Currency War

by Lawrence B. Lindsey

  The manager could not have men going through the hotel corridors looking like this and had come prepared. Each man was given a loose-fitting cover like a karate uniform top with a cloth tie to keep it closed.

  Deng motioned to one of his guards to hand each man a stack of hundreds, then put his belt in a small bag and gave it to Tom. He motioned to the belt as the manager translated.

  “I doubt your friend will cause trouble again. But if he does, you know what to do.”

  Both men were unsteady enough that the three guards and the manager split up two-and-two and the arms of each man around their shoulders. It wasn’t enough pressure that they had to carry them, but it did take some weight off their legs.

  Back in their room, Bob and Tom swallowed some Advil, knowing that the next dose would follow well before the time on the label. They took off their tops and grabbed the three cans of Solarcaine they had purchased in the lobby gift store, taking turns spraying it on each other’s backs. It was intended to relieve sunburn, but the topical anesthetic was as good as one could get over the counter. The pain lessened some, but both knew they were going to be hurting for a couple of days.

  Finally, they got up the energy to high-five. They grabbed some of the vodka from the mini bar, poured themselves a double, and toasted.

  “We did it,” said Tom. “All in! And we hit the jackpot!”

  Bob said, “Asking for the belt was a brilliant move.”

  “You were the one who paid for it. I’m sorry for that.”

  “Don’t be,” said Bob. “Whatever it takes. We got the bastard.”

  And they touched glasses in another toast.

  * * *

  In the wake of President Turner’s announcement, the Oval Office had become a war room. This morning was no exception as staff and advisers assembled to review the world’s reaction to the speech. The only missing face was Dianne Reynolds, who was still in Tokyo. In her place sat Cynthia Turner.

  “I have invited the First Lady to join us this morning,” said the President, “and have given her special security clearance using my authorization so none of you need feel any reason to hold back. I trust no one has any objections.”

  No one did, but in the unlikely event they existed, they would not be expressed.

  “Cynthia was an accomplished businesswoman before she was First Lady. And she reminded me last night that we had launched a product with big fanfare but had no follow through in terms of a marketing campaign. Now there I go, committing the cardinal sin any husband can make, putting words in his wife’s mouth.”

  Cynthia smiled. “That’s okay, Mr. President. You were doing a perfectly adequate job.”

  It was a sign of how well the group got along that a chuckle went across the room. One of the things the Turners did well together was play a tag team routine that made everyone feel comfortable.

  “This is not a criticism of you men,” Cynthia said, “but women make most of the shopping and investment decisions in America. Although men think they are more skilled at it, they rarely want to devote the time. So let me begin with the obvious—a five- or ten-thousand-dollar item is not exactly what one would call an impulse purchase.

  “So who is our target? There might be some well-to-do grandparents who want to leave a special something for their grandchildren. One would think that high worth individuals and families would be naturals, but their investment advisers and brokers won’t make any money on these purchases. So we can’t count on them to help.

  “It won’t be the banks, as the coins will shrink their deposit base. Other intermediaries like hedge funds don’t have the time horizon to sit on an asset that pays no interest. Now I am just parachuting into this, but who is it that we expect to buy these coins and how do we incentivize them? We need to come up with a marketing strategy.”

  Ben stared down at the floor. Both Bernadette and Cynthia caught it. Cynthia wondered if she had embarrassed him for not having thought through this detail. Bernadette knew better. It was a different sort of embarrassment. Ben had the answer but was afraid to contradict someone who was both his wife’s friend and the First Lady of the United States.

  Bernadette decided to continue using the Turner’s tag team routine. “Mr. Chairman, I’ve known you long enough to know you’ve already solved this one. You may as well spit it out. Cynthia won’t mind. Both she and I know that men sometimes do have good ideas. Kind of like a stopped clock—it’s right twice a day.”

  There was another round of laughter around the room. Ben visibly reddened.

  “All right, Ben,” the President said, “out with it. You’ve got to show that the male half of the human species can earn their keep. I am counting on you to speak up.”

  Ben decided that a little respectful formality might be the best approach to finesse the situation.

  “Mr. President, Mrs. Turner is absolutely correct. We do not have a marketing strategy to sell this to the American public at large. Her analysis of the situation and consumer attitudes is one hundred percent correct. Our target market, at least initially, are people for whom money grows on trees. Our initial set of buyers are the world’s central banks.

  “Let me spare you the logic for now and cut straight to the bottom line. Governor Nakaso of the Bank of Japan called me yesterday. Secretary Reynolds has been doing an amazing job in Asia. She has persuaded the Ministry of Finance and the Bank of Japan to buy $5 billion worth of our special coins. Their plan is to liquidate some of their ordinary gold to pay for it in the next few days. They want to make the announcement before the opening of trading in Tokyo on Monday, Sunday night our time.

  “Dianne is a very good salesperson. She and Nakaso have been on the phones. He, by the way, is an outstanding man and very supportive of the relationship we have with Tokyo. As a result of their actions, we are also expecting orders from Taiwan and Singapore. The Philippines and Vietnam are likely to follow suit with minor purchases. It is foreign policy as well as the nature of our product that is making the sale.

  “You might have noticed that the price of gold slipped a bit after your speech. Actually, the market action has been much bigger than the three percent drop might imply. As each of these Asian countries sold some of their gold with the intent to buy our gold coins, the Chinese have been forced to use their foreign exchange reserves to keep the price from falling even more.

  “We actually are hoping for some follow-through later next week from others. The Reserve Bank of India has a variety of motives to follow suit as does the Saudi Arabian Monetary Authority. This is really going to get the market rolling. Although we are talking about a potential stock of $1.7 trillion in new gold coins, a one-week turnover of $25 billion is quite enough to move the market. In this case, the price of raw gold goes down, while the value of our coins stays the same.”

  He paused to give it a moment to sink in. Then, “Remember, our main purpose here is not to sell coins, but to drive the price of raw gold down, diminishing the value of Chinese gold reserves. That will put a crimp in their plans to shore up their banking system with the promise of gold-backing and crash their plans to dump the dollar and replace it with the yuan.”

  There was silence throughout the Oval Office until the President broke it with, “Well done, Ben.”

  “The real credit should go to Dianne Reynolds for helping make the sale,” Ben said, hoping that they could leave this gender gap joke behind.

  The First Lady took the cue. “All kidding aside, this proves that men and women do work well together and bring different and varied talents to the table. To togetherness….” She raised her coffee cup in the gesture of making a toast.

  The President turned to the director of the CIA. “Speaking of togetherness, what have we learned about that piece OpenSource News ran about Ben and Bernadette?”

  “OpenSource is funded by a consortium of Chinese investors,” Hector said. “Nominally it’s private sector, but that means well connected to the guys in the Politburo. The leak didn’t co
me from our side. It was a plant by the Chinese to embarrass Chairman and Mrs. Coleman, plain and simple. They know that we are messing with their internal cohesion and decided to get revenge. Let me say we only know that from our surveillance of foreign sources, not domestic ones.” The CIA Director was taking no chances given that CIA had been surveilling the surveillance.

  “Any suggestions?”

  “Frankly, sir, we can’t shut them down. So we may as well use them. I think that, if he is willing to reenter my world, Ben might do a follow up meeting with Mr. Peter Robinson, who is the front for the Chinese and heads the organization. Confidential. Background only. Have him let loose about how shabbily he was treated. Talk about deep divisions within the administration. That sort of thing. Now is probably not the right moment, but there will come a time.”

  “Hector,” Ben said, “I need to do a gut check. I haven’t heard from Governor Li since the announcement. He’s an asset we can’t afford to lose. And to be honest, I committed to ensure the safety of his family—”

  “We have the situation in hand,” Hector said. “It’s a matter of waiting. That’s all I’m able to say at this time.”

  “It’s not just the Li situation,” said the President. “We seem to know nothing at all about how the Chinese are responding to our gambit.”

  “The truth,” said Hector, “is we at the Agency don’t know much either. Radio silence both externally and internally. No communication through official channels or even those unofficial ones that we keep track of. Bernadette, what is your read?”

  “The Director is right about radio silence,” she said. “Nothing in the usual party and government organs. It was as if nothing had happened, at least within the borders of China. The usual internet sites have been censored.

  “Some news is getting through and there have been some indications of public nervousness, but nothing dramatic yet. That may all change when their neighbors all start buying our gold coins. They will have to respond to what they will perceive as a collective action against them.

  “But that begs the question: why the silence? The simplest explanation is probably the best. They’re trying to figure it all out. My bet is that no side is yet completely dominant. They are still in a bit of shock, and therefore slow on the uptake. Li and what we sometimes call the moderates would normally be able to say, ‘I told you so,’ but can’t until they see how it all plays out. The hardliners are probably itching to deliver a response, but their advantages are military, not economic, and there was not even a hint of the military at play.

  “So they are probably pondering how to respond. And they too are nervous about being on the losing side domestically.” She stopped and gave a shrug. “Please forgive me, Mr. President. I am starting to sound like an economist.”

  “There are worse fates, Mrs. Coleman,” responded the President. “Let’s meet again at ten o’clock Monday morning,” the President said. “Ben, I expect a full briefing on whether our customers are lining up outside the door to buy our new product.”

  “Believe me, Mr. President, nobody is going to be watching it closer than I.”

  As the attendees filed out of the office door that faced the Roosevelt Room, Cynthia Turned asked the Colemans to join them for dinner on Sunday night. CNBC World and Bloomberg would be covering the opening of the Tokyo market, and she wanted a running commentary from Ben on what was happening. Everyone agreed and they said their farewells and parted, each anxious about what kinds of reactions the Asian markets would bring.

  * * *

  In their hotel room, Bob and Tom had finally found the right combination of vodka, Advil, and topical anesthesia for a small level of comfort to set in. They were on their beds, stomach down, watching the silent images of an Asian game show they had no desire to understand when there was an urgent knock at the door.

  “It’s Boonsri,” she said without prompting. “Please let me in. It is urgent.” Once inside she said, “We’ve got to hurry. The boys we visited? One of their neighbors ratted us out. They reported that some white people had been in the neighborhood. The police are bringing a mug book of all Caucasians known to be in the area. It won’t take long until you’re identified. Once Deng finds out he will almost certainly make the connection as to why you’re really here.”

  It was only then that Boonsri noticed their backs. “Son of a bitch! He really gave it to you guys. Good thing you’re well built. You weren’t lying, saying you were all in. Get any photos?”

  “Something better,” Tom said, carefully opening the bag with the belt.

  “Fingerprints!” said Boonsri. “All the more reason to get out of here.”

  She told them to leave most of their clothes along with a little money tucked away somewhere easy to find but still out of sight. It might signal that the men were going to return and throw their trackers off course. The men each grabbed a backpack and put a minimal amount of clothes, all but $500 of their money, passports, and the belt inside, then followed Boonsri down the fire escape stairs. They moved pretty well, their regimen of self-medication giving the situation something of a dreamlike state.

  Boonsri motioned them into an unmarked Land Rover. When Bob realized they were headed north out of town and not south toward the bridge they had entered from, he began to panic, the beating and the amount of vodka he had consumed having broken down his trust. “What the hell are we doing? You’re taking us farther from the bridge.”

  “They’ll have the news out by the time we get there,” Boonsri said. “There is no way they would let us cross. I have a small boat waiting for us just out of town on the Mekong and someone to take the Land Rover. It’s the safest route by far.” She glanced in the rearview mirror and noted headlights in the distance. “We’ve got company. This is going to be close.”

  A minute later she pulled off the main road and cut through a highly rutted path that led through the jungle to the Mekong. The reason for the Land Rover became even more apparent. She hoped that they had not been spotted making the turn.

  As they got to the small boat, they could see the headlights headed down the rutted road. For a moment a wave of panic rushed through the group. Then the headlights stopped, and they heard shots ring out. The police vehicle was not meant for a road this rutted and the men had emptied from the vehicle and started to pursue on foot.

  The trio ditched the Land Rover and its would-be driver climbed into the boat with them. As they pushed off from shore, they could see the first bullets start to hit the water around them. The police were still too far to have any real aim.

  They were about forty yards offshore by the time the police reached the water’s edge. Fortunately, it was pitch black and the bullets landed well shy of their mark.

  “Keep your heads down,” said Boonsri. Their luck did not hold up. They heard one of the men start the Land Rover, then it turned so the headlights projected onto the river.

  “Shit,” said Boonsri. She had left the keys behind, thinking that their colleague was going to drive the car back. There hadn’t been the time to reassess as all four of them had climbed into the boat.

  They were about out of range of the headlights when some of the bullets started finding their mark. Several hit the boat just above the waterline. Then worse news arrived. Downriver another set of lights appeared. It was a Chinese PLA river patrol boat. Its presence was illegal under international law, but the Laotian government was bought and paid for and turned a blind eye. They could see the searchlight from the boat crisscrossing the water. They knew exactly what they were looking for.

  “I don’t think they’d dare shoot into Thailand,” said Boonsri. “It would create a big international incident. All we have to do is make it to shore.”

  Suddenly, there was a loud crack and a large plume of water shot skyward about thirty yards behind them. The boat was shooting its main gun in their direction. The light beam was not quite on them and the men on the boat were firing blind.

  Another shell landed, this ti
me to their starboard. Then one about ten yards upriver from their position. Boonsri noted they were about twenty yards from shore.

  “Hope you guys can swim! Watch out for the crocs. You’ll be putting blood into the water, so get to shore fast. Jump!” She needed no follow-up order as a shell landed close enough to drench them in water.

  When the three men were overboard, she turned the boat ninety degrees and sent it north, parallel from shore. She then jumped as well and met them on shore. The patrol boat continued to follow their boat upstream firing shots the whole way. Safely on shore, the foursome watched as one of the mortars hit its target and the gas tank on the small boat exploded.

  The patrol boat crept past their hiding spot, its lights scanning the water, looking for bodies. They could hear the captain shout to the men and automatic weapons began to strafe the river. Some were headed toward the Thai shore.

  Boonsri kept them moving and eventually the shooting stopped. Finally, another Land Rover came into view, lights on. Bob and Tom felt a wave of relief. Both were thoroughly exhausted, and the Advil was wearing off. They could use another coating of Solarcaine as well. When they got to the car, they took both out of their backpacks. They downed the Advil with a bottle of water that was in the car and began to remove their wet tops.

  Boonsri took another look at their backs and turned deadly serious. “You both are going to need medical attention, better than we can provide for you here.” She pulled a small bag from the car, withdrew two needles, and gave each man a shot in the arm before they could react. “The Mekong carries just about every bad germ and parasite you can think of. This should hold off the infection for now.”

  She grabbed the Solarcaine and began spraying each man’s back, checking carefully for any serious cuts that might need something more. She grabbed some salve and a few bandages. “This is going to hurt, but I have to apply this by touch, not by spray.” Each man winced a bit as she applied the ointment.