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Nat David grinned. "Had to start hiring lots of German help. Take me awhile, training them to be modern machinists. But I'm only hiring men with metal-working experience and there's a lot of them in this area. Biggest problem I've got is a shortage of metal."

Ed Piazza picked up the thread. "Not much longer, Nat. Uriel Abrabanel just told me there's at least four suppliers ready and willing to start shipping in raw material-as soon as we can come up with the hard currency." He laughed dryly. "Credit's not real big in Germany, this time of the millennium."

"We'll fix that," growled Underwood. He glanced at Mike questioningly.

Mike smiled and turned a lazy eye on Rebecca. She straightened a little in her chair and said softly:

"To sum up, the economic situation looks very promising. With electrical power guaranteed and the town's production facilities in full operation, our only problem is the shortage of hard currency and the primitive state of banking and credit in Europe at this time. As to that-"

She sat up very straight. "My family has been discussing the matter-my very extended family-and has come to a decision. My uncle Uriel will stay in Badenburg, since he is well situated there. But several of my relatives will be arriving here soon, including three of my distant cousins. Their names are Samuel, Moses and Francisco. Samuel's father is a prominent banker in Italy. Moses' father is a financial adviser to Emperor Ferdinand in Vienna. And Francisco's grandfather is Don Joseph Nasi, who was formerly-"

Mike laughed. "The Ottoman Empire's effective foreign minister! And the nephew of Doсa Gracia Mendes, who transferred her business-Europe's largest banking and gem-trade concern-from Portugal to Turkey after the expulsion of the marranos. Did quite well, I understand."

Everyone except Rebecca was goggling at Mike. He shrugged. "I listen to my National Security Adviser, folks. That's why I spend so much time with her."

Rebecca clasped her hands demurely. "He is a good student, too." She smiled. "Very attentive."

A little chuckle went up. Rebecca's smile became wintry. "When the Spanish expelled the Jews, most of them went to Istanbul. The Ottomans welcomed them, you see, especially since many of the Jews who came were experts in science and technology. Gun manufacturing, among other things. Sultan Bayazid is reported to have said: 'You call Ferdinand a wise king, he who impoverishes his country and enriches our own?' "

"There's a lesson here," murmured Piazza.

Rebecca turned her eyes toward him. "There is, you understand, a condition."

Piazza snorted. "I should hope so! Citizenship, rights, liberties, the works."

"More," said Rebecca firmly. "We Jews must be allowed to break out of the economic ghetto in which Europe has forced us. Moneylenders can get rich, but they live on the sufferance of princes."

"Not a problem," growled Underwood. "Matter of fact, if any of your relatives has got some capital to put up-for which they'll get stock and a working partnership if they want it, me and Ollie Reardon and Greg Ferrara have been thinking about-"

Bill Porter looked alarmed. "Quentin, we need the coal-"

"Relax!" snapped Underwood. "I wouldn't be doing much of it myself. I've got relatives too, you know. My son-in-law's-"

Ferrara chimed in. "I wouldn't be doing much either, except giving some technical advice. But we really do need to start building a chemical plant. Sulfuric acid is about as basic for modern industry as steel"-for a moment, his face looked aggrieved-"even though most people don't realize it, and-"

Mike rapped the table with his knuckles, in first-class schoolmaster form. Melissa grinned. "Later!" he said. "Enough!"

The hubbub settled. "Christ, let you eager beavers get started on all your pet business schemes and we'll never get anywhere!" His smile took the sting out of the words. In truth, Mike favored most of those schemes. But he was also a firm believer in the old saw: First things first.

"The first thing-in fact, the key thing," he said forcefully, "is to resolve the political issue. I think it's time to call the constitutional convention-and then have another election. This 'temporary emergency committee' has gone as far as it can."

Silence fell on the room. Nat Davis puffed out his cheeks. "Are we ready for that?" he asked uncertainly. "I haven't really given it much thought, to be honest."

Melissa snorted. But the sarcastic remark about to issue from her lips was cut short by James Nichols.

"We're ready, Nat." James glanced at Melissa, Ed and Willie Ray. "Actually, the subcommittee finished drafting our proposal last week. Everything got put on hold because of the crisis in Jena. But-yeah, we're ready."

Hudson nodded. Piazza reached into his briefcase and began hauling out stapled sheets of paper. He gave Mike a questioning glance.

"Pass 'em around, Ed. It's time."

***