“I’m speaking,” Grady insisted, “of any thug element that might view with antagonism the expansion of our freedom and our markets, our attempt to build a democratic world for the private sector.”

For a moment the President did not reply. He brushed back his splendid mass of dyed hair; he was thinking. He touched one of a battery of buttons on a console beside the desk. A subdued grinding of little gears spawned a chain reaction: the Great Seal of the USA sank like the setting sun from its perch on a wall to reveal a backboard from which slowly descended a metal-rimmed basket and an attached net. The President reached down into the leg-well of his desk and came up with a basketball. He dribbled around the desk and fired a seventeen-foot fallaway jumper. The movement was graceless, inelegant—the lurch of a cow tripping over a rock. But the ball swished through the net. I couldn’t help but admire him. He recovered the ball, dribbled to the far corner, shot again. But this time it crashed off the back of the rim, bounced in a high arc, and landed on the keyboard of a computer. The screen was shot with lights and glitches. On the video display appeared a message: This is the Duty Officer. Are you requesting emergency access to Turkmenistan? Over.

The President pecked out his reply: Get lost. He slammed a switch and the instrument went to gray. Turning to Grady, “About Assara,” he said, “what are you trying to say? Just remember,” he cautioned, “it has to be cost effective.”

Grady’s face went grave with the solemn resolve usually associated with those granitic posters flogging patriotism.

“I think, sir,” he said selflessly, “we must stand by our friends.”

“Friends? In fucking Assoko?”

“We must create labor-intensive jobs for these people, just as we’ve done for our accomplished friends in South Korea, Taiwan…”

“What can these people do?” The President’s voice was etched with acid. “I’ve never heard of ’em doing anything, so their accomplishments must be a well-kept secret.”

“We can help them mobilize what resources they have, and they’re a resourceful people. What they need is encouragement.”

“What kind of encouragement?” The President was wary.

“We must build an infrastructure for the province. In order to produce, they need electrification.”

“They’ll get it in good time. For Christ sakes, we still haven’t got enough wattage or voltage or whatever the hell in Baghdad. So why have we got to kick Assoria to the head of the line?”

“Because, sir, we need them more than they need us. Strategically.”

“Run that by me again?”

“We could use a nuclear component.”

“Now, J for just-a-minute, Joe. You say nuclear?”

“Yes sir. For the generation of electrical power,” Grady repeated. “It’s what’s needed to stabilize the region.”