Satellites, rocket engines. The upside of this deal is infinite.”
I press stop on my iPhone app.
All nine men in my audience look like they might need paramedics.
“That recording is self-explanatory,” I observe. “But I’ll say this. If I use my D.C. contacts to break that story, the U.S. and China will effectively be on a war footing within hours, and Azure Dragon Paper will be the first casualty.”
Jian Wu swallows audibly.
“That said,” I continue, “as much as I’d like to win a second Pulitzer Prize and become the most famous journalist on planet Earth, I don’t much like the idea of killing the goose that can guarantee my hometown’s survival for the next thirty years.”
The collective sigh of relief that follows this statement alters the humidity in the conference room. While they watch me with trepidation, I take out some notes made on a torn piece of newsprint I got from Aaron Terrell this morning.
“To keep me from breaking this story, you will do the following. There is no order of priority to these demands. If any single one is not met, you will find yourselves the subjects of an FBI investigation by day’s end, and the story will start running on MSNBC and CNN by five p.m. Finally”—and here I look at Russo—“if you were to shoot me in the head while I sit in this chair, the story will still break around the world. Is that understood?”
Buckman nods with impatience. “Please state your demands.”
“First, Azure Dragon will not be moving to Alabama. No matter what happens from this point forward, they must complete the planned paper mill and put it into operation within two years. However, the company must re-site the mill no less than fifteen hundred meters south of the present site, well clear of the Indian settlement discovered by Buck Ferris.”
“Impossible,” hisses Jian Wu.
“Most important,” I go on, “all tax breaks granted to Azure Dragon to entice the mill to Bienville will be revoked. The company will pay the full ride to both the city and state throughout its years of operation.”
Jian Wu stands white-faced—with anger or fear, I can’t tell which.
“You wish to say something, sir?” I ask.
“None of this can be done! It’s far too late.”
“Is it? Think about you and your fellow corporate officers being charged for subversion, forfeiting all Azure Dragon property and holdings in the United States, and having the U.S. president demand that President Xi break up your company to prove that it’s not a part of your country’s intelligence services.”
The Azure Dragon man’s lips are quivering, but he takes his seat again.
“Please continue,” says Claude Buckman, looking grateful to me for accomplishing what he could not with the Chinese.
“Second, within sixty days, Avery Sumner will resign his seat in the U.S. Senate for family or health reasons, whichever his preference.”
Four chairs down to my left, Senator Sumner looks stricken, but he doesn’t protest. Unlike Jian Wu, he’s content to let Buckman fight his battles for him.
“Third, the Bienville Watchman will be returned to my father by noon today, for the sum of one hundred dollars. The newspaper will be unencumbered by debt. The building that houses the paper will be included in the sale. Further, the mortgage on my parents’ house will be paid in full by this club and the house titled in my mother’s name. The contracts completing these transfers should be delivered to my father’s hospital room by Arthur Pine by eleven this morning.”
“Consider that done,” says Donnelly, glaring at Pine, who looks as though he’s struggling with ulcer pain. “And I, for one, will be glad to see that happen. I didn’t support that bullshit move yesterday, and I’m glad to see it rectified. The Watchman was founded the same year as the Poker Club, and it’s only right that it should go into the future guided by the family that built it.”
Beau Holland and Tommy Russo would love to strangle Donnelly right now.
“Fourth,” I go on, “all real estate named in today’s article—the homes and land Beau Holland scammed from homeowners along the interstate corridor, et cetera—will be sold back to the original owners for one-half of what they were paid for it. This will be done within ten days.”
Holland has gone so red he looks like he fell asleep in the sun. He starts to argue, but from the corner of my eye I see Russo lay a restraining hand on his arm.
“Fifth,” I push on, “in tomorrow’s paper, I will run an