Freidman could tell that Goldberg was not buying his denial. In a more ingratiating tone, he said, “I promise you, David, I had nothing to do with this. I have already spoken to Director Kennedy and she believes Ali’s assassination may have something to do with a business deal gone bad.” Freidman was stretching the truth a bit, but felt it was needed.
Goldberg gave him a skeptical look. “What kind of business deal?”
“Ali has been known to deal in arms from time to time.”
“Weapons?”
“Yes.” Freidman was happy to see this seemed to give the prime minister some hope.
“And you say the Americans knew about these activities?”
“Yes, as do the French, British, Germans, Russians and I’m sure quite a few other intelligence agencies.”
“I would like to see Ali’s file as soon as possible and give the Americans everything we have on him.”
“It’s already in process.”
Goldberg felt a little bit better, but he still had the Hebron disaster to contend with. “Assuming we are fortunate enough to be cleared of any wrongdoing in Ali’s death, it will still be too late to help us with the Hebron thing. With the current political mood the UN is sure to vote for inspectors by today or tomorrow.”
“Have the United States stall.”
“They won’t. Not right now.”
“Then just deny the inspectors access.”
Goldberg had already thought it through and discussed it with his closest political advisors. Dejectedly he replied, “I can’t. It would be political suicide. My cabinet would fall apart, and I’d get a noconfidence vote within twenty-four hours.”
Freidman knew he was right, but wasn’t willing to give in so easily. The two men sat in silence, both of them trying to find a way out of this complicated mess. Freidman had come up with only one option when his thoughts were interrupted by a muffled rumble coming from outside the building. Both he and the prime minister got to their feet and went to the window, just as another explosion was heard in the distance. Unfortunately, this was a noise that they had become all too familiar with.
Within minutes, reports were streaming into the prime minister’s office. Three suicide bombs had gone off within minutes of each other. Two in West Jerusalem and one in Tel Aviv. The damage and death toll was unknown, but expected to be high. Emergency response teams were at each site and searching frantically to make sure no other bombs were set to explode. It was a new and particularly evil trick of the martyr brigades to set secondary devices to detonate later and kill the paramedics who rushed to the scene to help the victims.
Freidman grabbed Goldberg by the elbow and led him into a corner out of earshot from his aides. “This is your opportunity.”
“How could this be an opportunity?”
“Send in the army and declare a curfew on Hebron. Secure the area and leave the rest up to me. By the time the UN inspectors arrive there will be ample evidence of a bomb-making factory. You will stifle the critics in your cabinet and the UN will be appeased.”
Goldberg thought about it for a second, then slowly began to nod. It was his only option. It was war, and in war the truth was almost always the first casualty.
54
The rest of the meeting at the White House was dominated by what would happen at the UN. They all agreed that Israel was about to be strung up and that for the first time the United States might not be able to stem the backlash. Valerie Jones gave everyone a stern warning about the press. No one was to give any interviews without checking with her first. The last thing they needed right now was individual cabinet members and administration officials contradicting each other. Storms like these could be weathered, but only if everyone hung together. They could not afford to have the Hayes administration look as if it were in disarray.
When the president ended the meeting by standing, Kennedy caught Jones’s eye and held up five fingers. The president’s chief of staff nodded and looked down at her appointment book. The president’s day was already running behind, but Jones was more than up to the task of juggling meetings and canceling or shortening events. Kennedy didn’t ask often and considering the events of last night her request was undoubtedly important.
Jones looked over at her boss, who was talking to Secretary of State Berg. They were standing under a portrait of Theodore Roosevelt. The chief of staff returned her attention to Kennedy and said, “Wait in the Oval and I’ll bring him in as soon as I can tear him away.”
Kennedy thanked her and then left the Cabinet Room with Rapp and Turbes. As the three of them entered the Oval Office, Rapp said, “He already has his mind made up on this thing.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“He’s not going to like what we have to say,” added Rapp.
“No, he won’t.”
Before the three of them had a chance to settle in, the president entered the office, with Jones and his personal secretary. The president went straight to his desk and deposited a leather folder. His personal secretary began reciting a list of things that needed his attention while Jones stood off to one side looking through a stack of pink message slips that one of her people had just handed her. She froze on one and then looked up to the president.
“The Saudi ambassador wants to see you as soon as possible.”
Kennedy suddenly became very interested in what the president had to say to his chief of staff. She took several steps forward and listened.
Hayes had a very warm relationship with the Saudis. Almost without thought he replied, “Set it up.”
“Sir, if I may.” Kennedy stepped even closer. Looking to the president’s secretary the DCI said, “Betty, would you please excuse us.” The secretary honored Kennedy’s request without hesitation. Once she was gone and the soundproof door was closed, Kennedy said, “Sir, there have been some developments that I think you need to know about before you schedule that meeting with the ambassador.”
Hayes raised a suspicious eyebrow. “Such as?”
Kennedy gestured toward the two couches by the fireplace. “I think we should sit. This might take some time.”
Hayes paused for a moment as he looked down at the workload on his desk but then agreed. Kennedy and Turbes sat on one couch while Jones and the president took the other one. Rapp chose to stand rather than sit.
Kennedy started by saying, “Early this morning we received some intel from the Brits. As you know per our informal agreement with the Saudis we do not spy on them in an active fashion. The Brits, however, have no such agreement and are kind enough to share with us whatever they dig up.”
Kennedy never wasted the president’s time so he assumed this was good. “And what did they dig up?”
Kennedy opened a red file marked EYES ONLY and was about to hand it to the president when she decided it would be easier if she showed it to him. Getting up she moved to the other couch and sat on the president’s left. She pointed to a five-by-eight, black-and-white photograph and asked, “Do you know who this is?”
Hayes studied the photo of a plump man wearing a suit and walking into a hotel, surrounded by several people, including one very large Asian man. It was obvious from the quality of the shot that it was a surveillance photograph. There was something oddly familiar about the man in the suit, but the president couldn’t place him. After a moment he shook his head, and said, “No.”
In a way this surprised Kennedy, and then again it didn’t. Prince Omar had a very strange relationship with his royal family. Kennedy had yet to figure out if his lack of official association was by choice or by the edict of his brother, the crown prince. “His name is Prince Omar. He’s a bit of an outcast from the royal family.”
“Why?”
“He’s led a very flashy life over the years. He’s a big gambler, a womanizer and recreational drug user.”
“He sounds like quite a few of the other family members.”
“Yes, but he’s the direct brother to the crown prince and fifteen years ago
was in real contention with his brother to become king. He’s very outspoken and unlike many of his cousins, uncles and nephews, he’s actually made a fortune all on his own.”
“That is unusual,” admitted the president. The 5,000-plus Saudi royal family was notorious for their lavish spending habits, not for their ability to support themselves. “How did he make his money?”
“Banking and real estate.”
Hayes looked at another photo of the prince and said, “So why is he an outcast?”
“He’s very critical of his brother in regard to cooperating with the West in the war on terrorism.”
Hayes nodded knowingly. He was no stranger to the hypocrisy of many of the Saudi royals. They were educated in the West, they vacationed in the West, they spent as much time as possible in the West, enjoying the fruits of free democratic societies and then returned home to bash the West and pander to the neo-conservative mullahs and imams.
“So why are you bringing him to my attention this morning?”
“In light of what happened in New York last night, I thought you should see this right away.” Kennedy reached over and flipped through a few more photographs until she found the one she was looking for. “Last week Prince Omar’s yacht was anchored at Monte Carlo. MI6 had him under surveillance, and photographed this man being ferried to his yacht.”
“Why did they have him under surveillance?” asked Jones.
“The Brits didn’t offer, and I didn’t ask, but if the opportunity presents itself, I’ll find out.”
“Who is this guy?” asked the president. He pointed to a photograph of a handsome man sitting on the back bench of a power launch.
“That, sir, is what we are trying to find out. The Brits were able to pick up some low quality audio of the prince talking with this unknown individual and it is very interesting. The prince was easier to understand because he was louder.” Kennedy flipped the photo and revealed a typed transcript of the discussion between Omar and his visitor.
The president donned his reading glasses and followed along.
SUBJECT ONE: Your, highness, I am … implement your plan. There are … things to be done … little room for error.
PRINCE OMAR: How close … ?
SUBJECT ONE: Close.
PRINCE OMAR: When will it start?
SUBJECT ONE: Within … week, …
Kennedy passed over several paragraphs as they were unimportant and found the next important passage.
SUBJECT ONE: There is … you could … for me …
PRINCE OMAR: … would that have … money?
SUBJECT ONE: They are … they … driven into action by rage, … I give them.
PRINCE OMAR: How much more do you need?
SUBJECT ONE: Response Unintelligible.
PRINCE OMAR: Ten million. You have become far too greedy.
SUBJECT ONE: Response unintelligible.
PRINCE OMAR: Five million.
SUBJECT ONE: Prince Omar, what … one thing … you … most pleasure in?
PRINCE OMAR: To see Israel destroyed.
SUBJECT ONE: Exactly … ten million … pittance, and for it … self-destruction … Zionist state.
President Hayes slowly took off his glasses and looked at Kennedy cautiously. “Do we have the actual audio of this conversation?”
“Yes. Our people are working on it right now, but I doubt they’ll be able to do much more with it than the Brits already have.”
The president grabbed one of the photos and asked again, “Who is this man?”
“We don’t know yet.”
Turbes leaned forward. “Sir, I’ve got the best people at the CTC looking into this. I’m hopeful we’ll get an ID on him within a day or two.”
“There’s one more thing, Mr. President.” Kennedy closed the file. “The Brits say the prince and this man met again in Cannes last Saturday. Apparently they had some problems with their audio surveillance so the tape of their conversation has yielded very little, but they were able to confirm one thing.”
“And what is that?”
“The Brits say the man was headed for America.”
“Why?” asked Hayes in confusion. “I thought he stated in the transcript that the target was Israel.”
Kennedy shook her head. “I don’t know, sir. We’re trying to sort this all out.”
“Irene,” the president said with a bit of a disappointed tone. “I know I’ve told you countless times to keep me in the loop, but I think all you’ve done here this morning is confuse me.”
“I would have much rather taken a day or even a week to flesh this out, but considering what happened in New York last night, I wanted to make you aware of it as soon as possible.”
“But why?” Hayes shook his head. “This transcript tells me the target of these two is Israel, not the United States.”
“Then why did John Doe leave France for the United States?” Rapp paced slowly behind the couch, not bothering to look at the president or his boss. “If his goal is Israel then he should be headed in the other direction, or maybe MI6 is reading too far into this or we’re taking the wrong meaning from it.” Rapp looked down at the president. “Arabs are famous for being shameless braggarts when it comes to Israel. They puff up their chests and throw around wild brutal ideas, but rarely do they ever follow through on them. What if all we heard on that tape was a business transaction that—” Rapp thought of something Kennedy had said in the meeting. “What if Prince Omar was involved in an arms deal with Ali and he got burned?”
Hayes looked at Rapp with a skeptical frown and asked, “Do you really think that’s what this is about, Mitch?”
“I’m not sure, sir. It’s too early to tell … . I’m just trying to throw out some other possibilities, before we get swept up in this blame Israel storm.”
The president didn’t feel like hearing any dissension this morning. Ben Freidman had abused the trust of his country’s greatest supporter and until someone gave him hard evidence to the contrary, Freidman would continue to be the focus of the president’s ire. “Mitch, do you trust Ben Freidman?”
Rapp didn’t waver for a second. “Of course not.”
Hayes nodded. “And you think he’s capable of something this reckless?”
This time Rapp took a moment to consider the full breadth of the question. “Absolutely. If it means protecting his country … I think he’s capable of almost anything.”
The president concurred with a firm nod.
“But,” Rapp added quickly, “one thing doesn’t quite make sense. I think the fact that the assassination took place in New York City leaves some doubt.”
“Why, because you don’t think he’d risk offending us?”
“Yeah.”
Hayes scowled. “I don’t think Ben Freidman worries about offending anyone.”
“But Prime Minister Goldberg does,” answered Valerie Jones. “His coalition cabinet is ready to fall right over the edge of the cliff. If he gets implicated in this the Knesset will vote him out like that.” Jones snapped her fingers in the air.
“Sir,” warned Kennedy, “all we’re trying to say is let’s be very careful about what positions we take until we know more.”
After sitting back Hayes thought about Kennedy’s cautionary words and sighed. Her advice went against his instincts. He’d lost all patience with Ben Freidman and his lying ways, but he knew Kennedy was right. He looked at her and nodded. “All right … for now we stay quiet about all this, but,” looking to Rapp and Turbes he said, “find out who this man is and if he had anything to do with Ambassador Ali’s assassination.”
Rapp nodded, but Turbes was preoccupied with reading an e-mail off his Blackberry. The director of the CTC glanced up from the small screen, a grim expression on his face and announced. “Three suicide bombs just went off in Israel.”
President Hayes placed a hand over his face and said, “Oh, God … this just keeps getting worse.”
55
The old house wasn’t i
n the nicest neighborhood, and it wasn’t in the best condition, but it served its purpose. It was right on the bubble where North D.C. bordered Northeast D.C. Compared to the southeast quadrant of the city, the neighborhood was tame, but trouble could still be found if you didn’t pay attention to where you were going at two in the morning. That was the Washington take on things, but having spent most of his life living under occupation, David found the neighborhood to be extremely safe.
He’d passed himself off to the landlord as a French software designer who owned his own company and was trying to break into the U.S. market. He would only be in D.C. sporadically, as meetings with his lobbying firm and the Department of Commerce dictated, but when he was in town he would need ample space to continue his work. The rent was reasonable and the landlord didn’t balk when David handed over the first two months plus deposit in cash. In the five months since then David had wired the rent to the landlord from a dummy account in Paris that matched his false identity of Jean Racine.
David’s only request, which he offered to pay for, was to upgrade the electrical service in one of the upstairs rooms and get the house wired for high-speed Internet access. The landlord, who lived a little more than a mile away, objected to neither and stayed true to his promise that he wouldn’t bother David as long as David was a quiet and respectful tenant.
Now David sat in the converted office on the second floor of the Victorian home and concentrated on the array of visual equipment before him. Mounted on the wall were eight Sony twenty-one-inch flat-screen monitors costing over a thousand dollars each. Two workstations were set up on the long folding table that served as a desk. The station on the left was for checking e-mail, managing his funds, which were spread out at various financial institutions around the world, and keeping an eye on a certain online news service that provided almost instantaneous access to what was going on at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. The other workstation was dedicated to controlling the other seven monitors as they fed him live feeds from traffic cameras around the city.