Chương 117: Book 4 - Chapter 8 B

The President waited until the room was cleared and the silence was absolute. He settled deeper into his chair, the policy mask dropping slightly.

"Reagan always told me you always knew more than you should," he began, his voice dropping slightly, making the next words sound like a private confidence.

"I did look up that word you gave Mr Riley in Kiev, you know. Pratyekabuddha—damnedest thing. I confess, the reports on your 'flashes of the future' have been academic until now. But I am looking at a map for the dissolution of the world's second superpower, provided by a thirteen-year-old. I am listening to you now, John, with full attention. Your commercial secret, please. I am intrigued about what you've come up with now." I didn't leap to reveal the secret. I needed to work up to it.

He needed a reason to buy in before I bribed him for complete support.

"Domestically, you have a problem, Mr President." He adopted a cautious, skeptical look, crossing his arms.

"I do? The economy is stable, the unemployment rate is manageable, and the S&L crisis, while serious, is being contained. You believe I have a problem bigger than managing the Soviet collapse?" he asked.

"You said, 'Read my lips, no new taxes,' and the nation believed you," I told him bluntly.

"The deficit is not academic. Congress will force your hand. But I have an alternative—a solution that generates billions in revenue without touching the American taxpayer." He leaned forward, crossing his hands on his desk, his challenge firm.

"I will not break my promise, John. I will veto any bill that comes across this desk raising taxes. But I will admit the deficit numbers keep me up at night. Go ahead, I'm listening."

"Are you aware of my work at the Satsop reactor?" I asked him.

"A recent meeting with the NRC seems to show that they have not yet grasped what the ISPBR will do for national power production." A flicker of pride crossed his face for his own knowledge.

"I saw your Oprah interview. The ISPBR—Intrinsically safe. You are talking about a facility costing under half a billion dollars that can be built in months and delivers electricity at two cents a kilowatt-hour. Frankly, that alone is a tectonic shift for this nation's infrastructure, not to mention our position in the world. Is that the matter with national implications? If so, I agree, we need to push the NRC to stop dawdling."

"It is important for the long term health and safety of the country, but no," I said, watching the surprise in his eyes.

"What the Department of Energy does not know is what the facility is truly being converted into. No one outside of myself and a few others at General Atomics knows this, but that reactor will be able to produce something other than electricity." His expression hardened slightly, the former CIA Director's suspicion taking over.

"Something other than electricity? John, I hope you are not telling me that you have used a nuclear facility to develop some kind of clandestine material. We have strict, strict controls on that. I trust you haven't crossed that line." I held his gaze without flinching.

"I have not crossed it, sir. It will produce what I call SynGas—synthetic gasoline. It is chemically stable and purer than conventional automotive fuel. It is made from heat, air, and water," I said setting a diagram marked 'Top Secret General Atomics', on his desk. He stared, his gaze sweeping the diagram and then settling back on me, his eyes wide with disbelief.

"Gasoline from air and water? John, that is science fiction. Even if it is true, the cost of production on that scale must be astronomical. What is the production cost?" I tried not to smile.

"I am expecting to make a profit selling it at twenty-five cents a gallon," I told him. The sound of a pen clattering onto his desk was loud in the sudden silence. His body language shifted completely, the Texan in him taking over. He swore, softly, a deep, shocked sigh.

"Holy shit!" He ran a hand across his jaw, eyes darting around the room as if searching for a way out.

"John, I am a native Texan. I was a player in the oil business. That price doesn't just cut into our bottom line, it is an economic declaration of war! It obliterates OPEC! It is an economic Pearl Harbor! Are you telling me you're going to bankrupt the global oil industry with a handful of reactors? I will not stand for it, John. Not at all!" he declared forcefully.

"It won't kill the oil industry," I hurried to say.

"Oil will still be needed for industrial uses. But not for transportation fuel. The existing Satsop reactor, WNP-3, has been granted permission for a synthesis production experiment using the waste heat from the reactor. It will produce about a hundred thousand gallons a day." He breathed a small sigh of relief, though it was still strained.

"A hundred thousand gallons. That won't make much of an impact on the fuel markets, thankfully. We can control that. It gives us breathing room. I can manage that with our allies." I dropped the second hammer.

"The second reactor, purpose-built for this, will produce twenty million gallons a day. It will instantly triple the daily use volume of Washington state alone. And that is just the start." Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. His face fell again, replaced by a look of sheer dismay and worry.

"Twenty million a day? Good God. We are talking about the collapse of an entire global infrastructure inside of five years. What about the environmental cost? New nuclear plants all over the country?" he asked, looking for obvious objections to the proposal.

"SynGas produces less pollution than conventional fuel. And no, not all nuclear. I have a working prototype that runs on solar energy." I opened my manila folder and laid out a second schematic.

"I need land along the Arizona-Mexico border—specifically, the Luke Air Force Range—and I need your help negotiating with Mexico for a fifty-mile sea water pipeline from the Sea of Cortez. The solar plant production cost is even lower, and I expect to hit fifty million gallons a day there for each plant." He stared hard at the schematic, the scale of the plan—the Arizona desert, the Mexican pipeline—finally hitting him.

"A massive industrial plant on the border, fueled by the sun and the sea. You are thinking on a scale I can barely grasp, John. But this still threatens to destabilize every major petro-state and ally we have. I don't believe you want to create the spark that causes a crash. What is the path forward that doesn't cause a global depression?" I finally allowed myself to smile.

"The cure to your tax problem is this, Mr President: You will heavily tax the new fuel." He leaned back, his shock and dismay replaced by profound calculation. His eyes twinkled as the political implications became clear: a massive, clean revenue source that was not a tax on the public.

"You want to be taxed? You are trying to build the greatest monopoly in history and are asking the government to take the profit?"

"As you said, I'm the richest guy on the planet. This invention will only increase my lead. But, I cannot control it, it is too much power for an individual. Instead I will sell off each plant as it completes and charge a royalty on all production. I am already wealthy beyond need. The tax is the revenue stream you need.

If you keep the price of SynGas at the pump at ninety to ninety-five percent of conventional gasoline, it gives the oil industry time to pivot, strengthens the economy and gives you the revenue you need without breaking your promise." He grinned, the full scope of the political genius sinking in.

"I see your plan and I understand. You turn what would be opposed by everyone into a mad scramble to own a piece of it, all while profiting from the production," he sighed and looked me over.

"That gives me the funds to dismantle the Soviet empire and solve the domestic deficit. When does this happen and what specifically do you need from the Executive Branch?"

"The world changes on January 1st," I boldly declared, and watched his eyebrows go up.

"I need it kept secret until then. No telling anyone else. I'll need protection, support and your administration stomping hard on any bureaucrat who tries to hold up the process or is being paid to do so by other industries. The Luke Air Force Range will need military level protection during construction. Afterwards it will become a critical national asset that must be guarded. I know that this is a global game changer. It is going to give you immense power internationally as well."

He leaned back, the initial dismay now replaced by a cold, calculating gleam in his eye—the former CIA Director emerging.

"In what way? Be specific, John. We are talking about the complete upending of the global balance of power. The Middle East, Venezuela and the Soviet reserves... they all become strategically irrelevant. What is the diplomatic fallout, and how do I manage it?"

"Who gets the first international plants?" I asked him, opening up the conversation to its full implementation.

"Most countries in the world have a spot that's suitable for a solar thermal plant. If they don't, ISPBR is safe and prevents nuclear proliferation. Local production of a stable source of fuel to power the local economy will be something that every country in the world will demand. I intend to have the first international ISPBR built in France, and to do so as quickly as possible. But I'm leaving the rest of the foreign distribution of this gold mine to you. You tell me who to go to first, and who to skip."

He nodded slowly, processing the magnitude of the diplomatic leverage.

"France. A NATO ally who's not so happy about NATO. Smart. You are giving me the biggest diplomatic leverage since the Marshall Plan. I become the global gatekeeper for unlimited, clean energy. Who gets it, and under what terms, will define American foreign policy for the next fifty years. What about the American facilities, how do you plan to sell those?" he asked, returning to the domestic politics.

"Do you want the authority on who can bid for the completed plants?" I asked him. I gave a thoughtful look, pretending to have just considered the idea.

"Making it competitive would increase my profits. That speeds my construction time up as well. Arizona isn't the only place I can build a solar plant either. I can build them in Texas and Western Oklahoma. An ISPBR can go anywhere that has access to water. Give me the locations that make political sense for you, and I'll build the necessary plants and auction them off to your list of supporters." He chuckled, a genuine, if brief, sound, standing briskly to signal the end of the meeting.

"You are an absolute political machine, John. You just found a way to bypass every environmentalist, every oil lobbyist, and every congressional budget hawk in the country—and you offered me a way to reward my base in the process." He reached out to shake on it.

"Done. You provide the plants and I'll give you the states to build them in. I will ensure the regulatory path is cleared and the military protection is secured," he said, stretching. I could see the happy calculation of new power in his eyes. He started walking me toward the Oval Office door.

"Any other bombs you need to drop?" he asked, a playful challenge in his voice.

"Actually, yes," I said and he froze with a look of worry in his eyes.

"I recently acquired LTV Aerospace. That included AM General, Vought and other defense companies. With a future global war with the Soviet Union off the table, I've tasked them with producing the equipment needed for the next war. Not the one that the Pentagon has been planning for the past forty years." He stopped at the door, smile firm and his eyes lighting up with professional curiosity.

"I am out of time for the day, so let me put you with the guys you met earlier from the NSC. Show them your new toys. If you can convince them, they'll convince me," he said, and gestured for the door to be opened.