Finally the commander returned their passports and requested they turn over all weapons and ammunition. Marcus and Pete had been informed by McDermott ahead of time that this would be the case. The attacks in London and Washington were being taken very seriously in Riyadh, and every precaution was being taken. Reluctantly the two men handed over what they had. Then they were all asked to hand over their mobile phones, as well.
Eventually the massive steel gates were opened. They drove into the walled compound under the wary eye of soldiers carrying automatic weapons and headed down a long driveway lined with palm trees on both sides. The beautifully manicured lawns and great fountains were all tastefully lit up, though it was the middle of the night. Finally they came around a curve and stopped under the portico at the main entrance, where they were met by more armed soldiers and the chief of royal protocol. They were greeted warmly, then led into a security station, where they passed through magnetometers. The few possessions in their pockets were sent through an X-ray machine. They were not permitted to bring their luggage inside.
After clearing security, they were led along elegant marble hallways, under gold-and-crystal chandeliers, and through ornately carved and painted wooden doors until they finally entered the empty royal chamber. At the far end stood a throne made of gilded wood and cream- and gold-adorned upholstery. The senator was shown to another gilded chair—though not nearly as nice as the king’s—directly to the left of the throne. Annie was seated immediately to the senator’s left, then Marcus, then Pete.
Across from them was a row of identical chairs, all empty. In the center of the room was a rectangular wooden coffee table, covered in gold, set on a thick, cream-colored carpet. The walls were beautiful, polished wood, which Marcus assumed was mahogany but couldn’t be sure. There were large windows, as well, covered by royal-purple-and-gold drapes. There were two side tables, one on each side of the throne. On them were golden lamps with purple lampshades, a phone, a notebook and Montblanc pen, and a crystal glass filled with water. Behind the throne to the left and right were golden flagpoles, each bearing the green-and-white flag of the kingdom.
Once the Americans were seated, servants in traditional white robes and red-checkered kaffiyehs served them each small ceramic cups of Arab coffee. A few minutes later, the cups were removed, and they were served hot, sweet mint tea in small glasses with handles, on china saucers.
Suddenly the floor-to-ceiling doors opened. They all stood, and King Faisal Mohammed Al Saud entered, wearing his trademark yellow-and-white robes and red-checkered kaffiyeh. Now well into his eighties, he walked slowly, somewhat stooped, with the help of a black-and-gold cane. He shook each of their hands, beginning with Pete and working his way up the row. His face was oval and his eyes were brown. He had a black mustache and a black goatee; Marcus noted that neither had a hint of gray. His hands were soft, but his grip was firm. He looked them each in the eye and thanked them for coming, but when he reached the senator, he surprised them all by giving the man a brief hug.
Following the king was Crown Prince Abdulaziz bin Faisal Al Saud, the heir to the throne and the kingdom’s minister of defense. Nearly fifty years his father’s junior, he was a large man with a massive beard and a broad smile, and he wore a black robe with gold seams and gold piping. He, too, shook each of their hands and thanked them for coming, as did Prince Abdullah bin Rashid, director of the Saudi General Intelligence Directorate, who followed the two royals wearing a far more modest all-white robe known as a thawb and a white linen kaffiyeh.
The king took his seat on the throne. The crown prince sat directly across from the senator. The intelligence chief sat beside the crown prince. Finally two notetakers from the royal court—who were not introduced—took their seats, opened their leather notebooks, and uncapped their pens.
“Senator Dayton, my good friend, thank you for returning to my kingdom so quickly,” His Majesty began in perfect though heavily accented English. “You are a man of peace and always welcome here.”
The senator nodded and thanked the king and crown prince for their warm hospitality and gracious spirit. The king asked Dayton to introduce his guests, which he did. Then they got to the heart of the matter.
66
“Were you able to speak to the president?” the king asked.
“I did, Your Majesty,” said Dayton. “Actually, we all did.”
“How did he respond?”
“Very favorably—he’s ready to help in every way he can.”
“Does he understand that I have not wavered in my views at all—that the Arab Peace Initiative is the right way to go forward, that the Palestinians deserve a sovereign state with East Jerusalem as their capital, and that the Israelis should pull back to the 1967 borders?”
“He does,” Dayton confirmed. “And I told him that while you believe his plan reflects the spirit of the Arab Peace Initiative, you believe it is deficient in a number of important respects.”
“This did not bother him?”
“Not at all. He said he expected as much. He said he never expected the Palestinians or you or any Arab state to embrace and approve every word of his plan. He recognizes that it doesn’t comport precisely with the Arab Peace Initiative, but he argues that the initiative is two decades old and has not produced peace and therefore needs to be updated. Still, he said the initial goal of his plan is to jump-start the process and get the parties back to the table.”
“Do you believe him, Senator?”
“Your Majesty, I do.”
“Even though you’re running against him and have had such harsh words for this president?” asked the king.
“Even so.”
“Because I must say, my sons and I have been following the early stages of the presidential campaign in your country very closely. We have watched you both hit each other very hard. We also know we don’t have many friends on your side of the aisle. Then again, as you so candidly articulated during our last visit, we have lost many friends on the president’s side as well.”
“Your Majesty, I’ve always tried to be honest with you, so I will be candid with you now as well. I do not have much respect for President Clarke personally or for his economic policies or his domestic and social policies. That’s why I put together a presidential exploratory committee. That said, I do believe that he genuinely wants to forge a lasting peace between the Arabs and the Israelis and that he is committed to building an alliance in this region that can stand solidly against Iranian aggression. Perhaps more importantly, the Israelis trust him, and no one more so than Prime Minister Eitan. So if you convince President Clarke that you’re sincere about making peace, no one is better positioned to convince Eitan.”
The king looked over to his eldest son, then at his intelligence chief. Marcus noticed that neither spoke nor made any gestures that might indicate what they thought. Then the king looked down and folded his hands across his lap.
“I must say, I am deeply disappointed with my old friend Ismail Ziad,” the monarch said softly, almost wistfully. “He has sat with me in this room many times, right in that chair where you sit now, sipping tea and telling me his troubles. So many times I have pleaded with him to get back into negotiations and secure the best deal he can, and I told him I will help fund the costs of building a viable, vibrant Palestinian state.”
The king continued to stare down at his wrinkled hands.
“True, we once saw the Jews as interlopers, colonialists, occupiers, oppressors. But the Arab dream of driving them out of the region has not worked. The Israelis have built an impressive state, a powerful army and air force, and an even more powerful economy. And they’ve done it without a drop of oil and only recently with large discoveries of natural gas. I have told Ziad the Jews are not going anywhere. Israel is a fact of life. They are part of this region, this neighborhood, and it is time to accept this. Israel cannot be defeated. It cannot be wiped off the map. Nor can it be wished away. It is here and it is real and it is strong and getting
stronger. Every day that passes, Israel grows mightier and the Palestinians grow weaker. ‘How much longer will you resist reality?’ I’ve often asked Ziad. I’ve told him, ‘The longer you wait, the less you will get. You had the chance to have half of the Old City—the Muslim and Christian Quarters and the Haram al-Sharif. Olmert offered it all to you on a silver platter and you turned him down.’ Ziad thinks he can get more. I say, ‘No, you’ll never get more than what Olmert offered. Now you’ll get less. But at least you’ll get something. I’ll help you pay for it. And I’ll persuade the Emiratis and the Bahrainis and the Omanis to chip in as well.’”
“What does he say?” Dayton asked.
“What can he say? Ziad is a stubborn old man,” the king replied with no apparent malice in his voice. “He speaks endlessly about Israeli settlements and their expansion. I tell him, ‘Yes, and the settlements could all stop expanding tomorrow. But only if you make a deal with the Israelis. You have to say yes to something—anything,’ but he refuses to listen to me. He is determined to go to his grave as the man who refused to surrender to the Zionist occupiers. I will not judge him. I have not walked in his sandals. But nor will I wait for him. My kingdom has supported the Palestinian people for an entire century. No Arab nation has done more for them than the House of Saud. But we have other, urgent priorities—the Iran threat, the Muslim Brotherhood, the rise of a hostile new sultan in Ankara, and our own domestic challenges. Our oil is running out. We must fundamentally transform our economy. We must use our wealth, while we still have it, to build a high-tech superpower here in the heart of the Arabian Peninsula. We can do it. We want Israel as a partner. Now is the time, and we must move very quickly, before it is too late.”
67
Marcus glanced over at Annie on his right.
She was taking notes as fast as she could. So was Pete. Neither seemed prepared to say anything, so he decided to address the “camel in the room.”
“Your Majesty, may I ask a question?”
Everyone turned.
“Why, of course, Agent Ryker,” the king replied. “You have my deepest respect for all you did to stop the madmen in Tehran from getting their hands on those nuclear warheads. I was moved by your courage and will never forget it.”
“You are too kind, Your Majesty. There were many people—including those in this room—involved in that operation. I certainly cannot take the credit. But I want to say that I think what you are proposing here is extraordinary. I don’t have to tell you how much distrust of the Saudi government there is back in Washington, whether it’s regarding human rights and the lack of religious freedom here or the war in Yemen or—well, you know the list. Personally, I believe the relationship between the United States and the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia won’t ever be as strong as it could be—and should be—unless you address those matters forthrightly and until far more bold reforms are made.”
Marcus sensed his colleagues’ unease, but he kept going.
“That said, if Saudi Arabia truly makes peace with Israel, this will be a huge signal of the dramatic change in direction that you and your sons are making from the old Saudi ways. It would be an immensely popular move to many in our country and in many countries around the world.”
In his peripheral vision, Marcus noticed Senator Dayton shifting uncomfortably in his seat. But he was not finished.
“I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but Egyptian president Anwar Sadat was deeply unpopular in the United States, especially among tens of millions of Christians and Jews who love Israel and were horrified that Sadat launched a sneak attack against Israel in 1973, and on Yom Kippur, of all times, the holiest day on the Jewish calendar, when Jews were all fasting and praying and unprepared for war. Imagine if someone invaded you on the first day of Ramadan. I daresay there were many Americans who outright hated Mr. Sadat for that. But that all changed on November 19, 1977. Why? Because that was the day Sadat landed in Jerusalem and launched his peace offensive. He spoke to the Israeli people. He spoke to their parliament. He met with Israeli leaders at the highest levels and set into motion a chain of events that led to the signing of the Camp David Peace Accords in the fall of 1978. Whatever else Mr. Sadat had said and done before that, after Camp David he would be seen in the eyes of the vast majority of Americans as a man of peace, a man of great honor and courage. And personally, I think that’s possible for you and for the crown prince and the people of your kingdom.”
The king said nothing. His face was inscrutable, yet there was more Marcus wanted to say.
“I applaud what you want to do, and I believe all of us stand ready to help you make it happen. That said, I feel it is my duty to make sure you and your colleagues truly understand just how dangerous it could be to send the crown prince to Jerusalem. I don’t think I have to remind you that Mr. Sadat paid for his courage with his life—assassinated by his own people, by fellow Muslims, in 1981.”
“Not by his own people,” the king corrected. “Sadat was murdered by members of the Muslim Brotherhood—by despicable men, khawarej, outlaws of our faith.”
“Fair enough,” Marcus conceded. “My point was simply that Sadat was murdered for making peace with Israel. Years later, Israeli prime minister Yitzhak Rabin was murdered by a Jewish extremist for making peace with Jordan and agreeing to the Oslo Accords with the Palestinians. The history of this region is filled with stories of attempted assassinations, some successful, some not. And unfortunately, I am reminded of another terrible tragedy, that of your great-grandfather, cut down by his own nephew, right here in Riyadh, here in this palace, on March 25, 1975.”
At this the monarch winced. “I appreciate your concern, Agent Ryker. Nevertheless, let me assure you of two things. First, if we go down this road, we will not make peace with Israel to improve our image in the United States. We will do so because it is the right thing to do and because it is in our own national interest. We will do it to forge an alliance against the extremists in this region and to build an economic and security partnership that will benefit our people and make their lives better. Frankly, we want Israeli investment and technology, and we want to invest in Israel, as well. We cannot do that in the current environment, but as I said, I will not wait for the Palestinians any longer. If the Israelis are ready for peace on reasonable terms, then so are we, and I believe the time is now. Second, I want to assure you that we as a family and my inner circle have discussed the risks at length. We know what’s at stake, and my son is willing, if necessary, to lay down his life for the cause of peace.”
“I am,” said the crown prince, “but I don’t think it will come to this.”
“That is very admirable,” said Marcus. “But if, God forbid, your son were to die at the hands of an assassin, the entire peace process could die with him. Other regional leaders might be intimidated from following your lead for years, possibly decades to come. My job, and that of my colleagues, is to ensure the safety of our leaders and yours and, of course, the Israelis’. But let’s not kid ourselves—there are agents of evil out there who would like nothing better than to have President Clarke, Prime Minister Eitan, and the Saudi crown prince in the same room at the same time and take them all out. Just look at what has happened in recent weeks.”
“I have every confidence we can work together to make sure that never happens,” replied King Faisal.
The room was quiet for a long while. Then Annie Stewart cleared her throat. She requested permission to speak, and the king granted it.
“Your Majesty, I share Agent Ryker’s concerns. Yet I also share your confidence that our two governments and the Israelis will absolutely be able to ensure your safety,” she began. “The last thing either of our leaders can afford is to allow a moment of historic peacemaking to end in tragedy.”
“Thank you, Miss Stewart. I couldn’t agree with you more,” said the monarch, a twinkle in his eye.
“That said, I have a slightly different question, if I may.”
“Please.”
68
JERUSALEM, ISRAEL
By dinnertime, the team was in Israel, dining with Prime Minister Eitan.
“He said all that?” asked the premier, setting down his glass of red wine.
“He did,” Dayton confirmed.
“And the king really wants to come here himself, not the crown prince?”
“The king himself,” the senator confirmed, winking at Annie.
Eitan turned to the only colleague he had invited to join them, Mossad director Asher Gilad. “What do you make of it, Asher?”
“Well, it’s stunning—no question—but it’s also entirely consistent with everything I know from my contact with the Saudis,” Gilad said. “At your direction, I’ve been working very closely with my counterpart in Saudi intelligence, Prince Abdullah bin Rashid. We’ve been speaking regularly. We met in London earlier this year, together with the Emirati spy chief. It was the Saudis who provided us critical intelligence on the Iranian plot to buy the warheads from Pyongyang. It was the Saudis who helped us track and intercept the shipment. And when I met the crown prince secretly in Cyprus, you’ll recall I came back and told you I thought he was ready to meet with you.”
“Yes, but that was the son, not the father,” said Eitan. “You’ve been telling me all along that the king was not as open-minded to making peace with us as the crown prince was—at least not until the Palestinians made a deal.”
“Apparently I was wrong. Does it matter? This is a gift, Ruvi. Don’t think about it. Take it before the father changes his mind.”
It was after two o’clock in the morning when they finally left the prime minister’s private residence. Once Eitan had said yes to the king’s offer, they’d drafted a plan for his visit, incorporating all the requests the Saudis had made. As Marcus drove the team back to the King David Hotel, the mood was giddy. This thing was on, and they had precious little time to put all the pieces in place.
The Jerusalem Assassin Page 21