The Last Theorem - Arthur Charles Clarke [153]
Natasha threw her arms around him. “Thank you,” she breathed.
Her father, sounding embarrassed, echoed the thanks and added, “I guess we didn’t need to drag you down here.”
“Ah,” the lawyer said, “that’s another question, isn’t it? President Bandara wants to talk to you about the American ex-marine named Orion Bledsoe.”
That was when Myra came in. “He’s the one who cooked up the idea of drafting Tashy.”
The lawyer shook his head. “It’s unclear whether it was his idea or if it came from higher up. What I do know is that he’s the one who is now in Brussels to talk to people at the World Bank.”
Myra looked more worried. “What about?” she asked.
“He’s giving them their orders from the Americans,” the lawyer said grimly. “They’re preparing a statement to release tomorrow morning and it’s going to say that such an influx of gold can’t be permitted because it would unbalance the world’s financial structure.”
Ranjit frowned, pursing his lips. “It might at that,” he conceded. “That would amount to an overnight injection of—what? Trillions of dollars of new capital. There would be serious repercussions. Not to mention what it would do to the price of gold on the world markets.” Then he shrugged. “I don’t envy you, sir. I don’t see how to deal with that kind of problem.”
But the lawyer was shaking his head. “I think the president would not agree. At least he hopes that you can help—all of you. He’ll be joining you shortly, and he wants to hear all about this Bledsoe person. Then he wants to try to work out some solutions.”
The president of Sri Lanka was not the only world leader to convene a sort of brain trust. All over the planet some of the world’s smartest and best-informed people were wrestling with the same questions. Pax per Fidem had convened gatherings of their own, and their headquarters was working what satellites it could command to collect these best and brightest voices….
And, who knows, they might have succeeded, if the Americans had not had one more monkey wrench to throw into the works. It was an announcement, presented as routine by the administration’s usual spokesperson, but not routine at all in its effect on the situation:
“The president would like it understood,” the spokesperson said, smiling into the camera the girl-next-door smile that had served her through a hundred unpalatable announcements, “that America, too, has a valid claim for reparations due to the unnecessarily severe damage inflicted on its peacekeeping aircraft.”
45
SEARCHING FOR A SOLUTION
When Nigel De Saram escorted the Subramanian family into the presidential offices, what struck Ranjit first was how much Dhatusena Bandara had aged. That wasn’t entirely unexpected. The president had to be pushing ninety. But now he seemed a good deal more fragile than the last time Ranjit had been in a room with him, at his inaugural. Though, when he welcomed them, his voice was clear and strong. He kissed both Myra and Natasha and gave an impressively youthful handshake to both Ranjit and Robert—a performance followed by his son, with the difference that Gamini gave both of the male Subramanians hugs instead of handshakes. “Thanks for coming,” Gamini said. “We’ve got tea coming for the grown-ups”—he winked at Natasha, who returned an appreciative smile for her promotion—“and fruit juice for Robert. And if Robert gets tired of hearing us talk, there’s a game machine by the window.”
“That will be fine,” Myra told him. “He likes to play 3-D chess against the machine.”
“Good, then. Did Nigel straighten out your problems with the draft?”
“I think so. Hope so, anyway,” Ranjit said.
“Then let’s get down to business. Old Orion Bledsoe is giving us a lot of trouble. Let’s start, please, with hearing what he’s doing with you.”
Nigel De Saram answered that one, quickly and concisely. Gamini bobbed his head and addressed the Subramanians. “Did you happen to notice where his message came from?”
Myra shook her head. Ranjit frowned. “Actually, I did notice something. It wasn’t from Washington. Wasn’t from his California office, either.