by Fritz Galt
Now he was leaving it all behind. And for what?
In the forefront of his consciousness came the harsh roar of the crowd beyond the gate. Not only would the trade dispute severely cripple the United States, but China’s economic miracle would come to a screeching halt.
“Liang!” Good god. A double whammy was about to take place. Two coup d’etats at once. Not only would Smith take over the United States, but Liang would assume power in Beijing.
Not only was America headed for trouble; China would change forever. With Liang in the driver’s seat, China would retreat into the old cultural revolution and cold war mentality, if not the days of warring kingdom.
He studied the man carefully. “I don’t think I can do this. Too much rides on it. I can’t even get a grip on my own life.”
The man stretched a hand out and rested it on Brad’s shoulder. “I see a little bit of myself in you. You can do it because you have to.”
The connections swirled in Brad’s mind and formed a complete circle. It all related. If there was no China, there was no May. He had to go, and he had to succeed.
“But what have I got to work with?”
The man’s dry lips curled knowingly. “You are Sullivan’s kid. You will succeed.”
The man rose to his full height and extended a hand. Still uncertain, Brad stood up. The boat he had been sitting on didn’t rock. It remained solid. To his amazement, he was tall enough to look the stranger in the eye. They were equals.
“Good luck to you, Brad.”
He returned the warm handshake, but still felt at a disadvantage. “One more question. Are you Mick Pierce?”
The man smiled. “Remember rule number one. Don’t tip your hand.”
Then, seemingly without a care in the world, the man strolled off under the willow trees straight toward the wall of sound.
Chapter 19
With early morning sun glinting off the wings of his airplane, President Nelson Burrows raced westward to California.
He spent most of the flight avoiding the press that was seated in the rear cabin of Air Force One. Instead, he focused on campaign slogans, talking points and position papers. It all seemed so vapid. His upcoming meeting with Randy Walsh was far more important to the country than politics. It might even touch off a battle that could consume all other issues in the race.
Ah yes. The race.
His key opponent for the presidency was Spencer Hawthorn, a compromise choice by the other party, and as such not much competition ideologically or in terms of experience. Burrows had been a U.S. Representative from the State of Washington. His opponent was a freshman U.S. Senator from Missouri. Hawthorn was telegenic but vague in his attacks; his party had yet to get its act together.
Then there was that other fellow, Terry Smith, the new darling of the media. He represented the worst kind of adversary. He drove wedges in Burrows’ party, he brought up touchy subjects such as trade and religion, and he loved the spotlight.
The three-way race might end up a photo finish. As such, he was determined to address both rival candidates in his attack campaign.
By midmorning, he touched down in Sacramento. As planned, Governor Walsh was there to meet him. Even if a governor was defying the federal government, he couldn’t snub a visiting president.
Burrows eyed Walsh carefully as they moved with a phalanx of special agents. Was the former USC football star making a last-minute bid for the presidency? Since Walsh was a member of the same political wing of Burrows’ party, Walsh would have to woo over all of Burrows’ delegates at the national convention. It was hard to imagine that happening unless Walsh had a wedge. And the trade issue could be just that wedge.
But Governor Walsh wasn’t playing up to the television cameras. Instead, he seemed to defer to the president.
Burrows said a few kind words about California and gave a toss of the hand to the press. Then he climbed into his limousine that had been flown out the night before.
Even though he and the governor were shielded from the driver and Secret Service by soundproof glass, Burrows was reluctant to discuss the sensitive subject of trade until they were completely alone.
The governor’s mansion provided all the seclusion he needed. He raised a cup of coffee to his lips and surveyed the landscaped grounds. A bright sun reflected off the swimming pool onto the patio where they sat. All the place needed was a gaggle of gorgeous nymphets. The governor had it all. What more could a man want?
It was time to broach the subject.
“I’ve known you for a number of years, Randy. There’s no need to keep secrets from me. Why are you grandstanding on this trade issue?”
Walsh looked surprised. “Trade?”
“Yes, trade. I’ve got world leaders clamoring to know what this embargo is all about.”
“What gave you the impression that this has anything to do with trade?”
Walsh’s poise unnerved him. Perhaps Burrows had gotten excited over nothing and there was some simple explanation that he had overlooked. Walsh couldn’t have really thought it was about terrorism. After all, Burrows had embraced the subject of terrorism and made it his own. He had been elected on terrorism. Walsh certainly couldn’t outflank him on that issue.
“If this isn’t about trade, what is it?” Burrows hated having to tease out Walsh’s motives.
“I’ve had the import facilities closed because of significant security threats.”
Burrows closed his eyes. Had Walsh been handed one too many hits in his football career? It might be difficult, but to make the trip worthwhile to taxpayers he would have to hear Walsh out. “Would you care to share those threats with our Department of Homeland Security?”
“If I knew of specific threats, I’d share them with you. But they aren’t specific. They’ve just passed a certain threshold.”
Burrows wanted to make the point that the federal government set the security threat levels, not the states. But surely Walsh was aware of that. “You’re facing a challenge in the next election, so you’re making this into a sovereignty issue.”
Walsh looked taken aback by the suggestion. “I wouldn’t use security as a political weapon. Nor would I fabricate issues on which to run.”
Funny. Burrows would.
“I’m on solid ground here,” Walsh said. “If anything, this move will harm my chances of reelection.”
Reelection? So Walsh wasn’t considering a run for the presidency. That was a relief.
Burrows stared hard at the fit young governor. Why was Walsh doing this to himself? Their party held a vision of a global marketplace. Free trade made sense politically and in terms of national security, and it appealed to most corporations, investors and even voters. “Yeah, dusting off old protectionist rhetoric would be some desperate ploy at this point in the race.”
“I’m surprised at you,” Walsh said. “This isn’t rhetoric. It isn’t about races. It’s about protecting the citizens of my state. In fact, I was hoping to gain your support on this matter.”
“My support for what?” Burrows spread his hands out. “For the party? For the presidency? For the governorship?”
“No!” Walsh said. “For the people.”
Burrows was sure he was missing something. What exactly did Walsh want? He had never seen Walsh so maddeningly vague. Was this some elaborate blackmail scheme? If so, he would have to call Walsh’s bluff. “Randy, I’m going to have to reopen your ports by executive order.”
Walsh grabbed his head and slowly shook it. “It won’t work, sir. You can’t force the citizens of a state to incur such risks.”
Finally, Burrows had to accept the only possible explanation. Walsh may once have been a hero on the playing field, but he was a coward in real life. He had caved in to terrorists.
He stood and offered the governor his hand. Walsh rose with him and, despite the supple grip of a wide receiver, his handshake was uncertain.
“Thank you for your time,” Burrows said. “If you don’t mind,
I’d like to give you some personal advice.”
He’d never met anyone unwilling to take advice from a president.
“I’d take a long vacation,” he said. “You’re letting this terrorism thing get to you. I have to admit that it gets to me sometimes. But I find that an occasional vacation fling is good for the soul.”
“Fling?”
“Yeah.” Burrows nudged the fellow bachelor. “You know.”
“Er, thank you, Mr. President. I’ll remember that.”
Burrows winked at him and let himself out of the garden. It was some place: private yet spacious, and green all year round. Playmates would go gaga over all the power and prestige associated with the governorship.
The ex-football player just had to learn that he wasn’t the playmaker any longer.
That was Burrows’ job.
The moment the president’s 747 left California airspace, Burrows grabbed his secure phone and asked to be patched through to the Pentagon.
“Joe?” He had reached the Secretary of Defense, Joseph Grady. “I’ve just signed an executive order to open the import facilities in California. I’m sending in Customs workers to do their job. I want you to escort them to work with troops. Nothing harsh. Just a quiet show of force.”
“Right, sir,” Joe Grady said.
“Now, I don’t want Air Traffic Control to divert cargo flights away from airports.”
“They’re under federal control, sir. I will ensure that it doesn’t happen.”
“And how about the seaports?”
“We’ll see to that, too. Port security is under the auspices of the Coast Guard, but port authorities are under city control. So we’ll need to send forces there, most likely Navy.”
“Good luck,” Burrows said with a sigh, and hung up the phone. He appreciated the can-do spirit of the armed forces. It was too bad he only got to tap into it as a last resort.
American retailers owed him big time for his bold move. And think of all those American companies that had learned to manufacture overseas to tap into cheaper labor markets. Then there were the foreign leaders whose economies depended on American markets. A lot of corporations and countries would be indebted to his statesman-like action. The big question was how it would sell with the good citizens of California.
Then he called in his press secretary and informed him of his decision. They agreed that the press pool in the back of the plane should be notified first that an executive order had been issued.
“Do you want a photo of the signing?” the spokesman asked.
Burrows shook his head. “Just go back and tell them.”
Out of pure curiosity and as a test of the speed at which news traveled, he turned on the television in his airborne office. He flipped past the Sunday morning talk shows to a news station and checked his watch. The hourly news would begin in four minutes.
He idly watched innocuous ads for hotel chains and the latest prescription drugs. The hotels and drug companies were run by people he knew. He liked their soft-sell approach to advertising. Then a new commercial came on the air that riveted his attention. It was paid for by the People First Party.
Before an outsized American flag billowing in the breeze, Terry Smith announced his wholehearted endorsement of the Colorado and California governors’ bans on imports. “Let each man search deep in his heart and wrestle with his conscience. Is America for Guatemalans? Is America for Indonesians? Is America for Chinese? Or is America for Americans?”
Burrows winced at the sheer demagoguery, the bald-faced populist approach, the appeal to the lowest common denominator. Was this campaign going to come down to, of all things, patriotism?
The preacher ranted on, a black book raised in one hand. “Believe in thyself, my fellow citizens. It is time to stand before your God and believe in yourself, as you believe in Him. He created you in His image, and He created this thriving democracy. It is time to defend our way of life. My fellow Americans, believe in thyself!”
No. This presidential race was going to boil down to religion.
Burrows gave a silent prayer of thanks when the tanned, beaming face of Terry Smith vanished from the screen and the news hour began. He checked his watch. He had informed his press secretary exactly four minutes earlier.
“Good afternoon,” the anchorwoman began. “It’s 1:00 p.m. in New York and 10:00 a.m. in Los Angeles. Welcome to World News Hour. Leading off the hour, President Nelson Burrows has issued an executive order to reopen California’s ports to international trade.”
He was impressed. News did travel fast.
“However,” the anchorwoman continued, “in response to the President’s action, Governor Walsh announced just moments ago that he would withhold state benefits to longshoremen who defied his call for a work stoppage.”
Burrows slammed the palm of his hand down on his desk. It rattled his phone and knocked his pen and clock set over. “Darn that idiot.”
“This trade versus security issue looms as the dominant theme of the presidential contest,” the anchor droned on.
Just as Burrows was picking the desk set off the floor, his chief of staff popped into the office. “Are you all right, sir?”
Burrows glowered at him and jabbed the pen back into its holder.
“I thought I heard a gunshot,” the man explained.
Burrows couldn’t believe it. “You thought I would shoot myself over a trade embargo?”
“Of course not,” the man said apologetically but not convincingly. “The thought never entered my mind.”
Chapter 20
May woke up in a white room. It was a small place with cement walls, white bars on the door, and a bunk bed with her mattress on top.
She wasn’t groggy or dizzy, but the back of her head felt tender to the touch. She was mildly disturbed by a vivid dream she had just experienced, that of a cake melting in the rain and of her running from door to door asking if somebody knew the recipe.
Where was she anyway?
You’ve been bad, bad girls, a voice sang.
“We must have been.” She sat up straight and swept her hair out of her eyes.
A tiny voice drifted up from below. “Who are you talking to?”
May looked over the edge. It was Jade, lying on the lower bunk.
“I’ve been so, so bad,” May found herself saying.
“Tell me about it.”
Vague recollections of her arms wrapped around some sort of monster on a dance floor disturbed her.
Could it be magic? the voice sang.
“I don’t think so.” May swung her feet over the side of the bed. She had been sleeping in her white outfit and cowboy boots.
Jade’s head popped up beside her bunk. “Who in the world are you talking to?”
May forced a smile despite the pain at the back of her head. “I’ve been talking to my new friend, Donna.”
“Oh, her,” Jade said. “She’s still in my head, too.”
“I feel like I’ve been hit by a club.” May gently probed the bump on the back of her scalp. “Are you okay?”
“No problems here.” Jade threw her friend a sympathetic smile. “Not even a hangover.” She strolled across the small room toward the metal door. “Where do you suppose we are?”
The previous night’s monster had been Liang. From all outward appearances, they were no longer in his clutches. They were in some sort of madhouse. “Did Liang put us in here?”
Just then a uniformed guard appeared at the door. “Are you ladies finally awake?”
The two stared at the beefy man with the bushy mustache.
“If you each have $200, you’re free to go.”
May caught her breath and tried to put the pieces together. “We are in jail?”
“That’s correct, ma’am. We found both of you lying on the floor in the mall. But we found no illegal substances on your person.”
May looked at Jade for a translation, but she didn’t seem to know what the guard was talking about either
.
“And you weren’t disturbing the peace,” he went on. “So it simply comes down to a fine for public drunkenness and vagrancy.”
Drunk? May was about to protest. She had only had one glass.
But Jade was quicker to respond. “Okay, officer. We are sorry. And we have the money with us.”
She gave May a glance that told her to back off. Jade was right. The two were in America on visas that could easily be revoked if they disobeyed the law.
Jade reached for her money belt. “Where are we?”
“The Breckenridge Police Station, ma’am. Right next to the mall where you two passed out.”
May’s entire head began to throb. Had she fallen and hurt herself?
Spirits move me. Every time you’re near me.
“I’m not near anybody,” she blurted out.
Jade shot an embarrassed look at the policeman and quickly handed over the money. “Don’t worry about her,” she said. “I’ll take responsibility for her.”
May rubbed the sore spot and watched him hand a pen and two citations through the bars. “Fill in your names.”
The world is like a cyclone in my mind.
“That is very right!” May said, and signed the paper.
The officer took the citations back, but paused before unlocking the door.
Angel of my lifetime. Answer to all answers I can find.
“Will you go away?” she raised her voice in annoyance. She batted at the air above her head.
“We’ll be leaving now,” Jade said, and dragged May out of the cell.
May forced a smile as she passed. “Thank you for your hospital.”
He frowned. “Just lay off the hard stuff.”
What a waste of money, Jade thought. She and May had rented a luxury condominium and ended up spending the night at the town jail. She was grateful for the hospitality, but would have preferred a softer bed and warmer room. The quickest way to recover was a small investment in a steaming cup of mocha.
Boy the vapors smelled good. She couldn’t wait for it to cool down enough to take a sip.
