“And Chinese food at that. Thank you, Mr. President. Hello, Mrs. Bernstein. It’s great to see you.”
“Hello, Susanna. Are you two finished? I didn’t want to barge in.”
“You’re not barging in,” the President said. “We were just wrapping it up. The public opinion on China looks great.”
“I know. I hear it everywhere. Congratulations, Susanna.”
“I had nothing to do with it, Mrs. Bernstein. This is your husband’s accomplishment.” And with that, Susanna was out the door, before any other subjects could be brought up.
* * *
Lee Dong Wo was chosen to be the grand architect of the new Los Angeles. Wo had only been twenty-seven when he was picked to design the Beijing Olympics. And over the last two decades, with an airport in Shanghai, a floating hotel in Abu Dhabi, and six thousand miles of a new highway design in China, Wo was the only real choice.
When Wo was a little boy he saw his father spending hours sitting in traffic, not moving, wasting what he thought was valuable time. And when there was an accident, things got even worse. Why couldn’t these cars simply be lifted out of here immediately? Wo could never get that out of his mind and years later, when he was awarded the largest contract ever given for new highway construction in China, that’s exactly what he did.
Every few miles, in heavily traveled areas, small cranes would lift any wreckage up and move it over the guardrail, off to the side, and get traffic moving again within ten minutes, as opposed to the hour and a half it took to get a tow truck and clear the area the old-fashioned way. The cranes would be spaced out so they could reach any accident in five minutes, and when they were not in use they disappeared, lying flat behind the rail.
The technology was imported to several crowded cities around the world, but never to America, which needed it the most. So Wo was going to use it in rebuilding the road system of Los Angeles.
He had also designed double-decker freeways in the downtown areas of China’s bigger cities, areas where there were always traffic jams whether there was an accident or not. As he looked at the layout of Los Angeles he felt that having twenty or so miles of double-decker roads would eliminate seventy percent of the congestion. The roads would split into two levels where traffic would always slow, and then join back into one after the bottlenecks. Traffic jams were a mathematical problem, and if the worst areas could be helped, the rest of the road system would benefit exponentially.
Another area of Wo’s expertise was high-speed rail travel. Wo had never understood why highways, which already existed, could not be used for trains, too. He put high-speed trains down the middle of many superhighways in China, and helped his country take its place as the owner of the most advanced rail system in the world. Wo’s introduction of what were known as Road Trains revolutionized travel, and Los Angeles, he thought, was the perfect city in the world to build them.
Wo was also friends with Shen Li. They were both wealthy, young, and beloved in their home country, and they were not competitive, which in China was rare. Wo had no interest in the health business and worked with Li over the years on many issues involving greener and more cost-efficient ways to improve medical care. He loved Li’s idea of putting a small health facility in each new building complex so people would have immediate access to care without having to travel. They were a great team and they both relished the idea of re-imagining Los Angeles.
* * *
The first jumbo cargo jets started landing at Los Angeles International Airport in late November 2030. Supplies were flown in from all around the world. Sometimes a skyscraper was constructed using materials from thirty different countries, and these materials arrived exactly when needed so they could go directly to the building site without having to be stored. Storage was the bane of construction budgets, and if materials could go from airport to installation without sitting for weeks and months, the savings were enormous. In order for that to happen, suppliers and transporters and builders and architects all had to be talking together 24/7, and that required a type of communication that the Chinese were the best at. Their logistic software was admired by every architect and contractor in the world.
When Lee Dong Wo constructed the world’s first floating hotel in Abu Dhabi, it went up in sixteen months, a record for such a complicated build. And the Abu Dhabi government, which had experience with every nation’s best construction companies, watched in amazement at the coordination of the Chinese, something that Los Angeles was about to see.
The first thing the Chinese needed to do was supply housing for its citizens. At the peak of the build there would be three to four hundred thousand Chinese people living and working in Southern California alongside their American counterparts. A total of twelve sites were picked initially, each one housing twenty to thirty thousand workers, and these would be like small cities, self-contained with shopping, schools, parks, health, entertainment, everything the workers needed. And they were all prefabricated.
Jumbo jets flew in the materials for the entire small city over a five-day period. In another six days, it was up and running. Eleven days from “take-off to shower,” as the Chinese liked to say. The United States had never seen anything like it. Most people had the same reaction: “Thank God they’re building and not attacking, because no one could survive this kind of coordination.”
* * *
Shen Li had toured and become familiar with each army triage center. He also toured the hospitals to see if any were salvageable. They were not. Too many foundation cracks and, quite frankly, Li hated their layout. He was happy for an excuse to tear them down and rebuild to his liking. Even a hospital in San Bernardino that could have been repaired rather easily was tagged for demolition. When asked why by the city council, Li answered, “Look at it.” The city didn’t know what that meant, as it looked fine to them. But when the Chinese showed them drawings of what they intended to build, the city wanted the old hospital torn down immediately. As one city council member told the press, “I never knew this thing was so ugly. It was like seeing your wife for the first time without makeup.” When he got home that night it was not pleasant.
Li knew that until the infrastructure was built it would be hard to put his style of health care fully in place. But he wanted to try. He started to integrate staff he brought from China, telling the Army Corps of Engineers, who had built and were running the temporary hospitals, that they deserved a break and, since he was going to be responsible for the health of Los Angeles anyway, he would be happy to start early while construction was just beginning. The Army Corps of Engineers was elated. There was no ego there. They hated this job, they wanted out, and they would have dumped every sick person on Li in five minutes if they could. So, of course, they agreed to whatever he suggested. Li introduced his Chinese staff to the triage units and asked them just to observe and be respectful of their American counterparts. But after a very short period of time, they began to take over.
Shen Li was right when he guessed that no psychological treatment was being offered to people on any meaningful scale. His nursing staff immediately made the temporary health tents more comfortable. They put in plants, played soothing music, and tried many different color schemes. The army watched with a degree of cynicism. They didn’t really understand what a ficus would do for a broken arm, but they didn’t resist. And, just as Li predicted, the patients responded positively. After living through one of the greatest earthquakes the world had ever seen, the people in Los Angeles thought no one would ever care about them again, so even these small measures made a huge impression. The Chinese were a breath of hope. And word spread quickly.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
As the last bag was put in the trunk of the car, Brad Miller gave his granddaughter a big hug good-bye.
“I’m going to miss you, Grandpa.”
“You are? You seldom give any indication of that.”
“Is that you being funny?”
“Sort of. I’m going to miss you, too,
honey. I enjoyed our late-night talks.”
“What late-night talks?” Crystal asked.
“That’s between me and her. Private stuff.” Crystal looked worried. The last thing she wanted was for Tom’s father to be filling her daughter’s head with his ideas.
“Are you coming back, Grandpa?”
“Not for a long time, honey. Maybe never.”
“Can we come visit?”
“That’s up to your dad. Maybe when the ship rolls back into San Francisco you can drive up and say hi. Or come see me when it docks in Long Beach.”
And with that Tom closed the trunk and told his father that they had to be going. Brad gave Crystal a good-bye kiss on the forehead. He had never liked her and the feeling was mutual.
Before long they were on Highway 101, heading to San Francisco. They had to allow two days for a trip that normally would have taken seven hours; until they got beyond Santa Barbara, the roads were a nightmare. As they were crawling along, leaving Los Angeles County, Tom said to his father, “You know what? I envy you.”
“Why?”
“Because I think your life is going to be relaxed and fun and this will be a world-class third act.”
“I’ve already had a third act.”
“Let’s not get literal. You know what I mean.”
“You shouldn’t envy me. I would kill to be your age.”
“Believe me, Dad, you don’t want to be my age. It’s not the same as it was when you were my age.”
“It breaks my heart to hear you talk like that.”
“What can I say? It’s a struggle. The idea of spending the rest of my life on a cruise ship is intoxicating. I wish I was you.”
This made Brad so sad. This was not how it was supposed to be. A child should not long to trade places with the parent. Brad wished he could make it better, but he needed money to do that. “Tom … life can change at any moment. I feel something good is coming for you. And I have something I want to say.” Tom looked at his father. “If the Chinese don’t offer money but offer to rebuild the condo instead, I would allow you to live there with your family forever if that would make things easier.”
“Thanks, Dad, but you would need to sell that place. You need your money.”
“Well, maybe if you moved to the new Los Angeles you would find a much better job, and if you had a free place to live you could save something. And send a little to me.”
“I appreciate the gesture. Let’s see how it all works out.”
Brad reached over and squeezed his son’s leg, giving him a small bit of physical affection. Something that was rare between the two of them.
After spending the night in a cheap motel in San Luis Obispo, they reached San Francisco the next afternoon and went directly to Fisherman’s Wharf. They sat in a little grotto having some clam chowder, and they could see the big ship in the harbor. Brad still carried the brochure and he had to laugh. The ship in the pictures looked a lot better, but what pictures didn’t?
The departure time was five o’clock. They finished their meal at three-thirty and Tom walked with his father to the dock. When they boarded the ship there was not enough staff to show each retiree to his or her room, so they were given the room number, the deck, and the directions, and told the luggage would be delivered later.
Tom and his dad took an elevator to the third deck and walked down a rather dark hallway with what looked like two hundred doors. Toward the end of the hall they could see the number 316. This would be the place where Brad would spend at least the next ten years of his life, and they both were hoping their first impression would be a good one.
“This is it,” Tom said. He touched a card on the door and it opened. Brad was nervous. If the rest of the ship didn’t look like the brochure, he couldn’t imagine the rooms would, either. And he was right. He stood in the doorway and stared at his two-room suite, if “suite” was the proper word. There was a small bedroom and a slightly bigger living room with a kitchenette in one corner and a shower and toilet in the other.
“Look at this,” Brad said. “The toilet’s in the living room.”
Tom tried to make the best of it. “That’s what they do on ships, Dad. You keep the bathroom door closed and it looks like a closet. I think the suite is lovely.” His father didn’t bother to answer. He looked at the green couch and the worn leather armchair and went over and sat in it. “How is it?” Tom asked.
“Not bad. Pretty comfortable.”
Tom went into the bedroom. “Hey, Dad, come in here. Nice view.” His father walked into the small room and there was a porthole that showed a speck of blue sky.
“Great. I see they make it small enough so you can’t jump.”
“Come on, it’s nice.”
Brad lay down on the bed and sank into the mattress. “Oh, it’s one of those foams. I like that.” Tom was happy that his father had said he liked something. He went and opened the small round window and let some air into the room.
“This is nice, Dad. It’s perfect. I bet most of your day will be outside anyway, so this is very comfortable to come home to.” And they spent the next hour convincing themselves that everything was fine. The ship did have five pools, although three were not currently in service. It had a movie theater and a large dining room, and a gym and a sauna. There were dance classes and bingo games. It was just that everything looked twenty years older than it did in the brochure.
At 4:45, two long loud blasts from the ship’s air horn told everyone it was time for guests to depart. Tom and his father walked to the exit ramp and stood there for a moment, not saying a word. Then Brad started to cry. His son hugged him. “Stop it, Dad. Stop it. This is going to be great.”
“How do you wind up like this? In a million years I would never have imagined this is where I would be.”
“It’s going to be great. I know it. And if it isn’t, you’ll leave.”
“I can’t leave. All the money is in this now. This is my fate.”
“It’s a good fate, Dad. You’ll see. You’ll make new friends. It’s okay. You’re going to love this. I know it.” At that moment the air horn sounded one last time and it made both men jump.
“Jesus Christ,” Brad said. “Is this the way they tell you to do things?”
“I think it’s just for departure.”
“It had better be. I don’t want to be called to each meal like an air raid drill.”
Tom laughed. He kissed his father on the cheek and then walked off the ship.
Brad went to the railing of the second deck, along with hundreds of other people who were saying good-bye, and waved to Tom as if he were just going to Hawaii for two weeks. The fact that this was permanent was too much to think about. Hopefully there were people here who loved to play bridge. Brad had not had a great game of bridge in years.
* * *
Susanna Colbert had gone to college with Nate Cass and had always stayed in touch with him. Nate invested in The Card at her suggestion and, like everything else he touched, it turned to gold. Her calling Nate was not unusual. But he had not heard from her since she had become the Treasury secretary.
“To what do I owe the honor?” he asked.
“I was thinking about you. How’s your family?”
“No change. Still divorced. You?”
“I’m good.”
“How’s Washington?”
“It’s exciting. A challenge.”
“Pretty big news about the Chinese.”
“I think it’s going to work out well.”
“It’d better.”
“Are you free for a bite sometime this week?”
Nate paused. Normally whenever Susanna asked to see him it was about investing large sums, but he knew that as head of the Treasury she wouldn’t be allowed to do that. Then he got curious.
“Susanna, don’t ask me to bail out the country. I don’t have that kind of money.” She laughed.
“Really? I’m sorry. I’ll call someone else.”
; “I would certainly have a meal with you. Do you want to tell me what it’s about?”
“Let’s do it over lunch. I’m coming to New York on Thursday for the weekend. Is Friday all right?”
“It’s fine. I’ll pick a place and let your office know.”
“I look forward to it.”
At one o’clock on Friday, Susanna and Nate met at Antonio’s, a small, elegant Italian restaurant on East Sixty-third Street. The restaurant only seated seventy-five people and was frequented by advertising executives and designers. No famous people. No paparazzi. Colbert was, of course, recognized by some, but it wasn’t a big deal.
They had a table in a reasonably dark corner near the kitchen, and what they gave up in foot traffic they gained in privacy. Nate ordered a fish stew and Susanna had an anchovy salad. They both had white wine. Nate raised his glass and toasted her. “To the first female secretary of the Treasury. May God guide you in getting us out of our massive debt.”
Susanna smiled. “Even God can’t do that, but thank you.”
“So what is this all about? I’m panting with excitement.”
Susanna played it down. “It really was about seeing you, since I was here anyway, and talking to you about something that I was curious about.”
“Go ahead.”
She paused. How do you broach this? She didn’t know what Nate’s thoughts would be and didn’t even know if he was religious or not, although she never recalled him giving that indication. She also didn’t know how fast she should bring the President into the conversation, but then again, Nate Cass wasn’t stupid. So she simply cut to the chase. “The President’s mother is in your facility in Baltimore.”
“I know. We’re talking extra good care of her.”
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