3
P
resident Cannon sat behind an old cabinet table in the Treaty Room, his elbows resting on his knees, peering over his briefing material for the next day. He looked up.
“When sworn in, I understood the power and responsibility bestowed on the commander in chief—but my presidency will not be defined by the war on terrorism. The gravest threat we face today is economic implosion of our own doing.”
They were calling him a young Ronald Reagan—dark hair parted on the right side, widow’s peak—who often quoted the former actor and president. Cannon’s beliefs didn’t fit neatly into the two-party system. He ran for office on the simple promise of sustainable government. Like President Clinton, he was prepared to stake his reputation on getting a balanced budget through Congress.
“If my administration can’t arrest our government’s deficit spending and runaway sovereign debt, it’s a fiscal time bomb.” President Cannon paused, choosing his words. “I’ll be responsible for putting three hundred million citizens in harm’s way. The destructive force of a global economic meltdown induced by the bankruptcy of the United States is unimaginable.”
“It’s sad commentary when our elected officials can’t discern between serving country and self. Congress can only kick the can down the road for so long,” Treasury Secretary John Sebastian replied. His candor came easily. The two had been best friends since they were frosh at Harvard.
“We both knew waging war on fiscal insanity was our destiny. In order to win, we’ll need to make austerity an obsession for every citizen,” Sebastian said.
“I just finished rereading Reagan’s memoirs. Nobody else saw it then, but Reagan understood his primary armamentarium for fighting the Cold War was economic warfare. Our plight is the same—we must defuse the sovereign debt bomb before it creates an economic holocaust.”
“Time is scarce,” Sebastian said. “Bennett fired the first salvo.”
“Do you think he committed political suicide releasing the Special Report?”
“A calculated move. By releasing the Report, Bennett can pin the blame on Jackson’s Fed and the director of OMB. It compartmentalizes the political fallout and creates a context for him to introduce his legislation.” Sebastian turned to look out the window beyond the Truman Balcony.
“After I read the Special Report, I had a hard time pushing bankruptcy out of my mind—the idea of it occurring on my watch.”
“Andy, we’ve been friends a long time. I’ve never known you to run from a fight. This country has serious
problems, but I believe you’re the right man to lead. There’s a reason why you were elected president.”
“Those are kind words, but you and I both know I wouldn’t be president today if Jackson hadn’t been indicted. He was six points up on us before the
Times
broke the story.”
“Doesn’t change the fact voters had to mark their ballots. Do you think I would’ve accepted a Cabinet post if I had doubts about your leadership abilities?”
Cannon managed a halfhearted smile.
“I’ve been questioning my motivations. Did I run for president to serve this country or to serve my ego?”
“You can bet Congress wouldn’t answer that question, even off the record. If the walls could talk…All presidents have had doubts. President Truman referred to the White House as the ‘Big White Jail.’ It’s why many sitting presidents become avid readers of presidential biographies. Facts and circumstances change, but the principles to govern this great nation by have not. Mr. President, history is a fertile ground for reassurance and companionship during times of doubt.”
“Thank you. Those are insightful words—your wisdom never ceases to amaze me.”
“You’re not hearing Lincoln’s footsteps or knocks at the door are you?” Sebastian asked, stepping away from the window to pat his compatriot on the shoulder.
“Not so far.”
Cannon grinned.
4
C
hris Drummond stepped into the chilled air, slamming the car door behind him. He found his daughter on the sun deck looking back toward the Seattle skyline. Sarah was standing underneath an electric heater; the glow from the elements made her brown coat appear orange. Her arms were wrapped around her body, her coat collar turned up. Drummond approached and stood next to her, staring at the city. The Space Needle lit up, red beacon flashing—lights from skyscrapers reflected off the water.
“The lights don’t seem bright tonight,” Sarah said as she scooted over two feet and snuggled into him, placing her right arm around his waist and pulling his left arm over her shoulder.
“Are you disappointed in me, Daddy?”
“No way…Why would you think that?”
“Because of my drinking. I assume Mom told you they disqualified me.”
“Why didn’t you talk to me? I thought you were coping. I’ve been proud of you.”
“I didn’t want to be a burden.”
“You’re not a burden.”
“Yes I am. Mom told me you were devastated when you found out I had CF. She told me neither of you could terminate a baby’s life. Do you wish I was never born…sometimes?”
“Of course not—you don’t believe that, do you?” he said, his voice barely audible. Buffeting wind silenced the splattering of raindrops on the glass panels surrounding the viewing nook.
“Your work is so important to you. I’ve never had to worry about money for medical expenses and college. You took care of all that, and I appreciate it. Mom’s always been here for me. At first, I thought you worked all the time so you didn’t have to be reminded of my defect. I asked Mom, and she said it’s a coping mechanism. She said parents have different roles, but you had never once discussed what could have been. And she knows you love me with all your heart.
“Is that true, Daddy? Do you love me with all your heart?”
Drummond felt convicted, wounded by Sarah’s need for reassurance. Choking back tears, not able to verbalize his feelings, he found himself expressing his love by pulling her close. He felt the sharpness of her skeletal frame through two coats.
“The best times we’ve had as a family have been on vacation. That’s when I’ve felt closest to you and Mom and one of the few times you and Mom seem compatible. I worry about the two of you when I’m gone,” Sarah said.
“I’ve struggled with God’s plan for our family, because I grieve for you and what you’ve had to endure. I love you more than anything.”
“When I realized I would never be a mom, because I could never allow myself to have a child knowing I wouldn’t be there to raise him or her, I asked God to reveal His plan for me. The more I read the newspaper in high school, the more I understood the world is full of problems. That’s when I realized I had a heart for public service. A degree in political science excited me. It devastated me to withdraw from Western. That’s when my pattern of drinking emerged. I didn’t plan; it just happened.”
Sarah moved closer to the heater, stomping her feet on the cold steel plating.
“Besides…I’m not sure I want a lung transplant. Fifty percent of patients are better off. I’m going to die physically.”
Drummond looked at the skyline, processing what Sarah had said. She was right. New lungs wouldn’t heal her—they would be but a few more granules of sand in her hourglass.
“I’m proud of you, Dad. You have a gift…to see what must be done to solve America’s crisis. My dream is to see everybody finally listen to you before I go home.”
“I have ideas about how to resolve the health care crisis, but I’m not sure our elected leaders are ready to listen. The smartest people in the world have attempted and failed.”
“None smarter than you. You’ll think of a way to flag their attention.” Sarah smiled, tears flowing down her cheeks.
“Don’t be mad or disappointed with Mom. She’s suffered more than either of us. I owe her everything—my life.”
5
S
peaker Hank Bennett barked at his bodyguard. “Check him for a wire.” Timoteo was a six-foot-five Samoan with really long hair, a throwback to the days when he played linebacker at UCLA. His 290-pound bulk would never look natural in a business suit. His tailored pants had to be taken in five sizes at the waist for the suit coat and pants to fit around his lats and quads.
Skip Davis, the CEO of Global Paramilitary Group, GPG, entered the privacy of the limo, and Bennett pulled the door closed behind him.
“Davis, let’s cut the crap and forget we were roommates at Boston College. As Speaker, I control what legislation is introduced to Congress. I’m the wizard behind the curtain now. The chairs of Ways and Means and House Budget take their marching orders from me. It isn’t a question of when but how much defense will be cut. We can’t continue spending seven times the amount the next closest country in the world spends on military. Defense spending is on the chopping block. Outsource—the pathway to balance the budget and maintain some semblance of defense capability. I’m in a position to channel contracts worth hundreds of millions to your firm—capiche?”
“I’m listening,” Davis said.
“I need turnkey counterterrorism operational support—I give you the target, any geography, and you excise the tumor, no questions asked. Can we help each other?”
“Let’s just say Jackson wouldn’t be in the mess he’s in if he’d used GPG as a ‘circuit breaker’ between his presidency and his securities trading. When we’re involved, there’s no smoking gun.”
“Tell me how it works.”
Davis described the industry, a network of private military companies, PMCs. For years the industry had existed in secrecy. It changed when Blackhawk went on a vendetta, slaying hundreds of Iraqis. Today, there were two dozen full-service companies located around the globe, founded by ex-military—Green Beret, Marine Force Recon, Navy SEALs—and CIA special ops. Lucrative work, paying double, even triple the compensation paid by governments, without any confusion regarding country, mission, and authority. The businesses were operated for profit, pure and simple. The industry had evolved to the point of specialization—sabotage and material recovery, kidnapping and hostage rescue, etc. Theirs was a network of companies within the network. The principals knew each other—served together. It was a good-old-boy system, and participation was by invitation only. Bennett liked what he heard…too much red tape with government military.
“PMCs fill key roles…the need to have operations capability shielded from congressional oversight, a lower-cost solution for governments wanting to outsource, and an emerging demand in the private sector among
multinational corporations and wealthy private individuals for protection.”
Sophisticated thugs…why not? Maybe he should upgrade his security. Timoteo was a nice kid, but his soldiering credentials were for shit
.
“We’re legitimate—file IRS returns. We have our own legal departments and guarantee our clients’ confidentiality. You’d be surprised how much work is generated by Super-PACs.”
“
How do you handle conflicts of interest?” Bennett asked.
“Compartmentalization. We control who has access to what information.”
“If I’m interested in working with you, what do I need to do?”
Davis handed Bennett a manila envelope.
“Any legal firm practicing international law can handle the transaction. The documents include example contracts for operations and the technical specifications of our encrypted communications platform.”
“You can appreciate why we don’t have a fee schedule. Rates are negotiated. We use wire transfer for payment. Confirmation of mission success is by objective evidential matter: photograph, video, or other verifiable means mutually accepted by the parties.”
“References?”
“The journalist who ratted out former President Jackson was one of our contracts.”
Bennett smiled. He had been impressed by the simplicity and boldness of the assassination when he read about it in the newspaper.
“You’re lucky you were a closeted gay in college. If we knew you were a fag, we would have kicked you out of our fraternity,” Davis said. “GPG is still don’t ask, don’t tell.”
6
P
resident Cannon sat at his desk in the Oval Office making notes on a legal pad. Sebastian verbalized his budgetary assessment.
“The majority of Americans don’t understand the severity of America’s fiscal crisis. The words ‘debt’ and ‘deficit’ are perplexing. In 1981, Ronald Reagan described a trillion dollars as a stack of one-thousand-dollar bills sixty-seven miles high. People learn by visualization,” Cannon said.
“Today that stack of ‘large’ bills is over one thousand miles high,” Sebastian said.
“Four thousand,” Cannon interjected, “if we count unfunded entitlement promises.”
“With Congress in Hank Bennett’s back pocket, it could prove difficult to push through the reforms necessary to balance the federal budget,” Sebastian said. “To stop the hemorrhaging, we need to cut defense, rightsize federal government revenues, and put health care spending on a ‘pay-as-we-go’ basis. Social Security will need tweaking—but it’s not urgent. We won’t need to touch it during your first term.
“Defense cuts can be achieved by moving to a maintenance posture on the war on terrorism. The least
painful way to increase revenues is to revise our tax code to promote economic expansion. We need full employment output. Marginal tax rates for the wealthiest fifteen percent of Americans will need to be raised.
“Health care,” Sebastian shook his head as he spoke…“health care will take more than a band aid. Obamacare didn’t go far enough to control health care spending. We need structural change, the way personal computers changed computing in the 1980s. To be clear—it’s a spending issue—but a health care austerity program will be recessionary. We need to reduce health care spending without tipping our economy over. A tricky balancing act.”
“I need to fill Health and Human Services. I believe ‘medical doctor’ is the appropriate credential.”
“Sounds logical, Mr. President.”
“The chief of staff communicates the tone of a presidency. I want to stand for ‘accountability.’ I’m talking with Suzanne Bass. Marge and I have known Suzanne and her husband, Glen, for many years. She sits on the International Accounting Standards Board, IASM. She sent me a copy of its new standard for governmental accounting. This reporting standard will make it much more difficult for governments to hide financial sins. I believe she’ll accept the position.”