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  It wasn’t that the governor was malicious or vindictive. It was just politics. That’s the way things worked.

  “What is the president saying, sir?” asked Tony meekly.

  “The president is royally pissed off. He feels that this hot potato has been handed down over six presidents since Nixon. He wants—he needs—something clear and decisive. He knows that there are only long-term answers. But what makes him furious is no answers at all. There can’t be another energy crisis in California without a clear direction from this president.”

  Tony smiled.

  Tolberg looked at him, irritated. “What is so funny, young man?”

  “Senator, have you ever heard of a woman called Blaise Ryan? She’s an environmentalist. By the way, she is also absolutely gorgeous. I was just watching an interview with Ryan when you called me in. She was saying the exact same thing. That solving this would come down to leadership. Guts. It’s precisely what you are telling me the president thinks.”

  “She may be well synchronized with our boss, Tony. He wants us to focus like a laser beam on new energy solutions. He wants big ideas, out-of-the-box thinking. Bold strokes. And he wants options on his desk by September fifteenth.”

  This was the second time in less than a minute that Tony had a feeling of déjà vu. First, the president was thinking like Blaise Ryan. Now, Tolberg was sounding eerily like Raj Rosenblatt. Only a few hours ago words like “big” and “bold” had punctuated Rosenblatt’s explanations.

  “Since our meeting in the cabinet room two months ago,” Tolberg recited with precision, “the president has become very interested in the CIA director’s description of a new transcontinental connection through the Bering Strait. President Laurence has made the rounds. He’s done his homework with Governor Whitley in Alaska, the CEO of Exxon, Russian experts, energy specialists. We had Raj Rosenblatt here for a quiet coffee the day before yesterday.”

  “Shit,” said Tony sheepishly. “I went to see him on my own today. He never said anything.”

  Tolberg smiled knowingly. Raj was a pro; he had said nothing to Ruiz of his meeting with President Eugene Laurence.

  “The president is taking this seriously. He called President Tuzhbin last week. They had a long conversation and agreed that the next step was to send a confidential high-level delegation to Moscow. President Laurence wants Martha Packard to lead it. She’s off in about twelve days.”

  Isaiah J. Tolberg paused for a moment. Tony cocked his head, wondering what all of this had to do with the president’s domestic affairs advisor.

  “Tony, the president wants you to go.”

  Ruiz jumped off the sofa, his eyes wide open in surprise. It was a reflex reaction.

  “Me? Why should I go?”

  “Please sit down, young man,” chided Tolberg with a gentle smile. Ruiz did as he was told.

  “Most people would be flattered that the president would choose them for a sensitive foreign mission. Your reaction is surprising, Tony.”

  “Senator, I’m a former cop from Chelan County. Of course I’m flattered. But I know nothing about energy. Nothing about Russia. Nothing about engineering. Nothing about confidential foreign missions. And to boot, Packard doesn’t like me; you had to save my butt that day in the Cabinet Room when I asked a question she thought was impertinent. So why the hell does the president want me to go?”

  “Because, Tony, you do know one thing better than almost anybody around here. You have a Ph.D. in Gene Laurence. You are fiercely loyal to the president. And, while Packard is thinking her big strategic thoughts about U.S.–Russia relations, your job will be to look out for Gene Laurence’s back. That is reason enough, isn’t it?”

  Tony Ruiz nodded his assent. But his mind was whirling. He had trouble thinking straight.

  “Packard’s trip is a fact-finding mission,” Tolberg enunciated with clarity. “We’re not going to agree to anything. Not signing any documents. The objective is to assess whether the Russians and the Americans can become partners in a historic enterprise.

  “There is, candidly, also another reason the boss is anxious that you go,” continued Tolberg matter-of-factly. “President Laurence had a preparatory conversation with President Tuzhbin the day before yesterday. They both specifically agreed that somebody like you should accompany Packard.”

  Ruiz was out of his seat again. Now he had two damned presidents asking for him!

  Tolberg stuck out his index finger and pointed it downward, toward the sofa.

  “Tony, the Russians did not ask for you by name. How could they? Tuzhbin has no idea who you are. But Laurence liked his thinking. Tuzhbin wants somebody there who does not represent part of the bureaucracy. He wants somebody there that is Laurence’s personal emissary. Somebody the president trusts one hundred percent.”

  “So, why don’t you go, Senator? That sounds like a description of you, not me.”

  “Because both presidents also agreed that this person should have a fully open mind to a new era of relations with Russia. Somebody who isn’t deformed by the tensions of the Cold War. Somebody who didn’t grow up during the fifties, sixties, and seventies believing that Russians were rapacious communist bears.

  “And that, young man, sounds like a description of you,” Tolberg concluded with a smile.

  WASHINGTON, D.C.

  AUGUST 17, 1:45 P.M.

  THE WHITE HOUSE

  Tony Ruiz was silent for a moment as he tried to put some order in his brain.

  For the first time in his short political career, he didn’t know whether to believe Isaiah J. Tolberg. The president and Tolberg had obviously spent a large part of the previous week secretly vetting the notion of a Bering Strait crossing. The chief of staff’s protestations that the Russia trip would only be a fact-finding mission with no authority to conclude or sign any agreements sounded hollow. Tony wondered if the CIA’s Martha Packard clearly understood that her trip was limited only to “finding facts.”

  It occurred to Tony that it was possible he was being used. In the coldest light, the president’s desire to have him go to Russia could be explained as an attempt to dress up the mission as more than just a CIA trip. Ruiz’s presence in Moscow would be one of an inexperienced political participant without the credibility to torpedo Packard’s agenda. Yet, if anybody would ask, Tony’s presence on the delegation would lend an aura of White House control.

  Tony banished the painful thought from his mind. The notion was nonsense. Even if true, there was no way to communicate his reservations to Tolberg.

  But beyond the personal doubts about why he had been chosen for this trip, Tony had serious substantive issues with the project itself. Those he would not—could not—keep silent about. He decided there and then to put his misgivings on the record.

  “Senator, of course I’ll go. And of course I’m flattered. Nothing is more important to me than to have your confidence and the president’s trust. I believe in this administration and I believe in Gene Laurence.”

  Ruiz took a breath.

  “But since you’re asking me to do this, I want to be honest with you.”

  Tolberg leaned his head to the left. “Go ahead, Tony.”

  “Frankly, Senator, I think this whole Russian idea is off-kilter. You see, I think—”

  Tolberg interrupted him.

  “Tony, we’ve done our due diligence. Everybody we’ve spoken to thinks this is an expensive, hugely daring—but technically feasible—project.”

  “Give me a minute, Senator,” retorted Tony Ruiz. “Hear me out. The engineering is not the part that has me worried. Rosenblatt has convinced me that the science exists to make it technically achievable.

  “What concerns me are the politics.”

  Tony straightened up. If he was going to take a run at Tolberg, he might as well go the full monty.

  “A moment ago, I told you, Senator, how impressed I was with the environmentalist woman on television. Her point was that searching for fossil fuels is like Don Q
uixote tilting at windmills. It’s a mirage. She is right, Senator. She talked about the need for guts and leadership. I’m no expert, but I’m smart enough to recognize that something is wrong. This Bering Strait scheme is guts and leadership in the wrong direction. For a whole host of reasons.

  “First, we’re going to invest billions with a country that is our former mortal adversary. I recognize that the Russians are no longer our enemies, but they’re not exactly our friends either. Why in God’s name would we go into business with these guys and make ourselves dependent on their natural resources? Nothing I’ve read about Russia today would make me think they’re a good long-term business partner for us.

  “Second, we’re already dependent on Arab desert princes for oil. We’ve seen what dependence does. It makes the elite in those countries richer, more entrenched, and less democratic. And it certainly has not made those countries friendlier to the United States. Now we’re going to enrich the Russians by giving them billions for their natural gas. If we do that, at least let’s not delude ourselves into believing that any of this is going to make them our friends.

  “Third, there is a grim environmental problem looming on the horizon. If we’re serious about climate change, adding a gas dependency to an oil addiction is not the way to start. If the president is looking for big and bold, we should be considering incentives for noncarbon fuel industries and specific measures to force—yes, I said force—conservation.”

  He dared not look at Tolberg. He knew that if he met the Senator’s eyes, he would not be able to go any further. Tony Ruiz took a deep breath and lined up for his final shot.

  “Big and bold. That’s what you are looking for, right, Senator? Well, big and bold is a policy that together advances green conservation and promotes energy independence from petroauthoritarians everywhere, no matter whether they live in the desert or the tundra. Anything else isn’t anywhere close to bold.”

  There it was. He was done. As Tony’s shoulders relaxed, the thought crossed his mind that his job could be “done” literally as well as figuratively. Ruiz’s eyes moved timidly in Tolberg’s direction.

  What he saw surprised him. The dapper chief of staff was smiling broadly, his eyes dancing with pleasure. Isaiah J. Tolberg got up off his chair, came around the coffee table, and sat down next to Tony on the leather couch. He swung his cuff-linked sleeve around Tony’s shoulders.

  “Young man, that was about as fine a political speech as I’ve ever heard anybody deliver. You will go far. That brain of yours works. But, oh boy, so does that tongue. Excellent.

  “But as good as that little sermon was, the lesson you haven’t yet learned is the one about political costs,” said Isaiah Tolberg, unwinding his arm from Tony’s shoulders. His tone was fatherly. “It’s a hard lesson to learn in theory. One has to personally suffer the cutting bite of political failure to really internalize the teaching.

  “But I’m going to give you a tutorial now, Tony. You can have all the right arguments. All the right policies. All the right analyses and prescriptions. You can be one hundred percent correct. And still, in politics, it’s possible that the smartest path is not to move ahead.

  “Let’s take your geo-eco strategy. If I followed correctly, your point is that conservation helps both the climate and helps wean us off foreign oil. Do I have it right? Well, the question is, how do we really get Americans to conserve? I’ll tell you how; there’s only one way to do it. We would have to tax carbon fuels like oil and natural gas. Gasoline would need to become too expensive for commuters to buy it for guzzling SUVs. Natural-heating gas would have to cost more than solar panels. Alternative energies would require help to compete against fossil fuels.”

  Tolberg looked at Ruiz with a disarming smile.

  “So, how much tax do we need, Tony? What do you think? Two or three dollars on top of the average four-dollar price per gallon of gasoline and home-heating propane?”

  The instant Tony Ruiz nodded his assent, he realized he had fallen into Tolberg’s trap.

  “Well, what do you think will happen to this president if, after the California crisis, all he can come up with is a two-dollar gasoline tax?” Tolberg’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “Can you imagine the conservative talk shows—they would have a field day. I can hear Rush Limbaugh now: ‘Gene Laurence doesn’t think California suffered enough. He watched people die in the Golden State and now wants to punish Californians with a two-dollar gas tax.’ Do you know how long we would last? I’ll tell you. Five minutes. We would be eaten alive, Tony. Chewed up and spat out.”

  Ruiz’s eyes looked downward. He knew Tolberg was right. His previous misgivings about the White House’s chief of staff gave way to a renewed admiration for the older man’s incisive political acumen.

  “It’s all about the moment, my friend,” Tolberg continued, pressing his point. “Politics is about timing. Your plan was the right one if we’d had the guts and the inclination to launch it a year ago. Now, after California, we can’t ask people to suffer more.”

  Tolberg got up. The meeting was over.

  “All good ideas, Tony. Good ideas with bad timing. Pack your bags. You’re off to Moscow in twelve days.”

  LANGLEY, VIRGINIA

  AUGUST 17, 5:45 P.M.

  CIA HEADQUARTERS

  General Martha Packard picked up the phone slowly. She didn’t like unscheduled calls from the White House. Twenty years in Washington had taught her that impromptu interruptions from high-level civilians almost never brought good news.

  Her caution would be proved right. Again.

  “Senator, nice to hear from you,” she lied. “What’s up?” Martha Packard was not one for small talk.

  “General, I’m so glad to hear you’re well,” said the voice of President Eugene Laurence’s chief of staff. It was clear to Packard that Tolberg had elegantly engaged her nonexistent phone manners. She ignored the taunt.

  “I’ve been speaking to the president about your upcoming trip to Moscow. We’re all intrigued, General. Your success over there could shape the rest of this president’s term in office. The stakes are big enough for this to be Eugene Laurence’s principal legacy—it could well be what history books will remember about this president.”

  Packard didn’t answer. The general did not like the rhetorical warm-ups all Washington politicians thought were a necessary beginning to every conversation. She looked down irritably at the coffee spot just to the left of her medal of valor. General Martha Packard went to work in uniform. She was not the first former military officer to become the head of the Central Intelligence Agency. But she was the first one to refuse to occupy the traditionally civilian position without resigning her military commission.

  If her silence made Isaiah J. Tolberg uncomfortable, he certainly didn’t show it.

  “Now, the president feels that a mission like the one you’re undertaking has such big political ramifications that it might be worth expanding our delegation beyond your ample expertise to include some additional political brainpower.”

  Packard felt every muscle in her body tighten. Tolberg was in full Washington-speak mode. In English, his words meant, “We don’t trust you to go alone.” She knew what was coming. Tolberg was joining the trip.

  “So the president has asked Tony Ruiz to join you in Russia. I’ve just talked to him and he is willing to go along.”

  “What?” Packard choked, unable to contain her irritation. “You’re sending a twenty-nine-year-old former policeman with me to negotiate with the most suspicious and conspiratorial humans on the planet? That isn’t possible.”

  “Tony’s presence is, General, what the president desires,” answered Tolberg without missing a beat. She couldn’t tell through his thick formality if he was irritated with her sharpness.

  “Well, Senator, the White House may think that Tony Ruiz is a nice fellow. But he has no experience. Hell, I don’t even know if this Washington State kid ever crossed the border to Canada. He also talks too much; his interru
ption in the Cabinet Room a few months ago was inexcusable. Remember that while we Americans like brash youngsters, it is a quality foreigners don’t appreciate.

  “No,” the CIA director concluded. “I don’t want him on the plane. He can’t come.”

  “General Packard, I don’t believe I was asking for your permission. You are leading this delegation. And you are the person who first brought the idea of a transcontinental crossing to the president’s attention. But you’re traveling at the president’s behest. And he has decided that he would like somebody from the White House to join along. Tony is his choice.”

  Packard was furious. This was her mission. Her idea. Her launching pad to a political future. She wasn’t about to share the limelight with a bit player.

  And notwithstanding the elegant words, she knew Tolberg had just tried to put her in her place. She wasn’t about to roll over and take it.

  “Senator Tolberg, don’t pull this civilian one-upsmanship on me. Like you, I’ve been around the track in this town. My trip to Moscow could instantly transform our relations with the second-mightiest nation on this planet and solve our energy needs for the next fifty years. This isn’t a school field trip; there can be no mistakes. I’m not about to have an under-thirty White House chaperone with me on one of this country’s most important missions.”

  She could hear Tolberg hesitating. She took advantage of the silence and pressed further.

  “The Russians need to hear us speak with one voice. They don’t do well with confusion, sir. They should have one clear interlocutor. This is a CIA trip. The presence of somebody from the White House, even if I am clearly the mission chief, has the potential to create misunderstanding.”

  Packard thought this last bit was particularly convincing. So she decided to end magnanimously.

  “There will be ample time to consider the political issues upon my return. If I’m successful in Moscow, we’ll need to think a lot about how we announce the transcontinental link. And I respect the president’s desire to make Mr. Ruiz an integral part of those discussions. He will be very helpful at that stage, I’m sure.”