The Race (4 page)

"I try talking to her, of course. But I can't know if my voice stirs memories, or whether it's like the drone of her television." Lexie shook her head. "The night I won the Oscar, her nurse turned it on for her. During my acceptance speech, the nurse said, my mother began blinking. I like to think that, for a moment, she knew me. But there's no way she fathomed what I'd achieved."

Her voice, Corey thought, held the disappointment of a child proud of an accomplishment she could not share. "When did this start?" Corey asked.

"Seven years ago. But each stage of the disease brought something more. First came the endless list making as she tried to remember chores; then the staring at my father's photograph, trying to remember
him;
then the day she could not remember him at all." Her voice became soft with resignation. "For a time after that, I was still me. Then she thought I was a friend she'd known when she was six. Then the friend, too, was forgotten. The simplest choices upset her. And then, just before she lost the power of speech, nothing upset her anymore. Her eyes turned as blank as marbles." Lexie sat back, as though distancing herself from her own emotions. "You and I have been debating human life. Our memories are what make us human, Senator. This disease took that from my mother."

Corey studied her for a moment. "There are those who say we don't need human embryos to combat Alzheimer's—that adult stem cells are sufficient."

Swiftly, Lexie left the personal behind. "That's nonsense," she answered. "It's a triumph of the culture wars over science, where the moral status of embryos is more important than human suffering, or scientific fact. Adult stem cells are a diversion—the science just isn't there."

"Nor," Corey responded, "can you be sure about embryonic stem cells. We're talking about hope, not certainty. Your side still doesn't know if any of this will work, does it?"

Lexie shrugged her concession. "Not for sure. But those who are already suffering feel desperate for some breakthrough." Her face turned soft. "A few years ago I sat with Chris Reeve when he testified before a House committee. Chris really believed stem cells would cure him. Seeing all his hope I couldn't help being sad—knowing what I knew, I never believed that Chris could make it for that long.

"But responsible scientists, including Nobel Prize winners, believe that fetal stem cells have real promise." Her smile was brief and pointed. "You know way more about the subject, Senator, than you've been letting on. Far too much to support your party leaders with a clear conscience. Rumor says you have one."

For a moment, Corey looked back at her in silence. Then a knock on the door interrupted them, and Jack Walters leaned inside. "Sorry," he told Lexie; to Corey he said, "Time for that committee meeting. Your day of reckoning with Alex Rohr."

"Be with you in a couple." Turning back to Lexie as the door shut, Corey asked, "Do you know Alex Rohr?"

"Enough to know that he's despicable."

"How so?"

Lexie's eyes were cold. "The way a lot of powerful white men are despicable. They think money and position entitle them to anything they want."

The chill in her tone piqued Corey's curiosity. But there was no time to pursue this. "I don't want to seem like Alex Rohr," he assured her. "But it doesn't feel like we're quite through yet. Could you break free for dinner?"

Lexie's eyes narrowed, her expression less hostile than speculative. Then she slowly shook her head. "I'm afraid we'll have to finish up by phone. Tonight I've got more commitments, and I have to be in L.A. tomorrow morning. I won't be back until the vote."

Corey hesitated, trying to decipher whether the last sentence was an opening. "Maybe," he said, "we could get together then?"

She gave him a look that combined amusement with curiosity. "I
might
be persuaded," she finally answered. "Depends on how you vote."

She shook his hand again, holding it for a brief moment while she looked into his eyes. Then she thanked him for his time and hurried off to her next appointment.

IN THE BOWELS OF THE CAPITOL, COREY RODE THE SENATE SUBWAY TO the hearing room, listening to Jack Walters worry aloud.

"You really want to do this?" Jack inquired glumly. "I mean, Alex Rohr merely controls a string of newspapers, two major book publishers, half of conservative talk radio, and the highest-rated cable news station in America. All of which he can use to cut you to pieces."

Nettled by Jack's persistence, Corey looked up from his notes. "So now we're supposed to give this bastard control of our leading Internet provider? That's really what we need—an America where Alex Rohr tells everyone what to think."

"Enough Americans," Jack rejoined, "already think whatever Rohr wants them to. Why make yourself this guy's enemy?"

"Maybe because he needs one."

"Fine, but why does it have to be you? Look, Rohr not only can influence millions of people, he can raise millions of dollars to finance whatever presidential candidate sees the world his way. And now you want to get
in
his way." Jack looked at Corey intently, his face etched with frustration. "Rohr's already pissed about your great crusade to keep money out of politics. To deliberately pick another fight with this guy suggests you don't know when to stop."

"I'll stop whenever Rohr does." Reading his friend's expression, Corey spoke with a weary fatalism. "As a matter of politics, you're right—I need Rohr coming after me like I need a second navel. I'd be thrilled if anyone else in our party tried to block him. But Rohr personifies everything that's going wrong with this country—"

"Everything?"

"Damn near. His guiding belief is that he needs more—more money, more power. He'll favor Republicans only as long as we give him what he wants: a media monopoly, immunity from lawsuits, lower taxes, and new ways of amassing wealth.

"The last time Rohr honored the Senate with his presence, he wanted the right to set up his own broadcast network
and
buy a string of TV stations. Some of us started balking. So Rohr effectively bribed our former majority leader with a huge book deal worth hundreds of thousands more than his moronic screed was worth.

"You remember what happened next: our peerless leader slipped Rohr's bill through the Senate before anyone realized that Rohr had bought him off. And when the stink from
that
got too great for our leader to run again, Rohr hired him to front a talk show on Rohr News, where, funnily enough, he shills for Rohr's pet causes." Corey shook his head. "Call me naive, but when they first asked me to run for the Senate, I was in awe. Becoming a senator seemed like something fine, where people would trust you to help make our country a better place. I haven't quite accepted that I'm a whore with a fancy title."

Resigned, Jack shook his head. As they entered the hearing room, Corey rested a hand on his shoulder. "Cheer up, pal—the coverage should be terrific. There are still a few networks and newspapers Alex Rohr doesn't own."

AS COREY TOOK his seat next to Senator Carl Halprin, the testy veteran who served as committee chair, a glance around the room proved his estimate correct: the hearing was standing room only, with reporters, cameramen, and photographers lined against the walls. As Alex Rohr entered the room, the cameras began snapping.

Rohr took his seat at the witness table, flanked by two lawyers who specialized in media ownership. With his smooth face, slicked-back brown hair, and a hand-tailored suit that fit his trim form perfectly, Alex Rohr looked as sleek as a seal. But what struck Corey was his expression: closed off and yet self-satisfied, with an expression in his dark eyes that suggested disdain for this tiresome necessity. Rohr scanned the panel of senators, his gaze lingering on Corey. "The staff thinks you're looking to make trouble," Halprin murmured to Corey.

Though Corey smiled, he kept watching Alex Rohr. "Not for you, Carl."

THE INITIAL QUESTIONING after Rohr's statement—first from Senator Halprin and then from Senator Rives, the ranking Democrat—confirmed what Corey suspected: most Republicans would line up with Rohr, most Democrats oppose him. Which made Corey the wild card—or, in Carl Halprin's estimate, the joker.

"Senator Grace," Halprin asked in a neutral tone, "do you have any questions for the witness?"

"I do." Looking up from his notes, Corey paused, as if a new thought had struck him. "Let me ask you a philosophical question, Mr. Rohr. How much is enough?"

Though one corner of his mouth twitched in ironic comprehension, Rohr feigned puzzlement. In his careful Oxbridge accent—which, Corey privately asserted, Rohr had learned by watching tapes of
Masterpiece Theatre
—Rohr replied, "I'm sorry, Senator Grace. But I'm not quite sure what you mean."

"Then let's define 'enough.' According to this committee, you own five magazines; three major film studios; a home-video company; a cable provider; four record labels; two publishing houses, one for general-interest readers and the other for conservative Christians; a major broadcast network; the highest-rated cable news network; the nation's largest newspaper chain; and one hundred and nineteen talk-radio stations." Pausing, Corey flashed a smile. "Forgive me if I've omitted something—we have a hard time keeping up. But would you say that this laundry list qualifies as 'enough'?"

Rohr spread his hands. "In the America I came to, of which I am now a citizen, the operative words were 'freedom' and 'opportunity'—"

"Then you surely agree that all Americans should have the 'opportunity'—not to mention the 'freedom'—to read, watch, or listen to news provided by someone else."

"Senator," Rohr countered with a soft laugh, "they
can
."

"Less so all the time, Mr. Rohr. In St. Louis, for example, you own the daily newspaper, two of the major TV stations, the principal talk-radio outlet, and the local magazine. The citizens of St. Louis didn't wake up and decide one day to give you a semimonopoly;
we
in the government let you gobble up their media." Corey leaned forward. "In the brave new world that you've created, a single corporation—Rohr Vision—dominates the local media in
most
American cities. It seems pretty clear that you'll
never
say 'enough.' So when do you think
we
should?"

"That's a rhetorical question," Rohr countered with an ironic smile. "To which, I somehow sense, you're about to provide an answer."

"I probably should," Corey said coolly. "After all, I'm a United States senator, and you're merely rich. So it's important that we both remember the difference.

"'Enough,' Mr. Rohr, is what you already own. 'Too much' is what you're here for now: control of America's largest Internet provider."

Next to him, Corey detected Halprin shifting impatiently in his chair. But Corey had ten minutes left, and he fully intended to use them. Knowing this, the reporters in the room were alert, looking from Corey to Rohr. "I humbly disagree," Rohr answered. "All that will happen is that Netcast will provide twenty-five million Americans with better and cheaper service."

"Not
all,
I think." Corey's voice became sharper. "Here's what else you can do. You can make it easy for customers to get to Web sites that reflect your political point of view. You can make it harder to get to Web sites that don't. You can charge prohibitive fees to Web sites that displease you. You can even block users from going to them at all. You can hamper Internet fund-raising for candidates whom you oppose. And, on the theory that, in your America, Rohr Vision needs still more profits, you can steer customers to movies, games, and music owned by other arms of Rohr Vision. You can even steer them to a Web site you acquired last month: Hook-Up, which openly facilitates solicitations for underage sex—which, I have to admit, is pretty broad-minded for a man who just published a Christian book called
Bringing Your Kids to God
."

Sitting up straighter, Rohr responded in a low, chill tone. "Forgive me, Senator, if I find that litany insulting."

"How exactly? Because you thought I was suggesting that you personally troll Hook-Up? It's hard to know what else you could mean, given that you've lowered the standards of journalism in every media outlet you've acquired. Not to mention the standards of this body—"

"Senator Grace," Halprin interrupted.

Still watching Rohr, Corey said, "Indulge me for a moment, Senator. Mr. Rohr claims to find my 'litany' insulting. And yet he's spent millions in lobbying fees trying to persuade the Senate to reject a bill that would ban his company from abusing Netcast in precisely the ways I just enumerated." Leaning forward, Corey asked Rohr, "That much is true, isn't it?"

Rohr glanced toward one of his lawyers, a slight, bespectacled man who, to Corey, had the face of a mortician. As Corey and the onlookers waited, the lawyer whispered in Rohr's ear. "Senator," Rohr said testily, "I fail to see how vigorous advocacy of a legitimate point of view lowers the standards of the Senate. And I remind you that other independent voices—including Consumers for Internet Choice—are prepared to testify regarding the benefits to customers should we acquire Netcast."

Suppressing a smile, Corey asked, "So you've never once attempted to mislead us."

Glancing toward his lawyer, Rohr looked, in Corey's estimate, less like a seal than a ferret. "Absolutely not."

"So tell me, Mr. Rohr, who funds that 'independent voice' that is about to help us out—'Consumers for Internet Choice'?"

Silent, Rohr scrutinized Corey as the lawyer-mortician whispered in his ear. "I hope you're not just finding out," Corey added with an air of solicitude. "It took
my
staff three weeks."

From someone in the audience behind Rohr came a brief, nervous chuckle. At Corey's left, his friend and colleague Chuck Clancy shot him a sideways grin. "I'm informed," Rohr said grudgingly, "that some funding may have been provided by a subsidiary of Rohr Vision."

"You're 'informed,'" Corey repeated with mild incredulity. "So you didn't know that Rohr Vision was funding this group until I asked about it?"