by Adam Yoshida
“Artillery fire hit a Marine squad on patrol in the Sinai. No dead, three wounded. One had to be evacuated by air,” came another report.
“Special Forces captured a group of insurgents with chemical weapons precursors near Hama.”
“IED hit a convoy on the road between Haifa and here. One dead, two wounded.”
General Mackenzie looked up at his desk and checked the time. It had been nine hours since he sat down at his desk. Numbly he had issued one set of orders after another as the unending toll of terror had ticked by his eyes.
“General?” came a voice through the door.
“Come in,” said Mackenzie. Standing up to grab an additional cup of coffee as Lieutenant General Avigdor Aronov stepped in through the door. Officially Aronov’s only position was as a liaison between the Israeli Defense Force and the American forces deployed to assist in the widespread peacekeeping operation in the Middle East. However, when the terms of the deployment of the American force had become clear, the Israeli Government had been forced to resign and been replaced by a caretaker “technocratic” regime that dared not dissolve the Knesett and face the people of Israeli directly. The lack of a credible government had left the General, as the man closest to the man who held real military power in the land of Israel today, as the most powerful living Israeli. Aronov walked in and closed the door and took a seat in front of Mackenzie’s desk.
“Our friends,” Aronov spoke deliberately, “report that they have had some success.”
Mackenzie swept his arms across the room.
“There are no fucking listening devices in this room, Avi. You can speak freely.”
“Our forces located another two Iranian scientists just outside of Qom. They’ve been taken in for... questioning.”
The central Iranian government had, of course, fallen apart even before the first stage of the war ended. The combination of the departure of most of its senior officials in advance with war damage had been too much for it to bear. American intelligence, along with what was left of the Mossad, believed that the Israeli counter-strike had been successful in bringing about the final elimination of the Iranian nuclear arsenal. But, then again, they had also sequentially believed that Iran was years from having a nuclear capability and that a nuclear Iran was a threat that could be managed.
Technically speaking, General Mackenzie had no authority under which Iranian nuclear scientists and other former regime officials could be detained. In fact, his orders had been to deploy his forces into Iran only in accord with the directives of the International Atomic Energy Agency. The IAEA was, in turn, generally being stymied by the unwillingness of its inspectors to enter into so-called “hot zones” and the uncooperative nature of the provisional government of Iran. The Israelis, on the other hand, were understandably eager to gain one hundred percent certainty that there were no other nuclear weapons out there and, further, to mete out suitable punishments for those complicit in the great crime against Israel.
Therefore, a deal had been struck under the table: the American forces would use their technical capabilities to facilitate the capture of as many former Iranian officials as possible, but the actual grabs and the subsequent interrogations would be conducted by off-the-books Israeli operatives, none of whom had the slightest compunction about the use of the harshest methods of information extraction available to them. All of this was extremely sensitive. For that reason, the teams on both the American and Israeli sides were very small and there were no survivors on the Iranian one.
“The latest batch of prisoners suggested the same thing as the last,” said Aronov, flipping through the letter that had been passed to him, “that there were rumors of additional devices not being stored at the sites, but that they had no specific knowledge, etc, etc. And I am assured that my men were very thorough before they disposed of the prisoners.”
The White House, Washington, DC
Daniel Hampton had landed at Reagan National Airport at a little after 8:30AM and was immediately shuttled to the White House, arriving at just after 9. He was pre-cleared through security at the gate and ushered immediately into the Oval Office.
“Mr. Hampton,” President Warren extended his hand, “I’m going to have to admit, I am sure that we have met before, but I don’t recall when or anything else. I’m sorry for that, but there’s no time for pleasantries. This is a very serious situation.”
Hampton took the President’s hand, “so I have gathered, Mr. President,” he replied.
“We don’t have it all put together yet - and we don’t know if it’s the only reason... after all, there’s rarely one reason in these cases - but it seems that one of the things that Wayne Gerber was dealing with during the last days of his life was a very serious situation over at the Treasury.”
The President turned on his tablet and handed it to Gerber.
“Basically, it seems that the Department of the Treasury made a number of errors and, as a result, we’re effectively over the debt limit as of about forty-eight hours ago. We have a bond auction coming up where, in fact, we don’t have the necessary Congressional authorization to issue the bonds as a result.”
Hampton flipped through the document for a minute before looking up.
“Well, if we could make this happen as quickly as possible, I think that the Congress - even the present Congress - would be amenable to allowing for an emergency extension of the limit. The consequences otherwise...”
“I don’t want to go back to the Congress,” the President replied firmly, “I am sick to death of their grandstanding and their demands that we cut back on things that the people need - that the people elected me to provide - in the name of their manic efforts to preserve the fortunes of the rich. That’s not why I was put in this place and that’s not what I’m going to do.”
“Laws on the books limit the ability of the Federal Government to issue money. There are statutory caps that limit the silver and gold coinage that may be authorized by the Secretary of the Treasury. However, under present Federal Law, there is no similar limit placed upon the authority of the Secretary of the Treasury to issue coins in platinum. However, the Secretary does explicitly have the authority under the law to issue such coins.”
The President opened the top drawer of the Resolution desk, pulled out another document, and handed it to Hampton.
“The plan is simple: the Secretary of the Treasury... I’m sorry, the Acting Secretary of the Treasury, will be instructed to issue a single platinum coin with a face value of $2 Trillion. That coin, being legal tender, will then be used to purchase back some $2 Trillion in debt presently held by the Federal Reserve, thus reducing the outstanding debts of the Federal Government to a figure well below the legal limit. The office of the White House Counsel has reviewed all of this in detail and have assured me that it is all very legally viable.”
“I know that you just flew in, but I need you to go back to New York and oversee this process. It will all have to be handled with a special degree of discretion in order for it to come off without a hitch.”
“Of course, Mr. President,” Hampton almost-automatically replied.
The Capitol, Washington, DC
Twenty-seven minutes after Daniel Hampton left the White House to return to New York, first word of the President’s decision to avail himself of the so-called “Platinum Coin option” reached the Hill. No one could expect such potentially-explosive news to be kept secret for long.
“What the President and his cronies are proposing is a complete subversion of the Constitution,” Senator Bert Quilty thundered in Terrance Rickover’s office as the Republican leadership from both sides of the Hill contemplated their response.
“What the President supposes is that, because a distant Congress once passed these long-ago programs, he now has the right to use whatever means are at his disposal to fund them. At least, that seems to be the legal and Constitutional doctrine on which his actions are based,” one aide noted.
“I think,”
Rickover declared quietly, “that we all need to take a step back for just a moment and think about our next steps here.”
Rickover tapped his fingers on his desk for several moments before he resumed speaking.
“The Speaker needs to be in on this,” he finally said.
The Naval Observatory, Washington, DC
Vice President Kevin Bryan wasn’t on the inside of the Warren Administration. The former one-term Governor of Virginia had been added to the ticket, back when Henry Warren was a Governor of New York with a tough-on-crime reputation, to secure the support of quarrelsome progressives. Governor Bryan had taken advantage of the one-term limit imposed upon Governors of Virginia to create a national profile for himself by swinging dramatically leftwards immediately after being elected as a pro-business moderate. Critics argued that he had wasted his four years in Richmond engaged in endless and pointless rounds of grandstanding that had, in the end, prevented him from actually accomplishing anything as Governor. Cynics argued that he had, in fact, accomplished exactly what he had set out to do when he decided to run for Governor: he had transformed himself from a no-name State Senator into a national figure practically overnight.
His Presidential campaign, however, had faltered when big-money Democratic donors, scared by his rhetoric and his popularity among the grassroots left had instead turned in droves to the popular New York Governor with a famous name and a winning smile. That had angered Bryan. However, that anger had turned to a sort of quiet glee when the mid-summer polls began to show the Presidential candidacy of Governor of Vermont on the Green Party ticket was beginning to pick up steam and those same men, together with that smiling Governor, had had to come to him and beg him for help.
Of course, he had told them, he was always glad to help. He had been born a Democrat and would die a Democrat. He would help to put Henry Warren into the White House. But he had terms. First, he had campaign debt - that would have to be taken care of. Second, he would have to have real influence once they were elected. Yes, yes, they had all agreed. The debts had disappeared. The influence, however, had proven to be far more elusive. The Warren people had staffed the White House with their own folks, even going so far as to pointedly ignore his polite suggestions that loyal and qualified supporters be rewarded with various Under-Secretary level positions. A less-determined man might have responded to this rejection by sulking. Vice President Bryan, however, had gone to work.
The White House, the DNC, the DCCC, and the DSCC had wanted him to go to big-dollar fundraisers and to help the party’s big guns. He had pointedly ignored them. For five years, rather than focusing on races for Governor and the Senate and on padding the coffers of eternal incumbent Congressmen, he and his staffers had looked for struggling Democrats who might be put over the top by a Vice Presidential visit or fundraiser. He’d even reached down into local and state races. It was amazing to see the genuine gratitude of some kid running for the State Senate in Kansas when the Vice President of the United States unexpectedly took a personal interest in their campaign. Now, some of those kids were already Congressmen. Soon more would be. And, Bryan was certain, they would remember who had put them in their current place.
The President hadn’t even bothered to directly tell the Vice President about his plans to adopt the Platinum Coin option - one that the Vice President had long advocated in private. Instead, word had reached him third-hand via some staffer.
Well, he thought, let’s make sure that this isn’t easy for anyone.
The Capitol, Washington, DC
Speaker of the House Michael Halverson was, by all accounts, a kind and gentle man. The seventy-two year-old fourteen-term Congressman from Indiana was generally liked by his colleagues and, though he was a down-the-line conservative on the issues, rarely displayed a trace of anger or rancor in his conduct. Old “Grandpa Mike” had been an asset on the campaign trail in recent years, being notably difficult for Democrats to demonize.
“If this is true - and I believe that it is - then we need to head it off at the pass,” Rickover told Halverson as the latter sat behind his desk.
“If it is true, I think that we can wait to hear what the President has to say and then figure out how we respond.” replied the Speaker.
“With all due respect, Mr. Speaker,” said Rickover, “that just isn’t the case here. The President’s action will be irrevocable and will provoke a terrible battle over its legality and Constitutionality. It may have far-reaching effects on global markets and on our own economy. The time to act is now.”
“Ok. Ok,” said Halverson, “let’s call the President and see what he has to say.”
“I think that we need to meet him face-to-face immediately,” replied Rickover.
“I’m going to call and see what happens,” said Halverson, picking up and dialing the phone directly.
“This is Speaker Halverson,” he said once someone picked up on the other end, “I would like to speak to the President... No, I really do need to speak to him as soon as possible... Miss Jensen...”
“Can I have the the phone?” Rickover whispered as Halverson waved him away.
“...I understand that these are busy times, but there are urgent matters... No, believe me I know...”
“Give me the phone,” Rickover whispered, with a harsher edge.
“...It’s just that there are some disturbing rumors that we have been hearing here and some of the members of my caucus... No, no...”
Rickover grabbed the phone from the hands of the Speaker.
“Alexis,” he said, “you tell the President that the leadership of the United States Congress is on its way to the White House to meet with the President of the United States. If he doesn’t want to speak with us, he can fucking turn us away from the gates of the White House in the view of the all of the fucking media in the world.”
He slammed down the phone.
Within ten minutes, the Halverson, Rickover, and Tara Gregory, the youthful Senate Majority Leader, were on their way to the White House in the back of a single Limo.
“Listen,” said Rickover, “this is no time to temporize. I know how you two both feel, but I’m not going to take any shit from that motherfucker.”
“Terrance...” said Gregory softly.
“No,” repeated Rickover, “this is no time for compromise. We can have a temporary resolution through both Houses this afternoon. There’s no need for an end run around the Constitution that would grant this President, in essence, unlimited spending powers.”
The White House, Washington, DC
“I am not going to bow down to these threats,” the President declared as he, Jensen, and Emerson sat in the Oval Office.
“That asshole is lucky that I even allowed him a meeting on a day like this,” the President continued, “with poor Wayne Gerber’s body still in the Goddamned morgue, they want to play political games. Fuck no. Fuck no.”
“Mr. President,” Emerson spoke, “if they are willing to play ball here, that might be the best move...”
“I am the President of the United States, elected by the people of the United States,” Warren repeated, “and I will not be blackmailed. Not by some fucking terrorist in a turban and not by some fucking jumped-up Virginia Congressman who thinks that the fact that Rush Limbaugh and Fox News like him makes him the voice of the fucking people.”
“The Congressional delegation is here,” the voice of the Person Secretary to the President.
“Send them the fuck in,” snarled Warren.
The Speaker took the lead as he, Rickover and Senator Gregory fanned into the Oval Office.
“Mr. President,” he began, “I’m sorry for taking your time on what I know to be a difficult and tragic day. However, myself and the rest of the Congressional leadership have been being hit every few minutes by new rumors that there’s something really big going on over here, with regard to the nation’s debt, and we felt it best to get it sorted out straight away.”
“Yes,” the Presiden
t replied quietly seething, “today is a very tragic day in many respects. It is very regrettable that events, and, although this is not the time or the place to assign blame, perhaps certain persons drove Wayne Gerber to such a terrible end. Thank you for your concern and for taking time out of your own days to come by and pay your respects.”
“Uhhh... Yes, Mr. President,” replied Halverson, “as I said, this is a tragic day... But we do have some issues that need to be discussed immediately.”
“Ok,” replied the President, quietly tapping the desk with his knuckles.
“The rumor mill says that we’re about to hit - or perhaps have already hit - the debt ceiling, far earlier than our negotiations so far have anticipated and that you’re about to attempt some sort of wide-ranging move to get around or dispense with the ceiling altogether.”
“Well,” said the President with a smile, “I suppose that the rumor mill isn’t always inaccurate.”
He gestured to Jensen, who began to hand out a short piece of paper to the guests.
“This practice of using the debt limit as a tool of extortion has gone on for long enough - and has had enough tragic consequences. Forty-five minutes ago I directed the Secretary of the Treasury... I’m sorry, the Acting Secretary of the Treasury to mint a platinum coin with a face value of $2 Trillion that will, in turn, be used to buy back $2 Trillion worth of securities presently held by the Federal Reserve, thus placing the Federal Government well under the statutory debt cap. This is a maneuver that I am prepared to repeat should it prove necessary. As you can see, this is fully in conformance with the laws passed by the Congress.”
“Mr. President,” Terrance Rickover spoke up, “I have to tell you that I consider this action to be both illegal and unconstitutional and intend, as a leader of the Congress, to resist it. Whatever technicalities of an ancient law that you may cite, the doctrine that you now espouse, if enacted...”
