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“And make himself king.”
Precisely.
Teddy Solomon had grasped the true significance in such a simple change. By not considering any legislation except that which originated in the House, there would no longer be any worries about the U.S. Senate. A bill would start in the House, be approved, then be sent to the Senate for it “to propose or concur with Amendments,” as the Constitution defined the Senate’s advisory role. True, both houses of Congress would have to agree before anything could be passed and sent to the president for signature. But the House of Representatives would become the dominant legislative body. If a senator wanted to propose anything new he or she would have to convince a House member to introduce that measure in the House. And no longer could one senator shut down the entire legislative process. Instead 435 House members, elected by the people every two years, would call the shots.
All led by the Speaker.
Of course the Senate did not have to agree with any legislation sent to it by the House. The Senate’s only function would be to vote yea or nay on the entire bill. One hundred senators casting their votes, on the record, fifty-one needed to secure a majority to either approve or disapprove.
In the modern world floor votes rarely happened, as Senators were able to hide behind cleverly crafted rules that rarely forced anyone to take the blame for anything. Bills were routinely torpedoed with no fingerprints on the bomb at all. Under Vance’s change, the entire Senate would now have to vote on each measure as forwarded by the House. True, it could offer amendments. But again, the entire body would have to vote on those, then the House would be given the chance to agree or disagree. No cherry-picking. No rewriting. No stalling. Just yea or nay. Even more difficult, if something was delayed because the Senate chose not to vote at all, then the entire Senate would be the one to take that blame.
Talk about a game changer.
Everything would be different.
“Senators are like bomber pilots,” Solomon said, speaking from years of experience. “We’re in the war. But we kill people anonymously from thirty thousand feet. It’s fairly easy to do, and even easier to rationalize. Now senators would have to join the infantry and the fighting would be hand-to-hand, face-to-face, with casualties. They haven’t been in that vulnerable position for a long time.”
“The scary part,” Danny said, “is that the public will support this. Everyone hates gridlock, and the Senate is, without question, the number one cause of it. Which is its job, by the way. It’s the whole reason the Senate even exists.”
The Founding Fathers had been familiar with the House of Lords and the House of Commons. One elected by the people, the other a hereditary right. No one at the first constitutional convention had wanted the people to have uncontrolled reign over government. The danger of rash thinking and impulse decisions frightened everyone. So they conceived a legislative body not directly responsible to the people. The Senate. Its members chosen by state lawmakers. The Senate’s sole job was to make sure the more representative body, the House, did not do anything foolish, exactly as the House of Lords had done for centuries to the House of Commons. Originally, the Founders had wanted no salary paid to a senator—only men of wealth could serve—but that idea failed. Finally they settled on a minimum age of thirty, five more years than the House, a six-year term, with elections staggered so no more than one-third went up for election in each year. It was not a perfect system, but a workable one of checks and balances that had served reasonably well.
Sure, there were problems from time to time. But the alternatives were worse.
“This will affect everything,” Danny said. “At a minimum it’ll make every member of the Senate skittish. They’ll go gun-shy, since the only way to get anything done will be to have a House member in your corner. They’re not going to want to offend anyone over there. All the horse trading will simply shift from one side of the Capitol to the other.”
“With the Speaker the gatekeeper for it all,” Solomon noted.
“Which the White House won’t be able to ignore. The president would have to cultivate a close relationship with not only the Speaker, but every ranking House member. A bicameral legislature would effectively become unicameral.”
“And Vance will essentially become the federal government,” Solomon said. “Everything will flow through him. Right now, nothing comes to a vote without the Speaker’s okay. But with this change, that power is magnified a thousand times since the House will be the only place any legislation can start. The really crazy part is that it will be approved, since every House member, on both sides of the aisle, will acquire a crap load more influence. You strip the Senate and elevate yourself at the same time, all with the people saying, Damn right, do it. It’s a no-brainer. The public will never grasp the significance of what’s really happening until it’s far too late.”
“I’m told the Rules Committee will vote on this tomorrow morning. It will go to the House for a floor vote the next morning.”
Solomon chuckled. “Amazing what can be done quickly when you want it done.”
They stood in silence for a few moments. Combined, they possessed nearly a century of political experience. Danny had always grinned when candidates ran on being a “Washington outsider.” To him it was like going to a brain surgeon and the office receptionist saying she was a “medical outsider” and could actually do a cheaper and better job of operating on you. The cheap part was definitely possible. But better? Hardly. To get things done you had to know the lay of the land. And the only way to acquire that knowledge was from experience. Sure, people can learn. But just like the receptionist performing brain surgery, there were going to be a lot of bad mistakes made along the way until the know-how was found.
Thank goodness he and Solomon were doctors.
“There is a way to stop this,” he said. “In fact, it might actually be the only way.”
He could see Solomon was interested.
So he said, “It’ll take someone with the balls of an alley cat to make it happen. Lucky for us, I have two of those.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
Cassiopeia rolled her body across the rocky floor toward the knife Proctor had left. The timer continued to silently count down, the red illuminated numbers indicating two minutes and twenty-three seconds left. She had to avoid one of the corpses that had been left behind, which slowed her progress.
As she rolled, her mind assessed the options. No way to remove the knife and cut her bindings. Her hands were behind her back, which affected coordination. Freeing her feet seemed the priority since that would allow her to run. But if Proctor had been telling the truth, the tunnels beyond were likewise rigged to explode, and she had no reason to doubt him. Sealing off the entire mine was the smart play. Nothing that happened here would ever be known.
But she wasn’t dead yet.
“Sporting chance”?
More than that.
She stopped rolling and positioned herself feetfirst in front of the knife, which projected from the ladder about a quarter meter off the floor. The sharp edge faced up and she centered it between her ankles, moving her legs back and forth, slicing through the rope. She had to apply pressure, but was careful not to press too hard and dislodge the blade.
She kept sawing, her gaze darting across the chamber to the timers.
1:50.
The rope split.
No time to cut the bindings on her wrists.
She had to go.
1:35.
She rolled and pivoted upward, fighting for balance, her bound hands making it difficult to stand and eating precious seconds. Finally she was up and ran toward the open door.
A final look.
1:27.
She’d been in tight spots but now this one would leap to the head of the list. Down the tunnel she spotted another rucksack and timer, this one a few seconds behind the two back in the chamber. S
he kept going, finding the gash in the tunnel wall that led to the way out.
She plunged forward and emerged in the main shaft.
Another set of explosives was right there, 0:59 showing on the timer.
She turned and started to run but her boot caught on loose gravel and she fell forward, managing to twist her body and land on her shoulder.
Which hurt.
She shook off the pain and waddled up on her feet, beginning to realize just how important arms and hands were to balance. The exit loomed twenty meters ahead, but she could see another batch of explosives just inside, 0:32 on the timer. A deep breath calmed her nerves and she told her legs to keep moving, lowering her head and hunching forward to ensure her footing stayed sure. She could not afford any more stumbles. She could see light beyond the archway that had been dug through the rubble at the mine’s entrance. If she could get beyond that point she might be able to survive the explosions. But four bundles of dynamite were going to pack a punch.
She kept running, not able to achieve full speed, but enough that she found the archway.
The last timer read 0:22.
The two back in the gold chamber were slightly ahead so the fireworks would start there and work its way out to here.
She emerged from the mine.
Her gaze raked the scene before her and she decided on a pile of rubble to her right, which she leaped behind.
A deep rumble signaled the gold chamber was no more.
Then more explosions followed.
Finally the dynamite near the exit joined the medley, sending dust and rock and noise spewing outward.
She lay with her face to the ground.
A thick cloud of dust swept through the dilapidated building and out into the late afternoon. She coughed away the remnants in her lungs and spit out what had settled in her mouth. She stood with her hands still bound and calmed herself.
That had been close.
The mine entrance was gone, now once again packed tight with soil and rock.
The dust cloud thinned.
Someone started clapping. A slow, steady, almost mocking gesture. She walked out toward daylight and found the source.
