The Racketeer

his pockets full of cash, his next venture was an upscale steak house two blocks from his lounge. He catered to lobbyists and offered great steaks and wines at reasonable prices,and before long senators were getting their preferred tables. Barry loved sports and bought lots of tickets—Redskins, Capitals, Wizards, Georgetown Hoyas—which he gave away to his friends. By this time he had founded his own “governmental relations” firm and it was growing rapidly. He and his partner had a fight, and Barry bought his interest in their holdings. Alone, wealthy, and fueled by ambition, Barry set his sights on the top of his profession. Unrestrained by ethical considerations, he became one of the most aggressive purveyors of influence in Washington. If a rich client wanted a new loophole in the tax code, Barry could hire someone to write it, insert it, convince his friends to support it, and then do a masterful job of covering it up. If a rich client needed to expand a factory back home, Barry could arrange a deal whereby the congressman would secure the earmark, send the money home to the factory, and pocket a sizable check for his reelection efforts. Everyone would be thrilled.
    In his first brush with the law, he was accused of slipping cash to a senior adviser to a U.S. senator. The charge didn’t stick but the nickname did: Barry the Backhander.
    Because he operated on the sleazier side of an often sleazy business, Barry knew the power of money, and sex. His yacht on the Potomac became a notorious love boat, famous for wild parties and plenty of young women. He owned a golf course in South Carolina where he took members of Congress for long weekends, usually without their wives.
    For Barry, though, the more powerful he became, the more risks he was willing to take. Old friends drifted away, frightened by troubles that seemed inevitable. His name was mentioned in an ethics investigation in the House. The
Washington Post
picked up his scent, and Barry Rafko, a man who had always craved attention, was getting more than his share.
    I had no idea, no real way of knowing, that the hunting lodge was one of his projects.
    The corporate name changed again; the paperwork wasredone. Another closing was delayed, then a new proposal: my client wanted to lease the lodge for one year at the rate of $200,000 a month, with all rentals to be applied to the purchase price. This led to a week of intense bickering, but a deal was finally reached. I reworked the contracts again and insisted my firm be paid half of our fee. This was done, and Mr. Copeland and Mr. Reed were somewhat relieved.
    When the contracts were finally signed, my client was an offshore company operating on the tiny island of St. Kitts, and I still had no idea who was behind it. The contracts were signed by an unseen corporate representative down there in the Caribbean and shipped overnight to my office. As per our agreement, my client would wire into our law firm trust account the sum of $450,000 and some change, enough to cover the lease payments for the first two months, plus the remainder of our fee, plus some miscellaneous expenses. I would in turn write a $200,000 check to the sellers for each of the first two months, then my client would replenish the account. After twelve months of this, the lease would be converted to a sale, with our little firm due another sizable fee.
    When the wired funds hit our bank, the banker called to inform me that our trust account had just received $4.5 million, as opposed to $450,000. I figured someone got carried away with the zeros; plus, there could be worse things than having far too much money in the bank. But something didn’t add up. I tried to contact the shell company that was technically my client on St. Kitts but got the runaround. I contacted the law school pal who had referred the case, and he promised to look into the matter. I distributed the first month’s rent and the attorneys’ fee to our firm and waited for instructions to wire out the excess. Days passed, then weeks. A month later, the banker called to say that another $3 million had just landed in our trust account.
    By this time, Mr. Reed and Mr. Copeland were deeply disturbed. I instructed my banker to get rid of the money—wireit back to the source from whence it came, and do so quickly. He grappled with this for a couple of days, only to find that the account in St. Kitts had been closed. Finally, my law school pal e-mailed me instructions to wire