The Liberty Intrigue

by Tom Grace

  “I am pleased to hear that China takes its position in the world seriously. I certainly hope that enlightened outlook will extend to monetary policy.”

  Xaio’s eyes narrowed slightly.

  “Unlike gas emissions,” Xaio said, “which affect the shared atmosphere of our planet, currency policy is a sovereign matter. I believe in careful management of our currency’s value. To allow the value of the yuan to rise and fall freely on the open market invites the danger of speculation by unscrupulous opportunists, as was the case in England and Southeast Asia.”

  The President caught the veiled reference to his political patron, but his outward expression remained impassive.

  “Of greater concern to China is the falling value of the dollar,” Xaio continued. “It affects both the value of our currency and the value of that portion of our foreign reserves held in your currency. China remains opposed to your country’s policy of manipulating long-term interest rates through large purchases of your own Treasury bonds. This policy exports your inflation to emerging economies like China. A continuation of such a financially dangerous policy may force us to reconsider our benchmark for the yuan.”

  “I will certainly take your concerns under advisement as I and my economists craft policies to guide our nation toward sustainable prosperity,” the President replied, acknowledging that this line of discussion was fruitless. “I do have a specific topic of exchange between our two nations that I wish to discuss—your nation’s recent agreement with the private US firm Terrafuma Energy.”

  “I am unfamiliar with this agreement,” Xaio lied.

  “China’s National Energy Commission has transferred several billion US dollars to Terrafuma Energy this year. My government has only recently become aware of these transfers and we are understandably curious about the specifics of this energy agreement. Such a lucrative deal between our two nations is typically celebrated, not concealed.”

  “As I said,” Xaio countered, “I am unfamiliar with this agreement. If you like, I will make some inquiries.”

  Gotcha, the President thought.

  “I would appreciate that,” the President replied.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

  AIR FORCE ONE

  SEPTEMBER 22

  “Peter, thank you for taking my call,” the President said.

  “It is always my pleasure to speak with you, Mr. President,” Sturla replied. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “China,” the President replied. “They’re upset with our policy of buying our own debt.”

  “As they should be. Their extraordinary holding of dollars loses value with each purchase. They’ve already exchanged some of their dollar reserves for other currencies to reduce the impact of your buybacks, but their holdings are too large to dump the dollar entirely. Such a move would be disastrous for the yuan.”

  “Xaio hinted that if we continued our policy, China might reconsider their benchmark for the yuan.”

  “Interesting. I thought it would take longer for them to play that card. This could be the opening we’ve been waiting for.”

  “Should I apply more pressure with another debt purchase?” the President asked.

  “Yes, but not until after the carbon exchange opens. As planned, we’ll leverage the sale of those emissions credits to finance our move on the global currency markets. Things are moving faster than I anticipated,” Sturla admitted, “but we are ready for this coming opportunity to truly change the world.”

  MORAN TOWNSHIP, MICHIGAN

  Niki found Ross in the barn, tinkering with his Humvee’s powerful engine. Cables ran from a laptop computer on the workbench to several points beneath the open hood. Music poured from wall-mounted speakers, filling the garage with the recording of a Seventies rock concert. Thunderous guitars raced through a frenetic song and Egan rose up, socket wrench held like a microphone, joining the band in a screaming chorus.

  “Gonzo! Gonzo! Gonzo-oh-oh!”

  “May I interrupt your performance for some campaign business?” Niki asked loudly, announcing her presence.

  Red-faced, Ross retrieved a tiny remote control from the workbench and paused the music. The garage instantly fell silent.

  “Sorry about that,” Ross offered.

  “You are a man of hidden talents.”

  “Singing not being one of them. What’s up?”

  “I spoke with Maya—Terrafuma’s deal with Beijing has been noticed. The President brought it up with Premier Xaio in Barcelona. Chairman Chen informed Maya of the conversation.”

  “It wasn’t going to stay under wraps forever,” Ross said with a shrug, “not with that much money changing hands. Is that my sweater?”

  Niki wore an Irish fisherman’s sweater over a peach turtleneck. Black jeans flattered her lithe figure and leather boots defined her slender calves.

  “Your mother found it for me. She said there was a nip in the air.”

  “You look much better in it than I ever did,” Ross said, moving closer to Niki. “Of course, there are other ways to stave off the cold.”

  “Are there now?”

  Niki gazed into Ross’s green eyes and then reached up and pulled his face close. She kissed him fully, passionately. She then felt his arms encircle her, drawing her torso tightly against him. Through the woolen bulk of the sweater, she felt his heart racing in time with hers.

  Neither could pinpoint the moment when their relationship, which had always been friendly and professional, began to develop a romantic facet. Neither was an adolescent subject to hormonally fueled infatuation, and the strongest emotional bond they shared was grief over the tragic loss of Ross’s wife and son.

  Gradually, the kiss slowed, lingering until both came up for air.

  “That’s one of them,” Ross said softly.

  “Still, we have to be careful. You are a public figure, even here.”

  “I know.”

  Niki reluctantly withdrew from Ross, denying her physical desire for him out of love and duty.

  “Maya is prepared for the inquiries that will likely be made regarding Terrafuma,” Niki said, resuming her professional demeanor as Maya Randell’s unofficial representative to the campaign.

  “Good, because the President’s team will go after us hard on this.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE

  ON AIR

  SEPTEMBER 26

  “And we’re back,” Denby announced to his millions of radio listeners. “As I opined in the opening monologue, I think Ross Egan clearly outmatched the President in the second debate that took place last night at the Air Force Academy’s Arnold Hall in Colorado. It was a thoughtful discourse on foreign policy, and the challenger had little trouble in an intellectual battle of wits with the unarmed incumbent.

  “The idea of American exceptionalism came up as the focal point of Egan’s thinking, and this theme resonated in his responses. The consistency of this central premise was clear with regard to America as the world’s dominant superpower and the emergence of China as a potential superpower; on foreign aid and how we deal with our friends, our foes, and the UN; and the ongoing threat of terrorism and militant religious extremism.

  “Foreign policy has always been a weak point with the current administration and our standing in the world has suffered for the lack of coherence that emanates from the Oval Office. After last night’s side-by-side, I’m convinced coherence won’t be an issue for a potential Egan administration.

  “I think the high point of last night’s debate came during a spirited exchange on illegal immigration. This is treated in most circles as a domestic policy issue, but Egan correctly recognizes its foreign policy implications.

  “The President favors a do-nothing approach to securing our nation’s borders, coupled with a quick path to legal status and citizenship so that these undocumented aliens can be assimilated as quickly as possible into the ranks of dependent Democrat voters.

  “Egan, in brilliant contrast, recognizes that the exodus of people from t
heir Central and South American homelands into the United States is not just a border security-slash-illegal immigration issue, but a foreign policy opportunity as well. And to clarify this point, we have as our guest today GOP candidate Ross Egan. Ross, thanks for taking the time to speak with me today.”

  “Given that more folks are probably listening to your program than last night’s debate,” Egan offered, “I’d be a fool not to. Thanks for inviting me back.”

  “During last night’s debate, you turned the conversation to a topic framed normally as a domestic issue: illegal immigration. In fact, I dare say you turned the topic completely on its head. For the sake of some audience members who did not see you put the President on the ropes with this, please lay out your plan for handling our growing problem with illegal immigration.”

  “My pleasure. Both parties recognize that the vast majority of people who enter this country illegally do so out of desperation. They are leaving behind their homes and family in search of opportunity, no different than the ancestors of most US citizens.

  “Another way to look at it—these people are voting with their feet. As I’ve said on many occasions, American exceptionalism is not rooted in geography or natural resources, but in a system of laws that guarantee the rights and liberties of the people by restricting the power of the federal government. Our Constitution is what allows each and every citizen of this country to employ their talents and ingenuity to their fullest. That’s what most of these illegal immigrants are after, the opportunity for a better life.

  “Now, I’m a Yooper, which means I’m used to long winters with tons of snow. To my way of thinking, something must be mighty wrong with the governments of our neighbors to the south if their people are fleeing those tropical paradises in droves to look for work in my neck of the woods. And you can bet, they wouldn’t be leaving if jobs were plentiful back home. So, here’s my plan.

  “First, we beef up our border security because some bad folks are sneaking into the country with drugs and guns and we must put a stop to that. And while the United States welcomes immigrants, we prefer they come in the right way and follow our laws.

  “Second, for those who slip in or are already here—it’s our fault if we didn’t catch them. If they plan to stay, they have to register immediately as undocumented aliens with status as economic refugees. Refugee status will bring most of these people out of the shadows and make them less susceptible to abuse and intimidation.”

  “What about deportation?” Denby asked. “Didn’t these folks break our laws by entering the country illegally?”

  “Illegal entry into the country is a violation of our laws, but I propose fines over deportation for this specific offense. Under my proposed tax system, every citizen receives a poverty line tax refund from the government.”

  “This is so no citizen earning at or below the poverty line pays any taxes, correct?”

  “Yes,” Egan replied. “These economic refugees would not receive this refund as the fine for their illegal entry into the country. They would also never be eligible for citizenship until they leave the US and return legally. I would also close the jus soli form of native-born citizenship to eliminate the anchor-baby route to citizenship for illegal aliens.”

  “There will be those who decry your proposal as unfair, that the door to citizenship shouldn’t be closed to these people.”

  “The door isn’t closed, only this underhanded route to citizenship, but that’s not the real issue. If the United States is taking in refugees, we have to ask ourselves why. There must be a fundamental problem with the places these people come from that is driving them to come here. And the best way for us to fix our illegal immigration problem is not to build a better wall, but to fix what’s wrong on the other side of our borders. We want these people to remain citizens of their homelands so they can vote against the regimes that drove them out and vote for the kinds of reforms that can bring them home. Citizenship isn’t what draws these people here, and based on where I live, it certainly isn’t the weather. These people come here for opportunity and security.

  “This exodus from Latin America is a tragedy,” Egan continued. “Ignoring its root cause makes us collaborators with these corrupt regimes. The policy I propose is designed to encourage reform in the nations that have forced millions of their desperate citizens across our borders.”

  “And these fleeing millions, as economic refugees, come out of the shadows and participate fully in our economy,” Denby offered. “They can take jobs, establish credit, buy homes, and put their kids in school— just like any legal resident alien. The only difference is that they don’t get the tax refund and they have to vote in their home country’s elections.”

  “Right,” Egan agreed.

  “That’s what I like about this policy,” Denby said. “It treats the disease, not just the symptoms.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR

  MARO, DUTANNURU

  OCTOBER 4

  Edward Turcott swatted at a fly buzzing around his head. It was hot and humid in that tropical way that had soaked his clothing through to his skin within minutes of leaving the air-conditioned comfort of his rented Land Rover.

  Despite the rapid pace of reconstruction throughout much of what had once been Safo, this small village by the riverside could have emerged intact from Conrad’s Heart of Darkness.

  Turcott ambled to an open-air bar with a mixed collection of tables and chairs under a thatched roof. The place was half filled in the late afternoon.

  “Nimako?” Turcott asked the bartender.

  The bartender looked up from his tabloid and gestured toward a man seated at a table with a view of the slowly moving river. The man had deep black skin and sunglasses to match. He tilted his head back and drained the remnants of a bottle of cold beer. Turcott set a few bills on the bar and ordered two more bottles of the brand the man was drinking.

  “May I join you?” Turcott asked as he approached Nimako’s table.

  Nimako turned his head toward Turcott and studied him from behind his dark glasses. He nodded. Turcott slid down into a battered chair and set one of the beers in front of the African. Nimako drained two inches out of the bottle and nodded his gratitude.

  “So,” Nimako said, “how may I help you?”

  “You know who Ross Egan is?” Turcott asked.

  “Of course. He is a very famous man in Dutannuru.”

  “He is a very famous man in my country as well. I am looking into his life here, before he became so famous. I understand that you are a man who can help me in my research.”

  Nimako took another swig.

  “You are looking for things that Egan might wish you not to find, eh?”

  “Things that I can prove are true,” Turcott replied.

  “My business is not as good as it was in the old days. Some of my activities are frowned upon by the Dutannuru government.”

  “You would be well compensated should your assistance prove useful.”

  “What is it that you seek?”

  “Egan has something hidden inside the powerhouse at the Umoja Dam. I need to get inside that powerhouse.”

  “Difficult, but not impossible. Security there is still very tight.”

  “I’m also chasing down a rumor, to see if it’s true.”

  “Do rumors need to be true in the politics of your country?”

  “Not always,” Turcott admitted, “but in this case, I must have proof.”

  “What is this rumor?”

  “Ross Egan bought a woman.”

  “A woman?” Nimako laughed incredulously. “You mean a prostitute?”

  “No,” Turcott replied icily. “A slave.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE

  CAMP DAVID

  OCTOBER 8

  Daniel Page entered the room where the President and his debate team were preparing for his third televised encounter with Ross Egan. The furnishings that populated the large space had been pushed against the outer walls to create room for t
wo lecterns and a central desk for the moderator.

  “To understand my opponent’s position on the environment, just look at what he chooses to drive,” the President said. “Your truck is one of the least fuel-efficient vehicles ever offered to the American people. It barely gets half the gas mileage of a Ford Model T. I have no problem with a soldier in harm’s way driving a vehicle like that, but soccer moms and commuters shouldn’t be clogging our roads and wasting fuel with them.

  “As an engineer, Ross Egan claims to be all for energy efficiency. He claims, in fact, to be some kind of an expert on the subject. If his personal choices are a sign of that expertise, then he is the wrong man for the job of leading the United States to a sustainable energy future.”

  “I think that’s it, Mr. President,” the debate coach offered, “a knife to his ribs.”

  Page motioned to the President that he needed a moment of his time.

  “Great work, everybody. Let’s take a break and be back in twenty.”

  The President grabbed a water bottle and sat down in a rocking chair. Page sat opposite the President on one of the displaced sofas.

  After the first two debates, charitably declared draws by the mainstream media, the President felt it was time to go after his opponent with direct and personal attacks.

  “How is the prep going?” Page asked.

  “Well. There’s a lot of emotion tied up in energy and the environment, but not a lot of facts for this Who Is I site to parse. I can open it up a little without worrying about some crawl disputing my point. Energy and the environment are two areas where Egan is vulnerable, and we’re going to take the fight to him.”

  “In that case,” Page said, “I brought you some more ammo. We got the goods on Egan’s wind farm.” He rapped his knuckles against the cover of a thick three-ring binder. “I won’t bore you with the engineering analysis, but the turbines on the Egan farm cannot generate the quantity of electricity they claim to be selling.”