Kicking the Can (12 page)

“We’ll meet in conference rooms on the first floor. Dain believes we are somewhere in the World Islands, a man-made archipelago off the coast of Dubai. The conference rooms are named after city-state districts. Our full team meetings will be in Deria, which leaves Karama, Satwa, and Jumeirah available for individuals and small groups.”

“Do we know what the time difference is between Dubai and the East Coast?” Lowsley asked.

“New York is eight hours behind,” Dain said.

“I received a dossier on each of you—back ground, education, training, etc. I thought it appropriate to fill in some of the blanks…who I am.

“My name is Chris Drummond. I’m a certified public accountant. I worked for a multinational consulting firm with a significant presence in health care. I’ve been going to school nights to earn a master’s degree in health policy and administration at the University of Washington. I live in Seattle, with my wife, Barbara, and daughter, Sarah.”

Drummond paused to look around the room, searching their faces—so far so good. Jiang turned away, refusing to make eye contact.

“I wrote my thesis on health care reforms. Health care spending is a root cause of America’s deficit spending
and growing sovereign debt. The handout before you is an executive summary of my thesis. These are my ideas. I’m looking for your suggestions. The first session tomorrow will be an overview. We’ll break into smaller groups and self-direct thereafter.”

The team was studying the handout Drummond distributed. Drummond was talking fast—nervous.

“Here’s a list of upcoming sessions. I think that’s it for tonight.”

“Fun party,” Vogel called after Drummond. He was walking toward the staircase, relieved to have the first meeting under his belt. “Beautiful evening—care to take a walk?”

“No thanks, we have an early morning. I’m headed to my room.”

“More push-ups?”

42

N
atalya Baturina heard a knock on her door.

“Is this good time?” Jiang asked.

Baturina walked over and gave Jiang a hug.

“Go wash your feet in the bathtub…I’ll give you a pedicure.”

“Not necessary. I just came by to say thank you for your kindness the other night.”

“Soak your feet for a couple minutes in warm water, and I’ll be ready for you.”

Baturina spread a handsome towel out on her bed and propped up a pillow. She gathered three nail files and a pair of clippers. Jiang lay against the pillow. Baturina pushed Jiang’s sweatpants up to her knees and started rubbing her calf muscles in a circular pattern, working her way down to her feet. She stopped to apply more lotion. Baturina scooted back on the bed and raised Jiang’s foot, placing it on top of her crossed legs. She started kneading her feet with both hands.

Jiang closed her eyes and exhaled.

“Tell me about your family,” Baturina said. She was rubbing the bottoms of Jiang’s feet with her knuckles by making a fist.

“You have beautiful feet.”

“My parents paid a fee to have a second child. My brother was three years younger—birth spacing. He committed suicide after he failed to score well on Tertiary Education Entrance Exam. In China, acceptance to higher education institutions is determined by exam score. My father was professor at Wuhan University. He saw firsthand differences between ‘Gao fen di neng’ (people who has high score but poor abilities). Urik would’ve scored well on test had we lived in Beijing or other densely populated area. Exam score has regional difference.”

Baturina detected Jiang’s eyes were wet, but she appeared to have her emotions in check. “I haven’t seen my mother and father in five years,” her voice trailed off, “…Seems like lifetime.”

Baturina returned Jiang’s left foot to the bed and pulled her right foot onto her knees. She squirted more lotion in her hands and started again.

“My father was jailed fourteen months after Urik’s death for writing paper on education reform, criticizing Chinese government for regional differences in examination. They took my mother at the same time. I lost parents and brother to Chinese system. Men in military uniform knocked on our door at three in morning. They took my parents and left. My parents were not allowed to take single personal item. I was ordered upstairs to pack suitcase, and they drove me to airport. I was flown to Shanghai and started work at government energy plant. They allowed me to finish degree, by correspondence, and I’ve been working there for five years. They won’t tell me where my parents are located, and I’ve never received call or letter.”

“
Gulag
,” Baturina mumbled in a low voice. “We had forced labor camps during the Soviet era.”

“China take but does not give back—value of education was once positive family influence.”

“I’m sorry for what has happened in your life.”

Baturina dropped her feet to the floor and stood. She walked to the dresser and pulled out her nightgown. She walked into the closet, out of view from Jiang. She slipped off her sweatshirt and unbuttoned her shorts, kicking them off. She slipped her silk gown over her head, pulling it down, smoothing out the lines.

“I understand loneliness,” Baturina called out to Jiang as she stepped out of the closet. “I separated from my husband. Our daughter is now married and has two children of her own. You’re welcome to sleep on the couch. There’s a sheet and blanket in the hallway closet, and here are two pillows.”

“I don’t want to intrude.”

“You’re not intruding. I’m lonely. We are both a long way from home, and there’s plenty of room in this suite. Feel free to use the other bathroom.”

When Jiang settled onto the couch thirty minutes later, Baturina shut off the lamp. The room went dark. Baturina opened her eyes; the digital clock on the dresser next to the bed showed 1:15 a.m. She smelled the scent of Jiang as she nestled up close to her. Her body was warm—her willowy frame pressed close to her back.

Jiang raised her knees, placing them underneath Baturina’s buttocks. Baturina reached around behind her back and gathered Jiang’s hand, clutching her arm and pulling it around her waist. Neither one said a word
as they fell asleep. Jiang was already gone when Baturina awoke, but she reappeared an hour later, just as Baturina was heading down for breakfast.

“Where were you this morning? I missed you,” Baturina said, pressing her lips against her hair and cheek.

“I was working. I tend to be morning person.”

“I don’t mind if you want to move your stuff into my room and guest bathroom. I slept well for the first time on the island; thanks for the cuddles.”

When Baturina returned to her suite after breakfast, she saw Jiang had set up her easel and paints next to the window. She peered into the guest bathroom and Jiang’s toiletries were unpacked on the travertine countertop; her clothes were hanging in the closet next to Baturina’s clothes. The bottom two dresser drawers were full of clothing. Baturina smiled.

THE WHITE PAPER

43

P
resident Cannon frowned as he read the front page article in the
New York Times.
An independent bipartisan group released a report corroborating America’s corporations were being ripped off to the tune of $309 billion dollars a year. The culprit—Chinese cyber espionage. According to the weighty report, the online spying was pinpointed to a Shanghai warehouse leased to the People’s Liberation Army. This time President Jinfu was on the hot seat. It was the latest incident comprising an ongoing history of events that demonstrated a clear mistrust between the two nations.

44

H
eld at George Washington University, the media event was portrayed as a town hall meeting. Town hall meetings are known as the Hail Mary in political circles, organized when the government is in deep shit. It was Bennett’s media blitzkrieg to announce the House and Senate had passed legislation authorizing the creation of a super committee, an opportunity for his party to pat themselves on the back in a thinly veiled act of self-promotion and partisanship while roasting the president. Bennett and Haines were the ringmasters.

The legislation was damaging. It gave the appearance Congress was working harder to solve America’s problems than the president. The fact Bennett’s party controlled both houses seemed irrelevant. Cannon and select members from his cabinet sat in the video room in the West Wing, their eyes cemented to the screen. Bennett waddled across the stage to take the microphone from the moderator, a woman faculty member, who introduced the Speaker to a rounding of applause from twelve hundred students invited to see history in the making. Bennett’s loose-fitting brown suit made him look like he’d gained thirty pounds since becoming Speaker.
His face was bland and washed out on the TV monitor against a white shirt and yellow tie.

“Our great country was founded on a system of checks and balances. It doesn’t allow our governance to be dependent upon any one person, not even the president. Today is a great day! Through the actions and collective wisdom of Congress, a bill to create and empower a super committee with the full authority to address our nation’s health care and fiscal crisis was enacted. We have achieved a milestone, crafting seven hundred pages of legislation in less than sixty days. I take great pleasure introducing the chair of the super committee, Representative Tom Haines.”

Haines was wearing a dark suit, blue shirt, and striped tie. He had opted for makeup before coming on camera, enhancing his tanned face and thick, tousled hair. Thespian-like, he waved and cheered, taking several minutes to walk the stage, shaking hands and exchanging fist bumps with the students. Haines was charismatic. Bennett fidgeted.

“Thank you for giving me this opportunity to serve,” he began. “I’m honored to chair this committee.”

Haines extended his right arm, palm up, presenting the committee’s think tank. “Dr. Kenneth Schuler is a distinguished professor at Harvard University and widely published academician in health care economics.” Schuler stepped forward and waved and then stepped back. “Patricia Lewis is the CEO of Unified Health Insurance Partners, the leading publically traded health insurer in the nation, covering eighty-one million lives.” Lewis imitated Schuler. “Paul Soros is CEO of American
Hospital Operators. American is the most respected publically traded hospital company in the US.” Soros waved with both hands before stepping back in formation. “Blaine Windsor is on loan from the Canadian Ministry of Health and has been the number two person overseeing the Alberta Province Public Health System. Meet Gail Hutchinson, CEO of Biological Sciences, Inc., among the most profitable generic drug manufacturers in the world.”

Haines shook the hands of each individual standing next to him.

“These are our champions,” he announced, clapping vigorously.

Haines’s segment underneath the ‘Big Top’ was masterful
, Cannon thought.
Credentialed people exhibiting an aura of competence.
Suddenly, he felt an urgent need to use the restroom.

45

C
hris Drummond’s stomach was still churning, and he’d already taken two antacid tablets. He had been up before 5:00 a.m. and spent the better part of an hour on and off the toilet. Breakfast consisted of a dry piece of toast and some strawberry yogurt. He forced himself to drink water to stay hydrated.

Vogel took a seat next to him. She had yogurt, granola, and fresh fruit on her plate, with a cup of tea in her hand. Wearing black yoga pants and a snug-fitting pink T-shirt, her hair was pulled back in a ponytail.

“I could get used to this—prepared meals, seven-star luxury suites—this place is paradise. I had a massage at the spa last night after you blew me off.”

Drummond didn’t bite, so Vogel became serious.

“Did you see the broadcast of Speaker Bennett’s town hall meeting?”

“I did.”

“What did you think?”

“It was impressive. To tell you the truth, I didn’t sleep well because of it…Made me wonder if President Cannon made a good decision…”

46

C
hris Drummond began the first session quoting Peter Drucker. “Let’s begin with the end in mind. We’re contractually bound to craft a proposal to fix the health care system—it’s a white paper. It must be written at a level of specificity that will allow others to draft regulations if it’s implemented. America’s health care dilemma is a spending problem. We won’t ignore quality, but our emphasis must be on affordability. If we can solve Medicare, we’ll have a blueprint to make health care affordable for everyone.”

Drummond paused to defer to Lowsley, who was spinning a pencil between his fingers. The two had decided in advance to keep their presentation informal, to alternate segments to break up the delivery, and to gauge the tempo and technical aspects of the content real time by the feedback of the attendees. If their eyes were glazed over or they fell asleep, Drummond and Lowsley would call time-out and reboot the team.

“The health care data published by the Organisation for Economic Cooperation and Development, OCED, a nonprofit agency in Paris, best illustrates the degree to which the US is an outlier. They keep metrics on health spending for developed nations around the world. Their
data adjusts for differences in the standard of living between countries.”

Peter Lowsley turned on the projector and pointed at Exhibit A, a scanned copy of OECD’s health care spending chart. Lowsley paused for thirty seconds so the others could digest the information on the chart. The United States was so far above the trend line, the data point was in the far upper right-hand corner almost off the chart.

“The US spends eighteen percent of its GDP on health care compared to eleven percent for other developed nations—sixty percent more—after adjusting for higher per capita income in the US. Unfunded health care entitlements exceed seven hundred billion dollars per year,” Lowsley said.

“I’m not a health care expert. Are you saying we need to shrink the health care industry forty percent?” Vogel asked in disbelief. “Even if dramatic cost savings are possible, how are we going to replace the lost GDP? You’re alluding to something like a six percent hit. There’s no way the US economy can absorb a contraction of that magnitude and avoid a recession. We would experience negative growth.”