Mike Maden - River of Gods

“Who better to raise the warning flag? I’ve championed trade and commerce with China from the beginning. I’ve headed up three trade junkets to the mainland in the last five years. I’m the most pro-China senator on the Hill, so if I sound the alarm, people will listen.”

“How will Anthony feel about that?” Fiero’s husband did a lot of business with the Chinese.

“He’ll be fine with it. So will the Chinese. They understand the concept of optics. They probably invented it.”

“So what’s the issue with China? Yellow Peril and all of that?”

“Don’t be racist. I was just in a briefing two days ago. China is all over Africa now. All we need to do is provide the public a color-coded map showing African nations falling like dominoes to Chinese influence.”

“Who cares about Africa?”

“Seven of the ten fastest-growing economies of the world are on the African continent. And it has the most arable land in the world—over sixty percent. It’s eventually going to be the world’s food basket. And it’s also a treasure trove of rare minerals. We’re going to lose all of it to the Chinese, thanks to Greyhill. I can beat him over the head with that all day long.”

“And what about your base? I can’t see the Sierra Club getting wet over your plan to exploit Africa’s natural resources.”

“We can gin up the NAACP types, get them focused on China’s miserable human rights record on the continent. Get the Greens ranting about the Chinese record on environmental issues over there, and raise hell with the aid organizations—show China robbing food from starving African children to feed themselves. C’mon, Harry, this is all low-hanging fruit.” She held up her glass, signaling a refill.

He took his time picking up the bottle and bringing it back over to her. Gave him time to think. Could she be right? She had amazing instincts. Or was there something else going on she wasn’t telling him about? He tipped in two more fingers for her, then two for himself.

“Maybe” was all he would give her for now.

“Do you know the real reason why Clinton beat Bush in ’92?”

“You mean besides the dirty tricks, the media bias, and the Bush team’s tone-deaf incompetence?”

“It was because Clinton had the balls to get in the race. Sam Nunn, George Mitchell, even Al Gore were better suited to make a run at it, but they were afraid they couldn’t take down a sitting president with high approval ratings, so they bailed. I hate that kind of weakness. I’m not saying it’s going to be easy, but nothing worth having ever is. Fortune is a woman, right? E con più audacia la comandano. ” Fiero winked and took another sip.

Fowler laughed. Who the hell else in this godforsaken town would have the audacity to quote Machiavelli anymore?

What a woman.

“Maybe we can even get him to invade,” Myers said.

Fowler laughed. “Are you kidding?”

“No.”

Fowler shook his head. “You know Greyhill won’t invade. He’s riding high in the polls on the ‘no new boots on the ground’ stuff.”

“Maybe he won’t invade. But if I call for military intervention, I’ll get the neocons on my side and he’ll look like a weak sister. Besides, they’re still blaming him for the budget freeze and the damage that’s been done to the DoD. He needs their support, and this would be an easy way to get it.”

“And if he does invade?”

She chuckled, then did her best Dana Carvey–does–George Bush impersonation: “Read my lips—no new boots on the ground.”

Fowler smiled at her joke. Back in 1990, the congressional Democrats engineered a budget crisis, then demanded President George H. W. Bush raise taxes to solve it. He foolishly complied, and Bill Clinton’s campaign staff blasted the former war hero president for breaking his “no new taxes” pledge and essentially called him a liar for doing so. No matter that Clinton himself promised to not raise taxes on the middle class and then broke that vow as soon as he took office, it would always be the hapless moderate Republican who was remembered as losing a presidency for breaking his promise.

“If I can goad Greyhill into a Mali invasion of any kind, we can beat him with it like a club and ride his broken promise all the way to the White House in 2016.”

Fowler smiled with admiration. “It’s still a great play, even if he doesn’t bite. You have to prove that ‘women are from Mars, too,’ if you want to be the next commander in chief. If Greyhill doesn’t invade, he’ll just be proving your point that you’re stronger on defense than he is and that you take the Chinese and al-Qaeda threats more seriously than he does.”

She nodded. The pieces fell into place. “Either way, I win. He invades, he breaks his promise and can’t be trusted. He doesn’t invade, he’s weak on defense and can’t be trusted to protect us.”

Karem Air Force Base

Niamey, Niger

The sun hadn’t risen yet, but the lights were on inside the hangar.

Judy admired the new paint job on the Aviocar’s tail. The sergeant who’d painted the Red Crescent logo beamed with pride. Red paint stained his long black fingers.

“The Air Force almost didn’t let me enlist because I got busted for tagging when I was a kid. Now look at me.”

“Looks fantastic, Sergeant. You did a great job. The logo is spot-on.”

“You can find anything on the Internet. Just hope it works.”

“I’m sure it will,” Pearce said, suddenly appearing out of nowhere. He patted the young man on the back. “Go grab yourself some breakfast. We’ll take it from here.”

“Thank you, sir. Will do. Don’t have to ask me twice when it comes to grub.” The airman snatched up the improvised stencil off the ground and tossed it into the trash can on his way out the door.

“Where’ve you been?” Judy asked. “And what’s that you’re carrying?” She nodded at the duffel slung over one shoulder.

“This? It’s that thing I brought with us from Moz. Don’t you remember?”

“No.”

“Sure you do. And by the way, I’ve been here the whole time.”

“But—”

“The whole time.” Pearce forced a smile.

“Do I need to know why you’ve been here the whole time?”

“In case you’re ever called to testify.”

Judy shook her head. She can only imagine what Pearce had stolen, or whom he’d stolen it from.

“Sunrise at 6:47 a.m.,” Judy said. “We need to be in the air well before then. You should grab a shower before we leave.”

“I’m fine.”

Judy sniffed, turned up her nose. “Hope you’ve got cologne in that bag, chief, or you’re walking.”

Showered but not shaved, Pearce sat in the copilot’s seat as usual, studying a map. They were at cruising altitude. The steady thrum of the engines filled the cabin, muted by the noise-canceling headsets he and Judy wore.

“You want to talk about what happened back in Maputo?”

Pearce left three men on the floor of the Elephant Bar, broken and bleeding. He was lucky to get the two of them out of there alive with the title to the Aviocar without having to kill anyone. But Judy was the most nonviolent person he knew, and the incident had really upset her. She still hadn’t opened up to him about it. He was worried for her.

“Soon as you tell me why you’ve turned into a drunken sad sack. And what’s with the long hair?”

“I should’ve thanked you earlier.”

“You should’ve done a lot of things earlier. What’s in the bag?”

“Stuff.”

“Booze?”

He shot her a look. “No booze.”

“First you stole from God, and now the federal government. You’re not exactly racking up good karma.”