A state of disobedience

Austin, Texas, The Governor's Mansion

Elpi opened the office door and announced, "There are two men here to see you, Governor. A 'Patricio' and a 'Carl.' "

The deeply tanned man with the fierce blue eyes glanced appreciatively at Elpi—a pretty girl was a pretty girl—then shook Schmidt's hand and the Governor's warmly before taking a seat with his assistant in the governor's home office. Though both the men were clad in civilian dress, it was no difficult task for Schmidt to see through that.

"You're soldiers," he announced.

"Yes," admitted the taller of the two, the one who had introduced himself to Elpi as "Patricio." "Rather, we were. Astute of you to notice. Think of us now as being no more than your friendly, neighborhood arms dealers."

"No astuteness necessary. You walk, you stand, you shake hands like soldiers. A blind man could see it. Moreover, you"—an accusatory finger pointed at Patricio—"sound like you're American . . . from the northeast, I think."

The tanned man simply shrugged. "We both are." Then he reached into a briefcase and handed over a video tape. "Watch this. Then we'll talk."

Schmidt fumbled uncertainly with the tape player in Juanita's office until she, herself, came over and fixed it. Then she and Jack watched the video conference between the two presidents in silence.

When the tape was finished, Patricio made a head gesture to his assistant who walked to the VCR and retrieved the tape.

Patricio cleared his throat. "Anyway, that's neither here nor there. I am here to tell you that your heavy weapons shipment from China is going to be stopped."

"Then we're screwed," announced Schmidt, simply.

"Not necessarily," said Patricio. He looked at his assistant, pointedly. The assistant shrugged, it's up to you, boss.

Reaching into his briefcase Patricio pulled out a thin sheaf of paper. This he handed over to his assistant with the question, "How much of this could you make up?"

The assistant flipped through pages, occasionally looking upwards to do an apparent mental inventory.

"Carl, here," explained Patricio, "is our organization . . . ummm . . . you would say 'G-4' or maybe quartermaster. Can you bring your G-4 here, general? Maybe we can help each other."

Schmidt went to the telephone to call his headquarters.

"Well," announced Carl after some reflection, "We do not have exactly the arms these people are going to be losing. But we can make up a fair amount of it. It's going to be lighter stuff, lighter and older, that we can trade you for this."

"Trade?" asked Schmidt.

"Yes," answered Patricio. "You sign over the rights to your heavy Chinese arms to us. We provide you with arms, mostly Russian and Chinese, that we currently hold. Though where you trade us a 122-millimeter gun, you are only going to get an 85-millimeter in return."

"That's piracy," insisted Schmidt.

"No," countered Patricio, "it's business."