The Last Days

  “Mr. President, if I may?” said Harris.

  “Please, Scott, by all means.”

  “Let’s allow Jon to keep working undistracted for now. My people can work this thing from several angles. We won’t call the phone until we talk to Jon and find out what he did with the phone. Perhaps we can regroup in a few hours. Is that fair?”

  The president looked around to the others. All nodded agreement.

  “Fine. Let’s meet back here this afternoon. Scott, you pick the time. Coordinate through Marsha. Now, where are we with the suicide bombers?”

  Homeland Security Secretary Lee James took that.

  “So far, so good, Mr. President. You know the stats. No attacks yet and lots of people scooped up. Moreover, it appears that when our Special Forces

  in Iraq took out those two carloads of people on the border of Syria—”

  “You mean when we caught Daoud Juma?”

  “Exactly—best we can tell at this point, most of the men in the two cars that were blown up by Hellfire missiles were fedayeen heading for the U.S.”

  “You mean we got a bunch of suicide bombers and didn’t even realize it?”

  “That’s the current thinking.”

  “But there could still be some out there.”

  “Well, sir, from all the interrogations—remember, we’ve got a lot of people in custody right now and we’re working them pretty hard—anyway, from all these interrogations, we think we may have gotten all of the bombers but one.”

  “Really?”

  “Don’t quote me on that. I don’t want that out in the press. But yes, we think we’ve gotten all but one.”

  “And this lone bomber—do you think he’s already in the country?”

  “Impossible to say. But I think we’ve got to go on that assumption.”

  “So what do we do to find him?”

  “If it is a him” added Kirkpatrick.

  “Well, sir, whoever it is had to have slipped into the country within days if not hours of your order to close the borders from any new people entering, and the arrival—or attempted arrival—of the other bombers.”

  “Assuming it’s not a sleeper agent,” noted the president.

  “Right. But nothing we’ve gleaned from the bombers in custody would indicate that they’re using sleeper agents for this mission,” James responded. “There may be some here, providing weapons, explosives, what have you. But they don’t appear to be ready to blow themselves up.”

  “OK, assuming you’re right, it’s still like finding a needle in a haystack, isn’t it?”

  “Well, assuming we’re right, at least we’ve got the time frame narrowed down to a few hours or a few days before we went to Threat Condition Red. So what we’re doing right now is rechecking—by hand—the identities of every single person who legally entered the country during that time frame, double-checking to see if they are who they said they are, and if any names ring a bell with us, the CIA, Interpol, the Israelis, you name it.”

  “And if this guy—or gal—got into the country illegally?” asked MacPherson.

  It was a question none of them wanted to answer.

  Oblivious to events back home, Bennett pressed on with his presentation.

  D. Development of Democratic Life

  The Coordinating Body, together with the PAA, will formulate new educational programs, curricula, and textbooks for all levels which inculcate values of peace rather than of terror, and will eliminate those educational programs which encourage and praise terror.

  Freedom of political, social, and religious association (which is not based on terror) will be established as a means of building a democratic political structure, which will support free elections and be responsible for the day-to-day administration of the civilian life of the residents.

  Freedom of speech and press will be guaranteed, restricted only by a prohibition of direct or indirect support of terror.

  Agreement with and adherence to these principles will be an essential prerequisite for all economic and other assistance which will be given to the Palestinian Administration Authority.

  Doron liked what he saw, though he was careful not to show it. Sa’id, too, was pleased. How he was going to get all this passed by the legislature, however moderate they claimed to be, was another question. But that was a fight for another day.

  Another diplomatic land mine was about to go off, and Sa’id could feel it coming.

  E. Dismantling of Refugee Camps

  The Coordinating Body, immediately upon the establishment of the PAA, will work in close coordination to build normal apartments and homes for those in the refugee camps, and then dismantle the camps altogether. Arab countries, with the assistance of the United Nations, will finance this effort. In the first stage, the refugee camps in the West Bank will be dismantled, followed by a second stage in which the refugee camps in the Gaza Strip will be dismantled.

  F. Evacuation of Jewish Settlements

  The Coordinating Body, immediately upon the establishment of the PAA, will work in close coordination with the government of Israel to evacuate Jewish settlements in the West Bank and Gaza Strip. The evacuations will commence no later than six months after the signing of this agreement by

  Israel. The Israeli prime minister will publicly support such evacuation, and his government will assist the Jewish residents of these enclaves in relocating them to new homes within the State of Israel.

  Israeli police and/or military forces will be given safe, temporary passage to such settlements to assist in their orderly evacuation.

  The Coordinating Body will assess the value of these settlements—their land, buildings, infrastructure and relocation costs—and establish their fair market value.

  The PAA will have the option to purchase said settlements at their fair market value within two years of their evacuation, or they may put them up for auction, available only to current residents of the PAA areas.

  Both men held their fire. Now was not the time.

  Doron couldn’t wait to see the Palestinian refugee camps dismantled and new apartments built with Arab and U.N. money. That should have been done decades before. But as Bennett and McCoy could see, he took serious exception at the suggestion that he should evacuate every Jewish settlement in the disputed territories.

  And he was supposed to sell those settlements to the Palestinians? It was political suicide. He could see dismantling some. But all? There was no way, and the Americans knew it. Nevertheless, Doron calmly made a few cryptic notes in the margins, and nodded for Bennett to proceed. There was no need for alarm, he reminded himself. Americans were playing poker, and Israel had a full house. Israel still controlled the land, and possession was, after all, nine-tenths of the law.

  The Viper snaked his way north on 1-95.

  Atlanta and Savannah were finally behind him, though they’d not gone as planned. He’d expected to get his share of explosives at the first stop, a cache of weapons at the second. But at the last moment, his Al-Nakbah control agent—a sleeper from Saudi Arabia, working for a midsize life insurance firm near Atlanta—had called an audible.

  Given all the extraordinary security precautions in place at the moment, getting into Washington, D.C., as an Italian businessman working for Microsoft might not be easy, but it was possible. But not with a trunk full of weapons and C4 plastic explosives. Bomb-sniffing dogs and new portable explosive detectors were being used at all the checkpoints in and around the capital, and the control agent concluded it simply wasn’t worth the risk. The

  good news: two other Al-Nakbah sleepers were living in D.C. If he could get into the city, someone would bring him “supplies.” All he needed to do was pick a “soft” target and be ready to move.

  Nadir Hashemi was bleary-eyed and exhausted. He popped down another two amphetamines and washed them down with lukewarm coffee. He could do this, he told himself. He just had to stay focused.

  He thought about the story he’d read on-line that morning. The British foreig
n secretary had denounced the wave of suicide bombers trying to penetrate the United States, but added: “When young people go to their deaths, we can all feel a degree of compassion for those youngsters. They must be so depressed and misguided to do this.”

  Compassion? Nadir wanted no compassion from the British, or the Americans, or any of the infidels destroying both of his homelands. Depressed and misguided? Who was this guy to speak when he didn’t understand the first thing about the fedayeen or Al-Nakbah? Nadir didn’t see himself as depressed or misguided. Just the opposite. He wasn’t headed to Washington to commit intihar—suicide—but istishhad, martyrdom. He wasn’t acting out of hopelessness and despair. He was driven by an overwhelming desire to cast terror into the hearts of the imperialist oppressors in the capital city of the new Roman Empire.

  Martyrdom bombers weren’t misguided, Nadir reminded himself. They were achieving the highest level of jihad. They were holy fighters earning respect on earth and rewards in heaven. And this was it. Washington was just a few hours away, and so, too, was his departure for Paradise.

  This section needed serious work, thought McCoy.

  G. Creation of Oil-for-Peace Economic Infrastructure and Progrowth Strategies

  Immediately upon the signing of this agreement, the government of Israel and the PAA will approve all necessary licenses for the Medexco joint venture and promptly take all necessary steps to expedite the joint drilling and production of petroleum off the shores of Israel and Gaza.

  The government of Israel and the PAA will take all necessary legal and legislative steps to protect private property rights and eliminate or reduce all tax, tariff, and regulatory burdens that hinder economic growth and development, with particular attention to taxes, tariffs, and regulations that impede the creation and expansion of small business.

  The president of the United States will encourage the Congress to pass

  promptly a “U.S.-Palestine Free Trade Agreement” that is consistent with the “U.S.-Israel Free Trade Agreement” of 1985, and the “U.S.-Jordan Free Trade Agreement” of 1995.

  The Coordinating Body will assist in the creation of secure and transparent Palestinian banking and monetary systems, free enterprise zones, and the building of necessary economic infrastructures.

  At a later stage, in tandem with the progress of the Transition—and in coordination with Israel—Palestinian workers will be permitted to apply for new Israeli work permits to work inside of Israel

  It was the heart of the oil-for-peace strategy.

  The president wanted a deep-water seaport in Gaza, airports in Gaza and the West Bank, and a network of highways, bridges, and/or tunnels linking the West Bank to Gaza. Back in Washington, McCoy had argued they should spell out such ideas in the document. Bennett resisted. These were details, not fundamentals. There were tougher issues to solve and they couldn’t risk letting the Transition Period negotiations bog down.

  H. Negotiations for Permanent Peace

  After three years—and at the conclusion of free, fair and democratic elections—the State of Israel and the elected representatives of the Palestinian people will negotiate the terms of a permanent peace.

  Both parties agree up front that such negotiations will be conducted in accordance with United Nations Security Council Resolution 242.

  The United States will assist in every possible way to bring both parties to a just and lasting resolution of the conflict.

  It was almost 2:00 Saturday afternoon Gibraltar time—9:00 A.M. back in Washington—when Bennett and the principals finished for the day. Bennett took a sip of bottled water and sat back in his chair. McCoy finished her cup of coffee and tried to size up what had just happened. No one had stormed out in protest. Not a bad day.

  Just then there was a knock at the door. Tariq entered, walked over to Bennett, handed him a note, and whispered something in his ear.

  Bennett went white as a sheet.

  “Have a capability, comrades, but appear not to.”

  The words seeped out of his mouth and hung over the room like the thick, pungent smoke of his Cuban Cohiba.

  “Make use, but appear not to. Be near, but appear far. Or far, but appear near.

  Yuri Gogolov stared out over Tehran on this bright but quiet Sunday afternoon. The storms were gone. The rains had stopped. At least for a few days. He and Mohammed Jibril were doing their best to get comfortable in their new home, after the “untimely demise” of Jibril’s personal driver. The plush penthouse apartment of the director of Iran’s counterintelligence service wasn’t Gogolov’s first choice. Too high profile. Too likely to be monitored by the West, particularly by the Americans. But it would have to do for a few more days, until Jibril could make the necessary arrangements to get them back to Moscow, or perhaps St. Petersburg.

  As they waited for the latest news from the several fronts they’d opened in recent days, they dueled each other over a chessboard hand-carved and painted almost a hundred years before by Jibril’s great-great-grandfather, Salim Jibril. Gogolov was, of course, the undisputed grand master. But chess ran in Jibril’s blood, and for now, at least, he was pressing the offensive and hoping to make this arrogant Russian squirm, even for a moment.

  “When strong, avoid them,” Gogolov continued. “If of high morale, depress them. Seem humble to fill them with conceit. If at ease, exhaust them. If united, separate them. Attack their weaknesses. Emerge to their surprise.”

  Jibril slammed his bishop down, taking one of Gogolov’s knights, his eyes gleaming with delight.

  “Check,” said Jibril.

  Gogolov stopped staring out over the city, smiled ever so faintly at Jibril, then looked down at the board. Next he casually slid his queen diagonally two spaces. In so doing, he defended his king. But that was not all.

  “Checkmate,” he said quietly, drawing hard on the Cohiba.

  Jibril—a gaunt, wiry man with quick black eyes, and thin black hair—sat in disbelief. He’d never lost a chess match in his life. Now he’d lost three—in a row.

  “Enough of your Sun Tzu and child’s games,” snorted a heavyset man by the window, nursing a bottle of vodka and staring blankly at a minaret across the street. “This is a time for work, not for play.”

  Gogolov laughed.

  “Relax, Zhiri, you’ll give yourself an ulcer. Everything is on track, my friend. Everything’s in order.”

  It was true. Even now, four Al-Nakbah assassin teams were mobilizing. Securing planes. Renting speedboats. Getting weapons. Purchasing ammunition and smuggling explosives into the assembly points. And Al-Nakbah intel operatives around the world were doing everything possible to track down the location of Doron and Sa’id. Jibril sent out a coded e-mail saying a friend needed a new chess set. He was missing “two kings” and looking for precise replacements. Anyone with suppliers who knew anything about chess and might be helpful in tracking down these “two kings” was requested to contact him at once. Prices were negotiable, but time was of the essence.

  Gogolov wasn’t worried. Spread around enough money and the truth could always be bought. Besides, they weren’t relying solely on Al-Nakbah’s sleepers and “suppliers.” The intelligence networks of the Saudis, Syrians, and of course the Iranians all had their ears to the ground. So did the Libyans. Khaddafi’s spy network in southern Europe was extraordinary, as was his new alliance with Al-Nakbah. Khaddafi was restless. He’d been out of the game too long. Reagan had scared him off. Now MacPherson was ticking him off. He wanted back in, and was ready to play hardball.

  With so many people looking, they’d pick up something soon. If not through their own sources, then maybe through the media’s. Marcus Jackson’s frontpage story in this morning’s Sunday New York Times was extraordinary. “Point Man for Peace Conducting Covert Talks.” Gogolov had already read the entire story on-line, twice. It was a little thin on hard facts. But it was full of speculation and nondenial denials that the Israeli and Palestinian prime ministers and the architect of President MacPherson’s peac
e plan were holed up somewhere in the Middle East or southern Europe, talking a deal.

  According to two Israeli Knesset sources, Doron hadn’t been seen for three days, going on four. Sa’id had shown up on Al Jazeera television New Year’s Eve, but he’d done the broadcast by satellite and it was unclear, even to the broadcast engineers, from where the signal had originated. An unnamed Saudi diplomat in Riyadh, meanwhile, was quoted as saying flat out that “the United States is conducting a covert peace process under the cover of war in Palestine.” A senior European Union Parliament member was quoted as saying “such rumors of covert peace talks, without E.U. and U.N. participation—if true—would be troubling, to say the least.”

  The White House, according to Jackson’s story, refused comment, but they weren’t outright denying the substance of the story. Press Secretary Chuck Murray said simply, “Military operations in the Holy Land are our prime focus right now. Our forces are there as peacemakers, and obviously the U.S. government is committed to doing whatever we can to end hostilities and bring both sides back to the table. Beyond that, it’s all just speculation.”

  Secrets were hard to keep in the information age. But soon enough, they’d know the truth.

  “So relax, Zhiri,” Gogolov insisted, lighting up another cigar. “It’ll happen when it happens. Until then, why don’t you come play our little Mohammed a game of chess. He can’t beat a master like me. Maybe he’ll have a chance with a drunk like you.”

  They could see the twin engine coming in on final approach.

  It was an hour late, but at least it was there. Traffic on Winston Churchill Avenue, the main thoroughfare from the Frontier—the border crossing with Spain—into the small city of Gibraltar came to a halt as crossing gates went down, lights began to flash, and every driver and pedestrian was warned another plane was about to touch down.