ReUNION: What if the Civil War had never happened? (32 page)

Pickett put a heavy hand on Bourque’s shoulder. “You know what sounds good to
me?” He said, not really asking. “A good, long afternoon nap in a soft bed.
What do you think, Boss? Sound good to you?”

“Yeah. A little noonin’ a good idea.”

“We’ll send lunch over,” Callaway said.

Chapter
Sixteen

Wang pointed to the pink and orange box. “Any glazed left?”

Callaway gave him a guilty look. “I just ate the last one. I think there’s a
chocolate covered, though.”

Wang opened the box and took inventory. He found the chocolate-covered donut
and began nibbling. “You saw the polls, I assume?”

“Yeah,” the President said. “Not much comfort there.”

“Bourque’s little speech might help,” Wang said.

“Yes. Let’s hope it translates. Make any headway with Sylvia
Pinchick?”

“She’s on our side, Charl—Mr. President. But she says she’s helpless. The board
had a fight and Anthony Zolli won. The others, they’re either scared of him or
they agree with him. Hard to tell which.”

Callaway sighed and nodded. “But Bourque’s okay?”

“According to Pickett, he’s full of beans and ready to ride.”

“You’re starting to sound like him.”

“Yeah. Maybe it’s contagious. Anyhow, he and Pickett are meeting us at the
conference room at 10.” He took another bite of donut. “Damn, that’s good.”

“Sugar is the bane of my existence,” Callaway observed. He studied the box of
donuts, then turned away from it. “And the Vice Presidents—how are they
doing?”

“Like two peas in a pod.”

“Stop that.”

“I was quoting Veronica. They’re going golfing today.”

“Veronica too?”

Wang laughed. “No. She’s working on the arrangements and the schedules.”

Callaway was momentarily confused. “The arrangements and the schedules?”

“Yes, you know—the cultural and sports exchanges.”

“Oh that’s right.”

“She showed me a draft last night,” Wang said. “She’s doing a great job.”

“The golfing was her idea?”

“She’s acting
in loco parentis
.”

“Any word from Garcia yet?”

“Not a peep.”

Callaway became thoughtful. “I wonder how he’s going to talk his way out of
this one.”

“If I remember the procedure in events like this, I believe we shall soon see
an innocent lamb offered up for ritual sacrifice. I’m betting it will be
bloody, although he might fake that too.”

“Think he’s going to leave the CSA alone now?” Callaway asked.

“
El Presidente
? Cut his losses? Curb his ambitions? You’re talking about
Miguel Garcia, you know.”

“Yeah, you’re right of course,” Callaway admitted. “What do you think he’s
going to try next?”

“God knows. But we better be ready for it. I’ll have a conversation with Linus
Hawke.”

*

They met in the conference room, said their hellos and took their seats, the
same as yesterday’s.

“You’re looking well this morning,” Callaway said to Bourque.

“Mr. President, those beds you got over there are soft as rabbit fur,” Bourque
said. “I slept like a hibernatin’ bear.”

“And you had a good breakfast, I hope?”

Bourque patted his considerable belly. “Et about half a hog and a hen-house
full o’eggs, all of it cooked to a turn, thank you very much.

“You’re very welcome,” said Eric Wang.

“So,” said President Callaway. “Where were we?”

Their gazes converged on Pickett, who nervously consulted his notes. “President
Bourque had just asked me to tell you what we want,” he said.

“Best note-taker there is,” Bourque said, pleased.

Callaway was finished with the small talk. “And what
do
you want?” He
asked.

Pickett shot a look at Wang, hoping for help.

“Well, we’ve already provided a task force to cover your Atlantic Coast,”

Wang said.

“A grand gesture indeed,” Bourque allowed, “and it will surely help, until the
ships weigh anchor and sail back north. And of course our Gulf Coast is at risk
despite the task force.”

“So you’re looking for a larger military force?” Callaway asked.

“And a permanent one?”

“Well now,” Bourque said, “I’m not sure I should go ahead and ask for indoor
plumbing, a walk-in fridge and a hot tub all at once.”

Callaway held up a hand. “No, no,” he said. “let’s get it all out on the table.
Then we’ll look at what more we can do…if anything.”

Bourque glanced at Pickett. “Well, I’m not one to turn down an engraved
invitation. Okay, what we want—to begin with—is a formal military alliance,
with all the bells and whistles. Ships permanently stationed off both the
Atlantic coast and the Gulf coast. The Bourque Line repaired and brought up to
snuff. Some tanks, artillery, rockets. Could use some new small arms for the
troops as well.”

“You don’t want much, do you?” Wang said.

“Eric,” Callaway warned.

“Forgot airplanes,” Bourque said. “And helicopters.”

“Our radar systems are pretty antiquated,” Pickett added.

“Jesus Christ,” Wang said, and got another warning look from Callaway.

“A formal military alliance,” Callaway said. He opened a notebook and jotted
down a few words. “Anything else?”

Bourque thought a minute. “Money,” he said. “We’d prefer grants, but if it has
to be loans, we’d make do somehow.”

“Do you have a figure in mind?” Callaway asked.

“Something in the neighborhood of $134 billion,” Bourque said.

Callaway considered this. “That’s some neighborhood, Mr. President.”

“You’re sure that $133 billion won’t be enough?” Wang joked.

“I suppose we could economize,” Bourque said.

“What about the money you already owe Germany?” Wang asked mischievously.

“Well now, we could give you two sets of figures,” Bourque said. “One that
included paying off Germany, one that didn’t. I’d prefer the former.”

Wang took off his glasses and began polishing the round lenses. “Amazing,” he
said.

Callaway leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “Let me see if I
have this right,” he said. “What you have in mind is that the North American
Union becomes your protector and sponsor. For the rest of eternity. Is that
it?”

Bourque turned to Pickett with a sly grin. “Have I left anything out?”

“Seems pretty inclusive to me, Boss.”

“Seems pretty ridiculous to me,” Wang said.

“Wait a minute, Eric,” Callaway said. “We don’t have the whole story yet.
President Bourque, we both know you are asking for a great deal. What do you
intend to offer the NAU in return?”

Bourque offered a broad grin. “I hardly know where to start,” he said. “We have
so much to give.”

“Take a stab at it,” Wang said.

“Okay,” said President Bourque. “As a start, we’ll drop the tariffs on your
manufactured products by 50%...

“100%,” Wang said.

Bourque nodded in acquiescence. “Let’s say 75%,” he said.

“Go on,” Callaway prompted.

“And it would be only fair if you cut your tariff on our seafood products,”
Bourque said. “That would be…

“Wait a minute,” Wang interrupted. “Weren’t we discussing what
you’re
going to give
us
?”

“Of course, Mr. Chang. I just had a side thought there and I wanted to get it
said before it slipped my mind.”

“Wang,” Pickett whispered, loud enough for the others to hear.

“I’m sorry, of course it’s Wang,” Bourque said. “I’m just terrible with names.
But I’m not much better with faces.”

Everyone laughed politely.

“Okay,” Bourque continued, “Now I’m prepared to open up all of our Atlantic
ports to NAU trade—import, export, whatever makes you happy. No limitations on
value or quantity.”

Callaway made a note and Bourque smiled, pleased.

“Got anything else?” Wang asked.

“We also have the Gulf ports, of which you have none,” Bourque said. “That
would greatly improve NAU access to South American markets.”

“That would be useful,” Callaway said.

“And our geologists tell us there could be big oilfields in the shallow waters
under the Gulf. We can’t afford to exploit them, but they could be very
valuable to you.”

“Interesting,” said Callaway. “I didn’t know that.”

“Anything else?” Wang asked.

“Military bases—half a dozen of ‘em. You tell us where you want ‘em, we’ll see
to it that you get the land.”

“Wait a minute,” Callaway said, “isn’t that
us
giving
you
something?”

“Not the land,” Bourque said. “We’ll give that to you. Air rights too.”

“
Mucho gracias
,” Wang said. “Got any more to trade?”

“Very frankly,” Bourque said, “There isn’t much else—except for our everlasting
gratitude. But our deal would do a pretty good job gelding
El Presidente
.
I’d say that has a lot of value. For both of us.”

This time, it was Callaway and Wang who exchanged glances. “I can’t deny that,”
the President said. “Still, it leaves me with a problem.”

“Which is?” Bourque inquired.

“Which is how the hell do I sell this to my people, Mr. President?” Callaway
said. “I’m sure you’ve noticed we’ve got some folks objecting to our meeting,
and I suspect they’ll be mighty unhappy with
any
agreement we announce.”

“Or try to hide,” Wang added.

“We’re not going to hide anything,” Callaway said. “Whatever happens will be
out in the open for everyone to see.”

“That’s your call, Mr. President,” Bourque said, “But I can tell you that some
of my people aren’t exactly jumping for joy for the prospect of an agreement
between us.”

“I imagine not, President Bourque.”

Wang checked his watch. “I have a suggestion,” he said.

“All suggestions are welcome,” Callaway said.

“It’s lunchtime. Why don’t we have lunch separately. That’ll give both parties
a chance to discuss what’s been said so far.’

“Ah,” said Bourque. “Giving us a chance to converse, confer and hobnob with our
brother wizards.”

“Brother wizards?” Wang said. “You mean your Vice President and your
biographer?”

“Come to think of it, I think Pickett and I had better lunch alone.”

“Whatever happened to your biographer?” Callaway asked.

“Veronica parked him at the National Archives,” Wang said. “Apparently, he’s in
ecstasy.”

“Your Ms. Tennenbaum is quite a woman,” Bourque said.

“Indeed she is,” Callaway agreed.

“Shall we reconvene here at 2 o’clock?” Wang asked.

“Sounds good,” Pickett said.

A White House page led Bourque and Pickett back through the tunnel to the Blair
House, where lunch was waiting for them in the “small” dining room, a cardiac
meal of New York strip steak with baked, stuffed potatoes, asparagus spears in
butter and blue cheese on the salad. The beverage choice included three
bottles of wine and a variety of soft drinks.

“Well now,” Bourque said, surveying the feast, “that’s a mite better than a
possum and a six pack.”

The waitress smiled. She was a handsome woman in her 30s, confident and
knowing. “We also have coconut crème pie for dessert, or any one of three
flavors of ice cream if you prefer. I’ll come back later for your order. If you
need me, just ring the little silver bell.”

“Thank you missy,” said President Bourque. “I’ll surely do that.”

She smiled again and left them to themselves.

“That was quite a meeting,” Pickett said, breaking the silence they’d
maintained until they were alone. “I didn’t think you’d ask for so much, not at
first anyhow.”

“Just negotiatin’ Roy.”

Pickett raised an eyebrow. “I think you may have shocked them, Boss.”

“Well, if I did, they played it pretty cool, dontcha think?”

“Callaway is definitely a cool customer,” Pickett said. “I’ll bet he’s a hell
of a poker player. Don’t underestimate him.”

Bourque responded with a broad grin. “You ever known me to underestimate
anyone, Roy?”

“No, not really.”

“You ever known anyone to underestimate me?”

“Sometimes,” Pickett admitted.

“Well, that’s what I’m goin’ for here.”

Pickett tried to understand. “So that’s why you asked for too much?”

“I was testing Callaway. Wanted to see what kind of man he is.”

“And what’s your conclusion?”

“He plays his cards so close to his vest that the ink’s near to rubbing off.”

“Wang is a little easier to read,” Pickett said.

Bourque chuckled. “That man’s got some sand in his gizzard, don’t he?”

“Yeah, he’s a prickly one,” Pickett said. “But when he’s on your side, he’s all
in—the naval task force was his idea, you know. And he sold it to Callaway and
the military.”

Bourque nodded. “I gotta keep that in mind when I’m talking to him.”

“Think they’ll make a counteroffer? Or just turn us down flat?”

“That’s what’s wrong with you young people,” Bourque said. “That’s it in a
nutshell. You can’t think of more than two possibilities.”

“Hah! What do you mean—do you think they’ll offer
more
than we asked?”

Bourque’s expression turned sly. “It could happen. It could happen.”

In the White House, Marty Katz joined President Callaway and Eric Wang for
lunch and they quickly brought him up to speed. “He’s got big ones, I’ll say
that,” Katz said. “Big brass ones.” He pulled out his cigar case, but the
President wiggled a forbidding finger at him and he desisted.

“Bourque is looking for a counteroffer,” Wang said. “You know, we offer him
half of what he’s asking for and we settle for someplace between—that’s if we
give him anything at all.”

“We’re talking about the President of the Confederacy, Eric, not some Persian
rug merchant.” Callaway said.

“You’re sure there’s a difference?” Wang asked playfully.

“We’ve already given him too much, in my opinion,” Katz warned. “When the
press—especially Metzger’s people—finds out about the task force we sent to the
Atlantic the shit is really going to hit the fan.”

Callaway raised an eyebrow. “So, Marty, you’re willing to see the CSA fail and
become part of greater Mexico, with
Presidente
Garcia the most powerful
man in North America?”