The Last Days

  “The key here is the dynamic that is set into motion,” Bennett interjected. “Arab and Israeli gas and oil companies—as well as all of the majors—are going to see what’s going on and want a piece of the action. They’ll raise capital and start building whatever they need to get into the game. Assuming there’s peace, investors will be throwing billions of dollars into the mix. And the more they put in, the faster everything gets done. Everything that’s needed can be built within a few years.”

  And then, once he knew he had Doron’s attention, Bennett sweetened the pot.

  “The president has also authorized me to tell both of you that if both sides sign a fair and just agreement along the lines of what we’ll be talking about over the next few days …”

  He paused for effect. Both men were listening intently.

  “… my government is prepared to underwrite the work and provide substantial loan guarantees to both sides.”

  ” ‘Substantial’?” asked Doron. “What does that mean exactly?”

  “Well, that all depends on the two of you,” said Bennett. “I’m not prepared to give you a precise answer right now. We want to see what kind of deal you two make together. But let me just say this: The president is ready to get behind this project in a big way. I think he’s already shown the lengths to which he is willing to go to get this peace process on track, and we are ready to see it through to the end. We see its potential. Heck, we may be the only people who really see the full potential. Most Israelis and Palestinians have no idea how big this could be. And we believe that once all the proper equipment and facilities are built and in place and everything is running at full speed—several years to be sure, but far sooner than most people would think—the joint Israeli-Palestinian venture known as Medexco could rapidly become one of the largest petroleum companies in the world.”

  “Meaning what?” Doron pressed.

  “We project it could eventually pump between five and six million barrels a day, grossing—conservatively—about fifty to sixty billion dollars a year, just from raw oil and gas sales alone, to say nothing of all the other refined products and retail sales they could produce down the road.”

  It was the first time Doron had heard the figures, and he was visibly taken aback.

  “When one factors in all the other potential products and sources of revenue for which Medexco, GSX, and the Joshua Fund have outlined in their business plan—that’s included in your briefing book—Medexco could before too long, I believe, do gross annual sales somewhere on the order of a hundred eighty billion dollars to two hundred twenty billion dollars a year.”

  Now Doron sat back in his chair and stared Bennett in the eye.

  “Our entire GDP is only one hundred twenty billion a year.”

  “Indeed,” said Bennett. “Almost overnight, Medexco would become one of the largest oil companies in the world, on the order of ExxonMobil, which typically rings up about a quarter of a trillion dollars a year in gross sales.”

  Bennett put up slides laying out the numbers vis-a-vis other major oil companies.

  “Of course,” he continued, “all of these figures were based on low-intensity violence in the region before the war with Iraq, and, of course, before the current military operations began in the West Bank and Gaza.

  “Medexco’s oil and gas drilling platforms and refinery facilities—if actually built—would be vulnerable to attack. But the Iraqi threat is now neutralized. And if some kind of real peace between the Israelis and Palestinians could actually be found—and particularly if together we can eliminate or severely minimize the threat of radical Islamic extremism in the Palestinian areas— then the calculations made by our team may be moot, or conservative at best. The real value of the company could be in the trillions of dollars, virtually overnight.”

  Bennett now upped the ante.

  The presentation was almost over. But he had one more point to make, and it was central to his “oil-for-peace” concept.

  “We’ll talk about the details of our peace proposal tomorrow, but for now I want to talk about how to make the benefits of peace tangible for everyone. Recognizing there are a number of ways to go about it, nevertheless, we would recommend that your two governments leverage the Medexco proposal into an initial public offering, and that this IPO take place on the New York Stock Exchange to ensure the greatest access to international capital markets. We further recommend that every Israeli and Palestinian man and woman over the age of eighteen be given shares in the new company. In essence, we’re recommending that you make everyone an owner of this new company,

  and thus give everyone a tangible, financial stake both in its success and in its safety.”

  Sa’id sat motionless, Bennett noticed. It was as though he was afraid of doing anything that might distract Doron, who was clearly intrigued with the concept.

  “We believe the IPO would raise hundreds of billions of dollars,” Bennett continued. “That would accomplish two objectives simultaneously. First, even low-and middle-income Israelis and Palestinians could become wealthy overnight. And second, Medexco could raise enough capital to complete all the necessary facilities as quickly as possible. While the president has no interest in micromanaging such an undertaking, as a former Wall Street CEO and chairman of the Joshua Fund and GSX, he understands the opportunities and nuances of this project, and he has some suggestions.”

  Doron nodded, as did Sa’id.

  “In no particular order, the president would like to see a deep-water shipping port built in Gaza, capable of receiving supertankers and other oceangoing cargo ships. He’d like to see refineries built in the West Bank and southern Israel, and perhaps even in the Sinai Desert, if a deal could be made with the Egyptians, which I suspect it could.”

  “Under the right circumstances, I think we’d be open to such ideas,” said Doron, cautiously optimistic at what he was hearing, but still waiting for the political cards to be played a few days hence.

  “Excellent,” said Bennett. “And is it fair to say the PLC would look favorably upon such options as well, once they were fully briefed on the president’s proposals?”

  “I think that’s a fair assumption,” Sa’id concurred, adding cryptically, “given the right circumstances.”

  Sa’id, too, was wary. He was betting everything on such a deal. Indeed, he was gambling his very life. The list of people lining up to assassinate him the moment they found out where he was had to be growing by the minute, and the mile. But if the warlords and jihadists were willing to sacrifice their lives in pursuit of war, Sa’id had decided in the last few days that he was willing to sacrifice his life in the pursuit of peace Palestine did not need another Arafat or Ayatollah. She didn’t need a Saddam. She needed a Sadat, an Arab leader with the courage of his convictions, a man willing to die so Palestinian children and grandchildren would not have to.

  At the same time, Sa’id was also willing to waive all prospects of financial gain from such a joint venture now that he was prime minister. He had already asked the PLC and Galishnikov to research how he could give up his

  financial stake in PPG and the Medexco joint venture, without giving up the ability to direct the company’s involvement in this peace process. If he turned control over to his deputies or board of directors, they could turn on him and refuse to allow PPG to participate in such an IPO or peace deal. But he didn’t think they would. They were all longtime friends. They’d been dedicated to Sa’id and his company from its earliest days as a start up in the Gulf.

  But Sa’id knew the hearts of men. He knew money and power were temptations few could resist. It warped their loyalties. It tempted their allegiances. He was living in a house of mirrors now. He wasn’t sure who he could trust, or how even his closest friends would react to him now that he was suddenly the man at the top of the greasy pole. So even now, Dmitri Galishnikov—an Israeli, a Jew, but perhaps Sa’id’s closest friend in a world gone mad—was in his room down the hall trying to come up with a solution.

>   Any way one sliced it, Sa’id knew he was about to forfeit billions of dollars in personal wealth. It wouldn’t be easy for the youngest of six children, born penniless in the West Bank town of Ramallah under Jordanian occupation. But that was a long time ago. Sa’id was now a very wealthy man. Yes, he had always dreamed of becoming a billionaire, and now such a dream was within his grasp. But this was more important. He had no choice. He had to send his fellow Palestinians—and the Arab world—a message: There could not be even the appearance of corruption or impropriety in the new government of the new Palestine. So as soon as possible, he would sign away his fortune. The real question was, would he ever sign a treaty, or would it all be for naught?

  THIRTY NINE

  It would take most of the evening to do a proper autopsy.

  Several days would be needed to identify the body. And they didn’t have several days. A conference call was hastily organized between the president, the director of the FBI, the secretary of Homeland Security, the National Security advisor and senior New York officials, including the mayor, the governor, and both United States senators.

  The evidence was sketchy and thus far inconclusive. But the tension in the city and throughout the country was palpable. They couldn’t afford to be wrong. A bombing in Times Square would have incalculable consequences within the United States and around the world.

  It was an agonizing decision, but at a few minutes before noon, a vote was taken among the participants. The conclusion was unanimous. All New Year’s Eve events in New York were canceled. The governor would call out the National Guard to provide additional security in Manhattan and the boroughs. And the president would talk to the mayor of Washington about canceling events in the nation’s capital as well.

  Bennett now turned to McCoy.

  “Erin, why don’t you go over some of our projections of what could be possible if an adequate agreement was struck by both sides.”

  “I’d be happy to, Jon. Thanks. Prime Minister Doron, our assessment is that Gaza, the West Bank, and the Sinai would very likely become the new Saudi Arabias of the Mediterranean. In that sense, we mean their competitive

  advantage may best be in focusing on the actual drilling, refining, and industrial development of the petroleum.

  “There’s going to be a tremendous explosion of new jobs, particularly for young men building roads, buildings, industrial facilities, putting in water, sewage, electrical and communications infrastructure, and the like. Large portions of this will be well suited for the Palestinian labor force, not to mention Egyptians and Jordanians, though that would, of course, take a great deal of thinking through to make sure no Palestinians are cheated out of jobs that should more rightfully be theirs, and that there are no security problems related to foreign workers coming into Gaza and or the West Bank. But you can see where we’re going with this.”

  “I can,” Doron agreed, not bothered by discussions that were still, obviously, in the conceptual stage. “What do you see for Israel? You’ve got my wheels churning, I must say. But I’m curious what you’re thinking.”

  “Well, I appreciate that. I think Jon and I would say that Israel seems best positioned to become the new Silicon Valley and Switzerland of the Mediterranean basin. You’ve got tremendous potential—especially with all this influx of capital—to continue emerging as one of the world’s great high-tech, banking, financial services and health-care capitals. You’re already operating well ahead of other countries in the region, more on par with Europe and the United States, and this could very well put your high-tech industries into the stratosphere.

  “We haven’t got specific numbers on it, but I think if you input all these numbers into an economic model for Israel, you’d see inflows of capital into your country that had nothing directly to do with oil or gas or anything petroleum related, per se, but began flowing simply because people began to believe that peace really was at hand and that Israel was ready for exponential growth. It’s not been surprising for you guys to grow six to eight percent a year in real terms. I think it’s fair to say that under many of these scenarios, you guys would be growing in double digits for much of the next decade, if not longer.”

  The room was silent for a few long minutes. Bennett and McCoy glanced at each other, but said nothing. They glanced at Sa’id. The man was still stone-faced and motionless. Doron, meanwhile, leafed through his briefing book, nodding and occasionally underlining something that caught his eye.

  “I see you’ve got a section on Jordan, here,” he finally said. “Can you give me the executive summary?”

  “Jon?” McCoy asked.

  “Hey, go right ahead,” Bennett responded. “You’re doing great.”

  McCoy appreciated that more than Bennett knew, but she tried not to

  tip her hand. Bennett had been doing most of the talking, and would be for the next few days. But she’d done most of the legwcrk to get to this point, and it was nice to have an opportunity—however brief—to make her case.

  “Well, fair enough. The bottom line is that Jordan is in an incredible position to benefit from the president’s oil-for-peace proposal. The Hash-emite Kingdom, of course, already has a peace treaty with Israel. It’s got a large labor pool that could be hired for all kinds of infrastructure projects. Moreover, with the right strategic plan, it could very well become the Palm Springs or Phoenix of the region, focusing on tourism, resorts, luxury spas, that kind of thing.”

  Doron looked across the table at Sa’id.

  “And golf?”

  Sa’id was surprised by the question.

  “Perhaps—yes, maybe even golf.”

  “The king would like that, wouldn’t he?”

  “Yes, I suspect he would.” Sa’id laughed.

  McCoy then directed the two men to page 114 of their briefing books, while she put a new Power Point slide up on the wall. She and Bennett and their team had crunched more numbers, and these were astounding.

  McCoy explained that if all things went as well as expected, every Israeli and Palestinian could, two or three years from that moment, be holding Medexco stock worth somewhere between a half a million and a million dollars per family. If the region remained peaceful and people held on to their stocks after the holding period, they could very well be sitting on several multiples of that.

  For now, Doron said nothing. His face betrayed nothing. He just looked at the numbers, jotted some notes, and kept flipping through the pages. Bennett and McCoy were dying to know what he was thinking. But they would soon enough.

  Doron could do the math. He knew the average Palestinian family currently earned less than $1,500 a year, while the families of suicide bombers had gotten checks from Saddam Hussein’s regime for at least $25,000, sometimes more. Iraq’s cash-for-terror machine had just been shut down by the Americans, thank God. But the Iranians already seemed to be moving into the vacuum with full force. He knew that nearly half the men in the West Bank—and upward of 70 percent of men in Gaza—were unemployed, and he knew all too well that idle hands were the devil’sworkshop. What’s more, the exploding birthrates in the territories meant fie out of every ten Palestinians were under the age of fifteen.

  The bottom line, thought Doron—the West Bank and Gaza were ticking

  demographic time bombs. Teeming masses. Youthful passions. Filthy housing. Cramped quarters. Few jobs. Low wages. Seething resentments. And poisonous, anti-Semitic messages preached every day in overcrowded Palestinian schools, and every Friday in hundreds of mosques to thousands of weary, angry souls. A quarter of a million Muslims turned out every week at the Al-Aqsa Mosque on the Temple Mount alone. They were told there was no hope for a better life other than permanent revolution against the Jews. Why should they believe any differently?

  Something had to change. Israel couldn’t live the way she was living. There was no way she could remain a Jewish democracy ruling over millions of Palestinians. And there was no way she could remain an island of prosperity in an ocean of poverty and misery.
Something had to give. Maybe Bennett was right. Perhaps the immediate prospect of more jobs, better jobs, good pay, health-care benefits, new schools, new apartments, pools and community centers and stock and bonds and personal investment accounts that would turn many into millionaires—combined with the prospect of a state they could call their own—maybe such a package really could be a strong enough inducement for Palestinians to break with the past and make peace with Israel. Doron hoped so. He really did. But he’d lived in the Middle East long enough to know how dangerous mirages are to thirsty men—false gods offering false hope, and you cannot drink the sand.

  “Well,” Bennett concluded, “we’ve given you a lot to chew over.”

  “You have indeed,” said Doron. “And I appreciate not only the imagination and creativity you’ve brought to the table but the careful, and I might say extensive, detail you’ve put into this. It’s a very impressive proposal, and I’m looking forward to going over this briefing book in great detail. I’m sure that I’ll have a lot of questions.”

  “And we’ll do everything we can to answer them as best we can,” said Bennett.

  1’m sure you will.

  Doron now turned to Sa’id and looked him in the eye.

  “Mr. Prime Minister, I want you to know that I appreciate your willingness to participate in these meetings on your holy day. Your gesture has not gone unnoticed.”

  “Neither has yours,” Sa’id responded. “Neither has yours.”

  Fox broke the story first.