Yes, he thought, it doesn’t matter which side of the trade they were on. Everybody comes out a loser. But his thoughts were interrupted by his intercom buzzer again. “Mr. Secretary, it is Raoul Gaston in Brussels with SWIFT. He’s still waiting on line one.”

James couldn’t delay talking to him any longer. He picked up the phone. “Yes, Mr. Gaston, how can I help you?”

“Mr. Secretary, something terrible has happened,” he said. “Our computers are spitting out nonsense. Nothing balances. We are holding up the money flow of the world. Have you any suggestions? We are in a most desperate situation.”

“Mr. Gaston,” James replied, “I want you to listen to me very closely. For several months now, I’ve been considering this very possibility, and I’ve been contemplating what kind of contingency plan might be needed in case there was a breakdown in your system. I have an answer for the problem, but you must do as I say.”

“Please, Mr. Wong,” Gaston exclaimed, “tell me now!”

“First, notify your correspondent banks to discontinue SWIFT clearances immediately. Then resume the regional transfer mechanism. Leave in place all transactions prior to the catastrophe. As quickly as possible, then, you will need to have your people rebuild the computer records and track down those legally responsible for payments.”

“Yes, I understand,” Gaston replied. “Please continue.”

“I am afraid that California is a total loss, and it also looks as if both Japan and Hong Kong will be out of the picture by this weekend. So, please, plan around that prospect.”

“Oh,” the European reacted in surprise. “That too?”

“After we have time to assess the extent of the damage,” Wong continued, “the surviving governments will try to inject liquidity into the system to restart our world again. We won’t fund the profits of those who have been speculating on tragedy, nor can we repay losses. So for now, I recommend that, as quickly as possible, you wire urgent notices to your network, then shift to a simpler system. When my counterparts have met, we will give you more specific directions. Does that help you, Monsieur Gaston?”

“Yes, Secretary,” he said. “We have no other choice. Thank you. And please stay in touch with us.”

“I will. Just stay calm. Good night.”

“Good night, Mr. Secretary,” said Gaston. “I am glad you are in charge.”

BY NOW JAMES WONG was exhausted, but he had to go on. In rapid succession, he had his assistant put through calls to those of his Asian counterparts in the path of danger. The message was always the same: “A tragedy of immense proportions is unfolding. . . . Save what lives you can. . . . America will survive. . . . We will rebuild together.”

By now it was almost two o’clock in the morning. His brain was numb. His body screamed for rest. He would be no good to anyone unless he could sleep a few hours, take a shower, and put on clean clothes.