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People laughed, but Van Dyke was serious.

“Listen, they’re not asking for half the country. We came to them, remember? They don’t need our cash, we need theirs. So what are the choices? I see none.”

The President stood up and paced around the table. “In a strange way, this could work in our favor. John is right. The biggest protection against a threat is having a long-term investment in your enemy. If we were just borrowing money, the Chinese could eventually call our debt or cut us off or have more hold over us than if we were partners. And they’re right. They can build like no one else. From the worst disaster our country has ever seen, in a few years, we would have one of the greatest cities of the world. It would still be here, it would still be protected by our military, it would still be American, but its income would be shared. Why is that a bad thing?”

And most of the delegation agreed. They would bargain for a better deal, try and make it a fixed term instead of forever, and put in all the security language that was needed to make people feel safe. But it was this or nothing. And with gangs roaming the streets of Los Angeles, with the rest of the country’s morale falling to a low never before seen as they watched Southern California rot, something had to be done and done quickly. If nothing else, the Chinese knew the meaning of the word “quickly.”

And so it was decided. A new road was going to be opened in the history of the United States. The President authorized his team to take as much time as needed and work out a deal. “Try to get better than fifty-fifty and try to put a fifty-year term on it,” he said, “but work it out. We have no alternative. Make it palatable and I will sell it to the country.”

The President walked out of the meeting to find the premier of China throwing horseshoes, and unless he was placing them he was doing quite well. Four shoes were on the post and three were close by. “You’re very good,” the President said.

“And yet I hate horses,” Biao answered, smiling.

“Well, you must like their shoes. In any case, let’s work out your offer.”

“I am very pleased. Do you require any more meetings here?”

“I don’t think so. My team and yours will go to work immediately to hammer out the details. Be gentle with us, because I have to sell it to a nation.”

“Of course. Do you mind if my party stays the weekend? We are enjoying ourselves.”

“Stay as long as you wish. But we’re not selling Camp David to you no matter how much you like it.”

Biao laughed out loud. He was a sucker for a good joke.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

The FBI had identified the San Diego suicide bomber as Jeffrey J. Anderson of Montgomery, Alabama, a man who had no previous criminal record but went nuts after he was fired from a paper mill. He drove out West to his father’s retirement home, which he was paying for, and killed twenty people. He left a rambling note, and when Max Leonard read it, he got a chill.

To whom it may concern. I loved my parents but I could not take care of them on the low wages I was paid. All of my money went to them and when my mom died the insurance company did not pay the policy claiming she drove a car intoxicated which she did not. My life was worthless only to get up every day to take care of my parents with no regard for me or the fact I will never become a parent because I cannot afford even one child. My father was greedy never offering to pay his own way and this country must take care of all people including the younger people and offer a quality of life for everyone. I hope my father is in heaven at least there I will not have to support him unless heaven is run by the United States and then I would be expecting to get a bill.

Max was floored. He showed the letter to Kathy. “Can you believe how articulate he was?”

“I don’t know if I would call it ‘articulate,’” she said, “but it certainly was heartfelt.” And as much as Kathy did not like to see innocent people die, she had to admit she identified with