Hang on, I said to myself. Can this mean we're about to test out Henderson's "worst case" scenario, that Japanese pullout all the analysts say could never happen? But there's no reason. No sudden icebergs out ahead. . . .
Noda. I said the word out loud. Noda's kicked off his play.
I almost laughed at the thought of his naivete. Was this going to be his game? Who was he planning to fool? For once you've got a little surprise in store, chum. Treasury may have to sweeten the pot, but there's a lot of money in the world. The United States of America can't be blackmailed.
Then I glanced out at the blue morning sky, empty except for a single swooping sparrow, and had a strange premonition, one of those mystical moments when everything sparkles with crystalline clarity. I had this feeling I can't explain. Still in a reverie I carefully set down my orange-juice glass, walked upstairs to the "office," and dialed one of the computers into Reuters's Wall Street service. How were the securities markets taking the news? It was already ten-thirty, time enough for some initial response.
Dear God. For a second or so I just stared at the numbers in disbelief. What was happening? Noda hadn't gone near the stock market.
I quickly switched on the TV and located CNN, which was already carrying a special report live from the floor of the New York Stock Exchange. There stood a badly shaken Lou Dobbs, minus his tie. Minus, in fact, his jacket. The scene around him was pandemonium.
". . . and the Dow Jones Average . . ."—he glanced down at a monitor—". . . has dropped six hundred and eighty points in the last twenty minutes. . . ." At that moment somebody jostled against the cameraman, giving us a momentary view of the ocean of paper buy-and-sell slips littering the floor. "A hundred and ninety million shares have already changed hands in the first half hour of trading this morning. ..."
My God, I thought, the market is in free-fall. Was Meltdown Monday in '87 just the warm-up?
"As yet unconfirmed rumors concerning a slow foreign response to today's Treasury auction . . ."—although he was weighing his words carefully to give the appearance of calm, the hasty makeup on his forehead was already beginning to bubble with perspiration— ". . . seem to be responsible for what most analysts are describing as an entirely inappropriate overreaction in securities prices here this morning. ..."
What else could he say? It was as though everybody's gnawing, primal fear had just been confirmed. There really was a hairy beast lurking in the bedroom closet, waiting to jump out and eat us in our sleep. The market was running to mommy: safe and soothing cash.