the United States.
“The president recognizes that it will fall to you and the Cabinet to determine whether he’s competent.”
Casher withdrew an index card from his suit jacket pocket and slid it across the table to Wallace.
“This is a list of neurologists and psychiatrists that he’s asked to stand by in the days and weeks after the operation to help you make that determination.”
Wallace fumbled as he tried to pick up the card, squeezed the edges until it buckled up off the table, then gripped it with both hands. Staring at it, he said, “I think he’s the most courageous man I’ve ever met. Who else has the mental toughness to think things through like this?”
“The president would like to meet with you at 8 a.m. tomorrow. That will be followed by a National Security briefing in the situation room and after that a Cabinet meeting at 2 p.m. He’ll make the announcement, then carry on with his schedule in what he suspects will be an unsuccessful attempt to minimize the impact. At 8 p.m., he’ll meet with you, the speaker of the House, and the president pro-tem of the Senate and submit a letter saying that as of six o’clock the following morning he’ll be unable to discharge the powers and duties of his office.”
Casher watched Wallace’s face work its way through a kaleidoscope of scenarios: a frown, upper teeth scraping across his lower lip, a squint into the distance, a hand through his hair.
Finally Wallace asked, “Why you? Why didn’t his chief of staff come here to tell me?”
“Because the president knows that I’ll never speak or write about what we say and do here tonight and because he doesn’t want his thoughts and warnings and wishes to be filtered through the mind of a political animal.”
Wallace drew back. “What warnings?”
“Manton Roberts and National Pledge Day.”
Casher watched Wallace flush. He wasn’t sure whether it was from anger or from embarrassment. He hoped it was the latter.
“The president knows that he’s leaving you in a difficult position, but he’s not willing to risk his life by delaying the operation in order to defuse what he considers a temporary political stunt.”
“It’s not-“
Casher raised a forefinger to cut him off.
“At the same time… at the same time, people all over the world are nervous about it. They see it as a kind of mass hysteria, especially combined with Roberts’s ranting about the coming apocalypse and end times. They doubt his motives and suspect that he wants to see the world collapse into anarchy and is trying to push it in that direction.”
Wallace locked his hands on the end of the table. “That’s just hyperbole. No one embraces that kind of terror.”
“If somebody yells fire in a theater, then everybody runs. They don’t sit back and look around and ponder the person’s intentions-but I’m not here to argue. My role is only to communicate the president’s thoughts, and fill you in on some intelligence matters.”
Wallace peered at Casher. “What intelligence matters?”
“Ones relating to China. We think that there are only a few days left in the rebellion, but long enough to do us a lot of economic damage. The president doesn’t know whether it will land in the Oval Office while you’re sitting there, but he wants you to understand the situation.”
Wallace hunched forward.
“The PLA now has dossiers on at least ten U.S. business leaders,” Casher continued, “and on a group of Chinese government and party officials that they’ve paid bribes to in the last ten years. More than enough evidence they’d need to charge them in Chinese courts.”
Wallace nodded. “Or to force us to charge them in U.S. courts.”
“The Chinese are focusing on these specific ones-including the CEOs of RAID and Spectrum-because of the impact the allegations would have on world markets. Our estimate, and it’s only an estimate, is that the Dow will drop about a third in the first hours of trading after they make the announcement and display their proof to the world.”
“Have they disclosed their evidence to you?”
Casher shook his head. “But we suspect that they’ve been able to fill in more boxes on their flowchart than we have on ours.”
Wallace thought for a moment, furrowing his brow, then asked, “Is Graham Gage still helping them? And, maybe more importantly, should he be helping a foreign government?”
“To answer your second question first, it’s more complex than that. And as to the first, not that we know of. But let me come back to him.”
“How do you know the threat of exposure is real?”
Casher opened his briefcase and withdrew a DVD. “You have something we can watch this on?”
Wallace took it and then rose and opened a pocket door, revealing a small television and DVD player. He turned them on and slipped in the disc. Seconds after he pressed the play button, a dim video activated. It showed a wood-paneled room. Men in Chinese military uniforms sat on one side of a conference table. Men in suits on the other.
Casher stood next to Wallace and pointed at the left side of the screen.
“The uniformed man in the middle is Shi Rong-bang, First-class Senior General. We thought he was fully retired, but it looks like we may have been wrong. Even in retirement, he’s been the conscience of the PLA. He lives like a monk in a place called Heng Shan, Balancing Mountain, in Hunan Province. He hasn’t shown his face in public for a decade.”
Casher moved his finger to the right side.
“His face is blocked by the man next to him, but sitting in the middle on the other side is the Chinese president. He may turn out to be a problem for us since he doesn’t like you any more than you like him.”
Wallace locked his hands on his hips as he stared at the screen.
“The general is doing most of the talking,” Casher said. “The given-what both sides accept as true and is the foundation for what they’re talking about-is the data on the flowchart. Who got what from whom and where the money went.”
“Then what’s the issue?”
“Shi is laying out the conditions for the army’s suppression of the rebellion. They both know the police and internal security forces can’t do it. They couldn’t even control Beijing if they had to. Not now. Not with millions of laborers in tent camps on the outskirts of the city.”
“But the military is as corrupt as the rest.” “The ideologues in the PLA are ready to clean their own house, too.”
“Then what’s the condition?”
“The main one is they want the Group of Twelve-“
“The what?”
“The Group of Twelve. It’s the nickname for the People’s Foreign Investment Fund managers. They’re the most powerful corporate leaders in the country. Ten years ago they were tasked with coordinating China’s use of foreign currency reserves. It was modeled on Japan’s Ministry of International Trade and Industry, but has even more power.”
“And Shi wants them reined in?”
Casher nodded.
“What are they suspected of?”
Casher reached for the recorder, punched the off and eject buttons, and removed the DVD.
“That’s one of the things that’s assumed by everyone participating in the conversation, but not actually discussed.”
Casher gestured with his head toward the table and they both sat down again.
“And that brings us back to Gage,” Casher said. “Milton Abrams hired him to find out what happened to an ex-FBI agent named Michael Hennessy.”
Wallace nodded. “I know who he is. I was briefed on him years ago after that Muslim professor-“
“Hani Ibrahim.”
”-was nailed for funding the bombing of the Spectrum distribution center in China.” Casher raised his hands.
