The Brad West Files

by Fritz Galt

  “Yeah. That’s the idea.” He hung up.

  Leaning back, Terry finally let all his breath out. He couldn’t wait to see how the conflict between President Burrows and Governor Walsh would play out.

  President Nelson Burrows liked the Oval Office. Its cool splendor suited his temperament. It also gave him serenity on those infrequent moments between meetings to reflect on the state of his presidency.

  He was a one-term president eager to extend his occupancy of the White House for another four years. At first, he had wondered if it was physically possible to juggle both his official duties as Chief Executive and his role as the party’s candidate in the upcoming election.

  There weren’t enough hours in the day to do both jobs. How had incumbent presidents handled it before?

  Finally, when a major hurricane struck South Carolina, he had found a means of addressing the needs of the nation as well as those of the campaign. He had demonstrated how active he was as a leader. And the image of him in a raincoat clearing away sticks sold well to the public.

  A second natural disaster, the spring flooding of the Mississippi had only helped to increase his popularity. It was President Burrows hurling sandbags at America’s foes.

  He was looking forward to the next disaster that global warming would throw his way when the telephone beeped demurely on his oak desk. His secretary, Martha Rush, stuck her head in the door. “It’s the President of China.”

  Burrows nodded. He was already on good terms with President Qian, having met with him three times over the course of his term. Qian spoke colloquial English, so he needn’t bother asking for an interpreter.

  “Hi, Mr. President,” he said into the slim receiver. The phone itself might have been made in China.

  “Nelson?” Qian said over the long distance line. “What in the world is going on over there?”

  “What do you mean?” Burrows quickly summoned up the broad range of bilateral issues concerning their nations. Though their militaries were barely on speaking terms, their economies had formed a deep and mutually beneficial relationship.

  “I’m talking about California,” the old man said. “They are turning back all of China’s products.”

  Burrows had to smile. The governor of a different state, Colorado, had pulled that stunt the day before. Probably to score political points in his own reelection bid. President Qian had merely confused the names of the two states and was thinking of Colorado. But he didn’t want to embarrass Qian with his mistake.

  “You’re talking about the trade embargo,” he said with confidence. “I can assure you that this is a one-time occurrence. If Colorado doesn’t open up in a day or so, I’ll have my Commerce secretary’s head.”

  “I’m not talking about Colorado. I’m talking about California.”

  Burrows was momentarily thrown off stride. Maybe he did need an interpreter after all. “I can assure you, Mr. President, that Colorado is not a big importer and we’ll have the situation resolved in no time.”

  “You just check your CNN,” President Qian said. “I’m talking about California. We sell more goods to California than any single country.”

  Now it was clear that the Chinese president was completely mixed up. Colorado wasn’t a country, even a big state. Who fed that old guy such bad intelligence? And to think that over one billion people relied on him. It was time to put a good face on the old man’s blunder and ease out of the conversation. “I can assure you that I’ll look into this at once. Goodbye for now.”

  He set the phone down. So what was on CNN? He reached for the television remote on his desk and clicked it on. As usual, it was already tuned to CNN.

  To his puzzlement, the Governor of California was holding a live press conference before the national press. The former USC wide receiver stood tall before the microphones and fielded a barrage of questions.

  “All ports of entry?” a reporter shouted above the others.

  “Airports, seaports, highways. They’re closed to imports as of right now.”

  “What prompted this action?”

  “I have been privy to confidential information concerning threats to public health and safety. Unfortunately the details are classified, and I am not at liberty to share them with you at this time.”

  Then came another barrage of questions, the kind of thing that made Burrows as a public speaker wince. “Is it avian flu?” “Is it lead paint?” “Is it a nuclear bomb?” “Is it al-Qaeda?” “Is it bio-terrorism?” “Is it chemical weapons?”

  So President Qian was correct. And Burrows had come off looking like a patronizing ignoramus. He turned to buzz his chief of staff into his office, only to see Martha Rush motioning from the doorway.

  “We have several people on the line waiting to speak to you,” she said. “It’s the President of Taiwan, the King of Saudi Arabia, the Prime Minister of Indonesia, the President of Mexico and the President of somewhere else. I forget.”

  Burrows sank his head in his hands. “Take their messages and get me Jack Hogeland on the double.”

  He took several deep breaths. Before he lit into Hogeland, his Commerce Secretary, he would give him a chance to explain exactly what the two states were up to.

  Yesterday it was Colorado turning imports away from Denver International Airport, its only international shipping port of entry. Today it was California diverting cargo planes, turning back trucks at the border, and halting sea traffic from Oakland to San Diego.

  And all this on an election year. Sure, he had prayed for a new crisis that he could manage, but this involved more than battling nature. He had to take on a political revolt.

  Chapter 14

  Back at his office in Atlanta, Terry Smith punched the Food button on his computer and ordered dinner for Barney Boone and himself.

  Barney had brought in the latest snap poll results, which showed a slight drop in Terry’s popularity over the past two hours. Terry winked at his campaign manager. They had anticipated the problem that was beginning to emerge.

  During a time of crisis, the nation tended to rally around her elected leaders. Naturally, the people’s support for other presidential candidates would wane.

  Now Terry was prepared to do something radical to differentiate himself from President Burrows. He would be proactive. He would endorse the embargos. He would claim that the crisis was an opportunity for America.

  “How is our ‘America for Americans’ campaign going?” he asked.

  “We’re preparing a media blitz,” Barney said. “For the intellectuals, we’re shooting down the economic libertarianism and globalization policy of the current administration.”

  “Put that on NPR and PBS.” Terry took another bite of his chicken teriyaki and Swiss on focaccia.

  “We’ve finalized our new slogans: ‘America for Americans’ and ‘Believe in Thyself.’”

  “Good,” Terry said. After all, those were his ideas.

  “For talk radio, I’ve lined up spots on more than the normal Christian stations.”

  Terry nodded.

  “Churches. I’ve begun to mobilize evangelicals with a leaflet campaign supporting the labor unions.”

  “And the broadsheets?” Terry was already familiar with the lingo.

  “As far as the papers go, my staff started supplying off-the-record material and leaks regarding your views. There will be no question as to where Terry Smith stands on trade.”

  Terry pointed the last tidbits of his sandwich at Barney. “And when and where do I make my speech?”

  “You’ll trot out your new theme tomorrow at your Sunday service. Your speech will embrace the two governors. Our goal is to transform the public’s shock and dismay to respect for the patriotism and courage of these men and their bold actions.”

  Terry licked the tips of his fingers. “Sounds fine to me. Send me the speech so I can start rehearsing it.”

  Dr. Yu looked up from the pigskin and stared out the window. A group of skiers had gathered around a pair of
slim, young women in colorful ski outfits. Their faces were turned away, but one appeared to be talking on her phone.

  Liang swaggered up beside him and stared, his mouth agape. “So graceful. I didn’t know that Americans could be as beautiful as Chinese.”

  Yu watched the two women who had attracted all the admirers. Their hair was frosted with snow. When they twisted so elegantly around on their skis, he could only see goggles and white cream smeared on their lips. “How can you discern a woman’s beauty through all that ski paraphernalia?”

  Liang sighed. “Look at their form. It speaks volumes.”

  Yu shook his head. “You’ve been out of China for two days and already you miss Chinese women.”

  “There’s only one that I truly miss.”

  Yu didn’t want to hear about it. Maybe he could arouse Liang’s interest in other women and take his mind off of May. “Why don’t we go out dancing tonight?”

  Liang let out a burst of laughter. “You, dancing?”

  Yu shrugged. “I know the tango, the cha-cha, the Viennese Waltz, the foxtrot, and I am even making headway on the quickstep.”

  Liang gave him an amused look tinged with newfound respect. “Where did you learn such things?”

  “At the park,” Yu said simply. “Just after tai chi.”

  Liang returned his lustful gaze at the young women who began skiing cautiously downhill. “I could use a woman tonight before we leave.”

  “Where are we going?” Was their work finished so soon?

  “We will continue to focus our attention on the American West. But we must keep moving.”

  Moving sounded good to Yu. The more they moved, the longer he could keep Liang’s rat eyes off his daughter. And the further from civilization, the better. “I feel out of touch with the land. I feel my powers waning.”

  “Then you tell me the kind of location you need.”

  Yu tried to come up with the most isolated place he knew. Death Valley might be pushing his luck. “I have heard of the kachinas of the Pueblo Indians. They communicate with their spirits in round, underground constructions called kivas, good for focusing their thoughts.”

  “Where are these kivas?”

  “There are many in the Four Corners region of the West.”

  Liang hauled out a road atlas. “The four states of Utah, Colorado, New Mexico and Arizona meet at a single point.”

  Yu drew up beside him. Just to the northeast of the four corners was a national park. “I have heard of the Anasazi cliff dwellers of Mesa Verde. I believe they made kivas.”

  Liang traced a finger from Breckenridge southward then west. He followed state highways to Durango, the city nearest to Mesa Verde. “Tomorrow morning we leave for Durango.”

  Yu looked out the window. The two sex kittens had long since departed.

  “Don’t worry. We’ll hit the town tonight,” Liang said. “You will have your chance to cha-cha.”

  Chapter 15

  President Burrows walked through the private East Wing quarters of the White House en route to his Saturday dinner. He strolled with ease and familiarity through the bachelor’s pad that he had hardly bothered to redecorate to his tastes.

  He had been coasting through his first term in office and enjoying an approval rating of well over fifty percent.

  At home, he had things well in hand. The economy was expanding nicely. Disasters had struck the country, but under his guidance, the government had responded quickly and the nation was recovering.

  His foreign policy agenda was credited for being even-handed and wise. He pushed for further globalization where America could tap into new markets. And the public didn’t respond adversely to his small incursions into famine-plagued and ethnically hostile areas. After three years in the White House, he felt like he was getting a handle on the key challenges facing the world.

  Then came the Reverend Terry Smith.

  Burrows reached his private dining room and greeted Jack Hogeland, who already stood waiting for him.

  “Sorry to be late,” Burrows said. He didn’t need to offer excuses to his good friend, the head of the Department of Commerce. Everyone in the Cabinet knew he had a busy schedule. “Please sit down.”

  The White House chef personally brought out several Cajun dishes for their consumption, and they jumped in with a hearty appetite.

  “How did you get such succulent ham?” Hogeland asked the chef.

  “I use what I call a ‘Cajun microwave,’” the man said in his heavy drawl. “It’s a stainless steel oven that heats the pig for twenty-four hours. That keeps in all the flavor.”

  Burrows winked at Hogeland across the table. “Maybe we should export this product.”

  The chef left the room with a satisfied smile.

  After several minutes of deep appreciation of the food, Burrows was ready to talk business, beginning with the recent announcements by the governors of Colorado and California. “What gives with Stokes and Walsh?”

  Hogeland could only shake his head. “It beats me. The Department of Homeland Security has not upgraded our threat advisory. We’re still at Code Yellow. It’s not coming from the federal government.”

  “What could the states possibly know that we don’t?” Burrows said. He was struck for the first time by the panicky feeling that nothing less than the federal system of government was in jeopardy. States were not sharing information and were flaunting their autonomy. “This seems deeper than the threat of terrorism. Is it protectionism?”

  He eyed the secretary closely. Hogeland and the U.S. Trade Representative had masterminded several sweet trade agreements that were making the WTO run to everyone’s satisfaction, including big business, consumers, labor and agriculture.

  “Protectionism? I can’t imagine. Neither state is suffering from a huge trade imbalance. If anything, they are investors overseas, particularly the Pacific Rim. If they force foreign governments to close their markets, they would be shooting themselves in the foot.”

  Burrows lingered over a glass of white table wine from his home state of Washington. “Then it has to be political.”

  Jack Hogeland cleared his throat. “I’ve been running corporations for years. So I guess that makes me an expert on American politics.”

  The Commerce Secretary could operate the levers of Washington better than most lobbyists.

  “Even though the two governors are political moderates, and therefore unreliable to either party,” Hogeland added with a grin, “I do know Herman and Randy well enough and respect both enormously. They have a firm grasp of issues and the support of their legislatures.”

  “So it’s not state politics at play,” Burrows concluded. “I’m wondering if they’re about to make a bid for my office.”

  Hogeland frowned. “If so, that’s a strange way to go about it.”

  Burrows wasn’t so sure. It would be political suicide to attack the Burrows administration from within his party, as his favorability ratings would indicate. There were other parties of course. The declared candidate of the opposition party was Senator Hawthorn from Missouri, and then there was that political maverick, Terry Smith. But, Stokes and Walsh might be trying to differentiate themselves before they began their run. At any rate, he shouldn’t burden Hogeland with his political woes.

  “Try the wine. It’s excellent.”

  Hogeland raised his glass. “I hope your state doesn’t go the same route. Companies like Boeing, Starbucks and Microsoft as well as your apples are global success stories.”

  Burrows was surprised that Hogeland had left out Washington’s fine wines that led world sales in certain categories. Banning wine imports would sure make the Europeans unhappy. “Do you think countries will retaliate with their own trade barriers?”

  Hogeland took a sip, puckered his lips, and frowned. “I’d hate to see that happen.”

  “I can tell you, many presidents are mad as hell.” Burrows hadn’t been able to return the avalanche of phone calls he had received. “We have to
stamp this out right away.”

  Hogeland nodded. “You wouldn’t believe the long line of container ships backed up outside of L.A.”

  “I already saw it on the news.” And so did the rest of the world. “How can we combat this?”

  “Have you called the governors?”

  “Of course I have,” Burrows said. “It was the first thing I did. They say it’s all terrorism related, but wouldn’t be specific about the threat. Because they’re so vague, rumors will start flying and other states might follow suit.”

  Hogeland seemed particularly troubled by that possibility. “We could move in the troops to reopen the port facilities.”

  “On what legal grounds? They aren’t violating federal law. It’s not an insurrection.”

  “Okay, forget the troops. How about punitive action?”

  Burrows shook his head and chased the last scrap of jambalaya around his bowl. “If we want to pick a fight with them, they could tie up legal action in court for years.”

  Hogeland seemed to be running out of ideas. “How about opening the ports by executive order?”

  “I’m afraid it may come to that. That will be the stick when I fly out to Sacramento first thing tomorrow. I’m going to confront Walsh directly and try to read what he’s up to. We’ll only back the executive order up with federal troops if necessary. Gosh darn it, this could become a national crisis.”

  “Watch your language, Mr. President.”

  “Sorry. In the meantime, better get used to the wine.”

  After their afternoon’s fruitless search on the slopes of Breckenridge, May and Jade needed a way to relax and unwind. May’s muscles were stiff and her frustration was high. Nothing sounded better than a trip downstairs to the fitness room for a soak in the hot tub.

  Jade slipped her bikini-clad body into the foaming water. “What was on Brad’s mind?”

  May stood on the deck in her leopard skin one piece and inhaled the steam. After a day of thin, dry air, it opened her breathing passages. Ah yes. Brad’s phone call. She tried to remember her awkward conversation with him while she had stood on the ski slope under the scrutiny of so many people.