"Was that Henderson?" Jack asked, then watched me nod. Bill had pitched in to help Jack out of a few tight spots on the money front, in appreciation of which O'Donnell had proposed him for the Council of Economic Advisers—and shortly thereafter forfeited all credibility with the administration. These days he couldn't have gotten into the White House on a VFW tour. "Well, the man's got no idea when to keep his mouth shut with the press, but he's nobody's idea of a fool. What does he think this is all about?"
"Sounds like he's just studying the tea leaves like everybody else."
Jack sighed, then rattled his cubes some more. "Well, if Henderson can't figure out what's going on, then nobody can. That in itself ought to tell us there's a patch of slippery ice down the road. My own guess is the Japanese have decided to play a little poker with the American markets without having the damnedest idea of the consequences."
"Jack, what if they do?"
After we sat there gazing at the gilded plasterwork ceiling for a while, we started getting caught up on old times. He inquired what I thought the press would do to him if he married one of his staffers. My guess was that a photo of Washington's most eligible divorce veteran at the altar once more would probably make the cover of People. Everybody loves a lover. That possibility seemed to cheer him up a bit.
It was round about then, probably close to ten-thirty P.M., that another call came through. This time I already had a feeling who it was, and I momentarily considered not taking it. But then, why not let O'Donnell have the story straight from the source.
The caller was, of course, Matsuo Noda. It must have been late morning, Japan time, after a very long night.
What, he inquired, was my on-the-spot reading of the scene?
"I don't know." The phone had that same funny whine I remembered, as though he had a private phone system worldwide. "Maybe you should be telling me."
Noda-san, no surprise, didn't seem particularly unsettled by the developments.