SEVENTY ONE.
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 with 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.
President Hayes
entered his office with a determined stride and an angry expression
on his face. That on its own should have warned the Israeli
Ambassador that something bad was about to happen, but at that
moment someone other than the President had caught his attention.
Actually two people had, but the second one of the two was far more
unsettling. Eitan had expected to see Secretary of State Berg, or
Valerie Jones or maybe even Michael Haik. He was mildly surprised
to see CIA director Kennedy, but it was the sight of her companion
that literally made him slightly weak in the knees.
He had read stories
about the man, but they were nothing compared to the things he'd
heard. Eitan had been told he was capable of great violence. Even
the formidable head of Mossad, Ben Freidman, feared him. The
Ambassador had never seen him in person, only in photographs. His
hair seemed longer now, and he was very tan. If it wasn't for the
fact that he'd followed Kennedy into the room he probably would
have never known who it was. When the man turned and stared at
Eitan with his dark brown eyes all doubt vanished. Eitan had seen
eyes like that before and they didn't belong to diplomats. The
Ambassador quickly looked away and found the President standing
before him.
"Mr. President,"
Eitan started, his voice a bit shaky, "I am very sorry about the
attack on your country this morning."
Hayes stared back at
the man, his suit coat unbuttoned and his hands on his hips, his
eyes searching for the slightest sign of insincerity.
"Mr. Ambassador, I'm
short on time so I'm going to make this real simple. I want your
country to pull its military forces out of Hebron
immediately."
Eitan stood frozen
before the President. He hadn't even been offered a seat and he'd
been given an ultimatum that he knew would not be accepted. He
licked his lips and tried to temper his reply.
"Mr. President, I
will gladly forward your request, but I of course can make no
guarantees."
"First of all,"
replied Hayes, "it is not a request-it's a demand. And I want Prime
Minister Goldberg to go on TV immediately to announce the
withdrawal."
The Israeli
Ambassador was reeling.
"But, Mr. President,
I cannot make such a request without-" Hayes held up his hand and
stopped him from speaking further.
"I know
you want a
concession
and it is this: In exchange for an immediate withdrawal
we will get the Security Council vote delayed until
tomorrow."
Eitan felt himself
begin to sweat. This was not an offer that he could take to the
prime minister. He knew what his job was, and despite being caught
off guard he gathered just enough confidence to hold his
ground.
"Mr. President, Prime
Minister Goldberg will never agree to such a demand without
assurances that you will veto the French resolution."
The President shook
his head vigorously.
"If the troops aren't
pulled out immediately, we will make no effort to delay the vote.
In fact, if the troops aren't pulled out immediately we will back
the French resolution."
All Eitan could think
to do was shake his head.
"I'm afraid I will
need more to work with
a concession of some sort."
What Hayes had to
offer was the opposite of what the Ambassador was looking
for.
"Here's something to
work with. Tell the prime minister that I know what really happened
in Hebron, and unless he wants his cabinet to collapse in scandal
he'll announce an immediate withdrawal."
The President turned
to his left and said, "Mr. Rapp, if you would please show the
Ambassador across the hall to the Roosevelt Room, we have it all
set up for him to call Prime Minister Goldberg."
"I would like to go
back to my embassy to make the call, sir."
The President testily
replied, "I don't know if you've noticed, Mr. Ambassador, but we're
running out of time. If you want me to forestall a vote on
Palestinian statehood I suggest you get the prime minister on the
phone as soon as possible."
Rapp stood up with
one arm pointing toward the door. The message he conveyed was
simple. The President was done talking. With a sigh and a nod the
Ambassador reluctantly gave in. As Rapp escorted him from the room
the Israeli's discomfort was obvious.