The Practical Spy

by Doug Walker

CHAPTER NINE

  In Israel, Orson was resting in his tiny cell. He had not been mistreated, but there had been polite attempts to question him. He had no radio or TV, nor had he been given a newspaper or current magazine. The isolation was an attempt to break him down. The fact was he rather enjoyed it and slept most of the time.

  There had been hints that he could be a rich man and lead a praiseworthy life. At these suggestions he simply smiled and cocked his head to one side in a knowing fashion.

  One day the prime minister himself visited his cell, spoke not a word but sat down next to him on his metal bunk, the only place to sit in the small room, save for the steel toilet.

  When it became apparent that Orson wasn’t going to speak first, Prime Minister Yair Landver asked, “How have they been treating you?”

  “It’s very restful here. No screams or cries of anguish. The torture chambers must be elsewhere.”

  “Of course. Shall we chat?”

  “If we are to be friends, what should I call you? Yair or Landver?”

  “Yair will do. This is an informal situation.”

  “Ok, Yair. What do you want to talk about?”

  “You’re widely traveled. You’ve probably spoken with your president. For some reason she is no longer acting cordially toward our country. In fact she has said she’s mad as hell. Do you know the reason?”

  “Who doesn’t?”

  “I for one,” the prime minister answered.

  “America is not your lapdog. She’s just being honest. For years we’ve wanted peace in this area. It’s eaten up American lives and treasure. Israel has constantly dragged its feet. What’s so hard to figure out?”

  “There’s that. But she claimed I personally snubbed her. Can you explain that?”

  “I could, but I won’t. You seem to choke on a flea and swallow a camel. Simply look at the big picture. Get serious about peace talks with the Arab nation. They’ve shown you they can destroy a giant building with impunity. That was a message. Did you get it?”

  “Of course we got it.”

  “Getting it would mean sitting down at the peace table, not rounding up the usual suspects and tightening security. King Saudi wants peace. Most Arabs, Israelis and Jews want peace. What is it you don’t understand?”

  “The personal snub.”

  “You’re either a very stupid person or a very small man. It’s my nap time, if you’ll excuse me.”

  “I should have you executed. I’ll cut your food rations and deny you luxuries.”

  “What luxuries?”

  Landver looked around the tiny cell. “A blanket.”

  Orson shrugged and the prime minister left the cell. Soon after a guard entered and removed the blanket.

  Two days later President Warren held her promised press conference, late in the day, long after Israel was in slumber.

  She entered the pressroom briskly, walked to the podium, and for a long moment surveyed the crowd. There seemed to be only legitimate media present. She knew most of them by first name.

  “I will make a brief statement, not from notes, but simply repeating what everyone has known for years. We want peace in the Middle East. I’ve tried to get Israel’s attention. Thus far unsuccessfully. We know that more than 350,000 Israelis live on the West Bank. Some of this area would likely be given to Israel under your standard peace plan. The 1967 ceasefire line would be a benchmark, but land swaps would be made. Arab neighborhoods in Jerusalem might become part of a Palestine state. Many Arabs hope to remain under Israeli government control for health and national insurance benefits.

  “These are a few of the questions facing negotiators. How they are viewed in this country and in the Middle East depend on how the questions are worded and which poll you choose to read. So this press conference seems to be on that topic. Are there questions?”

  The first question asked was why the ambassador to Israel was removed, along with three other high level Jewish members of the embassy.

  “An excellent question. That’s been a sore point for some, a joy for others, for quite a long time. Truth to tell, many thought the so-called Four Horsemen were in the Israeli pocket. Their loyalty was questioned, unofficially of course. I am not among those who questioned their loyalty. They have high level jobs in other embassies.”

  “But why not keep Jews who understand the culture in Israel?” the same reporter asked.

  “Under that policy, all embassies in sub-Saharan Africa would be staffed by American blacks, our embassy in Beijing would be manned by parties from Chinatown U.S.A., the Irish embassy would have only Irish immigrant offspring and our Latin American embassy staff members would be recruited from Chicano crowd. And so on. Do you agree with that?”

  “I’m in no position to agree or disagree,” the reporter said. “I simply make inquiries.”

  “So you have your answer.”

  “What’s this personal snub business?” a CNN reporter shouted from the rear.

  “That’s very simple. I sent my personal envoy to Israel to observe the Arab threat to bring down a building with explosives. Prime Minister Landver saw fit to toss him into a solitary cell. I’ve now learned the prime minister has punished him further by taking away his blanket. What next? Why would he do such a thing?”

  “Who is this personal envoy?” the New York Times reporter questioned.

  “Orson Platt. He has acted as go-between between me, King Saudi and that Israeli politician, Landver. This was the trigger for the recent deterioration of relations with Israel, although I see now it was long overdue. Israel has not been an honest broker in the peace progress. We will view what happens next with a critical eye. Is Israel our true friend, or a manipulator through moneyed interests in this country? These things bear looking into. Follow the money trail. One more question please.”

  Someone shouted, “Where is the ambassador from Israel to the United States?”

  “I understand they were flown by our military to Gitmo and later taken by small boat to Havana, he and his girlfriend. Perhaps the couple is still there.”

  “Why do you say girlfriend?” the reporter followed up. “I thought she was his chief aid.”

  The President shrugged. “In more ways than one, so I was told. I suppose I shouldn’t gossip, but girls will be girls. No more questions.” She left the room.

  When the news of the snub hit Tel Aviv, Prime Minister Yair Landver had Orson Platt summoned to his office. He stood before the prime minister’s desk, hands chained together, chain extending to foot irons, still in his criminal attire.

  “You may sit down,” Landver said, indicating a chair. Orson complied. The guard who had brought him watched him warily. The guard was instructed to remove the chains and leave the office.

  “I have no keys, Sir. They keep them at the jail. There were quite a few newsmen snapping photos when I brought him over here. They’re waiting outside.”

  Landver slapped his forehead. “They took his picture in that prison outfit and chains?”

  “Yes, Sir. They seemed to be laughing about it. Some made fun of him. Called him an American peace monkey.”

  Landver picked up the phone and spoke with security. “Have the police, army, anyone, round up all the reporters outside my office and confiscate their cameras and any notes they might have. Hold them incommunicado.”

  He told the guard he could go and fetch the keys, then eyed Orson with suspicion. “You’ve played a game with me, haven’t you? You could have told me you were Warren’s personal envoy.”

  “I thought you knew.”

  Landver thought a moment, then said, “Yes, I should have known. My jailing you was her excuse to do all the things she has done. You’ve been out of it so you don’t know what she has done. No more Israeli flights to America, foreign aid slowed to a trickle, our ambassador expelled and exposed in a sex scandal, our Jewish friends taken from the American embassy and sent to God knows where. The big chill.”

  “I believe she wants you to take a h
ard and even-handed look at the peace process. No more childish games.”

  “I’m not the only one. The Palestinians were offered a great deal some years back.”

  “Yes, but hostilities grind on. Seize the bull by the horns. It’s not too late. Go down in history as the man who brought peace not just to Israel, but the entire area. It would be a dream come true.”

  “It would be a dream come true. We thought the six-day war was a dream come true. It’s turning out to be a nightmare of horrors playing out one after another. America is our holy land. Equality, laws that protect us, no barriers for the businessman. Why come to Israel? I’ll tell you. Because it’s our own sort of country. Carved out by our own sweat, blood and tears. What does that tell you, you with a big scar and eye-patch?”

  Orson thought Yair was either maudlin or raving mad. “I don’t know what my scar and eye patch have to do with it. They did change my lifestyle. There was a time when I blended in with the crowd. No more. If you want the blood, sweat and tears to continue, skirmishes, terror attacks, a few lives lost here and there, you’re on the right track. Peace is quite another matter. It might even be more difficult to achieve.”

  Yair seemed to sigh. “I’m tired, very tired, tugs and pulls, demands from every quarter. Now you in chains and that crazy prison suit. The press is electronic. They would have snapped you on your perp walk over here and moved the shots instantly to home base. Late today and tomorrow, I’ll be totally nailed as the guy who slammed the American President’s personal envoy into a solitary cell. I will be the man who bit the hand that fed it all these years. Now tell me, wise guy, advisor to King Saudi and President Warren, what posture do I assume?”

  “That’s quite simple. Let me get dressed and shaved. The two of us will make a joint appearance at an evening press conference, and you will announce a serious new initiative in the peace process. A two-state settlement, land for peace. No more encroachment on Arab land.”

  Yair thought only a moment before he picked up the phone and asked that Orson’s things be brought to his office. He slammed the phone down and quipped, “One more peace initiative can’t be all bad.”

  “But this time you must mean it,” Orson said.

  “Damn right,” Yair replied. “You’ve cleared the air, Orson. All the bad stuff has vanished like a gambler’s lucky streak. You and me, we make a great team.”

  Orson wondered. Who was playing whom? Oh, well. Delilah would be waiting, pregnant with anticipation. Then one more cautionary note to Yair. “There’s been a lot of talk, speculation if you will, that a two-state solution may be a pipe dream. That time has passed it by.”

  “Then what is the solution?” the Prime Minister questioned.

  Orson shrugged.