by Allan Topol
“I’m flattered that you framed and hung the picture I sent you,” Sagit said.
“And it’s here every day, I assure you.” Sagit looked puzzled. “Meaning that I don’t hang in its place a picture a Japanese took before a meeting with Japanese intelligence representatives, and so forth.”
The two women laughed together easily.
Joyner walked over to the table in the corner, poured two cups of coffee and handed one to Sagit. “Just what I need after flying all night,” the Israeli said.
Joyner smiled at the comment. The two women had hit it off the first time they met. “How’s Moshe doing these days?”
“Like an old battleship, he keeps on going.”
“Yeah. Well, the old battleship sounded worn out yesterday on the phone.”
“He’s constantly under pressure from the Knesset.”
At the mention of the legislature, the smile left Joyner’s face. “Tell me about it. I must waste two days a week placating members of Congress. The curse of democracy.” Joyner paused to sip some coffee. “I think we better get started. I’m due at the White House in two hours.”
She’s only got an hour and a half for me, Sagit thought. I’d better be succinct. But if I get her on board, she could get the support we need today. “Before I begin,” Sagit said, “let me ask you: does the name Greg Nielsen mean anything to you?”
Joyner was so startled her coffee nearly sloshed out of her cup. “Are you kidding? The fugitive agent? I was chairman of the Senate Intelligence Committee at the time of the Dhahran incident, five years ago. We’ve been trying to get our hands on Greg Nielsen ever since, but he’s managed to elude us. It’s as if he vanished into thin air.” Her eyes sparkled with intensity. “Don’t tell me he’s shown up in the promised land claiming that his Lutheran parents were really Jewish.”
“You’re close, but it’s a lot more complicated than that.”
“My God, if he managed to get out of Saudi Arabia and make it to Israel, then we did train him well.” Her voice disclosed grudging admiration. “Is he up to some new mischief now?” She was very anxious to hear what Sagit had to say.
“Actually, someone else is, and they’ve pulled him in.”
“Okay, tell me about it.”
For the next half hour Sagit talked, uninterrupted, explaining to Joyner what had happened, starting with the break-in by Kourosh at the dentist’s office in Haifa. She spoke as fast as she could, occasionally struggling with English, but covering everything of importance, including David’s trips to Paris, his reports of a planned Saudi coup and Daphna’s kidnapping, but omitting her own personal involvement with him. As Sagit spoke, Joyner took off her glasses, fiddled with them, and shook her head from time to time, impressed by Nielsen’s resourcefulness and nerve.
When Sagit finished talking and stopped to catch her breath, Joyner asked, “So what’s the bottom line?”
Sagit spoke slowly, wanting to precisely recall the English words she had framed so carefully on the plane. “Greg Nielsen, or David Ben Aaron, as we call him, is giving both of our governments a choice. He’ll continue with Madame Blanc, pretending he’s in with her, in order to find out who in Saudi Arabia is behind the coup, if, and only if—” She glanced up at Joyner—“the American government is prepared to give him immunity from all criminal charges growing out of the Dhahran incident, and the Israeli government is prepared to do the same with respect to violations of immigration law. And he wants it in writing from both of us.”
Incredulous, Joyner tossed her glasses down on the desk. “A total immunity from prosecution? No way. He’s got to be kidding.” She looked offended by the rogue agent’s gall. “I’ll call Ed Simpson, the AG. He’ll have somebody at Justice draw up extradition papers within the hour. Who does Nielsen think he is? He’s not exactly in the driver’s seat.”
Joyner reached for the phone.
“Hold off for a minute, will you, Margaret?”
There was an anxiety in Sagit’s voice that made Joyner stop. The CIA director linked the fingers of both of her hands together, put them under her chin, and studied her Israeli visitor.
“Your initial reaction was identical to ours,” Sagit said, “but then we thought about it some more. Sure, prosecuting Greg Nielsen’s important, but in the larger scheme of things, we care more about the possibility of a radical regime coming to power in Saudi Arabia. It would have a devastating effect on the stability of the entire region, not to mention the fact that the Saudis can easily reach Israel with their advanced weapons. Their American-made weapons.”
Joyner leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes, thinking. As Sagit watched, she decided to stop talking and let the CIA Chief ponder what she had said.
Finally Joyner opened her eyes. “I’m stunned by what you’ve told me, Sagit. I’m not trying to minimize the impact on Israel of a radical regime coming to power in Saudi Arabia, and the effect on the U.S. economy of disrupting the flow of Saudi oil would be absolutely devastating. On the other hand, I’m not sure I can justify giving Nielsen immunity under any circumstances after what he did.”
Sagit continued smoothly, “Well, we look at it this way: If we toss Nielsen in jail and alert the Saudi government, chances are that Madame Blanc and her Saudi partners will abort their planned coup. We’ll feel good about that, but the Saudi government will never know who was planning the coup, and those people will go underground for some period of time.”
Joyner finished Sagit’s thought. “While the Saudi government cracks down and kills every political dissident they can get their hands on, the people who should be the target of this crackdown will slip away. Then they’ll rise to pull off their coup in the future when the Saudis least expect it.”
“Exactly. The only way we can be sure that the real people planning the coup are arrested and executed is if we can get some independent information about who the perpetrators are. David Ben Aaron, or Greg Nielsen, as you call him, might be able to get that information for us. At least he’s our best shot.”
“Based upon what you’ve told me, I’d have to say he’s our only shot.”
For several minutes they sat in gloomy silence, while Joyner tried to evaluate her alternatives. Finally she sighed. “Giving Nielsen immunity would be a tough call for the President to make, and it would be his call. However, there is one fact in your account that makes a big difference for me.”
“What’s that?”
“According to Nielsen, Madame Blanc told him that there was no need to worry about the possibility of American intervention on the side of the Saudi king when the coup takes place. But I need to know, why not? This is absolutely critical for me. Does she own one of our people over there, or what?”
Sagit seemed impressed with Joyner’s deduction. In fact, this was playing out precisely as the Israeli had hoped. Joyner’s desire to know about a possible American traitor was the only thing that could give Sagit what she wanted in Washington. “You think that’s a possibility?”
“I don’t know. Our current station chief is a guy by the name of Bill Fox, who was Nielsen’s assistant. About six months ago his wife, who would never move to Saudi Arabia, divorced him, and Fox didn’t ask for time off to try for a reconciliation or to be with his kids, which is what usually happens in these situations. When I heard about it, I wondered if he had something going on over there. Maybe he’s gotten sucked in through a personal relationship with the group that’s planning the coup. At any rate, before I would recommend a deal on immunity, Nielsen would have to agree to find out why Madame Blanc is so confident that there won’t be American intervention, as well as finding out the name of the Saudi ringleader.”
“With that addition, do you think the President will accept this approach?”
Joyner picked up a pen and tapped it the table. “I don’t know, Sagit, I honestly don’t know. Everything you and your government have learned firsthand, I can accept—the killing of Kourosh and all of that but when we get into conversat
ions Nielsen had with Victor Foch or Madame Blanc, I just don’t know if I can believe him. It’s not like Greg Nielsen has the greatest credibility around here. How do I know he hasn’t made some of this up to get the immunity he wants?”
Sagit closed her tired eyes and massaged her forehead. Joyner’s question cut to the heart of the matter. She needed a few moments to frame her answer properly in English, with which she never felt completely comfortable.
“That’s certainly a possibility, and Moshe and I have repeatedly agonized over the same question. But at the end of the day, we always come out with the same conclusion: with what’s at stake, can we afford not to believe Nielsen?”
“Meaning that he has us over a barrel.”
“Over a barrel?”
“Sorry. American slang. It means, I’m reluctantly coming around to the conclusion that the deal with Nielsen is the right move for my government because of the importance of Saudi oil to us, and because I damn well want to know whether Madame Blanc owns Fox or one of my other people over there, but it’ll still be a hard sell to the President.” She paused for a moment. “What’s going to make it even harder is General Chambers.”
Sagit was more cautious on this subject. Suppose a Mossad agent had broken the jaw of one of the highest Israeli army officers. What would be his fate? “David believes that he was justified in what he did five years ago. That Chambers was trying to set him up to take the fall for a breach of security that was Chambers’ responsibility.”
Each time Sagit had mentioned Chambers’ name, Joyner scowled. She didn’t like the man. She didn’t trust him. “I was never able to resolve that issue either way. What I do know is that General Bradley Chambers hates Nielsen. He’s constantly after me on the subject. He finds it incomprehensible that we haven’t been able to find Nielsen. He’s convinced that the CIA is protecting Nielsen because he’s one of our own. The desire for revenge has become an obsession for Chambers.”
“But you said that it’s the President’s decision.”
“It is, but the distinguished General Chambers,” she said derisively, “knows how to play the Washington game. Since getting his appointment as chairman of the Joint Chiefs, thanks to friends on the Hill, he’s managed to ingratiate himself with Harry. Personally, I don’t see how. I think the man’s hubris, arrogance and desire for power are unlimited, and I’ve tried to point that out to Harry, very gingerly, of course, but he’s not buying. They’ve become big golfing buddies, and he likes to regale Harry, who spent the Vietnam War safely at a JAG post in the Pentagon, with stories about his military exploits in Vietnam, which, to be fair, were formidable. So I’ll have to contend with this male bonding.”
“Anything I can do to help?”
“If you’re politely asking whether you should make an appearance at my meeting with the President, the answer is no. This is a battle I’ll have to fight myself. The best thing you can do is get some sleep this afternoon.”
Sagit nodded.
“Where are you staying?”
“They booked me into the Hilton up on Connecticut Avenue.”
“Meet me at the Cosmos Club for dinner at eight. I’ll give you a report on what happened.
The two women rose and Joyner walked Sagit to the door.
* * *
As soon as Sagit left, Joyner called the President’s secretary.
“Say, Kathy, are we still on schedule for the noon meeting with the Mexican ambassador and Langston from DEA?”
“He hasn’t started his presentation to the Girl Scouts yet. As usual, we’re running a little behind.”
“Hold Langston and the Mexican Ambassador outside somewhere. I need ten minutes with him first about another subject.”
* * *
Finally, the last Girl Scout had left the Oval Office, and Joyner was alone with the President.
“Those little girls in their uniforms are so eager and innocent,” he said. “They give me a good feeling about the future of the country.” Harry Waltham leaned back in his black leather-chair and put his feet up on the empty green leather topped antique desk. “Were you a Girl Scout when you were a kid, Margaret?”
“That’s a sad story. I desperately wanted to be, but my Nob Hill mother didn’t think it was classy enough for her precious daughter. I cried my eyes out about it one night, but Father took her side, as always, so that’s the story of me and the Girl Scouts.”
The President chuckled. “You’ve undoubtedly gotten over it. Right?”
Joyner laughed. She loved bantering with the president. “I have not, Harry. It scarred me for life.”
“Well, if you feel that strongly, I invited them back next year. I’ll have them make you an honorary member.”
“It’s not the same thing, but thanks, anyhow.”
He chuckled again. “Poor little Margaret.”
Her expression turned serious. “Listen, Harry, I hate to ruin your good mood, but I’ve got some news you’re not going to like.”
He groaned. “Just what I need. I’ve already heard this morning that the tax cut proposal I staked my whole economic program on is in trouble in the Senate, and Illinois, which I thought was solidly in our camp for November, is now up for grabs. I’m not sure what else could happen.”
The President didn’t like beating around the bush. So Joyner decided to toss her news on the table like a live grenade.
“There’s a chance of a coup in Saudi Arabia. They could cut off our flow of Saudi oil.”
Waltham yanked his feet off the desk and bolted to an upright sitting position. “Come again, Margaret?”
She repeated what she’d said.
“Jesus, that’s the last thing I need less than two months before the election. A crisis about our supply of oil.”
Harry had been fortunate. So far, he hadn’t had a major foreign policy crisis in his presidency. She was uncertain how he would behave when faced with life-and-death decisions, and worried that he would unduly defer to the military, which meant General Chambers. “You’re right. It would be a disaster politically.”
“How good’s your information?”
“The Mossad picked it up. I just met with one of their top people this morning. They think the information’s solid. I’ve heard what they have, and I’m prepared to go along with them, though I’ve still got some doubts.”
“Who’s planning the coup?” He was racking his brains, thinking what he knew about internal Saudi politics, which wasn’t much. “Fundamentalists?”
“We don’t know yet. I’m working with them on a plan to get the answer to that question.”
“Do anything it takes to find out. Then we’ll get together with the Saudis to stop it.”
“What if it means giving immunity from prosecution to Greg Nielsen?”
At first the president didn’t respond. She obviously thought he knew who this Greg Nielsen was, and the name sounded vaguely familiar, but for the life of him, he couldn’t recall where or when he’d heard it before. “Who the hell is he?”
“The former CIA agent who broke General Chambers’ nose and jaw five years ago in Saudi Arabia.”
“Oh, Christ. I remember reading about that guy. I was governor of Pennsylvania at the time.” He looked at her with concern. “Brad’s never going to buy the idea of giving immunity to this Nelson.”
“His name’s Nielsen.”
“Yeah, Nielsen. Whatever.”
Joyner wanted to shout out, “Look, Harry, you’re the President. You can’t possibly let someone’s personal vendetta stand in the way of protecting the country’s supply of oil even if he is your golfing buddy,” but that wasn’t the way to get what she wanted with Harry Waltham. So Joyner kept her emotions in check and said, “Iran and Iraq are already in the hands of loonies. If it looks like Saudi Arabia’s going the same way, the price of gasoline will quickly shoot to three or four bucks a gallon and you and I will both be looking for other work after November.”
He sucked in his breath. “So what do
you want to do about Brad?”
“Let me try to bring General Chambers around on this through the NSG. We’re meeting today at five.”
The president was relieved that she had offered to handle it. He knew Chambers well enough to know this would be one ugly mess. Once on the golf course he had asked the general about his jaw, which he was rubbing, obviously feeling some discomfort, and Chambers practically went berserk, as he recounted his side of Dhahran events five years ago. “All right. You try it that way. If you can’t get a consensus, then pull me out of anything I’m doing and call me into the meeting. I’ll make the decision.”
“One other thing, Harry. I don’t think we should say anything at all to the Saudis until we know exactly who’s involved. Otherwise, they’ll go on a witch hunt, and the real perps will slip away, to try it another day.”
“Agreed. Tell Frostie at State and the others on the NSG that I want absolute secrecy until we have a better handle on the whole thing.”
* * *
Joyner left the Oval Office feeling satisfied. She had gotten as much as she could possibly have hoped for. She would be very busy for the next several hours, until the five o’clock meeting of the National Security Group, or NSG, as it was called, which consisted of Charles Frost, the secretary of state, Bill Hayes, the secretary of Defense, Ralph Laurence, the President’s national security adviser, General Chambers and Joyner. She was able to set up one-on-one meetings with Hayes and Laurence, and she won each of them over to the immunity deal for Nielsen. She knew that they both resented the way in which Chambers had become a confidant of the President on defense and military affairs, and she used that resentment to bring them around to the view that no one’s personal animosity, no matter how justified, should stand in the way of the best interests of the country.
Unfortunately, she couldn’t get on Frost’s calendar before the meeting, and she’d have to present the matter cold to him and Chambers.
The NSG met in a conference room just down the hall from the Oval Office. As Joyner approached the door, she saw General Chambers and Frost huddling in a corner, whispering about something. She wasn’t surprised. Lately, Chambers had been spending a great deal of time with the former Princeton history professor. Joyner’s analysis was that Chambers shrewdly felt that if he had Frost with him, he could carry the day with Waltham on most issues, notwithstanding opposition from the others on the NSG. To ingratiate himself with Frost, Chambers would frequently make a point of soliciting his views as “a renowned historian” in a group meeting.