And the people will be making policy now by voting with their pocketbooks. Next we’ll see some companies announce that they’re suspending their commercial contracts with the PRC. The Chinese already fucked Boeing over, and in the full light of day, which wasn’t real smart. Now the people out there will want to fuck them back. You know, there are times when the average Joe Citizen stands up on his hind feet and gives the world the finger. When that happens, it’s your job mainly to follow them, not to lead them,” the Chief of Staff concluded. His Secret Service code name was CARPENTER, and he’d just constructed a box for his President to stay inside.
Jack nodded and stubbed out the smoke. He might be the Most Powerful Man in the World, but his power came from the people, and as it was theirs to give, it was also sometimes theirs to exercise.
Few people could simply open the door to the Oval Office and walk in, but George Winston was one of them, mainly because the Secret Service belonged to him. Mark Gant was with him, looking as though he’d just run a marathon chased by a dozen armed and angry Marines in jeeps.
“Hey, Jack.”
“George. Mark, you look like hell,” Ryan said. “Oh, you just flew in, didn’t you?”
“Is this Washington or Shanghai?” Gant offered, as rather a wan joke.
“We took the tunnel. Jesus, have you seen the demonstrators outside? I think they want you to nuke Beijing,” SecTreas observed. The President just pointed at his bank of television sets by way of an answer.
“Hell, why are they demonstrating here? I’m on their side—at least I think I am. Anyway, what brings you over?”
“Check this out.” Winston nodded to Gant.
“Mr. President, these are the PRC’s current currency accounts. We keep tabs on currency trading worldwide to make sure we know where the dollar is—which means we pretty much know where all the hard currency is in the world.”
“Okay.” Ryan knew about that—sort of. He didn’t worry much about it, since the dollar was in pretty good shape, and the nonsqueaky wheel didn’t need any grease. “So?”
“So, the PRC’s liquidity situation is in the shitter,” Gant reported. “Maybe that’s why they were so pushy in the trade talks. If so, they picked the wrong way to approach us. They demanded instead of asked.”
Ryan looked down the columns of numbers. “Damn, where have they been dumping all their money?”
“Buying military hardware. France and Russia, mostly, but a lot went to Israel, too.” It was not widely known that the PRC had spent a considerable sum of money in Israel, mainly paid to IDI—Israel Defense Industries—to buy American-designed hardware manufactured under license in Israel. It was stuff the Chinese could not purchase directly from America, including guns for their tanks and air-to-air missiles for their fighter aircraft. America had winked at the transactions for years. In conducting this business, Israel had turned its back on Taiwan, despite the fact that both countries had produced their nuclear weapons as a joint venture, back when they’d stuck together—along with South Africa—as international pariahs with no other friends in that particular area. In polite company, it was called realpolitik. In other areas of human activity, it was called fuck your buddy.
“And?” Ryan asked.
“And they’ve spent their entire trade surplus this way,” Gant reported. “All of it, mainly on short-term purchase items, but some long-term as well, and for the long-term stuff they had to pay cash up front because of the nature of the transactions. The producers need the cash to run the production, and they don’t want to get stuck holding the bag. Not too many people need five thousand tank guns,” Gant explained. “The market is kinda exclusive.”
“So?”
“So, China is essentially out of cash. And they have real short-term cash needs. Like oil,” TELESCOPE went on. “China’s a net importer of oil. Production in their domestic fields falls well short, even though their needs are not really that great. Not too many Chinese citizens own cars. They have enough cash for three months’ worth of oil, and then they come up short. The international oil market demands prompt payment. They can skate for a month, maybe six weeks, but after that, the tankers will turn around in mid-ocean and go somewhere else—they can do that, you know—and then the PRC runs out. It’ll be like running into a wall, sir. Smack. No more oil, and then their country starts coming to a stop, including