“How long will you be?”
“As long as it takes to figure out who’s responsible for this mess and put a bullet in their heads—I mean, you know, arrest them and bring them in.”
“Right,” Marcus said, just as someone began playing the organ. “I’ve got to go. But keep me up to speed on what you guys find.”
“Will do, geezer. Curtis out.”
The line went dead.
The service continued without a hitch, but Marcus struggled to concentrate, so consumed were his thoughts with Kairos and what they were plotting next. After the service, though, he was grateful to see so many people he knew. One by one, the men shook his hand and slapped him on the back. The women hugged him and a few kissed his cheek. All of them thanked him for saving their lives. Some cried on his shoulder. But he never saw Maya.
What floored him were the two people standing on the sidewalk as he exited the church—Robert Dayton and Annie Stewart.
“Good morning, Marcus,” said the senator, tipping his fedora.
“Senator, Annie—what a pleasant surprise,” he replied, shaking their hands. “I thought the Senate was out of session this week.”
“It is,” Dayton said.
“Then what brings you back to the swamp so early?”
“Something has come up. We wondered if we could talk.”
“Must be serious for an atheist to show up at church.”
“I’m here on Annie’s Baptist credentials,” Dayton conceded. “But yes, it’s pretty important. You free for lunch?”
“Now?”
“Nothing fancy—how about Manny’s?”
“That’d be fine,” said Marcus. “My car or yours?”
“Could we walk?” Annie asked. “It’s the first nice day in weeks.”
As they crossed the street, Marcus whispered to Annie, “I thought you were a Methodist.”
She laughed. “I am—he doesn’t know the difference.”
Soon, the three had hung up their coats and taken a booth.
“So, Marcus,” Annie began after the waitress took their orders and stepped away.
“So, Annie,” he replied.
“The three of us have known each other a long time, and we have a lot of history together.”
“True.”
“But the senator finds himself in an unusual position and not entirely sure how to proceed. I suggested he come to you, and after thinking about it for several days, he decided to fly back to D.C. last night.”
“I’m happy to help you and the senator if I can, Annie. I consider you both friends, and I don’t take that for granted.”
“Thank you—and I trust that what we discuss will remain here, unless we come to an agreement on others to bring into the loop?”
“What is this, Las Vegas?” Marcus said, smiling.
Annie smiled back. It was easy to see why Pete Hwang was so infatuated with her, Marcus thought. They’d all met during one of his combat tours in the Marines. Annie had been a young press aide for the senator, fresh out of graduate school and no more than twenty-four or twenty-five years old. He could still remember her dazzling green eyes and short, blonde shag haircut. And that smile. That was well over a decade ago. Yet somehow, she looked better now. She was wearing a navy-blue dress with white trim at the collar. Her hair was longer now, below the shoulders with side-swept bangs. It was still blonde, but there were a few wisps of gray. And she wore glasses—black, narrow, flattop Ray-Bans that gave her a studious look—along with small, silver hoop earrings and a stylish black-and-gold watch.
“The topic,” she said, suddenly growing serious, “is Saudi Arabia.”
60
“Saudi Arabia?” Marcus asked.
“Let me start at the beginning,” said the senator. “I understand the president has decided to cancel his upcoming trip to Jerusalem.”
“How did you know about that?”
Dayton just sat back in the booth with a quizzical look, at which point Marcus realized what a ridiculous question that had been. The man was the ranking minority member of the Senate Intelligence Committee. He’d been in this town for a long time and had a lot of sources inside government and out. What’s more, he was planning a run for the Democratic nomination for president. Of course he knew what Clarke’s plans were, especially on such a sensitive matter of national security.
“Let me strike that from the record, Senator,” Marcus laughed. “But yes, in light of last week’s events, the president is going to deliver his address on the peace plan from the Oval Office.”
“Not from the Temple Mount?”
“No, thank goodness.”
“That’s a mistake,” Dayton said.
“I beg your pardon?”
“The president needs to go to Jerusalem.”
“Senator, I know you want his job, but you can’t really hate him that much.”
Dayton ignored the comment. “The Saudis have had it with Ziad,” he said quietly. “They’re ready to make peace with Israel on their own. Furthermore, the crown prince is prepared to come to Jerusalem, but only if the president will invite him and facilitate the discussions.”
“You’re not serious.”
“I am.”
Marcus turned to Annie.
“He is,” she confirmed. “Look, Marcus, we were just in Riyadh a few weeks ago. We met with the king and the crown prince. The senator read them the riot act on everything from the war in Yemen to the murder of that dissident to their completely unacceptable record on human rights. He let them know in no uncertain terms just how furious Congress is with them. But he also made it clear that he knew full well their strategic value as an ally. He told them that, unlike many of his colleagues in the Senate, he was not going to throw them under the bus. But ‘business as usual’ is no longer acceptable. They have to accelerate their social and economic reforms. They have to release prisoners, beginning with the highest-profile human rights activists. They’ve got to stop arresting everyone who disagrees with them. They’ve got to find a way to wrap up this war with the Houthis. And so forth. They weren’t happy. But they listened. And then they told us things we’ve never heard Saudi leaders say before.”
“Such as?”
“Such as that in light of the existential threat posed by Iranian mullahs, they’ve completely reconsidered their position on Israel. They’ve concluded that Israel is not part of the problem but part of the solution, and that if they were to make peace, Israel could be a vital ally for the kingdom militarily, economically, technologically, and beyond.”
“I don’t know what to say,” said Marcus.
“Actually, there’s more,” said the senator. “On Wednesday, a few hours after the attack in London, Prince Abdullah bin Rashid—their intelligence chief—called me. He wanted to see if I would serve as a back channel to the president and to the Israelis. The Saudis don’t want the president’s peace plan to be delivered stillborn. He said they’re ready for peace talks as soon as possible.”
“Even after the Palestinians rejected the plan?”
“Because the Palestinians rejected the plan.”
“We realize this is a bit of a surprise,” Annie noted, seeing Marcus’s skepticism.
“A bit?” Marcus replied. “Given the Saudis’ history of anti-Semitism and radical Wahhabism, it frankly sounds preposterous.”
“Nevertheless,” said Dayton, “we think it’s real.”
“Then why come to me?”
“I want you to set up a meeting with the president—quiet, off the record.”
“Why don’t you just pick up the phone and ask him directly?”
“Because he hates me.”
“I don’t know about hates, but . . .”
“Don’t sugarcoat it, Marcus. The man sees me as a competitor and would like nothing more than to squash me like a bug.”
“Well, you have said some pretty tough things about him—and to be fair, you are a competitor.”
“Not anymore.”
<
br /> “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Haven’t you been watching the polls?” Dayton asked.
“My hands have been a little full of late.”
“Then let me fill you in. Yes, nationally, my numbers look strong. But that’s when you factor in independents and moderate to liberal Republicans. Among hard-core liberals, I’m tanking. I couldn’t get elected dogcatcher in the Democrat Party right now.”
“Why?” Marcus asked. “You were running strong before we went to Moscow. Then you took on Luganov face-to-face. You convinced Clarke to bulk up American forces in Poland and the Baltics to prevent a Russian invasion, and he completely followed your advice. The coverage was spectacular. You were a rock star.”
“If he was running as a Republican, absolutely,” Annie interjected. “But the activists in his party are furious he worked with Clarke at all. They feel betrayed, and they’re abandoning ship.”
“Because you put the interests of your country ahead of your party?” Marcus asked Dayton directly.
“Because I put Clarke ahead of my party,” the senator replied.
“Well then, they’re idiots.”
“Maybe so,” said Annie. “But they’re the idiots that knock on doors and run the phone banks and raise the money. They’re the idiots the senator needs to win the nomination, and after his lifetime of serving them, I’m telling you, they hate his guts.”
Marcus considered that, then turned back to Dayton again. “So just to be clear, Senator, you’re hated by Clarke for being too liberal and hated by liberals for being nice to Clarke?”
“Welcome to my world.”
“And you’re really not running?”
“No.”
“Why haven’t you made that public—or did I miss it?”
“I was actually scheduled to be on Meet the Press this morning. I was going to drop my little bombshell, as it were. But it hardly seemed appropriate under the circumstances, so last night I canceled my appearance. The producers went ballistic, but I told them that everything I knew about the attacks was classified and there was no point saying, ‘No comment’ to every question they asked me.”
“And they bought that?”
“They didn’t have any reason not to, though I’m not likely to be invited back anytime soon.”
The waitress brought them steaming bowls of soup—corn chowder for Dayton, gumbo for Annie, and thermonuclear Texas chili for Marcus.
“Why not call Secretary Whitney?” Marcus asked when they were alone again.
“She’s a little busy herself right now,” Annie said. “And this is urgent. Look, Marcus, the Saudis are terrified of Tehran getting the Bomb. They know the Iranians and Russians have been knocked off-balance. They know they have a window of time, and it won’t last forever. What’s more, they like the president’s peace plan. They’re furious with Ziad for rejecting it before it’s even been made public. And they believe now is the time to make their move. They saw how useful the senator was as a back channel during the whole Luganov thing, and they know I played a behind-the-scenes role with you with the whole warhead thing.”
“And they could certainly use a little bipartisan cover in this town,” Marcus was quick to add. “What could be better than to have a prominent Senate Democrat, one everyone believes is running for president, convince his incumbent Republican opponent to broker a Saudi-Israeli peace agreement in the ashes, literally and figuratively, of the last week’s events?”
“Exactly,” said Annie. “So will you help us? Will you call the president?”
Marcus looked at her, then back to the senator.
“I’d love to.”
61
Marcus glanced at his watch as thunder boomed and it began to pour.
It was six minutes past closing time. He was the last customer sitting in the Starbucks near the corner of Pennsylvania and Seventeenth Street, a stone’s throw from the White House complex. The staff were wiping down counters and mopping floors, but the manager told him as long as he kept buying, she’d let him stay.
Then she told him why.
She remembered him from his days with the Secret Service. He’d been a regular, after all. Moreover, she told him that she remembered the day he’d been awarded the Medal of Valor for defending the president and the White House staff through a terror attack she otherwise had chosen to forget. She’d watched the whole ceremony on TV, as had everyone in the store that day. If he wanted to sit in her coffeehouse after hours all alone, then so be it. He was always welcome.
Suddenly there was a knock on the door. Three men stood outside.
“Those your friends?” the manager asked.
Marcus nodded, and she unlocked the door and let them in.
“You gentlemen want anything?” she asked.
The two large men with earpieces said, “No thank you, ma’am.”
Bill McDermott, on the other hand, asked for a cup of “something strong, as big as you’ve got.” She obliged him, then gave them their space. One agent took up a position by the front door. The other checked to make sure no one was in either of the bathrooms before taking a post by the back door.
“What’s this all about, Marcus?” McDermott asked.
“I need to see the president.”
“What for?”
Marcus explained his lunchtime conversation. The acting national security advisor was as stunned as Marcus had been. He asked a flurry of questions. But in the end, intrigued if not entirely satisfied by Marcus’s answers, he pulled out his government-issued BlackBerry and hit the first number on his speed dial.
“Maggie, I need fifteen minutes with POTUS—no, right now—and give the Secret Service a heads-up. I’m bringing in an old friend.”
“Agent Ryker,” said Clarke. “This had better be good. My plate’s full.”
“I understand, Mr. President,” Marcus said as they sat down on couches in the White House residence. “And I’m sorry to bother you so late on a weekend.”
“Bill here says you’ve got something pretty hot—too hot, apparently, to go through normal channels. That’s not how I typically do business. But you’ve got your fifteen minutes. So let’s have it.”
“Thank you, Mr. President. I promise to keep this brief.”
He proceeded to tell Clarke exactly what he had just told McDermott, which was exactly what he had heard from Senator Dayton and Annie Stewart. The Saudis liked his peace plan. They didn’t agree with all of it. It wasn’t how they would have written it. But it was serious. It was credible. And the Palestinian leadership was foolish for shooting it down like an Iraqi Scud missile. Marcus then explained that the king was ready to make a bold move toward peace with the Israelis—sending the crown prince to Jerusalem, but only if the president would call and host a peace summit.
Clarke listened carefully. He neither interrupted nor asked any questions until Marcus was through. Then he got up and walked over to the rain-streaked crescent window overlooking the South Lawn and the Washington Monument. After a while, he turned back and looked Marcus square in the eye. “How do I know Dayton isn’t setting me up?”
“Did he last time, with Luganov?” Marcus asked.
“That was different,” Clarke said. “We were facing war with the Russians.”
“We’re facing war again, Mr. President, against Kairos and whoever is funding them.” Marcus was not prepared to mention Moscow’s apparent connection to Kairos. That was too explosive and as yet unverified. Indeed, it could very well be that Iran had a hand in the latest attacks as well, just as the Saudis had said. The CIA needed more time to work their sources and gather hard facts. For now, however, something else was at stake. “We’re also facing what could prove to be the greatest breakthrough in the Middle East since Sadat went to Jerusalem in November 1977,” he added.
“You think the Saudis are really serious?” Clarke asked.
“I really can’t say, sir; I’m just passing on what I’ve been told.”
“D
id the king bring any of this up with Evans or Davis when they saw him?”
“I wasn’t there, so I don’t know.”
“What about their detail?” McDermott asked. “Surely they heard the conversations with the king and crown prince.”
“No, they didn’t. I checked,” said Marcus. “After I met with the senator and Miss Stewart, I called Geoff Stone and Kailea Curtis. As you’ll recall, Geoff was the special agent in charge on the general’s detail. Kailea was his deputy. They were wounded in London and only released from the hospital today. But they both told me there were no agents in the room at the palace in Riyadh.”
“What about notetakers?” McDermott asked.
“No—not American ones, anyway. I checked. It was just Evans and Davis.”
“Did Stone and Curtis know why you were asking?” the president inquired.
“No, sir. I asked them about all the meetings they had—made it look like routine fact-checking.”
“Have you talked to anyone else about your conversation with Dayton?”
“No, sir.”
Clarke looked to McDermott. “Bill, what do you think?”
“Well, sir, I don’t like the idea of you being anywhere near the Temple Mount. But if the Saudis were really serious about making peace with the Israelis, that would pull your plan right out of the fire and put it in the history books. It would be a huge, huge story.”
“It would, wouldn’t it?” said Clarke, beginning to pace the room. “So do I meet with Dayton?”
McDermott turned to Marcus, but before he could respond, Clarke asked another question.
“Did Dayton really say he’s going to shut down his exploratory committee?”
“He did, sir. He said he was planning to do it this morning on Meet the Press, but the attacks scrambled his plans. Look, I know you’re concerned about the senator’s motives. And he’s a lib, don’t get me wrong. But he’s also a patriot. He proved that with the Russians. He has strong disagreements with you on domestic and economic policy, Mr. President. But on foreign policy, you two actually see eye to eye on more than you’d imagine.”
The Jerusalem Assassin Page 19