T. Bunn - Drummer in the Dark

An aide raced back into the room shouting, “Cisco denies the whole thing. Chase too.”

Bowers had straightened as much as his paunch and bowed shoulders would permit. “Mr. President, I am calling to inform you that we are shutting down the markets. Yes, sir. All of them.”

Wednesday

Bowers insisted that the press gather in the Dirksen committee room. Kay then placed Wynn next to her own chair, the place of honor normally reserved for the committee’s senior congressman. But the other members made no objection to being moved down a rung. Not after Bowers began with an announcement that every financial and commodities market in the United States had been shut down temporarily, that warrants had been issued for the arrest of Pavel Hayek, and that all assets under Hayek’s management had been frozen.

The television lights were hard on them all, exposing every line, every fear. Jackie leaned on the back wall beside Carter. The two of them looked like walking wounded. Wynn felt no better. As Bowers started his wind-down, Wynn quietly confessed to Kay, “I can’t do this.”

“Too late for withdrawal symptoms,” Kay’s mouth scarcely moved. “Get ready to go sing your song.”

“You’d be much better-”

“It’s your baby, Wynn. You named it. You rock it.” The edges of her mouth rose slightly. “Just think of it as probably the most important moment in your entire life. That ought to help.”

Bowers turned to the committee chairman and took his cue from how Kay raised her gavel and pointed it at Wynn. “I am now going to turn these proceedings over to Congressman Bryant, who will endeavor to tie this unfolding crisis into the legislation presently under consideration before this committee.”

As he rose, Kay reached over and tugged the hastily scrawled pages from his hand. “I’ll take those.”

“What are you doing?”

“Saving you from coming across like you’re reading somebody else’s letter.” She glared away his objections. “You know this stuff, Wynn. Now get up there and give it to them.”

Wynn stumbled and would have gone down, sprawled flat in front of all the world, had not a pair of hands been there to steady him. He arrived at the podium, stared at the bare polished wood, gave a tight shrug of resignation. Given his current state of mind, the notes probably wouldn’t have helped.

He looked up, confronting a sea of faces and camera flashes and the glare of television lights. He did his best to meet them all head-on. “In the period just after the Second World War, officials from Britain and the United States developed what is today known as the Bretton Woods Accord. This was an international effort, advanced by two key Western powers, intended to ensure that the Great Depression’s devastation would not ever recur.

“This accord gave governments the primary responsibility of managing their own financial systems, and stripped from the banks the power to regulate themselves and print their own money-two principal reasons why the Depression happened in the first place. Naturally, the banks and the other financial powers of that day were vehemently opposed. But the officials responsible for drawing up this plan managed to convince their respective governments. They explained that without such restraints, the financial institutions would hold the power to sway public policy toward increasing their own profits, even when it damaged the public good. Not only that, but there was a very real threat that the banks would grow in size and influence until governments were held accountable to them, rather than the other way around.”

Perhaps it was a trick of the glare, or maybe just the effect of strain and fatigue. But the cluster of lights seemed to gather into one flashing illumination. A single brilliance that dominated his vision, blotting out all else, giving him the chance to hear himself and know what needed to be said. “Over the previous two decades, financial institutions have led a two-pronged attack against these laws, seeking to destroy the regulations that were set in place to protect us. They have beggared the laws themselves, until the loopholes are so great they can act with impunity. And they have replaced the printing of money with something just as lethal-a collection of high-risk notes that go under the collective heading of derivatives. Banks have exceeded the ability of any one government to control them, and they call this progress. They wreak havoc with the economies of nations and call it globalization.

“The Hutchings Amendment intends to meet this threat on two fronts at once. In a concerted action similar to the original Bretton Woods Accord, a group of some two dozen nations are together enacting new laws. A global body will oversee international currency transactions, instituting a level of sanity to these activities. Any nation that does not enter into this agreement will find its financial institutions unable to do business with the member countries. Furthermore, a tax will be levied on every currency and derivatives trade, not so large as to halt the flow of genuine business but enough to stifle this wild tidal flow of risk. And the proceeds of this tax will go toward ending the stifling burden of debt carried by the world’s poorest nations.”

Only when Wynn paused for breath did he realize he had said enough. A more experienced politician would have found a way of ending on a stronger note. But when he blinked the lights separated, the faces all stared up at him, and the only thing he wanted was to be away.

By the time he had returned to his seat, he was certain he had blown the whole thing. But before he could apologize, Kay reached over, gripped his hand, and squeezed hard. With her free hand she raised the gavel, rapped the table and announced, “This committee is hereby called to order. The chair is open to motions to proceed on a vote on the appropriations bill.”

Wynn drew strength from the hand upon his own, and said, “So moved.”

“Second.”

“Moved and seconded.” She raised Wynn’s arm with her own, so that the cameras and the photographers’ flashes caught the senator and the congressman seated there in grim satisfaction, their hands raised above their heads, as Kay declared, “All those in favor of the bill’s passage out of committee, including most especially the provision known as the Hutchings Amendment, say Aye!”

Wednesday

Hayek’s driver was busy polishing the Bentley when Burke drove up. The circular drive was shaded by cedars planted to form a sentinel line down the crushed-seashell lane. Morning’s light spilled through the high cedars and formed a complex pattern on Hayek’s lawn. Hayek’s realm was as perfect and orderly as ever. Only Burke was no longer fooled.

The muscled young man who opened the door showed him straight into the breakfast room with its polarized view of the paddocks and the fields beyond. At his approach, Hayek looked up from his Journal and said merely, “Another coffee for my guest, Samuel. And a fresh cup for myself.” He waved Burke into the wrought-iron chair next to his and said, “Have you seen the day’s top story? Apparently those imbeciles in Brussels are going ahead with a European army. Led by the French, no less. Who have gloriously illustrated their fighting ability in two World Wars.”

Burke remained standing. “Our Interbank lines have been chopped off. The markets have shut down. Our news items have been denounced. The Feds are flying inspectors down from Washington.”

Hayek seemed not to have heard. He frowned and searched the empty doorway, then lifted the little silver bell and shook it vigorously. When no one appeared, his scowl deepened. “That young man is history.”