The Bear and the Dragon - Tom Clancy [289]
"When did we find this out?"
"That's my doing, Jack," the Secretary of the Treasury said. "I called up these documents earlier today, and then I had Mark go over them. He's our best man for economic modeling, even whacked out with jet lag."
"So, we can squeeze them on this?"
"That's one option."
"What if these demonstrations take hold?"
Gant and Winston shrugged simultaneously. "That's where psychology enters into the equation," said Winston. "We can predict it to some extent on Wall Street—that's how I made most of my money—but psychoanalyzing a country is beyond my ken. That's your job, pal. I just run your accounting office across the street."
"I need more than that, George."
Another shrug. "If the average citizen boycotts Chinese goods, and/or if American companies who do business over there start trimming their sails—"
"That's damned likely," Gant interjected. "This has got to have a lot of CEOs shitting their pants."
"Well, if that happens, the Chinese get one in the guts, and it's going to hurt, big time," TRADER concluded.
And how will they react to that? Ryan wondered. He punched his phone button. "Ellen, I need one." His secretary appeared in a flash and handed him a cigarette. Ryan lit it and thanked her with a smile and a nod.
"Have you talked this one over with State yet?"
A shake of the head. "No, wanted to show it to you first."
"Hmm. Mark, what did you make of the negotiations?"
"They're the most arrogant sons of bitches I've ever seen. I mean, I've met all sorts of big shots in my time, movers and shakers, but even the worst of them know when they need my money to do business, and when they know that, their manners get better. When you shoot a gun, you try to make sure you don't have it aimed at your own dick."
That made Ryan laugh, while Arnie cringed. You weren't supposed to talk that way to the President of the United States, but some of these people knew that you could talk that way to John Patrick Ryan, the man.
"By the way, along those lines, I liked what you told that Chinese diplomat."
"What's that, sir?"
"Their dicks aren't big enough to get in a pissing contest with us. Nice turn of phrase, if not exactly diplomatic."
"How did you know that?" Gant asked, the surprise showing on his face. "I never repeated that to anybody, not even to that jerk Rutledge."
"Oh, we have ways," Jack answered, suddenly realizing that he'd revealed something from a compartment named SORGE. Oops.
"Sounds like something you say at the New York Athletic Club," SecTreas observed. "But only if you're four feet or so away from the guy."
"But it appears it's true. At least in monetary terms. So, we have a gun we can point at their heads?"
"Yes, sir, we sure do," Gant answered. "It might take them a month to figure it out, but they won't be able to run away from it for very long."
"Okay, make sure State and the Agency find this out. And, oh, tell CIA that they're supposed to get this stuff to me first. Intelligence estimates are their job."
"They have an economics unit, but they're not all that good," Gant told the others. "No surprise. The smart people in this area work The Street, or maybe academia. You can make more money at Harvard Business School than you can in government service."
"And talent goes where the money is," Jack agreed. Junior partners at medium-sized law firms made more than the President, which sometimes explained the sort of people who ended up here. Public service was supposed to be a sacrifice. It was for him—Ryan had proven his ability to make money in the trading business, but for him service to his country had been learned from his father, and at Quantico, long before he'd been seduced into the Central Intelligence Agency and then later tricked into the Oval Office. And once here, you couldn't run away from it. At least, not and keep your manhood. That was always the trap. Robert Edward Lee had called duty the most sublime of words. And he would