At least a dozen soldiers stood guard in front of the palace. I saw several others patrolling the rooftop. Then a half-dozen large trucks—resembling moving vans but unmarked—pulled through the gates, drove past us, and parked to my left. Moments later, a group of workers, presumably employed by the Royal Court, came through a side door and began unloading a series of boxes from the trucks.
Several additional security guards approached and surrounded us as Ali Sa’id asked me to follow him. He led me through one of the archways and two large wooden doors and then we were inside the Al-Hummar Palace.
Under the circumstances, I expected to be thoroughly searched. Certainly I would be directed to pass through a metal detector and have my briefcase and camera bag run through X-ray machines. But no. All the equipment was there, but we passed straight by it. I wasn’t even asked to show my driver’s license or passport or any other form of ID.
The agent took me down one hallway after another lined with framed portraits of the Hashemite monarchs. The lovely Queen Rania smiled out from one frame, and I saw another featuring Crown Prince Hussein, the king’s eldest son. There were also a number of photographs of significant dignitaries meeting with the late King Hussein as well as the current King Abdullah II, including American presidents and secretaries of state and various European and Asian heads of state and foreign ministers, as well as the Saudi king and other Arab presidents, monarchs, and emirs. There was even a recent picture of the king greeting the new pope. It was, in many ways, a monarchy museum, complete with oblong glass cases containing various ancient vases, a gleaming silver saber that looked several centuries old, and other archaeological and historical artifacts from the age of the Ottomans, Roman times, and even biblical times.
On a normal day I might have been interested in some of it or perhaps even all of it. But this was no ordinary day. I was about to meet the king of Jordan for the first time, and I could only imagine why. My stomach was in knots. I hadn’t eaten anything substantive in hours. I was suddenly parched, as well, and still battling shock from all that had happened in the last few days. But at that moment, I could only think about one thing: Was this meeting going to be on the record or off?
As I came around a corner, I found Prince Marwan waiting for me in his wheelchair. He was dressed in his traditional white-and-beige robes and wore his traditional red- and white-checkered kaffiyeh like a true Jordanian royal. He was not smiling. Indeed, he not only looked tired and ill but deeply troubled as well. However, he greeted me politely and asked me to follow him. As Sa’id and the rest of the security detail took up their positions around us, two ceremonial guards wearing ornate bedouin military uniforms opened two large doors.
We entered a room I recognized from photos as the king’s official receiving room. This was where he typically held meetings with heads of state and dignitaries from all over the world. The walls were covered with rich, dark mahogany paneling. There were two beautiful ivory-and-beige couches straight ahead, one close to the door and the other facing it on the far side of the room.
In the center of the room was a low, modern, rather sleek-looking coffee table upon which were small vases of white flowers and various wooden bowls containing several small archaeological artifacts. There were two small end tables beside the couch at the back of the room. The one on the right side bore a lamp and a large ceramic ashtray, while the one on the left bore a framed eight-by-ten black-and-white photograph of the late King Hussein wearing a Western business suit and his signature kaffiyeh. Behind the couch near the back wall was an end table with what appeared to be several priceless vases and pieces of ancient pottery, as well as another framed photo of King Hussein.
As I looked around, I saw Kamal Jeddeh, Jordan’s intelligence director, a fit, barrel-chested man in his midfifties, rise from one of the couches. We greeted one another, but only for a moment. The prince seemed to be in a bit of a hurry, and he immediately asked me to take a seat on another couch on the left side of the room. I did as he asked, then admired the photographs and other details of the room while we waited several minutes in silence. Jeddeh struck me as uncharacteristically anxious, toying with a pen and glancing repeatedly at his watch.
The prince was not his typically warm self. I wanted to ask why, but at the moment it did not seem appropriate, so I held my tongue. To be honest, I was actually grateful that no one was talking quite yet. The silence gave me a chance to get my bearings, settle my heart rate somewhat, and start thinking about why His Majesty had summoned me and what I wanted to ask him if he gave me the chance.
Suddenly my phone vibrated. I quickly checked. Yael had responded to my text.
James—thank G-d you’re safe! Thnx 4 the note. Have been worried sick. We need to talk. Dangerous new developments. Call me ASAP.—Y
Just then a door opened in the back of the room. Several more security men entered. Then the king entered as well, followed by the crown prince. In that moment it occurred to me that I was about to experience something my grandfather never had; I was about to meet a king.
His Majesty wore a finely tailored dark-blue suit, a light-blue shirt, and a red power tie. He was handsome and clean-shaven, and the thought struck me that he could have easily passed for the CEO of a high-tech company or perhaps a university president rather than a sovereign and one of the West’s most important allies in the entire Arab world. He was somewhat shorter than me but obviously in excellent physical shape—no doubt the result of discipline gained from his many years in the military—and was clearly in command with a broad smile and warm manner. Although there was no question who was in charge when he entered the room, I didn’t detect any arrogance or pomposity as I had when meeting other world leaders.
“Mr. Collins, it is a delight to meet you,” he said with an accent that bespoke his years of secondary and university schooling in England, graciously extending his hand. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me on such short notice.”
“It is an honor to meet you, Your Majesty,” I replied, not entirely sure of the proper protocol but taking his cue and accepting his firm handshake.
The king introduced me to Crown Prince Hussein as an official photographer snapped several pictures and then stepped out of the room.
“Please have a seat,” the king said. “Make yourself comfortable. I have been reading your dispatches. What a harrowing couple of weeks you have had.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” I replied, feeling butterflies in my stomach. “Harrowing, indeed.”
The king took a seat on the couch across from me. His son, in his early twenties, wore a black suit with a crisp white shirt and a purple tie and sat on the same couch as his father. Prince Marwan was wheeled into position off to my right, just beyond the coffee table, while Director Jeddeh, in a gray suit and a bland-yellow tie, sat directly to my right, at the other end of the couch. We were served coffee, but as thirsty as I was, I couldn’t think about drinking it right now.
The king ignored the coffee as well and motioned for his servants to step out of the room.
“Everything we say here today is off the record. Is that understood?” he began when we were finally alone.
“I would really like to get you on the record,” I replied. “No Arab leader has reacted to the Abu Khalif interview. You should be the first.”
“Tomorrow,” he said. “I will give you exclusive access to me for the day, including a formal sit-down interview. But right now I want to talk with you privately.”
I could hardly say no, so I nodded and said thank you.
“I want to start by updating you on the peace process,” the king said.
“Not Abu Khalif?” I asked in amazement. “Not ISIS?”
“First things first.”
“With all due respect, Your Majesty, I would think ISIS would be your top concern,” I responded.
“I am well aware of the risks,” he replied.
“Abu Khalif clearly wants to seize control of Iraq and Syria. But he and Jamal
Ramzy told me they are now about to strike a third target. And based on everything I have seen and heard, I have come to believe that target may be Jordan.”
“We’ve been dealing with ISIS for a long time, Mr. Collins. We know who they are and what they want. We are ready for them. I am not worried. My focus right now is to help the Palestinians get their state, and I believe that after many tears and much heartache, that time has finally come.”
I had tremendous respect for this king, but I wasn’t sure this was wisdom. To be sure, His Majesty was highly experienced in surfing the turbulent waves in the region. And of course, he was not only a highly trained soldier, but he had once been commander of Jordan’s special forces. Nevertheless, at that moment I was concerned that he and his royal advisors were so focused on the peace process to their west that they might not be sufficiently attentive to the threat rising to their east.
“You are aware that the Israelis and Palestinians are about to announce a final, comprehensive peace agreement that will, after far too many years, finally establish a sovereign Palestinian State in the West Bank and Gaza, correct?” the king continued.
“I’ve seen mixed reports in the press, Your Majesty,” I replied. “But if we are off the record, I will say I have heard the same thing from several trustworthy sources, including President Taylor. I understand you have played a key role.”
“Prince Marwan and I have lost a lot of sleep in recent months, but it has all been worth it,” he said.
“Every issue has been solved?” I asked.
“Remarkably, yes,” he said.
“The borders?”
“The Israelis agreed to relinquish about 94 percent of the West Bank and all of Gaza. There are land swaps. The Israelis will keep all the major settlements but will dismantle and evacuate the smaller ones. In return, the Israelis have carved out sections of the Negev and parts of the Galilee region to give to the Palestinians to compensate for the 6 percent of the land on which the major settlements are located.”
“And Jerusalem?”
“The Palestinians will have their capital in East Jerusalem.”
“All of it?” I asked.
“Parts of it,” the king said. “The Dome of the Rock, the Al-Aqsa Mosque, and the Temple Mount will be managed by a special committee, chaired by Jordan and including the Palestinians, Israel, the U.S., and Saudi Arabia. The Palestinians will have sovereignty over the Muslim Quarter of the Old City.”
“What about the Jewish, Christian, and Armenian Quarters?”
“Israel will control those,” the king said. “Each side will guarantee access for adherents of all religions to their holy sites. Meanwhile, the Israelis will have sovereignty over Mount Scopus and the Mount of Olives and will control the current tunnel from the West Bank into Jerusalem. The Saudis and Americans will finance the building of a separate tunnel leading from Arab towns into East Jerusalem. And the Palestinians will establish government offices near the Damascus Gate.”
“Prime Minister Lavi agreed to all that?”
“Mr. Collins, my good friend Daniel proposed all that,” the king replied.
I wondered if I looked as surprised as I felt.
“It wasn’t such a stretch for him,” the king added. “Daniel was on the negotiating teams with Ehud Barak at Camp David in 2000. He was a key aide in helping Ariel Sharon with the disengagement in 2005. And he was a senior advisor to Olmert in 2008. He’s been working on these issues for a long time.”
“President Mansour wanted more, no doubt,” I said.
“He did.”
“But you persuaded him to take the deal?”
“Salim and I had many long talks,” the king said. “He is not Yasser Arafat. Nor is he Mahmoud Abbas. They weren’t ready for peace. Salim is. The Palestinians are ready. It’s time.”
“What about refugees?”
“Palestinian refugees will have the right to return to the Palestinian State—as many as want to,” the king replied. “But Daniel conceded East Jerusalem as the Palestinian capital on the condition that Salim not insist on the right of Palestinian refugees to return to Israel en masse. In the end, the Israelis agreed to accept fifty thousand refugees—five thousand per year for ten years—so long as each one is vetted by their security services and does not pose a security threat. This was actually the most contentious part of the negotiations and certainly took the longest. The formula is very close to what Olmert proposed in 2008, but Olmert was only offering visas for a total of five thousand Palestinians to enter Israel. This is ten times as many.”
“Water rights?”
“It’s a complicated formula. It divides the water between the Palestinians, the Israelis, and us, but it’s consistent with the treaty my father signed with the Israelis in 1994.”
“And what about security arrangements?” I asked.
“The short version is this,” King Abdullah replied. “The Palestinian State will be demilitarized. They will have police and border security forces, of course, but no army, no air force—except a specified number of helicopters for surveillance and medical rescue purposes—and no significant navy except patrol boats to protect the Gaza coast. No rockets or missiles are permitted on Palestinian territory. No launchers. No new tunnels. We and the Israelis are responsible for security in the Jordan River Valley. The Israelis will have seven manned outposts in the valley, but they will rent the land from the Palestinians. The Israeli Air Force will maintain security over all airspace west of the Jordan. We’ll do the same on the east side. The rest of the security in the corridor will be highly coordinated between all three sovereign governments.”
“This sounds a lot like a confederation,” I said.
“In some ways it is, yes,” the king conceded. “But everyone has specifically agreed not to call it a confederation.”
“Why not?”
“Because Salim says that the very word infuriates Palestinians, dishonors them, makes them feel like they don’t have true sovereignty.”
“And you?” I asked.
“I want to honor our neighbors,” the king replied. “If they don’t like the term, I’m happy not to use it.”
“But you’re satisfied the security arrangements will protect your kingdom?”
“I am,” he said. “Look, no one has been more supportive of a sovereign Palestinian State than my father and me. My father made a terrible gamble in 1967. He listened to Nasser’s lies, and in so doing he lost Jerusalem and nearly half his kingdom. We learned a great deal from that disaster. One lesson was that it was not the will of Allah for Jordan to control the West Bank. That was painful to accept. Very painful. But accept it we have. What we cannot accept, however, is creating a security vacuum on the west side of the river. We want the Palestinians to have a strong security force. We are happy to help fund their training and equip them with whatever they need. But we need to make sure all security issues in the corridor are carefully coordinated. These were not the most contentious elements of the negotiations, but they were among the most time-consuming. In the end, I was and am satisfied.”
“So everything is set?” I asked.
“It is,” the king said. “In fact, President Taylor called me not ten minutes ago to go over the final details and to review the rollout plan. I told him I was about to meet with you. He asked me to tell you he’s glad you are safe and that he looks forward to discussing Abu Khalif with you directly.”
“That’s very kind,” I said. “When does he touch down in Israel? And are you going to Jerusalem for the big announcement?”
“The president is not going to Jerusalem, and neither am I, Mr. Collins.”
“Why not?” I asked, wondering what I had just missed.
“The ‘big announcement,’ as you call it, will be held tomorrow afternoon,” the king said. “But it will not be held in Israel. It will be right here, at the palace.”
49
“Here? Tomorrow? How is that possible?” I asked.
The king smiled.
“It’s going to take a lot of work, but my team will be ready.”
The large trucks and all the workers out in front of the palace now made sense. The staff of the Royal Court was going to be working through the night to prepare for the arrival of the president of the United States, the Israeli prime minister, the Palestinian president—and all the staff, security, and media that were coming with them.
“Does anyone have this story yet?” I asked.
“That everyone’s coming here?”
“Right.”
“No, not at all,” the king said. “Each leader has gone to great lengths to keep any details from the media. In part, that’s to create the biggest media impact. It’s also for security purposes. But again, tomorrow’s events aren’t what worry me.”
“Why not?” I pressed. “All four leaders here at the same time present a tempting target, do they not, especially to ISIS?”
“Look, Mr. Collins, Jordan’s security services are first-rate. The U.S. Secret Service is helping us. So are the Israeli and Palestinian security services. We’ll be fine. What worries me more—and this is absolutely off the record—is that this weekend I am flying to Baghdad for a series of meetings with the prime minister on the ISIS threat and the future of Iraq. Frankly, if ISIS is looking for a window of vulnerability, that is it.”
“Can I go with you?” I asked.
“You really want to?”
“Absolutely.”
For the first time, the king turned to Prince Marwan and his intelligence director. I couldn’t read the signals, but the king didn’t say no. Rather he asked for a day to think about it, which I took as a positive sign.
Returning to the issue at hand, I asked why all the media leaks were indicating that the peace treaty ceremony was going to be held in Jerusalem.
“Jerusalem was the original plan—that’s why you’ve seen these leaks in the last twenty-four hours,” he explained. “But Salim and Daniel couldn’t agree over exactly where to hold it, and in the end, Salim called me and asked if I would host the whole thing here.”
The Third Target: A J. B. Collins Novel Page 28