“A question for you, Mr. President. You have just received and accepted an illegal personal contribution of $1.5 million.” As Janson spoke, he imagined Grigori Berman guffawing back in Berthwick House. It had been the sort of outsize mischief that pleased him beyond measure. “How are you going to explain that to Congress and to the American people?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about a big-time Beltway scandal—Watergate times ten. I’m talking about watching your political career go up in flames. Call your banker. A seven-figure sum was wired to your personal account from an account of Peter Novak’s at International Netherlands Group Bank. The digital signatures can’t be faked—well, not easily. So it sure seems like a foreign plutocrat has put you on his payroll. A suspicious-minded member of the other party might start to wonder about that. Could have something to do with your signing that banking secrecy act into law the other week. Could have something to do with a lot of things. Enough to keep a special prosecutor busy for years. It’s looking like a four- or five-column headline in the Washington Post: IS PRESIDENT ON PLUTOCRAT’S PAYROLL? INVESTIGATION PENDING. That sort of thing. The New York tabloids will run with something crass, like RENT-A-PREZ. You know those media feeding frenzies—there’ll be such a din, you won’t be able to hear yourself think.”

“That’s bullshit!” the president exploded.

“And we’ll all enjoy watching you explain that to Congress. The details will arrive by e-mail tomorrow to the Justice Department as well as the relevant members of the House and the Senate.”

“But Peter Novak …”

“Novak? Not an angle I’d want to focus any attention on, if I were you. I don’t think either one of you will come away with your reputation intact.”

“You’re kidding me,” the president said.

“Call your banker,” Janson repeated.

The president stared at Janson. His personal and political instincts had gained him the highest office of the land. They told him that Janson was not bluffing.

“You’re making a terrible mistake,” said Berquist.

“I can undo it,” Janson said. “It’s still not too late.”

“Thank you.”

“Though soon it will be. That’s why you need to decide about Mobius.”

“But—”

“Call your banker.”

The president left the room. A few minutes passed before he returned to his seat.

“I consider this beneath contempt.” The president’s hard Scandinavian features were livid with rage. “And it’s beneath you! My God, you’ve served your country with incredible loyalty.”

“And was rewarded with a ‘beyond salvage’ order for my pains.”

“We’ve been through that.” Berquist glowered. “What you’re proposing amounts to nothing less than blackmail.”

“Let’s not get sidetracked by the formalities,” Janson said blandly.