Storm Front

“No, no. No one here is panicking. There’s no need to panic. It’s just these things can get unpredictable at the end. There’s an anti-incumbent wave sweeping around, and before you know it, everyone wants to just vote out whoever has been in, never mind that the person who’s in has been serving their interests faithfully for many years.”

Finally, the sweet-sounding sentence poured out of the man’s mouth: Anything I can do to help?

“Well, now, I’m glad you asked. I could use a little something extra for some advertising my people say will help.”

How much?

“My people say five million dollars would do it,” Donny said, and didn’t give the man time to object before continuing: “Obviously, we’d set it up as a super PAC. God bless Citizens United. We could give it one of those vague names like ‘Voters for Alabama,’ or, hell, call it ‘Roll Tide for Senate.’ ”

Actually, that wasn’t a half-bad idea. In Alabama, the only thing that could trump the religious vote might be the Crimson Tide vote. Donny sat heavily at his desk, took out a fresh legal pad, and wrote “ROLL TIDE PAC” in block letters on top.

“Point is, my colleagues who have successfully fought off these Tea Party challenges have all had super PACs behind them. So what do you say. We good?”

Donny held his breath. He was ready for a variety of answers, all the way from “yes,” to “let me think about it,” to an offer to hit up some of his well-heeled buddies on Donny’s behalf. Instead, Donny was shocked by the donor’s reply.

“What do you mean, you don’t have it?” Donny said, hearing himself yelling slightly. “You have it. You always have it.”

Donny shoved the Bluetooth deeper in his ear. He was suddenly having trouble hearing the guy.

“Well, now, I know it’s a lot. But let’s talk about that rider. I mean, how much is that worth to you? To just be able to call up a… a sitting U.S. senator who can put whatever bill you want into law? I’d say that’s worth five million dollars. Hell, I’d say it’s worth a lot more than five million dollars. People pay office buildings full of lobbyists a lot more than that to have not near as much pull.”

The guy wasn’t disagreeing. But he wasn’t offering to come up with the money, either. Donny could tell the guy wasn’t sufficiently motivated. It was time to give him the motivation. Donny hadn’t known why this donor wanted that rider. But if he knew rich guys — and, Lord, he knew rich guys — they never wanted other rich guys to know what they were up to. It was time to use that as leverage.

“Well, now, let me put it to you another way: What’s it worth to you for me to not mention that you were the one who asked me to put the rider in? Is that worth five million? Because, you know, I could just keep on keeping on. Or I could have my press office put out a big ol’ press release, saying that the world has you to thank for this change to Federal Reserve policy. What would you think about that?”

This, as Donny suspected, got the man’s interest. In fact, it changed his whole tone. And his answer.

“Sure, I can give you some time to think about it. But not much time. We’ll talk tomorrow?”

Suddenly, they were back to small talk again.

“Well, thank you. And you give my best to your lovely bride, you hear?… All right, then. You have a nice night now.”

He disconnected the call and let out a long breath. He was shaking slightly. He went over to the Clyde May and took a slug from the bottle.

There were a lot of emotions coursing through him, perhaps none stronger than disbelief. He knew he might try to spin it in his own mind, but he’d only be fooling himself. The fact was he had — for the first time in a long and otherwise distinguished political career — just committed extortion.

CHAPTER 13

AMES, Iowa

The man looked like he had been hiding for at least a decade off the grid in Montana, in a place where he subsisted on squirrel, elk meat, and indigenous berries. His beard covered his entire face and hung to the top of his chest. His straggly hair was at least that long in the back. He had an offensive lineman’s body, both in height and girth, which only made the thick, John Lennon–style glasses on the end of his nose that much more incongruous.

“Derrick, I’d like you to meet Dr. Rodney Click, assistant professor of economics here at Iowa State,” Ling Xi Bang said. “Is it correct for me to call you a quantitative economist? Do I have that right?”

“ ‘Geek’ will also do nicely,” Click said, offering Storm a good-natured smile and a handshake.

“I’ll just call you Doc, if it’s okay,” Storm said, pumping his hand.

“I’m sure I’ve been called worse. Anyhow, come into my office,” Click said, turning and calling over his shoulder: “I just can’t believe the CIA is interested enough in my theory to pay me another visit.”