Washington is engulfed in a bribery scandal that is washing away any memory of the idealistic spirit that sought to transform Congress a decade ago.

In 1995, Republicans took over the U.S. House with a new agenda, the "Contract With America." The pact would "restore the bonds of trust" between the people and their elected representatives, we were told. A new leadership would "end the cycle of scandal and disgrace."

Many of the Contract's legislative proposals were enacted into law.

But any reforming spirit left in that movement has officially breathed its last.

The man who tolled its demise is one Michael Scanlon, former spokesman for then-House Majority Whip Tom DeLay, R-Texas. Scanlon, who left DeLay's office in 2000, pleaded guilty on Monday in federal court to conspiring to bribe a top Republican congressman and other public officials.

This plea agreement is only the beginning of what promises to be a wide-ranging narrative of greed, official corruption and exploitation of American Indian tribes.

Its details sketch the incestuous relationship that has developed between K Street lobbyists and the House's GOP leadership. Staffers flow back and forth between Capitol Hill and the lobbying firms; members of Congress take direction from the corporate interests that fund their campaigns and lifestyles. In some ways, it's the eternal story of political corruption; there's not much new in pols cadging freebies and junkets.

But what is distinctive is the degree to which GOP leaders on the Hill have actively plotted this intermingling of congressional staffs and lobbying firms, as a way to consolidate their caucus' power.

For the last five months, Scanlon has been providing federal investigators with a road map of how he and another DeLay ally, lobbyist Jack Abramoff, allegedly bribed public officials with lavish golf trips, campaign donations, dinners and sports tickets in exchange for official acts. The misdeeds date back to 2000.

Scanlon's admission of a quid pro quo is startling, in a town where money is routinely accompanied by subtle winks and nods. He has admitted that he and Abramoff bribed government officials in return for favorable government treatment of their tribal clients, who owned casinos. Among the half-dozen members of Congress under investigation is Rep. Robert Ney, R-Ohio, chairman of the House Administration Committee, who denies wrongdoing.

The Abramoff web touched members of both parties. For example, the leadership fund of Senate Minority Leader Harry Reid, D-Nev., received $66,000 in Abramoff-related political contributions from 2001 to 2004; Reid wrote a letter in 2002 to Interior Secretary Gale Norton opposing a tribal casino that was also opposed by one of Abramoff's clients.

Republican Speaker J. Dennis Hastert, R-Ill., did the same, one week after collecting $21,500 for his political action committee at a fund-raiser held at Abramoff's restaurant. Reid, Hastert and other lawmakers say they were not influenced by Abramoff's donations.

So, are we to believe that Abramoff was a terrible businessman who flung all this dough around to no effect?

Other Abramoff pals caught up in his web of activity are Grover Norquist, a Karl Rove friend and key strategist of the Republican revolution, and Ralph Reed, the former head of the Christian Coalition. Reed took millions from Abramoff to fund what looked like a moralistic anti-gambling crusade in Texas and Louisiana. In reality, Abramoff gave the money to block casino gaming proposals by tribes that were in competition with his clients. Reed says he was unaware that the money he scarfed up from Abramoff came from tribal casinos. Reed is running for lieutenant governor of Georgia in 2006.

Nobody can say how far this probe will spread, what victims it will claim or what its impact will be on next year's congressional elections.

But as Washington scandals go, it's a whopper. It's no Travelgate.

Scanlon's guilty plea is the most damning evidence yet that the lofty ideals that were supposed to reshape Congress a decade ago are now ancient history.