“He’s ex–Air Force,” the Secretary of State offered.
“I think that works in our favor,” the Secretary of Defense said. The Indian Prime Minister had been a decorated fighter pilot and later a general in the Air Force. Conventional wisdom, at both State and Defense, was that politicians with a military background were less enamored of fancy, expensive hardware than politicians with no military experience. They also had more credibility when facing down the generals who were clamoring for such toys.
“I suspect he’ll probe a bit,” the Secretary of State said.
“You have to be very clear that it’s not even a possibility,” the Secretary of Defense declared.
“Obviously.”
“You’ll have to be prepared to walk away—”
“Yes, I understand that. I know how negotiations work. Is there anything else?”
“No, that’s it. Sorry to have to drop this on you,” the Secretary of Defense said earnestly.
“This is going to be China all over again, isn’t it?” the Secretary of State said. “The price will be too high.”
“I don’t think so,” the Secretary of Defense said. “The PM may be a self-interested bastard, but he still gets up every morning and reads the newspapers to see how he’s doing. If rushing Dormigen to America plays well in the villages, that’s what he’ll want to do.”
“That’s what would happen in a Hindi film,” the Secretary of State mused.
“With all the singing and dancing? I don’t watch Hindi films,” the Secretary of Defense replied. “But I am idealistic enough, or maybe just naïve enough, to think that democracy might work to our advantage here.”
“That would be nice, wouldn’t it?” the Secretary of State said.
“Good luck.”
81.
THE SECRETARY OF STATE, THE U.S. AMBASSADOR, AND assorted aides were finally ushered in to see the Indian Prime Minister at around noon Delhi time. They met in the Prime Minister’s capacious personal office, decorated with tapestries depicting various historical scenes, from the Moghul era to Independence. The Prime Minister showed the American entourage to a small sitting area with two stuffed chairs, one for him and one for the Secretary of State. Their aides, including Sumer Patel on the Indian side, arrayed themselves awkwardly behind the two principals. There were not enough seats at first; an Indian functionary rushed to bring more. “Mr. Prime Minister, we have brought you a small gift,” the Secretary of State offered, at which point an aide behind her produced an elegant wooden box about the size of a brick. The Prime Minister carefully opened a latch on the side of the box, revealing a small bottle of rare bourbon. “Ah,” the Prime Minister exclaimed with genuine enthusiasm, “the British have their scotch, but the Americans do bourbon! Shall we try it?”
“How about if we celebrate with a drink after we consummate a deal?” the Secretary of State suggested.
“Yes,” the Prime Minister agreed. “We are prepared to offer you the assistance you need. At first, we did not appreciate the seriousness of your situation. This is why . . .” He gave a wave of his hand to dismiss the Indian government’s charades when they were first approached about offering up Dormigen. On this point, he was almost certainly telling the truth. U.S. intelligence reports—and plain common sense—suggested that many governments, including the Indian government, did not believe the American Dormigen shortfall was as serious as it had been made out to be.
“I appreciate your willingness to help,” the Secretary of State said. “I think it could be an important step toward cementing our bilateral relationship. The President feels the same.”
“As do I,” the Prime Minister said.
“I have to be honest here,” the Secretary of State said. “We have few other options and we are running out of time.” In terms of playing possum, the Secretary of State was now lying on her back, legs in the air.
The Prime Minister looked skeptical. He proceeded to sniff: “There is an impressive scientific effort happening,” he said, making it sound more like a question than a statement. “A new Manhattan Project.”
“What we’ve learned about the virus is very impressive,” the Secretary of State replied. “But it’s hard for me to conceive of a situation in which the scientists can produce actionable results in the time that we have. Even if they were to come up with a treatment right now—this very minute—it would take days, if not weeks, to produce and distribute a new drug.” Rarely had she felt so manipulative while speaking the absolute truth.
“Dormigen is a more elegant solution,” the Prime Minister said.
“Of course. Absolutely,” the Secretary of State agreed.
“This could bring our two nations closer together,” the Prime Minister said.
The Secretary of State finished the thought: “This can be an opportunity to revitalize some of the bilateral initiatives that have been languishing for too long: our civil nuclear cooperation, the intelligence-sharing, the H-1B visas.”
“Exactly,” the Prime Minister said, looking over at Patel, presumably to acknowledge his work at the California Pizza Kitchen Summit. There were subtle nods of agreement among the aides in both delegations. Yet the Secretary of State was developing a bad feeling. The conversation had gone on too long—too many dates without a kiss, as one of her mentors at State would describe this kind of situation. The Prime Minister should have closed the deal by now; they had seemingly reached agreement. “We could do reciprocal state visits,” the Prime Minister offered. The longer the conversation went on, the worse the Secretary of State began to feel, regardless of what the PM was saying.
“Sooner rather than later,” the Secretary of State suggested. “The President and First Lady have a special affinity for India.” What is the holdup here? she wondered.
The door to the office opened. An aide scurried to the Prime Minister’s side and handed him a small folded note. “Excuse me,” the Prime Minister said as he read. “My goodness,” he exclaimed. “Your scientists are making great progress.” The press was eagerly reporting our wiki science breakthroughs in real time. The NIH Director reckoned there was little hope in keeping the developments secret, and no compelling reason to do so anyway. It was not a surprise that the Indian Prime Minister was keeping abreast of these scientific developments; it was surprising that an aide had interrupted him with specific news. The Ambassador and the Secretary of State exchanged a puzzled glance. “This is very exciting,” the Prime Minister said.
“We are still a very long way from having any actionable findings,” the Secretary of State said, as if she were reassuring him that his magnanimity would not be supplanted at the last minute by some scientific miracle. Both the Ambassador and the Secretary of State later described this moment in the conversation at length in their respective memoirs, but somehow it got lost in the wider public discussion of the Outbreak. Our remarkable research efforts at the NIH and this bizarre diplomatic chapter in India were inextricably linked. Yes, they were two different paths we pursued for managing the Dormigen shortage, but they converged in the Prime Minister’s office in those few delicate moments. The science—the possibility that our unprecedented network of scientists would render Dormigen unnecessary—offered the Secretary of State the only leverage she had.
“I think it would be to India’s great advantage if we were able to assist during this crisis,” the Prime Minister said, which was just a restatement of what he had been saying since the meeting began. The members of both delegations nodded in agreement. More dating, still no kissing, the Secretary of State thought. The Prime Minister continued, “Perhaps we could have a private session?”
“Of course,” the Secretary of State agreed. Anything to encourage him to get to the point. The various aides began to file out of the room. And if he’s going to ask about the F-80, the Secretary thought, the fewer people in the room, the better.
“Would it be okay for Mr. Patel and the Ambassador to stay?” the Prime Minister asked.
�
��Yes, of course,” the Secretary of State said. Patel and the U.S. Ambassador moved their chairs closer to the principals. Neither one of them said much during the balance of the meeting, but we are fortunate that the Ambassador was there to substantiate the Secretary’s account of the extraordinary conversation that followed.
The Prime Minister leaned forward, placing his fingertips together, almost like a little prayer. “This is very exciting, yes?” he asked. The Secretary did not know quite what to make of the question. She had spent every wakeful hour in recent days pleading with world leaders, fending off Chinese aggression, dealing with petty members of Congress, and squabbling with her fellow cabinet members. The most recent NIH projection was that between thirty-seven thousand and a hundred and eleven thousand people would die prematurely in the United States due to Capellaviridae. She could think of a lot of adjectives—“frustrating,” “infuriating,” “tragic,” “exhausting”—but “exciting” was not on the list. The Prime Minister must have read her expression, because he added, “Not the Outbreak, of course, but that it can be a catalyst for better relations between the world’s two most important democracies.”
“I hope so,” the Secretary of State said cautiously.
“I have two personal requests,” the Prime Minister offered.
“Please,” the Secretary answered, inviting him to continue. She had known something was coming, but a “personal request”? Her mind was racing. The F-80 would hardly be a “personal request.” Did the PM have teenage children? How many times had she been asked by foreign leaders to get their children into Harvard, Princeton, or Yale?
“It would be very beneficial for India to assist the United States with your Dormigen situation,” the Prime Minister said.
“Yes, I think we’ve established that,” the Secretary responded. Patience is like a muscle; it grows stronger when exercised. But even the Secretary’s prodigious patience, exercised constantly by rambling Russian diatribes and verbose NATO bureaucrats and lying Iranian negotiators, was growing fatigued.
“It would be good for me, too, politically,” the Prime Minister said. The Secretary and the Ambassador nodded in understanding. He continued, “I would never put my political interests ahead of what is good for my country—never.”
“There’s no reason they can’t be aligned,” the Secretary said, urging him along.
“Yes! Exactly.” He seemed relieved that his visitors grasped this point. “In that spirit, I have two requests to help keep these interests ‘aligned,’ as you say.”
“You are in a position to save a lot of lives, Mr. Prime Minister. I will do whatever I can,” the Secretary said honestly.
“Hmm, yes.” The Prime Minister was a remarkably articulate man, but he was clearly stumbling for words. “Well, first,” he began, “I would like to make sure that India gets the appropriate credit for this generous donation.”
“Obviously,” the Secretary said emphatically. She was still entirely puzzled as to where this was going.
“The scientific discoveries around this virus are moving very quickly,” the Prime Minister explained. “That’s a good thing, obviously. Please don’t get me wrong.”
Finally, the Secretary thought. So that was it: The Prime Minister was worried about being upstaged by some last-minute discovery. Not merely upstaged, but embarrassed. Nothing would be worse for his political standing at home than making a high-profile announcement offering assistance to the United States, loading up Indian cargo planes with Dormigen, and then having the whole effort rendered unnecessary—foolish, even—by this wiki Manhattan Project. India, the perpetual junior partner in the relationship, would have its planes loaded up with nowhere to go.
The Secretary of State felt a wave of relief. This she could manage. “I understand completely,” she assured the Prime Minister. Because she did. Her job was to prevent any potential embarrassment for the PM or his nation. “I’m thinking out loud here, but tell me what you think of this,” she said, pausing to gather her thoughts. “The President obviously cannot suspend the research efforts—it would be imprudent, and he couldn’t stop the progress even if he wanted to.”
“I understand.”
“But he can certainly make a statement—an entirely truthful statement—telling the American people that those efforts have not yielded a Dormigen substitute and will not in the time we have left. They’ve failed. I don’t think he would use the word ‘failed,’ because it’s been a remarkably impressive scientific effort all things considered, but the time has passed for the science to bail us out.”
“Yes,” the Prime Minister said.
“And then he could couple that statement—”
“A live statement, not just a press release,” the Prime Minister clarified.
“Absolutely,” the Secretary of State agreed. “Perhaps a short address to the nation. In any event, I could imagine him coupling that dire news with the announcement that India will be providing the Dormigen necessary to ward off the crisis. That makes perfect sense to me.”
The U.S. Ambassador interjected, “I can’t speak for the President, but I’m sure he would be comfortable running the text of those remarks by you in advance.”
“It would be the least we could do,” the Secretary added.
“Excellent,” the Prime Minister said, visibly excited. “Then I think we have a deal!”
“You had a second request?” the Secretary of State said, while thinking, Please, God, do not make it the F-80, because then this whole thing will unravel, but what else could it possibly be?
“Oh, yes, it’s a tiny favor, I can’t imagine the President would object.”
Help me, the Secretary thought, because when anyone asks for a “tiny favor” it’s usually a complete disaster, like when the bullying Turkish President tried to persuade her that arresting some of his critics in the U.S. would be “such a small thing”—
“I’d like to fly the Dormigen there myself.”
“Pardon?” the Secretary asked. Her thoughts were racing so quickly that she had missed the essence of what the Prime Minister was asking.
“I’d like to deliver it myself—the Dormigen. I’d like to ‘fly west!’ as the President would say.”
The Secretary of State was still struggling to catch up. The Ambassador, seeing her confusion, said, “You’re saying that you would like to be on the plane that takes the Dormigen to the United States?”
“Exactly.”
The Secretary of State felt a wave of euphoria sweep over her. This was going to happen. “The President would be delighted to have you deliver the Dormigen,” she said confidently. “I’m not sure we can plan a state visit with two days’ notice, but we will do everything short of that. We will plan an event befitting what you and your country are doing for the United States.”
And you can wear a fucking superhero outfit, if you want, she thought. The Secretary of State is not a profane woman, but according to her memoirs, that was exactly what was running through her mind as she shook hands with the Prime Minister, consummating the deal.
82.
THE SECRETARY OF STATE IMMEDIATELY PHONED THE CHIEF of Staff, who was traveling with the President. “We did it,” the Secretary of State reported breathlessly. The excitement in her voice was laced with fatigue.
“You’re certain?” the Chief of Staff asked.
“Yes. We have a firm commitment: five hundred thousand doses. Technically it’s a loan. The embassy is preparing the documentation. There are some other things: the civil nuclear cooperation—”
“He’s not going to go back on his word?” the Chief of Staff asked.
“The Prime Minister? No. For all his foibles, he’s rock-solid when he makes a deal. That’s the military in him.”
“Thank you,” the Chief of Staff said softly. And then, after a pause: “I’m going to tell the President now.”
The President was standing alone on the tarmac at Dover Air Force Base. He and the Chief of Staff had traveled t
here to greet the remains of the two U.S. diplomats who had been killed in the Saudi school kidnapping. The plane carrying their bodies was expected to land shortly. The families would be coming, too, along with a Marine honor guard. The President had been here many times before, greeting the fallen soldiers on their return at all hours of the night. He felt it was his duty; the families were always grateful, despite the horrific circumstances. He also enjoyed the solitude and used it as a time for reflection. On this morning he had made a point of arriving early. The Chief of Staff walked over to where the President was standing. The air was pleasantly cool and the sun was just coming up over a runway on the horizon. The Chief of Staff’s heels clicked loudly on the asphalt. The President turned slightly as she approached, seemingly annoyed by the interruption.
“We got the Dormigen,” she said without undue drama. “The Prime Minister is offering up everything we need.”
The President nodded, betraying little emotion. “I need to call Cecelia—”
“Done. It was my first call.”
“And?”
The Chief of Staff shrugged. “She’s very sick. They gave her Dormigen immediately, but her daughter says it could go either way.”
The President nodded in acknowledgment. “What does he want?”
“Who?” the Chief of Staff asked.
“The Prime Minister.”
“No problems,” the Chief of Staff assured him. “Just the stuff we talked about: civil nuclear, intelligence-sharing, visas—he didn’t even ask about the F-80.”
The President exhaled audibly. Someone watching from a distance would have no idea that he had just received great news, but the Chief of Staff knew him well enough that she could see some of the tension go out of his body. “We’re not out of the woods yet,” the President said. “We still have to make sure the Dormigen gets on a plane. There’s not a lot of time, and it is India, after all. There’s a big difference between offering five hundred thousand doses and actually getting it loaded on a plane and off the ground.”
“The Ambassador is on it,” the Chief of Staff assured him. She wished the President would take more time to savor what they had accomplished. “There’s one other thing,” she said.
The Rationing Page 42
