FORTY THREE.
Kennedy was back at
Langley sitting in her large corner office on the seventh floor. It
was nearing three in the afternoon, and on most Saturdays she would
not be in the office this late, but it was pouring outside and her
son Tommy was at a friend's house until five. Her seven-year-old
was getting more and more independent, which to Kennedy was both
good and bad. Good, because he was a little less demanding of her
time, and bad, because he was a little less needy of her
affection.
At seven, Tommy was
coming out of his shell. His reserved manner had worried his
teachers more than it had his mother. Others assumed it was the
divorce that had caused young Thomas to be so shy, but Kennedy
thought it had more to do with the fact that his mother didn't
really speak for the first five years of her life, and to this day
opened her mouth only when she really needed to.
Kennedy looked at her
son's shy demeanor as a positive. Just like his mother he was very
cautious around strangers, slow to anger and deeply introspective.
The boy had a wonderful imagination, and was capable of playing by
himself for hours on end. On the other hand, he was also capable of
burying his mother under an avalanche of questions when it was
least expected.
Now in the first
grade he was making friends, playing sports and getting perfect
marks, which was no surprise considering the IQ of his parents.
While his father may not have been the most responsible and
selfless man, he was nonetheless very smart. Fortunately, he didn't
come around often. In Kennedy's mind he was a distraction from an
otherwise tranquil and loving home.
There were other male
role models around. Tommy adored Mitch and just so happened to have
a crush on his new bride. Mitch constantly prodded her son to get
involved in sports and loved to take him up to Camden Yards to
watch the Orioles. Next summer Mitch had promised to teach Tommy
how to water ski, and now that she and Anna had reached an
understanding, it was likely that they would see more of each
other.
There was also the
quirky Frenchman a few doors down, Mr. Soucheray, who hung out in
his garage all day listening to the radio, tinkering with an
endless array of gadgets and pursuing his lifelong fascination with
the internal combustion engine. Thanks to him, Tommy probably knew
more about cars, motorcycles and anything that ran on gasoline,
than probably any seven-year-old in the country.
Kennedy closed the
file on her desk and put her pen down. With a yawn she took off her
glasses and rubbed her tired eyes. If she left now she could
probably sneak in a quick nap before Tommy returned from his
friend's house. She grabbed several red folders off her desk and
spun her chair around. After placing the files in her safe she
locked it.
She was about to get
up when her large white secure phone rang.
She looked at the
display and frowned. Ben Freidman was finally returning her call
almost nine hours later. The man had gall. She possessed enough
information to destroy him and still he played these games. She was
sure he would have some excuse to explain why it took him so long
to call her back.
Kennedy looked out at
the falling rain and grabbed the handset.
"Irene
Kennedy."
"Irene, it's Ben. I'm
sorry I couldn't get back to you sooner, but as I'm sure you've
seen on TV, I've had my hands full over here."
"Yes, we've been
watching."
"We took out a bomb
factory last night and now we're bracing ourselves for
reprisals."
There were times when
Kennedy wished she were more like Mitch Rapp. If she were, she'd
tell her Israeli counterpart that he was full of shit. The news
outlets were reporting that the Israeli Defense Forces attacked a
bomb-making factory in Hebron and that was why the damage was so
extensive. The Palestinians were denying any such factory existed
and claimed the Israelis had attacked a civilian neighborhood
without provocation. The truth, as always, lay somewhere in the
middle. Jake Turbes from the CTC had briefed her only an hour ago
that they did not think a bomb factory was the target. They'd
picked up cell phone chatter that the real target was a high-level
meeting of Palestinian terrorist groups. She also had in her
possession satellite imagery that showed Israeli helicopters
showering the neighborhood with missiles.
Ben Freidman was
lying to her, but in the hall of mirrors that was her life, she
wasn't about to reveal what she really knew: Instead, she simply
said, "The President is very alarmed by the amount of people killed
in the raid last night."
In his standard
defensive tone, Freidman said, "Irene, we had no idea that the
secondary explosion would be so large. They had enough explosives
there to level the whole block."
Obviously, she
thought. The latest intelligence reports indicated that the Israeli
Defense Forces were not in control of the site. Various terrorist
and militia groups around Hebron had set up roadblocks to keep the
Israeli army out and they had maintained their position just long
enough for the media to show up and begin filming the carnage. The
Israelis had fallen into this public relations nightmare before and
immediately pulled back. Footage of tanks crushing teenagers and
young men, no matter how just the cause, did not play well for the
rest of the world.
Freidman was playing
a dangerous game here. If the Palestinians were telling the truth
about the number of dead, they would have quite a case to take to
the UN. When she spoke to the President she would have to apprise
him of the possibility. No sense going too far out on a limb to
defend Israel if they weren't going to tell the truth to their best
ally.
She decided to prod
him just a bit.
"You know that the
Palestinians are saying you attacked a neighborhood without
provocation."
Freidman
scoffed.
"I could have written
their press release for them before the operation was even
launched. It's the same lies every time."
"Yeah, I know,"
Kennedy answered with well-feigned sincerity. The only problem is,
she thought, that they in turn could have written your press
release for you.
"You know the timing
of this is very bad."
There was a long
pause and then Freidman asked in an agitated tone, "How so?"
Freidman's
frustration was not lost on Kennedy. Her Israeli counterpart was an
unusually blunt man, but something in his voice told her that he
was under a lot of pressure. He had his enemies in the cabinet,
doves who wanted to disengage and start real peace talks. She was
sure they were none too fond of this current operation.
"The President is
meeting with the Crown Prince of Saudi Arabia next week," offered
Kennedy, "and the main topic of discussion was going to be a
renewed peace initiative in the Middle East
but now that we have
dozens of Palestinian women and children being pulled from the
rubble the whole thing might be a nonstarter."
"Irene, it was a damn
bomb factory."
"And it has taken the
President months just to get the Crown Prince to sit down."
"You know as well as
I do," spat Freidman, "that the Crown Prince will never support
real peace. The day he recognizes Israel is the day he ignites the
revolution in his country and slits his own throat."
"You think we don't
know that?" asked Kennedy, maintaining her neutral tone.
"The President wants
assurances on other fronts. We want to see a real crackdown on the
terrorist groups operating out of Saudi Arabia. We want to see the
funding of these groups stopped."
"Irene," Freidman
interrupted her and let out a sigh of frustration.
"We've been over all
this before. I appreciate the efforts you make on our behalf, but
this is our war. We are on the front line. We are the ones facing
terrorist bombers every day. We will not sit on our hands. When we
receive solid intelligence we are going to act, and if these
cowards insist on hiding behind women and children, then so be
it."
"Ben, I am well aware
of your difficulties, but you can't go it alone.
You need to do a
better job of keeping us in the loop."
"I am keeping you in
the loop," he replied earnestly.
"What do you think I
am doing right now?"
Kennedy was not about
to let him know that she knew he was lying to her, so she simply
said, "You're calling me nine hours after I put a call in to you
stating that the President of the United States wished to know what
was going on." Kennedy let the statement sink in and then added,
"Now come on, Ben, you and I are veterans at this.
There's only a couple
of reasons why you wait that long to return a call, and none of
them are good from where I'm sitting." Kennedy listened intently
while she pictured Freidman squirming on the other end of the
line.
Finally, he said,
"There's something I've been working to confirm. something that's
very important. I didn't want to call you until I knew for
sure."
"And what is
that?"
"This goes no further
than you. I don't want you telling the President until I can verify
it. We had intelligence that a high-level meeting was taking place
last night."
"How high?"
"I'll send you the
list, but suffice it to say that there were key players from Hamas,
the Popular Liberation Committee, Force 17, Islamic Jihad, leaders
of the martyr brigades and possibly Mohammed Atwa, the head of
Palestinian General Intelligence."
"You're serious?"
Kennedy acted surprised.
"So the story about
the bomb-making factory is-" "True! We did not know it was there.
Our rockets set off secondary explosions that were
unavoidable."
Kennedy wondered why
it had been such a struggle for Freidman to tell her about the real
intent of the operation and why, according to her facts, he was
still lying to her about the bomb factory.
"When will you have
confirmation on who was taken out in the strike?"
"By tomorrow I should
have a good idea. I have an asset posing as a cameraman who's
photographing the dead. Those pictures, along with the intercepts
we're picking up, should give us a fairly complete list. Listen
now," said Freidman reasserting control, "I have to go now.
If I find anything
else out, I'll let you know."
"All right." Before
she could say good-bye Freidman was off the line.
Kennedy sat there for
a moment staring at the handset, trying to separate the fact from
the fiction in an effort to discern what the head of Mossad was up
to. In the end it could be nothing more than his inability to play
things straight. There were plenty of people like him in the
business. Never tell the whole story, only parts of it. Or it could
be much deeper than that. Kennedy would have to monitor the
situation closely.
Turning to her
computer she fired off a quick e-mail to Jake Turbes that she
wanted him to personally look into the events in Hebron, and do so
without the aid of Mossad. She wanted clean untainted facts by
which to judge Freidman's honesty, or more likely lack
thereof.