WASHINGTON, D.C.
OVAL OFFICE, THE WHITE HOUSE
Mr. President,” Senator Dixon said, flashing her best Chamber of Commerce luncheon smile.
Dixon was a very attractive woman, President Ryan had noted on previous occasions, but her arrogance diminished it considerably for him.
“Madame Senator, I appreciate you coming on such short notice.” President Ryan gestured toward one of the chairs. She took one of the long Chesterfield couches instead. He didn’t bother offering her anything to drink.
“It must be urgent, Jack, so I came right over. I’m here to serve.”
More like here to measure for curtains, Ryan thought. Don’t get too eager just yet.
He took one of the chairs, a file folder in hand. The seat gave him a slightly elevated position. Not that he needed it.
“Where’s your lapdog, Arnie? It won’t be the same without him here, slavering on the leather and nipping at my heels.”
“We have a problem I’d like to discuss with you, and I wanted to do it in private.”
Dixon pointed a finger at the ceiling. “We’re not being recorded, then, I take it?”
“Never without asking permission, and I’m not asking for it. This stays strictly between us.”
Dixon brightened. “I’m all ears.”
Ryan opened the file folder and handed her the inch-thick report. “You’ll find an executive summary on the first page.”
Dixon took the document in hand cautiously, her eyes locked on Ryan’s.
“Why don’t you ballpark it for me? I know you’re good at summarizing.”
Ryan fought back a smile. His son Jack had already ballparked it for him less than an hour ago as his plane was landing. He and Gavin had put together one heck of a document, with every i dotted and every t crossed. He was damn proud of both of them.
“Bottom line? Your son, Christopher Gage—”
“Stepson.”
“—has been connected with an international criminal organization known as the Iron Syndicate. He’s also partnered with a Chinese national by the name of Hu Peng, the son of one of the directors of a state-owned bank and a high-ranking CCP official. The two of them have been running point for a drug-smuggling operation distributing chemical precursors along with processed heroin and methamphetamine all over Europe. They’ve hidden their activities behind a series of shell companies that take advantage of BRI trade treaties that Peng’s father helped negotiate.”
Dixon flipped a few pages, scanning numbers.
“That’s a fascinating story—sounds like a Clive Cussler novel. Even if it’s true, what does it have to do with me? I have no business or financial relationships with my stepson. If he’s guilty of anything like you’re describing, that’s his problem, not mine.”
“By the way, where is Christopher? We’ve reached out to him but can’t seem to locate him.”
“I have no idea. Like I said, his business affairs are his own and no concern of mine.”
Ryan sat back, tenting his fingers in front of a satisfied smile.
“You put on a brave face, Deborah. I think we both know what kind of political damage this will do to your presidential run, even if you are legally innocent, which, in fact, you might be. This report screams ‘Swamp’ on every page, and you and your family are neck-deep in it.”
“My husband’s affairs are his own. I file a separate tax return from his and make it public every year, and have done so for the last twenty years. I have nothing to hide. My affairs are in order.”
“Then you might want to turn to page thirty-seven of that report, where it begins to lay out the financial accounts of the Dixon-Gage Charitable Trust, something I know you’re very proud of.”
“Why shouldn’t I be? We’ve done important work for poor and disadvantaged people all around the world, not to mention our brave veterans here at home, too.”
“And Christopher has been intimately involved with your charity, hasn’t he?”
Dixon stiffened. “Yes, he has. For years. He’s told me on more than one occasion that the work he’s done there has changed his life.”
“I’m sure it has.”
“Meaning?”
“Unfortunately, Christopher was using your trust to launder his dirty money, making millions of dollars of annual contributions through thousands of fictitious donors.”
“I can’t be responsible for the origin of anonymous monies donated.”
“No. But the story doesn’t stop there. Christopher then funneled that dirty money into ‘clean’ projects, especially ones in Africa, where there is very little government oversight, and where, coincidentally, the Peng family has significant resources invested. Christopher was buying charity goods and services at exorbitant prices from shell companies that he and Peng secretly owned. All of those water wells and tractors and schools you thought the trust was building all went instead into the pockets of your son and your husband and, it turns out, at least one high-ranking official in the Chinese Communist Party.
“Even if you can prove at trial you didn’t know about any of this, you’re still going to be found guilty by association in the court of public opinion, and worse, it makes you look like an idiot or a dupe.”
Dixon’s heart rate fell. The arrogance around her Botoxed eyes faded away.
“Not exactly a winning platform for a presidential campaign,” Ryan said, just to twist the knife.
“You’ll have a hard time bringing any of this to court. I doubt it was legally obtained.”
Nice bluff, Senator. Glad I never played poker with you.
“I’m willing to take the chance. Even if we lose in court—and my AG insists we won’t—it will still ruin your reputation and take years to litigate. And we haven’t even begun really digging yet. That report just scratches the surface.”
“Well, speaking of reputations. I have evidence of my own suggesting that your son Jack, Gerry Hendley, and, by implication, you, are associated with an organization engaged in questionable activities. I’ll use my information to help launch impeachment proceedings against you.”
“The Chadwick stuff again? How’d that work out for her?”
“Chadwick is an idiot. I’m not, and you know it.”
Ryan shrugged. “Do your worst. I’m not going to be President forever, anyway.”
“A congressional investigation might determine that you and your associates are guilty of crimes for which you can be prosecuted.”
“In theory, yes, but I doubt it. But even if that were to happen, in theory, there could be a stack of presigned presidential pardons sitting in a safe somewhere, written up for just such a contingency.”
Dixon’s shoulders slumped, defeated. She stood, her voice softening.
“Well, then, there’s nothing more to be said. I agree to resign from my office if you drop all of this nonsense.”
“On what grounds would you resign?”
Dixon smiled cynically. “‘To spend more time with my family,’ of course. Isn’t that what they always say?”
“Sit down, Deborah. We’re not through yet.”
His commanding voice dropped her back onto the couch.
“It’s high time we remind ourselves in this country that nobody is above the law, especially the people who write it. That’s why I’m instructing the attorney general to prosecute your family to the fullest extent of the law possible.”
“Jack—”
“Unless you agree to this.”
Ryan stood, retrieved a bound document from his desk, and handed it to Dixon. He didn’t bother to sit down.
“What’s this?” Dixon said, opening it.
“I’m sick and tired of the corruption that plagues this town. It’s corroding the confidence of the American people in their government. Trust is the glue that holds a democracy together, and you people on the Hill are destroying that trust. Far too much legislation is passed that only benefits the few at the expense of the many.
“What I just handed you is my proposed legislation to clean it all up. The sweetheart deals, the revolving doors, the family loopholes—all of it. Get this bill passed and on my desk in its present form for me to sign in the next sixty days or I’ll see you in court.”
“And if I get it done? Then what?”
“Then I memory-hole that report I handed you. And then you can resign to spend more time with your family. Whatever you decide to do after that is up to you.”
Dixon smiled a little. “You know, an anticorruption bill like this would make a great presidential platform to run on.”
Arnie was right, Ryan thought. Dixon was pure ambition, even in the face of disaster.
“You may not be on Beijing’s payroll but you killed the Poland treaty because you’re dancing to their tune. Was it all that Chinese money your husband made that flipped you, or something else?”
“Money? Don’t be ridiculous. What matters is something Sun Tzu called shi. Do you know the term?”
“Momentum, advantage . . . power.”
Dixon shook her head, incredulous. “Always the professor. Then you also know that the world’s changing, and China is the future.”
“My future is whatever we have the courage to make of it. My job as President is to create change, not follow it.”
Dixon lifted the heavy file folder. “How do I know you still won’t release that report after I get this legislation passed?”
“If everything in that report all came out, it might do more damage to the country than to you, and, frankly, you’re not worth it. More to the point, once you get that legislation passed, you have my word I won’t use anything we discussed today to sabotage you or your family, as much as that idea sickens me.”
At that moment, Dixon hated Ryan’s guts more than any person she had ever known.
But she agreed to his terms.
Because as much as she hated him, Dixon still knew that Jack Ryan was an old-fashioned patriot and, indeed, a man of his word.