family, and he concluded that Bill Broderick had been the runt of the litter. He was the middle brother. Brother number one was a doctor, a neurosurgeon, no less, and brother number three was a real estate baron on the West Coast whose net worth would soon surpass Grandpa’s. Bill, by compari son, was just a minor party hack, a guy trying and largely failing to ascend the political ladder. Until recently, nobody had even noticed that he was on the ladder.
So maybe it was his money that caused the Republican czars to place Broderick in the Senate, but the cynics on the Hill, Mahoney included, didn’t think that was the whole story. The cynics thought Broderick had been chosen because of his malleability , meaning that the Republican pooh-bahs would be able to make young Bill dance to whatever tune they felt like playing. Well, it looked like they’d all been wrong about that.
The cop had almost reached the end of the Mall and was about to make the turn to pass behind the Lincoln Memorial. Just before he did, Mahoney saw the Einstein statue on the grounds of the National Academy of Sciences. The statue is bronze and twelve feet tall, and Einstein is seated on a bench in rumpled suit. Children like to climb the statue and sit on Albert’s lap. In the statue, and every picture of Einstein that Mahoney had ever seen, the genius always looked relaxed, like a man who had all the answers – and maybe he did. Mahoney wished he could say the same about himself.
Radical Muslims – al-Qaeda and its spawn – scared the hell out of people. Governments didn’t seem to be able to stop them. They were always blowing up something, and, when they did, old ladies and little kids were killed. Broderick’s bill, flawed as it was, appealed to a lot of folks because it sounded as if it might make them somewhat safer. And he’d timed it perfectly, coming out with it right after those two pea brains tried to blow up the tunnel.
The reaction to the bill had been as predictable as old men dying. Hard-core right-wingers thought the man was making good sense. Radical Muslims were indeed a threat, they were the enemy, and they, the non-Muslims, were sick and tired of the government dancing around the issue. At the other extreme were the liberals. The ACLU rose up en masse against Broderick, as if its entire roster had been goosed with a four-foot cattle prod. Broderick, for them, was the most energizing thing to come along since caffeine had been discovered.
The reaction of Broderick’s fellow politicians was equally predictable. Mahoney and the Democrats denounced him for the devil he was; comparisons to Hitler, McCarthy, and lesser-known demagogues were frequent and loud. Broderick’s own party had to walk a finer line. They couldn’t just scream that the man was a friggin’ nut! They said instead that he had a good point – action was indeed needed, not mere rhetoric – but maybe young Bill, in the heat of the moment, had gone just a little too far. All these politicians, both Republican and Democrat, were surprised when they returned to their offices to find hundreds of e-mails from their constituents telling them to quit being such wimps and get on board Bill Broderick’s train.
Because his bill was so controversial, Broderick had become a frequent guest on radio and tele vision. Mahoney had noticed that the senator preferred shows where he just got to talk and didn’t have to defend his position, but the producers liked it better when they could pair him up with a liberal opponent. Watching Broderick and a liberal go at it was a lot better than watching two fat girls fighting over an ugly boyfriend on the Maury Povich show.
One of Broderick’s opponents, on two different telecasts, had been Reza Zarif, a prominent Muslim attorney and now the most famous terrorist in America.
But still , Mahoney thought, Broderick’s friggin’ bill would have eventually died a quiet death in a Senate committee. People would have calmed down