Almost immediately the pilot was on. “Sir, the White House is on teleconference.”
“Put it on.”
Kolberg’s image came on-screen from the president’s study, and he didn’t look happy.
“I’m on my way, damnit. And if you have an issue with that, take it up with the fucking pilot.”
“Listen up,” Kolberg said. “We were just on with Liu, and the man said that our crisis could lead to an actual nuclear war.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Nast demanded. “Let me listen to the recording.”
“The president is on his way—”
“Now, goddamnit. I know the man, I know how he thinks.”
Kolberg nodded, and a moment later the recording came up.
Nast listened closely to what Liu had to say, and mostly how he said it, his exact wording in English. Plus his interchange with Miller and Nichols. The most interesting part was the end, after Miller recounted how the 1929 market crash and Great Depression led to World War II, and Liu’s reply.
But I prefer to speak with economists, who understand that the worldwide debt is out of hand. If we need to go through fire to be rid of it, then so be it.
“He’s not talking about war,” Nast said. “You need to know the Chinese mind-set. He means economic devastation. Everything is about economics with them. That’s how they moved up from tending rice paddies to become the second largest economy in the world. If you ask them about the weather, they’ll reply in economic terms.”
President Farmer came into view on the helicopter’s video screen and sat down at his desk. “Hell, I know that Liu may be crazier than a shithouse rat, but the boy’s not stupid. If he wants to take over the government from that empty suit Hua, there wouldn’t be anything left after a nuke exchange other than a blackened bone and a hank of hair.”
“Are you sure, Mr. President?” Kolberg asked.
“Yes,” Farmer said. “Now, where the hell are you, Spence?”
“In a chopper, should be with you soon, Mr. President.”
“Well, what about Miller and Nichols, then? Or are they AWOL?”
“They had an appointment on the Hill,” Kolberg said. “They’ll be back when Spencer gets here.”
“Let me guess, they’ve run off to tell their troubles to Stephanie,” Farmer said. Stephanie Holland was the Speaker of the House. “They want to end-run Spencer’s proposal.”
Nast wasn’t surprised. “Have you had a chance to look it over, Mr. President?”
“I did. And it looks like you want to spend a hell of a lot of my money.”
“No, sir. The money would be coming from the Federal Reserve.”
“I’m sure that Joe is having a shit fit over that one. Something else he can whine about to Stephanie.”
“The auction today has shown us that investors aren’t happy with our debt load. A lot of them have even started to lose faith that we can repay the T-bonds we keep peddling.”
Farmer rubbed his jaw. “If Liu decides not to tap some of his PBOC reserves to bail out their banks—which are in worse shape than ours are—and Hua goes for some quick cash by dumping his two trillion bucks of our Treasuries, our ability to raise more debt goes from bad to worse. Is that what you’re telling me, Spence?”
“Yes, sir,” Nast said, pleased that Farmer had absorbed his tutorials. Sometimes it wasn’t clear that the president was understanding or even listening to what his chief economist was telling him.
“Well, this time it’s not totally up to me. I can give Congress a nudge, but the ball’s in their court. And you’re not the man to go over and make the argument, because you don’t have friends. But Nichols is, because they like him and he’s a natural-born politician, unlike Miller, who’s a stuck-up prick.”
“You endorse my plan, Mr. President?” Nast asked. He didn’t give a damn what anyone on the Hill felt about him, because come tomorrow it would be he who was the hero, not Nichols.
“Well, if we end up sucking wind due to a worldwide economic meltdown, like you suggest might happen, then I think we should give it a try. Giving twenty grand to every citizen below the median income is radical, but desperate times call for desperate measures. And I’d like to wear the hero’s medal for a change.”
“You will, Mr. President,” Nast said. He glanced over at Kolberg, who looked as if he’d just swallowed a bucket of raw jalapeños.
“What I don’t want is a country littered with Farmervilles,” Farmer said. “But you know who could do a good job selling your proposal on the Hill? Your old boss, Reid Treadwell. Now, he’s the one who should have been a politician. Hell, he could talk a beggar out of his bowl. We all know he can talk just about any woman out of her panties. Fact is, I don’t think there’s man alive who has more need for applause than him.”
“Reid is all of that,” Nast said.
“In fact, I hear tell that you broke bread with him this morning while you were up in New York.”
It sounded like an accusation to Nast, and his gut suddenly tightened. “I’m sorry, Mr. President, I didn’t quite catch that.”
“You heard me,” Farmer said, his voice suddenly hard. “He may be your former boss, but I’m your boss now. I want you to cut off contact with that slippery son of a bitch. It things do go south, I’ll need you in my tent, not in his. You read me?”
“Loud and clear, Mr. President,” Nast said. “I’m your man.” But come tomorrow it wouldn’t matter what Farmer wanted.