Debt Bomb Page 22

  “Maybe, but she’s also a tough and principled lady. Very American. We would have a difficult time recruiting her as an agent.”

  He was getting tired of all this Andrea Gartner praise. You’re lucky I have my own reasons for hating the United States, otherwise I’d tell you and the Ministry to pound sand. And then I’d tell the CIA all about our little project.

  “Do not worry, Madame Xu. I have this under control. America will only be able to fight a couple more weeks with the money Andrea Gartner has found. She won’t be able to find any more, I can assure you that. And then we’ll be able to proceed with our plan for America.”

  “I hope for your sake you are right,” Xu Li said coldly.

  “What are my instructions, Madame Xu?” Mason wanted to change the subject.

  “You are to decapitate Denali.”

  Mason knew who Denali was. Decapitating Denali would be checkmate for the United States.

  “What about Andrea Gartner?” he asked.

  “Leave Andrea Gartner to me,” said Xu Li. “You worry about Denali. The plan is and remains to complete Operation Pripyat. To do that, you must decapitate Denali. Make that happen, and you will have made up for your failures.”

  Mason felt a weight lift off his shoulders. Xu Li might admire Andrea, but she hadn’t forgotten he was her ally and Andrea Gartner their common enemy.

  “When should I decapitate Denali?”

  “Chinese agents will soon enter the United States. When they do, the time will be right.”

  “How will I know when the agents are in the United States?”

  “You will know when you are supposed to know. Until then, do not do anything that will compromise your ability to decapitate Denali.”

  “Yes, Madame Xu. I will be ready.”

  “For the downfall of the United States and the glory of Communism.”

  “Yes, Madame Xu. For the downfall of the United States and the glory of Commu—”

  Xu Li ended the transmission before Mason could even finish.

  Fuck her. Her stupid Ministry head games aren’t going to work on me. I’m Lewis Mason. The chairman of the House Appropriations Committee. She can’t get rid of me; I’m the highest-placed agent she has. She needs me to decapitate Denali. And when I do, she’s going to need me to run America. Then we’ll see who’s the real boss of this operation.

  Mason left the basement and walked toward the garage door to leave the warehouse. The stench of rotting animal corpses and feces was overwhelming. He breathed in deeply, savoring the smell. After he collapsed the country, every American would have to learn to enjoy the smell of death.

  Mason confidently strode out of the warehouse, looking forward to his new task: decapitating Denali. It would be the capstone of his career.

  By the fifth week of the war, Andrea had come to dread the latest news. Every update on her smartphone was grimmer than the last. Crashed planes, burning ships, flag-draped caskets. Catastrophic news rolled in unrelentingly. There was no respite. Every news website and every blog saturated their readers with bad news. The grim truth was clear: America was losing the war.

  This morning she scrolled to the Major League Baseball website to check on her beloved Atlanta Braves. The pennant race was heating up, and the Braves were surprise contenders. Following their chase for the World Series provided a welcome respite from the chaos enveloping her.

  Rachel poked her head into the office. “Sweetie, you mind if we have a chat?” She walked into the office and took a seat across from Andrea.

  “We’re coming up on the end of our two-week extension of the war, and things aren’t looking good.” Rachel’s sweet manner of speaking somehow made bad news seem less bad.

  The Washington Post website’s headline read: “Stalemate in South China Sea Continues.” The subhead: “No end in sight.” Words like “stagnated,” “stalemate,” and “slog” jumped off the screen.

  “So I see.” Andrea sighed.

  “There’s more,” said Rachel. “Keep reading.”

  “The United States has yet to dislodge China either from the South China Sea or Taiwan,” Andrea read aloud. “The Navy continues to lose ships at a blistering pace. And the Army is having difficulty resupplying and reinforcing the soldiers it had landed in Taiwan.”

  “It’s not all bad news,” said Rachel. “Keep reading.”

  “The Chinese military’s momentum has stalled too,” Andrea said. “American resistance is degrading and destroying China’s carefully built South China Sea defenses. Many more Chinese troops are being killed than the Chinese admit they expected.”

  “You always wanted to get into politics,” said Rachel. “To paraphrase my main man, Toby Keith, how do you like it now?”

  Andrea moved to the the New York Times website. “American Public Resoundingly Opposes War Effort” read the headline. Andrea’s shoulders slouched in resignation.

  “Wow, look at this paragraph,” she said. “Americans have soured on the war, demanding an end to the war to free up funds for Medicare. Over eighty percent of Americans would rather end the war than make cuts to Social Security and Medicare to keep fighting. Americans we spoke to do not understand why the country is sending ships to the South China Sea to be devoured by China’s vicious anti-ship defenses. A TrueCon Network host thundered that ‘Taiwan was a renegade province that China was entitled to bring back into line and the United States should respect China on this. Sometimes a country’s leaders need to crack some skulls and roll some tanks.’”

  “We’re screwed, aren’t we?” Rachel’s honeyed voice clashed with her depressing conclusion.

  Andrea shrugged her shoulders. “We were screwed from the beginning. And you know perfectly well everyone’s going to blame us for it.”

  “Quit feeling sorry for yourself. You took this job, remember?”

  “I took this job to pay down the debt, not defund a war.”

  “Sweetie, this is politics. If you don’t want to deal with the unexpected, you’re in the wrong business.”

  “If I defund this war, people will hate me.”

  “People hate us for fighting the war! When will you realize you can’t win? This is politics. Everybody hates everybody. It’s like Wargames. ‘The only winning move is not to play.’”

  Andrea’s office phone rang, interrupting the argument. She was grateful for the rescue from Rachel’s grief.

  “The Chinese Foreign Ministry and Ministry of Finance are holding a joint press conference at nine a.m.” It was Stanley Marshal. “The president would like you to join him in the Oval Office to watch.”

  “That’s a half-hour from now.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I’ll be right over.”

  Andrea turned to Rachel. “That was Stan Marshal. Some Chinese government press conference is happening. The president wants me to watch it with him in the Oval.”

  “Don’t you go bringing any of your whining in there, okay? Stuff’s bad enough as it is.”

  “You’re right,” said Andrea. “Thanks for keeping me grounded.”

  “We go back a long way, sweetie.” Rachel put her arm around Andrea. “We’re going to get through this, even if I have to drag you across the finish line.”

  Andrea left the EEOB and walked over to the White House. Anti-war protesters were again filling Lafayette Square to Andrea’s left, screaming about imperialism and who knew what else. A group of retirees was protesting Social Security cuts. By now the protests had become the background music of her workdays.

  Andrea quietly slipped into the West Wing. President Murray was waiting in the Oval, seated on one of the two couches in the center, facing the flat-screen television set up in front of the fireplace to show the press conference. Vice President Campbell and Wally Flynn were seated on the couch opposite the president.

  “It’s about to go on,” President Murray said. “All the networks are televising it live.”

  Andrea wasn’t surprised. “They know something big
is about to go down.”

  The screen flickered to life. A Chinese conference room appeared with a small lectern at its center. A painting of Mao Zedong hung above the lectern, flanked on both sides by the familiar red logo of the Chinese Communist Party. A small, wiry man with a bony face and thin, dark hair took the stage.

  Andrea recognized him from the newspapers as Xiao Shuang, the Chinese foreign minister. Camera shutters clicked and flashbulbs flashed as he took the podium.

  Xiao exuded arrogance despite his slight frame. He looked like a goody-two-shoes mediocrity who got ahead by being the class kissy bottom, sucking up to his teachers and, later, his Communist Party bosses. Mamie would have called him a twerp. To Andrea he appeared way too triumphant for a representative of a country in a shooting war with the United States.

  Xiao began speaking. A government translator voiced over the broadcast in English.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for being here today. As you know, the United States has taken aggressive and unwarranted action in Chinese territory. The United States’ behavior is unacceptable and greatly destabilizing. The Chinese people will defend their sovereignty.

  “For centuries Western nations have imposed their will on the Chinese people. From the Opium War to the territorial concessions in Shanghai, from the theft of Hong Kong and Macau to the imperialistic support for the renegade province on Formosa, the Chinese people have been subjected to the most ignominious treatment by the West.”

  Xiao’s cocky demeanor and the emotionless translations coming through the television gave the press conference a threatening feel. He had something up his sleeve.

  “But as Chairman Mao correctly pointed out, the West is decadent, corrupt, and dissolute. Its politicians have borrowed China’s money to buy trinkets designed to win them votes. All the while China bided her time.” Xiao tilted his head upward, his nose pointing arrogantly in the air. “Our people have endured great hardship and sacrifice to put the Chinese nation in a position to humiliate the West and allow China to take its rightful place as leader among the nations.”

  President Murray turned to Andrea. “You warned us the Chinese would say this.”

  “Except he looks like he’s enjoying it,” she responded.

  “Today Western nations purport to tell China what it can and cannot do in its own South China Sea,” continued Xiao. “The United States has its Monroe Doctrine, telling other countries they cannot meddle in the affairs of the Western Hemisphere. Yet America dictates to China about the South China Sea and Asia. Even as it depends on China to fund their own government and allow their leaders to buy the frivolous baubles that keep them in power.

  “If there was any doubt that China’s governing system is superior to the United States, the events of the last week should erase all doubt.” Xiao’s voice dripped with disdain. “While the Chinese government remains on solid financial footing, owing to the careful planning of our economic experts, the American government must beg for money to perpetuate its imperialist control over Asia.” Xiao radiated satisfaction as he belittled the United States. “Still, it gives me no pleasure to be speaking to you today.”

  “Lying sack of shit,” President Murray seethed. “He’s loving this. Typical Communist Party apparatchik. The guy can’t go ten minutes without lying through his teeth.”

  Xiao continued, “For years, China, her allies, and bond funds quietly aligned with the Chinese government have kept the American government afloat by purchasing and repurchasing American Treasury bills. Collectively, we now hold four trillion dollars of these Treasury bills.

  “These last few weeks have proven that the United States is no longer a worthy investment partner. The American government has seen fit to make war on China. China and her allies are no longer going to finance the American government by holding its debt. If the Americans want to impose their imperialism on us, they will have to borrow money from someone else.”

  “Enough windup, you windbag,” said President Murray. “Throw your goddamn pitch already.”

  “Therefore, the Chinese government, its allies, and its aligned bond funds will no longer hold our four trillion dollars’ worth of American government securities. When this debt matures over the next several months, the Chinese government will demand repayment of the principal.”

  Andrea dropped into the couch. Xiao had thrown a pitch, all right. A fastball right to the earhole.

  China and her allies held four trillion dollars in United States bonds.

  Four trillion dollars.

  On top of everything else—slashing the budget, fighting a war—she was now going to have to find four trillion dollars to pay off the Chinese-held bonds coming due in the next six months?

  The United States couldn’t default. The government would collapse. The country would never be able to borrow a dime on the international markets again. Worse, if the American economy collapsed, it would take Europe, Japan, and the rest of the West with it. The Chinese were threatening a global financial catastrophe.

  But where was Andrea going to find four trillion dollars? She’d barely been able to scrape ten billion dollars together to keep the war going for two weeks. Four trillion dollars? It didn’t exist.

  “We hope and expect the United States to honor its debts to China and her friends and pay the principal and interest on its bonds in short order,” Xiao said. “The Chinese government will immediately contact its counterparts in the United States government to begin to negotiate the terms of this repayment. We hope this process goes as smoothly as possible, but we retain all options for obtaining repayment. We trust the United States will honorably settle America’s debts to China.”

  Minister Xiao swaggered off the stage with an unmistakable air of satisfaction, having put America in her place.

  President Murray stared at the screen.

  “Mr. President?” said Andrea.

  He snapped out of his daze. “Yes?”

  “We’re hosed.”

  Murray stood up and walked over to the fireplace, then paced back and forth in front of it. “What a smug son of a bitch,” he growled.

  “Paying back four trillion dollars is utterly impossible, Mr. President, emergency budget or no emergency budget.”

  “Print money?” He was grasping at straws.

  “That’ll ruin every saver’s retirement fund. And the world has already announced it’s dropping the dollar as the reserve currency. It won’t work.”

  “Is there a way out of this mess? We have to end the war, right?”

  “The war’s a few billion dollars, Mr. President. Pocket change compared to the debt. Ending it now won’t find us four trillion dollars. We need four trillion dollars in revenue, stat.”

  “Get people to send in their taxes early?” Campbell suggested.

  Andrea shook her head. “We collect about three trillion dollars a year in taxes. If we use every dime to pay off the debt to China and the bond funds, we won’t be able to spend a thing on keeping the government or military operating at all. And we’ll still owe the Chinese a trillion dollars.”

  Campbell’s shoulders sagged. “What a bloody mess.”

  “My nightmare scenario was not having enough money to operate the government. But having to find four trillion instantly to pay back China, while we’re in the middle of a war with China? This is like my nightmare had a nightmare.” Andrea was at a loss.

  Then President Murray looked directly at her. There was something in his eyes, a look she hadn’t seen before. Fear, determination, anger.

  “If that little shit wants his money right now, he’s going to have to pry it from my cold, dead hand,” Murray growled. “If we don’t have the money, he’ll just have to wait until we do.”

  Andrea slumped into her couch. She hadn’t felt this debilitating, delirium-inducing cocktail of exhaustion, hunger, and worry since she was a first-year accountant at a large accounting firm during tax season.

  She was twenty-five at the time and had just passe
d her accounting exam. Her boss, Derek Williams, was arrogant and demanding. He didn’t give instructions; he shouted them. He expected his associates to be available every minute of every day, weekends be damned.

  “Get in here, Amanda!” Derek had bellowed.

  Andrea, already beaten down by Derek’s abuse, stepped into his crowded office and said, “It’s Andrea.”

  “What?” Derek said without looking at her. “Why haven’t you completed the assignment I sent you last night?

  “I’m working on it now, but there are two other assignments you’ve got me working.”

  “We’re paying you big money to get things done by the time we need them,” Derek thundered. “If you’re going to survive as a big-time accountant, you need to be able to walk and chew gum at the same time.”

  Andrea had spent the next three days living in her office, working all night and all day, sleeping only briefly, and showering in the office gym. But she began counting the days until she could find a less frenzied job.

  Nothing since that first job compared to how overwhelmed Andrea felt now. She envisioned herself the gravitational center of a meteor shower. Navy admirals screaming at her about American sailors trapped on ships in Taipei Harbor. Army generals bellowing about the inability to reinforce the American soldiers futilely trying to dislodge the Chinese army in Taiwan. Mason refusing to give her any money for the war. Her family disintegrating into warring camps. And now, the Chinese demanding four trillion dollars to pay off America’s debt to China.

  She stared blankly at her desk, the piles of paper mocking her. The mess on her desk meant nothing. All of it, every bit, represented a speck of dust compared to four trillion dollars. She desperately wanted the world to know just how angry she was, but she couldn’t find the words. Her verbal paralysis simply added to her growing rage.

  Boiling with frustration, Andrea slammed her fist on the desk, hitting it so hard she dented it slightly. She realized the desk made for an easy target. She slammed her fist three more times, turning the dent into a miniature crater. Then she took her feet and kicked the metal support bar at the back of the desk four times, bending it out of shape.