dinah called out, readjusting her fanny pack. As Matthew’s office mate, she’d sat next to him for almost two years, but she was still head clerk for the committee. Those books were vital business.

“Will do,” Viv said. “Soon as the Congressman’s done, they’re all yours.”

“WHAT ABOUT HIS HOUSE?” Sauls’s voice squawked through the cell phone.

“He’s got a loft on the outskirts of Adams Morgan,” Janos said, keeping his voice down as he turned the corner of the long, pristine marble hallway in the Russell Senate Office Building. He wasn’t running, but his pace was fast. Determined. Just like everyone around him. That was always the best way to disappear. “He doesn’t own the place, though – or much of anything else. No car, no stocks, nothing left in his bank account. I’m guessing he’s still paying off loans. Otherwise, he’s got nothing permanent.”

“Have you been to his place yet?”

“What do you think?” Janos shot back.

“So I take it he wasn’t there?”

Janos didn’t answer. He hated stupid questions. “Anything else you want to know?” he asked.

“Family and friends?”

“The boy’s smart.”

“That we know.”

“I don’t think you do. He’s been in Congress ten years. Know how ruthless that makes you? The boy’s a razor – he’s thought it through. Even though he’s well connected, the game alone keeps him from reaching out to coworkers… and after we tagged his buddy at the U.S. Attorney’s… I don’t think Harris gets fooled twice.”

“Bullshit. Everyone gets fooled twice. That’s why they keep reelecting their Presidents.”

Following the room numbers on the wall, Janos was again silent.

“You think I’m wrong?” Sauls asked.

“No,” Janos replied. “No one survives alone. There’s someone out there he trusts.”

“So you can find him?”

Stopping in front of room 427, Janos gripped the doorknob on the twelve-foot mahogany door and gave it a hard twist. “That’s my job,” he said as he clicked the End button on his phone and stuffed it into the pocket of his FBI windbreaker.

Inside, the office was exactly the same as last time he was here. Harris’s desk was untouched behind the glass divider, and Harris’s assistant still sat at the desk out front.

“Agent Graves,” Cheese called out as Janos stepped into Harris’s office. “What can I help you with today?”

DURING MY VERY first job interview on the Hill, a burned-out staff director with the worst case of Brillo hair I’d ever seen leaned across his desk and told me that at its core, Congress operated like a small town. Some days it was grumpy; others, it was riled up and ready to pick a fistfight with the world. As someone who grew up in a small town, the analogy hit home. Indeed, that’s the very reason I’m pacing back and forth across the storage room, waiting for someone to pick up on the other end of the line. As any small-town resident knows, if you want to get at the real secrets of a town, you have to visit the hall of records.

“Legislative Resource Center,” a woman with a matronly voice answers.

“Hi, I’m hoping you can help me out. I’m searching for some information on a lobbyist.”

“Let me transfer you to Gary.”

In small-town talk, the Legislative Resource Center is like sitting on the porch with the grumpy old lady whose house is across from the only motel. It’s not a sexy place to hang out, but when all is done and said, she knows exactly who’s screwing who.

“Gary Naftalis,” a man answers. His voice is dry, showing almost no emotion. “How can I assist?”

“Hey, Gary – I’m calling from Senator Stevens’s office. We’ve got a company that’s been calling us on this bill, and we’re trying to figure out which lobbyists they’re working with. You guys still do that?”

“Only if we want to keep the lobbyists honest, sir,” he laughs to himself.

It’s a bad joke, but a valid point. Every year, over seventeen thousand lobbyists descend on Capitol Hill, each one armed with a tommy gun of asks and special requests. Combine that with the boatloads of bills that’re submitted and voted on every day, and it’s overwhelming. As anyone on the Hill knows, there’s too much work for a staffer to be an expert on it all. So if you need some research? Call the lobbyists. Want some talking points? Call the lobbyists. Confused by what a specific amendment does? Call the lobbyists. It’s like buying drugs. If what they give you is good, you’ll keep coming back. And that’s how influence is peddled. Quietly, quickly, and without leaving fingerprints.

The thing is, right now I need those fingerprints.

If Pasternak was playing the game, other lobbyists played as well. Fortunately, all lobbyists are required to register with the Legislative Resource Center and list the names of their clients, which gives me the chance to see who’s working for Wendell Mining.

“Is it possible to just put in a particular company?” I ask.

“Sure, sir… all you have to do is come in and-”

“Can I ask you a huge favor?” I interrupt. “My Senator’s about to rip my head off and vomit down my windpipe… So if I gave you the name right now, would you mind looking it up for us? It’s just one company, Gary…”

I say his name for the final sell. He pauses, leaving me in silence.

“It’d really save my ass,” I add.

Again he gives me the pause. That’s what I hate about being on the phone…

“What’s the name of the company, sir?”

“Great… that’s great. Wendell Mining,” I tell him. “Wendell Mining.”

I hear the clicking of his keyboard, and I stop my pacing. Staring out below the dust-covered vertical blinds, I have a clear view of the narrow pathway and marble railing that run along the west front of the building. The morning sun’s beating down on the copper roof, but it pales to the heat I’m feeling right now. I wipe a puddle of sweat from the back of my neck and unbutton the top of my shirt. The suit and tie were enough to get me back in the building without a second glance, but if I don’t get some answers soon…

“Sorry,” Gary says. “They’re not coming up.”

“Whattya mean, they’re not coming up? I thought every lobbyist had to disclose their clients…”

“They do. But this time of year… we’re barely halfway through the pile.”

“What pile?”

“The disclosure forms – that the lobbyists fill out. We get over seventeen thousand forms each registration period. Know how long that takes to scan in and update our database?”

“Weeks?”

“Months. The deadline was just a few weeks ago in August, so we’ve still got a ton that aren’t in.”

“So it’s possible there’s a lobbyist working on their issue…”

“This is Congress, sir. Anything’s possible.”

I roll my tongue inside my cheek. I hate government humor.

“They add about seven hundred names to the database each day,” Gary continues. “Best bet is to just give us a call back later in the week, and we can check if it’s in there.”

I remember that this is the second year Wendell Mining made the request. “What about last year?” I ask.

“Like I said, nothing came up – which means they either didn’t have someone, or that person didn’t register.”