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said.
"Both were dressed in military uniforms, wearing IIM patches. We have them
in custody."
    The President was puzzled. "IMM?"
    "No, IIM—the Independent Idaho
Militia . They're one of the more active anti-government groups in the Pacific northwest. We're old friends."
    "Were they armed?" Secretary Tennenbaum asked. "Any
casualties?"
    "Yes, with automatic weapons," the Marine officer said. He cupped a
hand over his earpiece again. "No shots were fired. The intruders are a
bit bruised, but not seriously hurt."
    "Bruised, eh?" Wang said. "I wonder how that happened."
    The Marine officer permitted himself a small smile, but said nothing.
     
    For the rest of the hour, they skipped around the globe, giving short shrift to
Africa ("Mostly colonies," Burton
said. "Mainly German"), to South America ("Bananas, music
and abject poverty" was the way Tennenbaum summed it up), and to Arabia ("Camels and sand," said Ms. Tennenbaum,
to which Director Hawke added "and evidently large reserves of petroleum.)
    None of these vast areas, the President was assured, presented any immediate
problems or opportunities, and any conflicts they had with each other were the
province of the League of Nations, not the
North American Union.
     
    Next came President Callaway's meeting with the Council of Economic Advisors,
where the Treasury Secretary-designate, Sherman Mullhouser, the one-time 'lion
of Wall Street,' a slim, gimlet-eyed man who wore a better suit and much better
shoes than the President, rattled on for a good half hour about the competitive
threat from Mexico's manufacturing sector and the threat to NAU's independence,
because of our reliance on Texas oil.
    "Mark my words," the Treasury Secretary-designate warned, "Mexico intends to dominate North
America and minimize us. It hopes someday to challenge Germany for the
economic leadership of the world. And Presidente Garcia will seize any
opening he can find. He is the ultimate opportunist."
    "I guess that means I should be very nice to the German Ambassador."
Callaway said. "I'm having lunch with him in a half hour."
    "Yes,” Mullhouser suggested. “Arrange to play tennis with him. Let him
win."
    Wang was suddenly alert. "My cellphone," he explained. He flipped it
open and listened. "What?" He said. "You're kidding me.
No, no, no...put him in the Oval Office. We'll be there in a couple of
minutes."
    Callaway looked at his Chief of Staff with raised eyebrows.
    "Howard Exley is here."
    "Why? Good Lord, why?"
    "Courtesy call, I guess," Wang said.
    Callaway leaned back, closed his eyes and put his hands on top of his head,
fingers intertwined. Then he sat up again. "Secretary Mullhouser, we'll
have to continue this at another time."
    "Of course, Mr. President."
     
    Callaway and Wang walked briskly toward the Oval Office. "All the
interruptions—I feel as though I never get to finish what I’ve started. Is that
one of the Presidency’s traditional hazards, Eric?"
    "I suspect it is," Wang said.
    President Exley was sitting on a couch, displaying his famous hayloft of
orangish-brown hair, a color seen only on men approaching 80, and his trademark
Steinway smile, complete with 50 or 60 blindingly white teeth, probably not the
originals.
    He rose when Callaway and Wang entered the Oval Office and extended a hand,
which Callaway shook.
    "To what do we owe the honor, Howard?" Callaway asked.
    "I just happened to be in the neighborhood, Charlie," Exley said,
grinning.
    "Any trouble getting in?" Wang asked.
    "I know the doorman."
    They sat. "So, Mr. President," Callaway said, "I thought you'd
had enough of this place."
    "Just a few things to clean up," said the former President, in his
famous rumbling bass. "Then I'm headed to Hawaii and I'm not coming back."
    "Howard Exley the beachcomber?' Callaway joked.
    "Something like that. Anyhow, my conscience has been bothering me."
    "Really? Why? Did you feed me too much Republican propaganda?"
    That got a laugh. "Not enough, probably. But no. I just