“… can break the backs of these criminal empires. We can pull the economic rug out from under them by denying them the tens of billions of dollars—not tens of millions, tens of billions of dollars—they rake in annually from their illegal activities. And we don’t need to mobilize our military, we don’t need to mount an armed assault on them. All we need to do is change a few laws…”

She glanced up at him. “Has that Tommy Winston gone crazy? Was he sipping at the schnapps before he went on TV last night?” John could tell by the rhythm of her speech that she was upset. His Dutch-American father, raised all his life in the south, had married a girl from the old country. When she was upset her voice jumped half an octave and a Dutch accent began to creep into her otherwise perfect English.

“No, Mom. He was sober.”

“Then I am thinking he has gone mad. It is the only explanation.”

John shrugged. “You won’t have to go far in this town to find someone to agree with you. His staff has been trying to talk him out of it, but you know Tom when he gets his mind set.”

“You knew? Why didn’t you tell your mother?”

“It was a secret. I got wind of it last time I was at the White House but I never thought he’d go through with it. Besides, they made me promise not to tell anyone.”

“Even your mother?”

“Even my mother.”

She had the remote in her hand and started hitting the button, stopping on each channel just long enough to catch the topic, then moving on.

“Look at this. On every channel it is the same. That is all they are talking about. In Holland this would not create such a fuss. But here…” She walked to the other side of the island and freshened her cup of coffee. She held up the pot for John but he shook his head.

“Tom expected this,” he told her. “He’s figuring— hoping—the initial ruckus will die down and people will stop emoting and begin thinking.”