President Hayes’s range of emotions went from disbelief, to confusion, to outright anger. When Rapp entered the Situation Room for the second time the president was absolutely furious. He had been in the midst of trying to figure out what to say to the crown prince when CBS broke the story. The speculation began almost instantly. In the new twenty-four-hour news cycle it wasn’t enough to just report the facts.
Talking heads were taking to the air on every station throwing the names of terrorist organizations around like they were corporations traded on the New York Stock Exchange. So-called experts were calling into question the effectiveness of the FBI and CIA and the new department of Homeland Security was being denounced by one particularly self-righteous pundit as a monumental failure.
During that initial media scramble to try to get ahold of the story, one lone voice caught the president’s ear. A spokesman for the Palestinians wondered aloud if Israel could have been behind the assassination in an effort to delay the vote before the UN and drive a wedge between America and her greatest Arab ally. The story had struck such a chord that even Rapp paused to give it serious consideration. Both he and Kennedy shot each other quick, worried glances upon hearing the hypothesis.
If it wasn’t for the fax that Rapp held in his hand he would have been more inclined to believe Israel was behind this entire operation. Prime Minister Goldberg was ruthless and daring enough to launch such a plan and Ben Freidman was the perfect person to carry it out. If this car bomb got pinned on any one of a dozen terrorist groups the crown prince and the rest of the House of Saud would put their wallets away and begin cracking down on fanatics like they had never done before. The Saudi ambassador and the crown prince were very close, having been raised together and schooled as if they were brothers. He was the perfect target, and what better place to do it than on U.S. soil.
Several things didn’t fit, however. There was this mysterious John Doe seen meeting with Prince Omar twice in the last two weeks. There was the audio recording from the Brits that had them talking about war and money, and even more interesting was the sudden appearance of this John Doe in both New York City and Washington, D.C.
All of this could be explained away as some exotic operation by Mossad to put the Palestinians on the defensive, stick their finger in the eye of the UN and drive a wedge between the United States and Saudi Arabia. In a contorted complex way Rapp could see why Freidman might launch such an operation. The suicide bombs were not stopping and in the minds of men like Goldberg and Freidman action was always better than inaction. All of that fit with one exception.
Rapp held up the fax one more time and read it. This one piece of evidence unearthed by Dumond cast everything else they had in a different light. Rapp was about to tell Kennedy what the young hacker had discovered when a marine captain came up and told him he had an important phone call.
69
President Hayes was leaning forward in his leather chair with both elbows planted on the long shiny conference table that dominated the Situation Room. One hand clutched the white receiver of his secure telephone unit and the other was placed over his brow to shield his eyes from any distraction. He was talking to the crown prince of Saudi Arabia, a man he considered his friend. The prince was someone who Hayes felt truly wanted to see east and west merge peacefully, but was unfortunately saddled with a populace that for the most part preferred religious rhetoric and inflammatory speech over enlightenment and liberty.
Hayes knew Crown Prince Faisal and his cousin were close. That made the call difficult enough, but it was also difficult because Hayes was embarrassed; embarrassed that such an attack had occurred on American soil, just blocks from the White House, just minutes after the ambassador had sat in the Oval Office and delivered an ultimatum that if not heeded would put the tenuous American economy into a downward spiral. An ultimatum that certain hard-liners in Washington would deem an act of war.
The thought of that news alone becoming public caused the president to become momentarily nauseous. The conspiracy nuts and leftist anti-oil crowd would have a field day with that juicy connection. Saudi ambassador comes to White House, threatens oil embargo and then is killed in explosion after leaving meeting with the president. This would be next to impossible to contain. No matter how innocent he was there would always be those who would forever believe President Robert Hayes or someone in his administration had had a hand in the ambassador’s death.
Hayes, in his attempt to console the crown prince, stated over and over how sorry he was and that he would make sure the perpetrators were caught and brought to justice. Something in the crown prince’s voice told Hayes that the monarch did not believe him. As a final gesture, Hayes asked the crown prince if there was anything he could do to help ease the pain. Crown Prince Faisal made only one request, and it was one that given the current situation the president knew he could not refuse.
President Hayes slowly hung up the phone and with the expression of a beaten man said, “Inform Ambassador Brieseth at the UN that we will be voting for the French resolution this afternoon.”
Secretary of State Berg and Chief of Staff Jones were alone with the president in the Situation Room. Both shifted in their chairs uncomfortably and exchanged nervous looks. It was Jones’s job to speak first. She had known Hayes the longest and was his closest advisor.
In a soft voice Jones asked, “Robert, what did Faisal ask of you?”
“He does not want his cousin’s death to be in vain. He wants me to help make a Palestinian state a reality.”
Jones nodded thoughtfully. She did not want to face an oil embargo, but neither did she want to face the wrath of the Jewish lobby. “I’m not saying we shouldn’t do that, but don’t you think we should talk about it?”
Hayes simply shook his head. “There’s nothing left to talk about. I don’t trust the Palestinians any more than you do, but the truth is I don’t trust the Israelis either. If we don’t vote for this resolution we’ll once again look like we’re doing Israel’s bidding, and we can’t continue to look so one-sided in the eyes of the Arab world.”
The secretary of state cleared her throat and said, “Excuse me, Mr. President, but Israel is the only democracy in a region dominated by dictators, corruption and a very dangerous strain of religious zealotry.”
“I know all that, but it doesn’t change the fact that we’ll once again look like we’re favoring Israel. Add to that the fact that the Saudi ambassador delivered us an ultimatum and then his limousine was blown up….” Hayes paused in frustration and through gritted teeth said, “The Arab street will think we killed him. They’ll hit us with an oil embargo and consumer prices will skyrocket and our economy will go right into the tank. We are boxed in.”
“Sir,” cautioned Berg, “there are better ways to do this. I can guarantee you that Israel will defy the UN if the French march this resolution through the Security Council. This vote, sir, could very easily lead to open war.” Berg leaned forward, stressing her next point. “We need to get a cease-fire in place first, and then come up with a well-thought-out plan and timetable, or all of this will be a disaster.”
“How? The French have made it abundantly clear that they will not delay the vote.”
“For starters, let’s get Prime Minister Goldberg to pull his forces out of Hebron, and let’s get him to do it immediately! The Israeli ambassador is in the building. We can deliver a stern ultimatum and demand immediate action.”
“And what about the vote?” asked a skeptical Hayes.
“We’ll work on getting the French to delay it.”
Hayes lowered his head and thought about it for a moment. The idea of getting the Israelis to pull out of Hebron was appealing, but he’d learned long ago that getting the French to do anything was never easy. Halfheartedly he nodded his approval. “Let’s do what we can, but if nothing has changed by the time the vote comes up, we’re going to support it. I see no other choice.”
70
Kennedy looked at the fa
x and like Dumond before her, she tried to calculate the odds of another Peter Joussard receiving one million dollars from one of Prince Omar’s private Swiss bank accounts. It was Kennedy’s nature to be suspicious, and thus she was inclined to lean away from coincidence and toward conspiracy. When she discovered that half of the money had been deposited in the Caribbean account the same day the Palestinian ambassador to the UN was killed, she all but ruled out coincidence.
Standing near the Duty Desk of the Situation Room, Kennedy looked up from the fax and asked, “Are we doing anything else to confirm that this account belongs to Ambassador Joussard?”
“Marcus is looking into his personal finances right now,” answered Rapp.
Kennedy accepted the answer with a pensive nod and fought the urge to race into the conference room and tell the president. “And this John Doe”—Kennedy held up the photo taken from one of the surveillance cameras at Union Station—“anything else on him?”
Rapp shook his head in frustration.
“All right. Let’s go tell the president.”
Rapp reached out and grabbed her by the arm. “Hold on a second.” He didn’t like the idea of just dumping this stuff on the president without a game plan. Rapp knew what the president’s reaction would be. He’d want to get the FBI and every other law enforcement agency involved and in the process they’d stir up so much shit, and cause so much unneeded confusion, this guy they were looking for would disappear. Rapp had an idea for a gambit that would allow them to see things as they really were.
After making sure no one could hear them, Rapp drew close to his boss and said, “This is what we should do.”
Kennedy entered the conference room first and announced to the various staffers who were present, “Principals only, please.”
This was code for telling everyone who wasn’t at least a cabinet member that something of a very delicate nature was about to be discussed. The handful of aides that were present immediately exited the room, leaving the secretary of state, the national security advisor, the chief of staff, the president and Rapp and Kennedy. Neither Kennedy nor Rapp bothered to sit.
Kennedy spoke directly to the president. “Sir, we have a couple of very interesting developments.” Kennedy set the first piece of paper down. “This shot was taken from a surveillance camera at Penn Station in New York City the night that Ambassador Ali was assassinated and this shot”—Kennedy set down a second piece of paper—“was taken at Union Station approximately three hours later. The experts at Langley say this man is the same individual the British photographed meeting with Prince Omar. The same man who was picked up on surveillance cameras at JFK on Sunday.”
Hayes stared at the two photographs for a few seconds and said, “So … if I’m hearing you right this man is in D.C.”
“That photo is from early Tuesday morning, so we can’t be sure he’s still in town, but—”
“But we think he probably is,” replied Hayes.
“Yes, sir.”
“And are we thinking he might have had something to do with the explosion this morning?”
“As of right now, I would say yes.”
“Do we have any idea who this guy is?”
Kennedy hesitated. “I’m afraid not, sir.”
The president’s jaw clenched in frustration. “What are we doing to catch him?”
“We’ve checked all of our databases on known or suspected terrorists, as well as everything the Brits have and Interpol. For reasons that are obvious we have yet to check with either the French or the Israelis.”
“And we’ve come up blank,” stated Hayes flatly.
“Yes, sir.” Kennedy made no attempt to soften the truth.
Hayes looked away from Kennedy to his other advisors and asked, “Well then, what in the hell are we going to do?”
The national security advisor spoke first. “I think it’s time we bring the FBI in on this thing. And if we think this guy is still in the country we should alert all local, state and federal law enforcement officers. We have to cast a big net and hope we catch him.”
“Sir,” said Rapp a bit too forcefully, “I think that’s a bad idea.”
Everyone in the room looked to Rapp. Even the unflappable Kennedy, who knew what they were up to, was a bit caught off guard.
Rapp glanced at Kennedy and said, “Show him the fax.”
Kennedy set the last piece of paper down in front of Hayes and explained its significance.
Hayes studied the document and asked, “What are you trying to tell me?”
Rapp answered before Kennedy had the chance. “I think it’s pretty obvious, sir. Ambassador Joussard was bought.”
Hayes frowned. “Do we even know for sure if this account belongs to the ambassador?”
“We’re working to confirm it, sir, but it’s a pretty big coincidence.”
Sitting to the president’s right Secretary of State Berg was replaying in her mind a conversation she had had with her French counterpart. In an effort to get France to delay the vote, Berg had pleaded with the minister of foreign affairs to reconsider. As the conversation played out the minister had admitted something that was a bit unusual.
Berg decided it was time to share her thoughts. “Excuse me, Mr. President, but I’m inclined to agree with Mr. Rapp.”
Surprised by his secretary of state’s position, the president asked incredulously, “Why?”
“When I attempted to get the French to ease off of their position yesterday, the minister of foreign affairs admitted to me that even he was a bit caught off guard by what was going on in the UN. When I pressed him, all he would say was that Ambassador Joussard had acted without his approval. His excuse for this was that Joussard was a very eager politician and a close friend of the president. In addition to that, pushing for Palestinian statehood was nothing new. The entire country of France overwhelmingly supports the idea.”
Hayes stabbed the fax with his index finger. “I need this verified, and I need it done fast. If we’re going to get the vote delayed it will take some time.”
Kennedy said, “We’ve got our best people on it.”
“Now tell me why this”—Hayes waved the fax in the air—“should change my mind about alerting the FBI to this mystery man who seems to be in all the right places at the wrong time.”
“Because once we do that, sir, he’ll know we’re on to him.”
Hayes let out a heavy sigh. “I don’t see how we can possibly keep this from the FBI.”
“I agree.” Always the political oracle, Jones looked to her boss and added, “There will be a congressional investigation into this and if”—she stopped and corrected herself—“when they find out you willingly withheld information from the FBI …” She didn’t bother to finish the sentence. The painful expression on her face said it all.
Kennedy had coached Rapp that this would be the most influential argument for alerting the FBI. She’d also told him that it would come from Jones. Ignoring the chief of staff, Rapp focused on the president and said, “Sir, all I want is twenty-four hours.” He spoke in a confident tone. “Give me a day, and I’ll find out who this guy is and what he’s up to.”
The president believed him, but unfortunately they didn’t have the luxury of a day to figure out what was going on. “We’re out of time, Mitch. The UN is going to vote this afternoon. I’m sorry, but we’re going to have to bring in the FBI.”
Rapp had him right where he wanted him. “What if I can get the UN to delay the vote for a day?”
Hayes was cautiously intrigued. “How?”
71
Ambassador Eitan had been sitting in the Oval Office for eleven minutes and thirty-eight seconds. The Israeli emissary to the United States knew this because he was a fastidious time checker. Having to wait to see the president of the United States was not an unusual occurrence, but waiting alone in the Oval Office was. Either intentionally or unintentionally it was very unsettling, and this morning had been unsettling enough. It had started w
ith a frustrating conference call to his superiors back in Jerusalem. They told him to tell the Americans nothing, which was easy enough since he knew nothing, but incredibly irritating because his own government didn’t trust him enough to let him know what was going on.
Then there had been the protestors and the bright orange spray paint. His security chief had refused to stop and clean the paint, and as he’d predicted, the camera crews stationed at the White House had descended on the graffiti-strewn limousine like a pack of rats on a garbage heap. And then the most unsettling thing of all occurred: the car bomb. Eitan and his assistant had been shoved into a corner table of the White House Mess and told to stay put. They were under lockdown. No one was to leave or enter the White House until the Secret Service said so.
While drinking his coffee, he had seen the news bulletins on TV reporting that the Saudi ambassador had been the target. Eitan was not embarrassed by the fact that he felt no sorrow for the man. He barely knew the ambassador, but that wasn’t the reason for his lack of sadness. There were plenty of people who he’d never met that he regularly felt compassion for. Eitan was not an insensitive man; he just simply felt that it was about time others experienced the pain that he and his countrymen experienced on a weekly basis. Especially the Saudis, who through their so-called charities supported many of the groups who spilled Israeli blood in the most indiscriminate and inhumane of ways.
He had been at the White House for almost two hours and was growing more nervous by the minute. The UN vote for Palestinian statehood was creeping closer, and if Eitan didn’t deliver his message soon it would be too late to do any good. His government was depending on him to move the Americans in the right direction. After almost two solid years of suicide bombs, the UN was about to reward the perpetrators of such violence with statehood. The United States had to stop such a precedent from being set.