Tom paused for a moment to assess the diplomat’s body language. It was clear that he was unaware of any of what Tom had just said.
“You haven’t got a clue, do you?”
“President Rayburn just called me and informed me of our predicament,” the man replied with pride.
“Did you know what I was talking about before then?”
“Well, no,” he answered haltingly. “We aren’t privy to secure NSA intercepts. The only intel we receive is filtered through the State Department after it’s been scrubbed,” the Ambassador replied in defense.
“Open your eyes man! How is this country even moving forward with you morons running the show?” Tom said more to the empty room than to the Ambassador.
Having been in politics long enough to know when to keep his mouth shut, the UN Ambassador stood stoically until President Sarkes engaged him in the conversation once more.
After spending a days on end at the NSA, and another seven hours in solitude on the flight, Tom had formulated a plan to try and head off the Prime Minister.
“I want you to call the French Ambassador and set up a meeting for tomorrow morning. Tell them that we need to have a face-to-face,” Tom instructed.
“What makes you think they’ll agree, or even show up?” the Ambassador questioned.
“Because, you’re gonna say it’s me that’s requesting the sit down,” Tom replied.
“Why don’t you call them yourself?” the Ambassador answered incredulously. “I’m not your secretary!”
The two paused to take stock of one another before the diplomat continued. “Why don’t you fill me in on whatever is going on... maybe I can be of assistance. I’ve only had a five-minute conversation with President Rayburn. He had enough time to hit the highlights and to inform me that you had just landed at Schiphol airport.”
Exhaling loudly, Tom turned to the Ambassador and said, “Take a seat.”
* * *
The French Ambassador to the UN glanced down at the screen on his smart phone. The device had vibrated in his pocket to alert him to the incoming call. With the display lit up, the caller ID read: U.S. Ambassador.
Well, that didn’t take long, he thought as pressed the ‘Decline’ button. Former President Sarkes had been in the country barely two hours. The diplomat accessed the text message app on his phone. He quickly typed: Finishing up with PM Windbag. Meet ur office in 30. Bringing friend. Adieu.
The information was relayed to Sarkes and both men sighed in relief that the French were expecting the call.
Thirty-five minutes later the Frenchman walked in with the Director of their Foreign Intelligence Service (DGSE). The head of the DGSE looked like a character right out of a 1940’s film noir spy caper, complete with tan trench coat. The two bypassed the American Diplomat and went straight to Tom. They exchanged handshakes and began a conversation. As they conversed and renewed their friendship, they completely ignored the U.S. Ambassador. The trio went back over a decade, all the way to the early years of Sarkes’ presidency. It was with the heavy heart, and the best wishes of the French, that he planned and executed the United States exit from the Security Council.
The three promptly raided the U.S. diplomat’s liquor cabinet for the scotch and took seats around a circular table in the Ambassador’s office. When the pleasantries were out of the way, President Sarkes said bluntly, “So what’s the word?”
“Monsieur President, if you and your countrymen were not on the wrong side of this, I would actually admire the work he has put forth. The Prime Minister has managed to cobble together just about every nation holding U.S. debt.”
“But to what end, Gabe?” Tom said, referring to the Ambassador informally.
“Monsieur, based on the briefing we just sat through, it is his intention to incite a financial coup d'état. They have written and revised so many international finance laws that the United States might as well declare bankruptcy.”
“What does that even mean? The United States would never do that.”
“Thomas, if I may,” the Ambassador began. “If every nation holding U.S. debt were to try and collect all at once, could it be paid?”
“Hell no. That’s over thirty trillion dollars. We’ve raised the debt limit so many times no nation could do that,” Tom answered with his usual candor.
Prior to absolving itself from the gold standard, the United States Treasury functioned similarly to a casino. They had to ‘guarantee every chip on the floor’. When the United States walked away from the long held global system, it essentially stopped guaranteeing the dollar. Complicating matters for the United States was the involvement of the International Monetary Fund (IMF). The institution had been entrenched in international finance and currency exchange since WWII. Every dirty little secret the United States had regarding its debts was known to the powers that be in the IMF. If this organization were assisting the English, there wasn’t any path that would allow the U.S. to force or bluff its way out of any obligations.
“I would start preparing for that eventuality,” Gabriel replied just as candidly. “Austerity sanctions will take immediate effect if it cannot pay. The interest rates for any ‘assistance’ in the form of multiple bailout loans would be exorbitant and extremely painful. If the United States doesn’t ‘voluntarily’ shrink its expenditures to less than 20% of its Gross Domestic Product, then a provisional international board is convened to ‘assist’ the government.”
“Holy sh–,” Tom started to say.
“Exactement,” the Ambassador said in French, cutting Tom off.
Pausing to let the weight of the information sink in, President Sarkes asked the obligatory question, “And if we refuse?”
Gabriel clicked his tongue rapidly before saying, “No, no, no, Monsieur. You do not want to do that.”
“Why not?”
“If the United States refuses, force is authorized.”
“WHAT!” Tom exclaimed.
“Oui,” Gabriel replied.
“No army has stepped foot on American soil in over two hundred years! What are they gonna do... raid Fort Knox!?”
“Oui, and how ever many Treasury banks, branches, mints, foreign accounts, and bank vaults it takes until they have their trillions,” the Ambassador replied knowingly.
President Sarkes slumped back in his chair, sighed, and said, “Hannibal ad portas.”
“Oui, Monsieur,” Gabriel replied.
“What’s that?” the American Ambassador asked.
“It’s Latin,” Sarkes replied, crestfallen that he had to even explain it. “It means ‘Hannibal is at the gates’,” the former President answered with his head leaned back and his eyes closed. He concluded, “The spoils of war then. But why do this?”
Looking up at the French Ambassador, he added, “They have their own financial problems. Invading us won’t absolve them of their own obligations. They’ll spend billions trying to take ours. It doesn’t make any sense.”
Gabriel glanced over at the Minister Pinault, “Monsieur.”
The Head of the DGSE cleared his throat and said in heavily accented English, “A few months ago, Prime Minister Goodspeed flew covertly on a commercial airliner to meet your President Rayburn. He also met with heads of the Federal Reserve and the Treasury. At that time, he attempted to broker a back door deal for several hundred billion dollars that the U.K. owned of U.S. debt.”
“I know. Rayburn told him to take a hike,” Sarkes stated.
“Oui,” Minister Pinault replied. “This situation is not all that dissimilar to the Iraqi’s and Kuwaiti’s.”
The U.S. Ambassador was thoroughly confused. “What does the freeing of Kuwait have to do with England thinking about invading the United States?”
“My God man! How did you even get this job?” Sarkes exhorted. “The Iraqi’s invaded the country over an insult. They were negotiating trade and access routes to the Persian Gulf and the little nation didn’t like being bullied by its big brother. When the delegat
ion stormed out, the Kuwaiti Ambassador spat on his counterpart. That’s a huge deal over there among the Bedouins. King George is feeling just as aggrieved.”
“He wants you... oh, merde. What’s the translation for ‘sur les genoux’?” Minister Pinault asked.
“On bended knee?” Sarkes asked.
“Oui, Monsieur. Begging for mercy.”
“Well, they’re in for one hell of a shock when they get to Kentucky,” Tom inserted.
“Why’s that? How much is there?” the U.S. Ambassador asked.
“Next to nothing now,” Tom replied. “We’ve already started relocating a great deal of our assets.”
“Monsieur,” the Minister said. “Forgive me, but you are in checkmate.”
“Sir, shouldn’t we call President Rayburn!” the inexperienced diplomat proclaimed in a panic. “Tell him what’s going on and that we need to go faster! We –,”
The former President rolled his eyes and calmly responded, “Relax, relax. ‘Operation Delta’ started weeks ago. In a month or two, all of the vaults will be empty and the resources safely hidden away. Screw the British.”
When Rome Stumbles Page 32
