There are roads you do not go down.
There are rivers you do not cross.
There is ground you do not contest.
There are cities you do not strike.
There are orders from your ruler you do not obey.
—Sun Tzu, The Art of War
President Tower sat on the leather couch in his private New York penthouse and stared out over Lower Manhattan. He gazed on the skyline’s grandeur with the same cerebral detachment that he might have felt staring at a rock pile or a garbage dump. Half-reclined on the long dark couch, he kicked his elaborately hand-tooled boots up onto the large oval walnut coffee table, looked at Brenda sitting across from him on an overstuffed leather armchair, and sighed deeply.
“Brenda,” Tower said, “this UN expropriation movement—barring divine intervention—is likely to happen. The EU, the UK, Japan, even China and the U.S. Senate are on board. Our only hope of divine intervention is Putilov.”
“So if he doesn’t come through, we’re fucked?” Brenda asked.
“Big-time,” Tower said. “It’s the perfect election platform for the Democrats. My only question is why did the country take so long to get behind it?”
“Because the country is packed to the rafters with mindless morons,” Brenda said.
“True,” Tower said, “but the morons are after us now.”
“It’s so surreal,” Brenda said.
“Oh, it’s real all right,” Tower said. “Look what Europe is doing to Apple. They figured out how. The EU is raiding Apple’s foreign accounts.”
“Twice, even threatened to do it to Putilov’s elites,” Brenda said.
“At least twice,” Tower said, “and the electorates everywhere are screaming for it.”
“It’s Revolt of the Masses the way Ortega y Gasset never imagined it,” Brenda said.
Tower stared at her, nonplussed, unsure who the inestimable Ortega y Gassett was.
“Putilov’s got a lot of incentive to fight this,” Brenda said. “The UN’s resolution would destroy him and his Russian partners.”
“If it passes, even Putilov won’t be able to stand up to it,” Tower said. “Look what the Great Powers did to Iran when they tried to develop nuclear weapons.”
“The U.S., the EU, Japan, Russia and Iran froze Iran out of the world banking system,” Brenda recited as if by rote.
“Exactly,” Tower said. “Iran could sell goods to foreign countries, specifically oil and gas, they just couldn’t get paid. No bank would transfer funds into an Iranian bank.”
“If the UN Anti-Poverty Resolution and that Senate bill pass,” Brenda said, “and if we and our companies don’t pay the fines and surtaxes on our revenues and on our offshore accounts, we could find ourselves kicked out of the world’s most financially desirable markets.”
“No foreign bank on the planet would be open to us,” Tower said.
“And now there’s going to be that big ugly meeting at the UN. Over five hundred of the world’s richest billionaires will argue their case—with the whole planet howling for their hides.”
“I know,” Tower said. “We’re putting them up in one of our Tower Hotels.”
“So what are we supposed to do?” Brenda asked. “Lose gracefully?”
Her brother gave her a truly terrifying sneer. Brenda Tower knew that sneer. She did not like it. In fact, she feared it.
“Jim,” Brenda said, “it’s just money. You and I together, we possess one of the single largest fortunes on earth.”
“Next to Putilov,” her brother pointed out.
“Yes, and we don’t need all this shit. We can walk away. Let’s do it. Tell the world to go fuck itself.”
“You know people always say I’m a my-way-or-the-highway kind of guy, that all I live for is kicking ass and taking names.”
“That’s the only Jim Tower I ever knew, and I’ve known you since you were born.”
“But it’s not true. If negotiating serves my interests better than coercion, I’ll negotiate.”
“Depends how vindictive you feel,” Brenda said.
“I always feel vindictive,” Tower said, “but I’ve negotiated through crises lots of times—as long as the other side leaves me room to maneuver. If the other guy paints me into a corner though and tries to force me into submission, he’ll get something back he hadn’t expected.”
“You’ll fry his balls like KFC and feed them to him for late-night snacks,” Brenda concurred.
“But now Congress is trying to railroad me. You know what that means?”
“Yes,” Brenda said, “and I also know that you and I can’t fight the entire planet. Remember those lines from Sun Tzu I used to quote to you when I wanted to calm you down?”
“Not really,” Tower said.
Brenda recited:
There are roads you do not go down.
There are rivers you do not cross.
There is ground you do not contest.
There are cities you do not strike.
There are orders from your ruler you do not obey.
Tower looked at his sister and shrugged. “What’s that got to do with me?”
“Maybe this is one war you cannot win,” Brenda said.
“But I can make winning so painful for the other side,” Tower said, “that the price will be unacceptable. I can make them forget about global expropriation and gladly give up.”
“So the cure will be worse than the disease?” Brenda asked.
“If I have my way, the American public will never get its dirty hands on one cent of our money.”
“Which is saturated with some of the most toxic petrochemical pollutants known to man.”
“And worth every carcinogen of it,” Tower said.
Brenda took a long pull on her balloon snifter, draining the cognac. She then freshened her drink, snubbed out her cigarette and lit another Gauloises Blue.
“Tomorrow night we’re going to meet with the Saudi ambassador and Prince Waheed,” Brenda said. “His CIA director, Billy Burke, is supposed to be there too.”
“I wish you hadn’t reminded me.”
“They’re two of the only allies we have in D.C.”
“They’re faithless friends and craven enemies,” Tower said.
“So Big Jim is going to have to do it all himself,” Brenda said.
“Hopefully with a little help from Putilov,” Tower said.
“Does that mean we’re going to the mattresses?” Brenda asked.
“War to the knife.”
“All bets are off?
“Anything goes when the whistle blows.”
“Sounds like it’s going to be a pretty loud whistle,” Brenda said.
“It’s a screeching, shrieking blast of apocalyptic proportions,” Tower said.
“Sounds like you’ve heard it before.”
“Of course. I’ve even blown it myself. Hell, I own it.”