to agree on something when we need an important call. They never do,” Adler concluded. He frowned before going on. “Look, these guys are kings from a different culture. It was already very different from ours long before Marxism arrived, and the thoughts of our old friend Karl only made things worse. They’re kings because they have absolute power. There are some limitations on that power, but we don’t fully understand what they are, and therefore it’s hard for us to enforce or to exploit them. They are Klingons. So, what we need is a Mr. Spock. Got one handy, anyone?”
Around the coffee table, there were the usual half-humorous snorts that accompany an observation that is neither especially funny nor readily escapable.
“Nothing new from SORGE today?” van Damm asked.
Ryan shook his head. “No, the source doesn’t produce something every day.”
“Pity,” Adler said. “I’ve discussed the take from SORGE with some of my I and R people—always as my own theoretical musings . . .”
“And?” Jackson asked.
“And they think it’s decent speculation, but not something to bet the ranch on.”
There was amusement around the coffee table at that one.
“That’s the problem with good intelligence information. It doesn’t agree with what your own people think—assuming they really think at all,” the Vice President observed.
“Not fair, Robby,” Ryan told his VP.
“I know, I know.” Jackson held up surrendering hands. “I just can’t forget the motto of the whole intelligence community: ‘We bet your life.’ It’s lonely out there with a fighter plane strapped to your back, risking your life on the basis of a piece of paper with somebody’s opinion typed on it, when you never know the guy it’s from or the data it’s based on.” He paused to stir his coffee. “You know, out in the fleet we used to think—well, we used to hope—that decisions made in this room here were based on solid data. It’s quite a disappointment to learn what things are really like.”
“Robby, back when I was in high school, I remember the Cuban Missile Crisis. I remember wondering if the world was going to blow up. But I still had to translate half a page of Caesar’s goddamned Gallic Wars, and I saw the President on TV, and I figured things were okay, because he was the President of the United Goddamned States, and he had to know what was really going on. So, I translated the battle with the Helvetii and slept that night. The President knows, because he’s the President, right? Then I become President, and I don’t know a damned thing more than I knew the month before, but everybody out there”—Ryan waved his arm at the window—“thinks I’m fucking omniscient.... Ellen!” he called loudly enough to get through the door.
The door opened seven seconds later. “Yes, Mr. President?”
“I think you know, Ellen,” Jack told her.
“Yes, sir.” She fished in her pocket and pulled out a flip-top box of Virginia Slims. Ryan took one out, along with the pink butane lighter stashed inside. He lit the smoke and took a long hit. “Thanks, Ellen.”
Her smile was downright motherly. “Surely, Mr. President.” And she headed back to the secretaries’ room, closing the curved door behind her.
“Jack?”
“Yeah, Rob?” Ryan responded, turning.
“That’s disgusting.”
“Okay, I am not omniscient, and I’m not perfect,” POTUS admitted crossly after the second puff. “Now, back to China.”
“They can forget MFN,” van Damm said. “Congress would impeach you if you asked for it, Jack. And you can figure that the Hill will offer Taiwan any weapons system they want to buy next go-round.”
“I have no problems with that. And there’s no way I was going to offer them MFN anyway, unless they decide to break down and start acting like civilized people.”
“And that’s the problem,” Adler reminded them all. “They think we’re the uncivilized ones.”
“I see trouble,” Jackson said, before anyone else could. Ryan figured it was his background as a fighter pilot to be first in things. “They’re just out of touch with the rest of the world. The only way to get them back in touch will involve some pain. Not to their people, especially, but sure as hell to the guys who make the decisions.”
“And they’re the ones who control the guns,” van Damm noted.
“Roger that, Arnie,” Jackson confirmed.
“So, how can we ease them the right way?” Ryan asked, to center the conversation once more.
“We stick to it. We tell them we want reciprocal trade access, or they will face reciprocal trade barriers. We tell them that this little