USA, Inc. (A Mike Wardman Novel: Book 1)

by Larry Kahaner

  The server offered Manger a drink, and he ordered a Sam Adams seasonal. If it wasn’t for their seasonal beers, how would he keep track of whether it was spring or summer? In Austin, there wasn’t much of a difference.

  Manger feigned looking at his smartphone and snapped off a shot of the governor’s drinking companion. It was too far away to hear any conversation, but their meeting seemed cordial, with both men laughing at times. It didn’t seem to Manger like it was a joke laugh, but more like hearing something so bizarre that it seemed funny. Then it turned serious.

  The two talked for about a half-hour, then shook hands. Manger followed the governor to his hotel, where he put in for the night.

  The next morning, Manger picked up his governor and accompanied him to breakfast.

  “What did you learn, Stan?”

  Manger laid out the evening for his boss. “The one unknown is this man,” he said, holding his smartphone up to the governor. “I’ve seen him before, but I don’t know who he is. I’m sure I can find out.”

  “No need. That’s George Minich. He’s a New York Federal Reserve governor. He’s on TV all the time, and there was also a spread on him in Austin Magazine. He’s originally from the area. That’s where you’ve seen him.”

  Manger knew enough not to inquire any further about what, if anything, connected the CalPERS chief and the Federal Reserve governor.

  The governor sipped his coffee and considered what Manger told him. He looked again at Minich’s picture.

  “I’ll be damned,” he said. “The California governor is doing exactly what I should be doing.”

  Chapter 7

  Mike stood alongside the other mourners paying their respects to Marilyn. The funeral ceremony in the graveyard was small, simple.

  As the minister spoke, Mike remembered the funerals in Iraq. They were not ceremonies like today’s, but what they called “ramp funerals,” where caskets containing service personnel were wheeled onto military transports for burial back in the States. Their buddies stood and watched as the caskets disappeared into the belly of a cargo plane. That’s what passed for funerals during the war.

  Mike had witnessed enough death in Iraq to last a lifetime. He’d seen too many friends die, too many ramp funerals, and the memories made him sick to his stomach.

  Now, here he was again, watching the burial of one more comrade who’d died in the line of duty. Comrade? She was more than a comrade.

  As he looked over the mourners’ faces, he saw one that looked faintly familiar. When the ceremony ended and people filed out, he walked over.

  “Excuse, me. I’m Mike Wardman. I was a close friend of Marilyn.”

  “I know who you are, Mike. I’m Evelyn Montclair—Marilyn’s sister.”

  Chapter 8

  Richard Kane walked deliberately across the stage. Tall, he held his shoulders squarely, his back straight. He turned and pivoted at the podium, ready to deliver his speech to an audience of two.

  Twenty minutes earlier, two security guards had asked the governors of Ohio and Illinois for their phones before they entered the helicopter waiting atop a building on Wisconsin Avenue in DC. As if by rote, each began the sentence they repeated to those who asked them to do things they didn’t want to do. “Do you know who I am?” But the two security guards cut them off. They stood there, hands outstretched, waiting for the phones. If the governors wanted to board, they would have to comply. If it meant humbling themselves so they could meet one of the richest men in the world, they would obey.

  Now they were in a manse outside of Easton, Maryland, near Chesapeake Bay’s eastern shore. Many of Washington’s powerbrokers, including vice presidents, cabinet secretaries, and others, had weekend homes there. Most also had helipads on their properties.

  The former plantation house sat on fifty acres of land adjacent to a creek that fed into the Bay. A small cabin cruiser and sailboat were tied to the pier. After landing, the guests rode a chauffeured golf cart to the massive, pillared entrance of the large, white house. They grew nervous as different guards eyed them suspiciously while escorting them inside.

  As they made their way through a marble lobby, they were led to a downstairs room whose only light came from a small lamp at the podium. Behind the podium, which held a remote control and a manila folder, stood a silver movie screen. The two men were pointed to the front row, where they waited. They only knew that the invitation came from Richard Kane, one of the world’s wealthiest men.

  Kane had made his personal fortune, estimated at sixty billion dollars, by having the foresight to build mobile telecommunications companies twenty years ago in growing African cities such as Lagos, Kinshasa, Khartoum, and others when Western companies wouldn’t touch the area. It was clear to Kane that these bustling and burgeoning cities would need telephone service. Their landline systems were antiquated, built by the British and French in the early twentieth century. Kane locked in long-term leases on the highest building roofs and installed cell sites. This allowed his company to offer fast, cheap, and reliable service to anyone at affordable prices. He repeated this lucrative rubric throughout the continent.

  Kane’s fortune wasn’t built only on high technology. He also headed the largest concrete cartel in Africa, providing the foundation for every major road, bridge, shopping mall, and airport runway constructed during the past twenty years. He saw a need where other Westerners only saw only problems and hurdles. He never gave up, and chipped away with negotiations until all sides were pleased. Over the years, he’d sat across the bargaining table from tribal warlords, despots, and political psychopaths, and cut deals with all of them. In the end, everyone walked away happy and rich.

  Now, he was setting his sights closer to home.

  To say that he was an apolitical soul mixed with an ardent capitalist would be too simple a description for Kane. Yes, he was about making money, and no, he didn’t care with whom he did business. But Kane thought of himself as a pragmatist and benefactor whose task was to move humankind forward. He worshipped human progress in all its forms. He believed that everyone who wanted to be rich could attain it. Others could choose a different, nonmonetary path if that was their desire. Kane took the position that human capital was unlimited, and that if we worked together, we could come up with fixes for all of the world’s diseases, ills, and shortcomings if the best solutions were given a push in the right direction.

  “The United States doesn’t work anymore.” Kane’s booming voice filled the room. “Our political system is toxic. Look at the last government shutdown. Two sides, both with intractable positions, pushing the country toward a financial precipice. And for what? To what end? Where did it get us?”

  The governors, one Republican, the other Democrat, looked at each other with contempt as they went over in their minds the events that had divided the nation into two warring camps. Although there had been partial shutdowns in the past, this latest one was the most contentious. Each side had dug in their heels over a plan that promised every citizen the opportunity to buy affordable medical care. Some Republicans saw the Democrats as wild spenders who wanted to move the country toward socialism. Democrats saw the other party as stiff rich people with no regard for the besieged middle class.

  What other countries saw was the pillar of the global economy flirt with default that could bring the rest of the world to its knees. For the first time, China—which owned more US debt in the form of treasury bonds than any other nation—told the Americans to cut out this foolishness. In diplomatic jargon, of course, but the adult was being scolded by the child.

  For several weeks, the world had been held hostage by the US political system, until an agreement was reached in the eleventh hour.

  “Both sides could have ended this before it began,” Kane said. “Not only did it hurt our standing in the world, but it cost millions of dollars that could have been directed to more fruitful purposes.”

  Both governors started to bicker, but Kane raised his hand. “Stop!”


  The men quieted down immediately.

  Kane pressed a button on the remote and the screen lit. A copy of the Constitution appeared, with yellow highlighting Article 4.

  “I know that you’re all familiar with this document, and with this particular section.” He offered a smirk and continued. “It concerns the states’ relationship with the federal government and with each other.”

  He pointed the laser dot at one excerpt:

  New States may be admitted by the Congress into this Union; but no new States shall be formed or erected within the Jurisdiction of any other State; nor any State be formed by the junction of two or more States, or parts of States, without the Consent of the Legislatures of the States concerned as well as of the Congress.

  “Every few years, we hear about states or parts of states that are fed up with the federal government and want to form their own states. It’s not going to happen. I grow angry when I hear politicians whip people up just for show about something that can’t be accomplished. Talk of secession is a waste of time. Hell, we fought a war over it. But look at this. Again, I know that you’re probably familiar with it.”

  The red laser dot danced over the words. Section IV: The United States shall guarantee to every State in this Union a Republican Form of Government …

  He moved the laser dot over the word “Republican” several times.

  “Interpretations by Constitutional scholars say that a republican form of government means anything but a monarch. Further interpretations suggest that it means a representative form of government.”

  Governor Gene Rodrigues of Illinois broke his silence. “So we’re talking about citizens electing people to govern them, not a form of direct democracy.”

  “Correct,” Kane said. “Direct democracy is unwieldy when you have more than a handful of people.”

  Rodrigues jotted in his pad.

  Ohio Governor Glen Greybill said, “Mr. Kane, with all due respect, what’s the civics lesson for?”

  “I would not have asked you here if this wasn’t important. Indulge me a few more minutes of your time.”

  Greybill settled back in his seat.

  Kane continued, “Here’s where it gets interesting. You may not know that the Constitution does not mandate how state governments are structured.” Both men looked at Kane with renewed curiosity. “Traditionally, states follow the federal three-branch system. An executive branch, a judicial branch, and a legislature. There’s nothing that says states can’t come up with a different political structure, one that works more efficiently, economically, and even more fairly.”

  Both governors stiffened. Greybill said, “Really, states can do that?”

  “Already, two states are moving in that direction, and three states on the East Coast have begun the process. I am seeking states in the Midwest to add to the mix. That’s why I invited you both here.”

  “How does this solve the gridlock problem?” Rodrigues asked.

  “There are two separate issues at play here,” Kane responded. “First, we have the two-party system, which used to work. Although not perfect, both sides used to reach consensus, even though the arguments were often contentious. This changed during the mid-1990s, when big money took over both parties. Lobbyists ran the show, and Congress was willing to let them do so as long as the campaign contributions kept flowing. The system is totally corrupt and we all know it.

  “The second issue is the parties’ composition. Radical wings of both parties make compromise impossible. They are too far apart, and refuse to work together for the common good. We saw that in the government shutdown. To put it plainly, our political system no longer works and needs to be replaced.”

  Both governors fidgeted in their chairs.

  Kane clicked the remote and a chart burst onto the screen. “The conventional wisdom is that we are a divided nation, that we’re polarized and don’t see eye to eye. That’s absolutely false. Polls show that most Americans are centrists with a socially progressive streak.”

  He pointed to a chart with bullet points. “They believe the system is broken, the economy could do better, and that we should all simply get along. Despite what you may think, most Americans are for gay marriage and contraception, social issues, personal issues that both parties have politicized. Let me rephrase that: most Americans don’t care what others do in their own personal lives. In many ways, Americans are libertarians. They don’t want people to go to jail for smoking pot, and they support helping others through social programs. They want everyone to be able to afford healthcare, because if everyone is healthy, it helps them by keeping the cost of healthcare down.

  “Americans may be ignorant about other people’s religion, but they couldn’t care who their neighbor worships or doesn’t worship as long as they don’t leave trash on their front lawn. And one more thing—Americans believe in meritocracy. If you work hard and follow the rules, you should be rewarded. Lately, however, this has not been the case. Many Americans are frustrated and angry.

  “To watch the news, you would think that America is a country split between right wing and left wing. The truth is that the bulk of Americans are in the middle, not at the ends of the spectrum.”

  Kane looked at both men harshly. “Instead of representing the overall bent of the majority of Americans, our elected officials—including both of you—are not representing the people’s wishes. They play to the radical ends.”

  Kane raised his voice. “That is not a democracy.”

  “So what’s your definition?” Greybill challenged.

  “In a democracy, the majority rules, but the rights of the minority are respected. This doesn’t include the right to hold up the political process through lengthy legislative procedures or frivolous lawsuits.”

  “What about people that are so adamant about their beliefs, so passionate about their positions, say, on abortion, gambling, or animal rights, that it takes on zealotry, and they want to impress their beliefs on everyone else?” asked Rodrigues.

  “If they are in the minority, then they are overridden,” Kane said. “They can believe what they want, say what they want, often do what they want, but the majority rules. If they are so strident in their way of life that they can’t stand to be around those who don’t believe as they do, then they can leave. Start their own city or town, like the Amish or Mennonites. We wish them luck.

  “There’s one more broad-brush item you should understand about my proposed system.”

  Both governors perked up at hearing the phrase “my proposed system.”

  “Political decisions are based on two criteria: science and future prosperity. Our goal is to make informed decisions based on the best science, not ideology. There is no place for citizens to believe that climate change is a lie or that the earth is only six thousand years old. The other tenet is to make decisions based on improving everyone’s life and health. We do what makes sense for the most people. The greatest good for the greatest number.”

  “It sounds like you have this all figured out,” said Rodrigues.

  “The governors of five other states seem to think so,” Kane replied.

  Chapter 9

  Marilyn’s condo stood three blocks from the boardwalk, near the fire station and the post office. If it were summer, the streets would be busy with minivans scurrying to find a parking space. The firehouse doors would be wide open to let in the ocean breeze. Now, only a handful of locals walked to their jobs, the firehouse doors remained shut, and protective bags still covered parking meters until Memorial Day, the start of the summer season.

  Because the Atlantic Ocean retains summer warmth, winters are rarely very cold, and snow is unusual. Today, however, the wind picked up, and fast-moving clouds played peekaboo with the sun. The air was damp and bitter, even though spring was only a few weeks away.

  Mike entered the lobby of Marilyn’s building, rode the elevator to the third floor and knocked on the door. It swung open. Evelyn stood there with a photograph in her hand
. She was crying.

  “I came to the States as fast as I could.” She explained how, like her sister, she was a biologist. But instead of fish, she studied mammals for the United Nations Food and Agriculture Organization. “I had to work my way out of the jungle, catch a plane from Ihosy, then to Antananariyo, then—” She stopped herself. “It took me three days to get here. It’s just the two of us. No other siblings. Our parents are gone.”

  Mike held her hand and studied her face. She had the same black hair and fine facial structure as Marilyn. He reflected on how both sisters had chosen to work in tough environments at physically demanding jobs. They tried to make the world better, moved the karmic wheel a little further along through public service.

  “I was collecting data about the greater bamboo lemur, which is only found in a remote region of southeastern Madagascar. It looks like a teddy bear with red eyes. It’s extremely rare, and possesses an odd trait that we want to better understand. Each of these animals eats enough cyanide daily to kill a human. For people to consume bamboo shoots, the plants first have to be boiled to leach out the poison. Why the lemurs can eat this uncooked vegetation and still happily swing from trees is a mystery. If we solved it, doctors might learn how to produce more effective antitoxins, and … I’m sorry, I’m talking so much. I can’t seem to help it.”

  “That’s okay,” Mike said. He looked around. Last summer, he and Marilyn had painted the walls, soothing grays and blues, and picked out some of the furniture together.

  “Tell me what happened to my sister,” Evelyn said.

  He described what he’d seen on the boat and how he’d found Marilyn in the ice hold with the dead captain. He purposely omitted describing her battered face, bloody and bruised after her attackers had done their work. He did tell her that the FBI was investigating the case, but his boss wanted him to stay on it. She didn’t question the internal politics.