Kicking the Can (5 page)

“We didn’t find any holes in your curriculum vitae,” Cannon said with a reassuring smile. “We were confident you’d be confirmed. You’re accomplished in your field—we think you’ll be terrific.”

“Thank you, Mr. President. It’s an honor to serve. Should we begin?”

“Please.”

“Do you intend to veto the legislation pertaining to the super committee?” Duncan asked. “If there are no amendments, the legislation will be enrolled for approval in two to three weeks.”

“We’re still evaluating the language.”

“The committee’s activities are suspect,” Duncan said. “The word on the street is they’re soliciting industry representatives—sleazy. Haines believes the legislation is a fait accompli. Names of committee members are being bandied. It’s appears to be forming along party lines. Bennett is the puppeteer. Haines chair. I don’t think Haines and I have much in common. Too bad, I’d like to take him ice fishing…somewhere remote.”

“Duncan, I think we’re going to work well together.”

“My recommendation is to make Arnie Donovan, my chief of staff, in charge of the website and blog,” Duncan continued. “He’s knowledgeable, results-orientated, and trustworthy. I’m a bit of a control freak, so I’ll be following its development. There won’t be any hiccups. I’ve been in contact with Mr. Donald. He claims they’ve received over two hundred contestant applications already, mostly academic think tanks and industry representatives. They’re being cataloged. He’s asked us to tap the resources of your administration to help him recruit one more team for the competition. A team who’s willing to break the mold…‘original thinking’ is how he phrased it. A team he can point to and say the deck wasn’t stacked…that the contestants represent a true cross section of America…
the boiling pot of cultures from around the world. He wondered if you had any ideas.”

C
lever. It would lend credibility to the competition,
President Cannon thought.

“I might,” Cannon said. “The CIA has been experimenting with advanced search and analytics to enhance its capability for monitoring digital sources—websites, web portals, chat rooms, blogs, and online databases. ‘Open Source Intelligence’
…
something like that. With electronic boarders increasingly manifold, adapting intelligence capability to respond to new global threats is ongoing. Give the deputy director a call. Ask him if the software can be adapted to help us select a team for Donald’s Contest.”

17

M
ick Schilling, the deputy director of the Central Intelligence Agency, stepped to the front of the room to introduce himself. He was out of breath. He apologized for being late to the briefing. He removed a handkerchief from the inside of his suit coat and draped the coat over a chair. Perspiring, he wiped his face.

Schilling began the briefing. “The CIA has had several high-profile intelligence failures—not predicting the fall of the Soviet Union, the invasion of Kuwait by Iraq, and al Qaida and Bin Laden. We designed and programmed the OSi software to learn from these mistakes. We call it computational intelligence, CI. We used CI to search data gathered retrospectively, following each of these intelligence failures. This application helped explain the gaps in our intelligence that led to the failures.”

He claimed the agency was able to improve the predictive accuracy of OSi by making changes to the logic and reasoning sequences. ‘Meta-search,’ its proprietary application, leveraged commercial search engines all over the world. The CIA could customize search criteria by content
—
business, news, people, information type—forum, blog, multimedia, e-mail, and geography
—
Asia, Europe, Africa, and the Americas. The data were
aggregated in a virtual database. It was the comprehensiveness of OSi’s tools that made the application unique. The CIA could search using precise algorithms to parse and aggregate, slicing and dicing the bytes to produce meaningful information.

“If you’re still on the fence, we can demonstrate OSi’s capability,” Schilling said. Finished, he sat down on a hardwood chair and wiped his forehead.

“Schilling, please wait in the anteroom. We’ll apprise you of our decision.”

Schilling gathered up his coat and briefcase and departed.

“Duncan, make your case.”

“Mr. President, I recommend we use OSi. It’s no different than the super committee soliciting industry representatives. If we identify the credentials sought—education, experience, training, unique skillsets prospective team members should possess—Schilling’s team can program OSi to create the search algorithms. I’m convinced it’s worthwhile. I would like your approval to work with him. We can reconvene to evaluate the results of the demonstration.”

18

D
r. Janet Duncan illuminated the projection screen and began her briefing. She described the credentials input into OSi. No limitations were placed on information type. Schilling’s team ran two searches. The first was restricted to the United States, the second worldwide. Duncan advanced to the next slide.

“The software’s computational intelligence feature identified candidates’ motivation as an additional criterion to enhance the overall predictive accuracy. In other words, the software suggested we isolate why a candidate would want to participate in the intellectual contest. When we stripped out ‘recognition’ and ‘financial gain,’ what came back was intriguing,” Duncan said.

Duncan advanced to the next slide. A picture and biographical information were displayed on the screen.

“Mr. President, we found someone. Christopher Scott Drummond, age forty-two, married, works as a CPA for Anderson Consulting, a global firm with a significant presence in health care. He’s a graduate student at the University of Washington who wrote a ninety-page thesis espousing a complete overhaul of health care.”

President Cannon studied Drummond’s picture. He looked younger than his actual age—probably
worked out—but his facial expression conveyed a look of seriousness that reminded Cannon of himself.

“There were other candidates selected, but we think Drummond is our guy. He’s a no-name, so he should be able to fly under the radar. He doesn’t have any affiliations with industry, so he should be objective. Drummond is our top pick.

“Some of the strongest candidates include foreigners. It’s impossible to handicap how cultural and ethnic diversity could affect team performance, but the software ranks the multinational team higher than the US team. Among the foreign candidates selected is an industrial psychologist—a bonus for resolving any transcultural issues.”

The lights came back on in the room.

“Mr. President, after looking over the universe of candidates OSi selected and sharing this information with Sebastian, Bass, and Deputy Director Donovan, our recommendation is to have Donald recruit Drummond and the multinational team.”

THE CALL

19

C
hris Drummond sat bewildered in the expansive conference room on the ninety-fifth floor of The Donald Tower in New York City. Clive Donald’s senior vice president, Al Matson, sat across from him at the conference table. Matson looked like Radar O’Reilly, the company clerk on
MASH
. Short, boyish face, and wore round wire spectacles.

“Do you know why you’re here?”

A relevant question
, Drummond thought. Thirty-four hours had transpired from the time he’d answered Donald’s phone call.

“You have a business proposition was how he explained it,” Drummond said.

“Correct. My job is to oversee Mr. Donald’s intellectual contest. By chance did you watch Mr. Donald’s press conference?”

“I did.”

“Great, you must remember his contest—in the same vein as the Nobel Prizes? An intellectual competition to uncover the best policies to fix health care, a subject you’re considered learned.”

“There must be a mistake. I didn’t submit an application to participate in the contest.”

“True, but we think you should. Or rather we would like you to consider our proposal. We want you to lead a multinational team. We’ve read your thesis.”

“How do you know about my thesis? It hasn’t been accepted for publication.”

“We’ll get to that in a minute.”

“I’m honored to be invited, but there must be other health care professionals far better qualified…Look at my pedigree.”

“To the contrary, we think you are uniquely qualified. Degrees earned, schools attended, positions held in private industry and academics don’t fully account for potential. Besides, there’s no downside to our proposal,” Matson continued, “and the upside is quite compelling.”

Matson opened a three-ring binder and read from the executive summary.

“Five teams will compete. Each is guaranteed ten million dollars, to be split among members. The winning team will receive fifty million dollars in prize money. Teams will be sequestered for a period of thirty days in classified locations. No press. No lobbyists. No politics. During this time teams will develop a written proposal following the format and procedures specified. We’ll accept your thesis in lieu of an application. And we have selected your other team members the same way we selected you. Sign the confidentiality agreement, waiver of liability, and indemnification agreement and you’re in.”

Matson handed Drummond the three-ring binder, two inches thick.

“I marked the pages requiring your signature. All we need are signatures and a routing number so we can
direct deposit your pro rata share of ten million dollars. Your service to the country can be wrapped up in six weeks. You can walk out of here today a millionaire.”

Drummond wished he could rewind the conversation with Matson. Had he heard him correctly?

Matson waited for Drummond’s response.

“It’s not that simple,” he began. “I can’t be gone for four or five weeks. It’s not possible.”

“Think how proud Sarah would be if you use your special gifts to solve America’s greatest economic problem. It would mean a lot to her,” Matson said.

Drummond racked his brain to determine how he knew that and what he should do.

“You have twenty-four hours to make a decision.”

Drummond thumbed through the binder.

“It’s not feasible to read and comprehend this document within the time you’ve allotted.”

“Trust us,” Matson said.

The door to the conference room swung open.

“You must be Chris Drummond,” President Cannon said, walking over with an extended hand.

Drummond did a double take. The two shook hands.

“It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. President.”

Matson closed the exterior door to the conference room behind him, giving the two men privacy.

“Drummond, what makes us different from ninety-nine point one percent of the US population is we both understand the US financial position is precarious—it’s absurd, given we’re the only superpower in the world. And we both are uniquely equipped to make a difference. I was briefed. I’m familiar with your family, education,
training, and profession. My purpose meeting with you today is to explain why I believe Donald’s Contest is so important.”

Drummond studied the president as he spoke. He looked like he put his pants on one leg at a time—a straight shooter.

“I’m not sanguine Congress will set aside ideological differences to solve this crisis. House Speaker Bennett and his party control both houses of Congress. Even if we can craft policies to fix health care, I’m powerless. The contest was devised to take the problem directly to the voters. I choose to place my trust in the citizens of the United States. My belief is if one team can articulate a cogent plan to the American public, Congress will be pressured to do the right thing. I’m asking you as your president to serve your country and compete in in the contest. The full resources of my administration will be at your disposal.”

20

W
esley Meeks stood in the airport terminal clutching a leather briefcase. He was a puny man with a comb-over.

“Mr. Drummond…may I call you Chris?”

Drummond looked up, startled. He did not recognize the man who uttered his name.

“US citizens are tired of partisan bickering. The surveys all say it, Washington is broken. Mr. Donald has this idea he can solve America’s problems with a silly competition. It’s absurd. It creates a public relations problem for Congress.”

Drummond stood uneasy, wondering where the conversation was going.

“Who are you?”

“I’m here to make you an offer only a fool would refuse. Congress intends to pass legislation authorizing the creation of a super committee. Future health care decisions will be made by the committee. It will have the authority to make recommendations and implement solutions, all without requiring ongoing congressional approval. The committee will be staffed with respected health care experts. I’ve looked at your CV—you’re not in their league, something we both know to be true.”

“What do you want from me?”

“We want you to decline Mr. Donald’s offer. We can’t have detractions, not from the committee’s important work. We’ll make you whole financially. You can stay home and get drunk every night with your daughter.”

Drummond clenched his fists. Meeks took a step back and apologized. An airport security officer walked past.

“How do you know about Donald’s offer?”

“That’s not important.” Meeks twisted his double-male lapel pin thirty degrees so the two arrows were pointing up.

“If it’s not money you want, we can arrange for a pair of lungs.”

“What if I want to participate? President Cannon has urged me to serve.”

Meeks’s face hardened; his eyelids became slits.

“My people dug into your past. We found useful information…We always do. Twenty-one years ago you met with a George Goldsworthy. How do you think your wife and daughter would receive that information…if I told your dirty secret? You’ve been living a lie for over twenty years.”

Meeks’s face became reinvigorated, an evil grin forming, like the Grinch. “If you participate in the contest, you’ll be committing a sin—and the wages of sin is death.”