Iran.
For the Israelis, there was very little downside to negotiating a treaty with the Saudis. The two countries had never been in direct warfare with each other. They had no outstanding land disputes. What’s more, both sides could declare how much they wanted to achieve a fair and comprehensive peace agreement with the Palestinians with precious little chance of having to make good on the pledge anytime soon.
That said, Riyadh had far more at stake in reaching out to the Israelis, and everyone in the room knew it. Everyone from al Qaeda and ISIS to the Muslim Brotherhood to Qatar to the Turks would be working to undermine the new Saudi stance. Still, the existential threat posed by the regime in Tehran was dramatically reshaping the geopolitics of the Middle East. The ayatollah’s race for nuclear weapons and the missiles to deliver them—and his funding of every terror group in the region from Hezbollah to Hamas to the Houthis—was forcing every Arab leader in every Arab capital in the region to fundamentally rethink who was a friend and who a foe. Clearly, His Majesty had concluded he no longer had the luxury of treating the Israelis as an enemy. The two nations had to become not just friends but strategic allies if the Iranian threat was to be neutralized. But would anyone now come to the Saudis’ side? Would the Bahrainis? Would the Emiratis? What about the Moroccans and the Omanis? Or would Riyadh be forced to go this one alone? And if so, at what cost?
Marcus heard in his earpiece that the presidential motorcade was ready to depart. Final instructions were being issued to both the Secret Service and DSS agents in the room to prepare to move the American principals out of the holding room in the next few minutes. Yet just then, to Marcus’s surprise, one leader after another came over to him to personally express thanks for saving their lives. True to form, perhaps, the Israeli prime minister was the most formal and thus somewhat awkward in conveying his appreciation. The Saudi monarch, on the other hand, was the most effusive, hugging Marcus and kissing him on both cheeks and inviting him to come back to Riyadh to see the king when everything quieted down.
“There are things to say,” His Majesty said quietly. “Things I would prefer to say only to you.”
Touched, Marcus nodded. Though he could not imagine any scenario in which his supervisors at the Diplomatic Security Service—much less the Central Intelligence Agency—would let him travel to the kingdom alone for a private parley with a foreign head of state, he kept such thoughts to himself and simply thanked the king for his kindness.
The last to come over was Clarke. “You did good, Ryker,” he said with a smile. “You turned out not to be a traitor after all.”
“Thank you, Mr. President,” Marcus replied, laughing despite the pain from all the cuts and contusions on his face and neck.
Clarke asked how Agent Curtis was doing.
“Quite well, sir. I spent several hours with her at the hospital last night and saw her briefly again this morning. She’s going to be just fine.”
“That’s good to hear,” Clarke said. “And Miss Stewart?”
“Annie’s doing great as well. She and Agent Curtis were actually on the same floor, so as luck would have it, I got to spend time with them both.”
“Glad to hear it. When will they be released?”
“Annie was released about an hour ago, and Agent Curtis is being released as we speak. Lord willing, they’re both going to fly home later tonight. I promised to be with them to make sure they’re okay.”
“And they’re both up for flying so soon?”
“These are two tough cookies, Mr. President.”
“They must be.”
For a moment, the president seemed as if he was going to go back to chatting with the other principals before heading to his motorcade for the quick trip to the airport. Instead, however, he stopped himself. “You folks want a ride home?” he asked Marcus.
“I’m sorry?” Marcus replied, not sure he could have possibly heard the question right.
“I’m asking if you, Miss Stewart, and Agent Curtis would like a ride home,” the president repeated. “After all, I assume your destination is Washington, and as it happens, I’m heading there myself. I’d be honored to have you all as my guests, if that would interest you.”
“Wow, Mr. President, I’m not sure what to say.”
“Say yes.”
“Well then, yes, I’d love a ride home,” Marcus said. “I’m sure the others would too. I’ll need to get permission from the head of my detail, but . . .”
Clarke laughed. “I’m the head of your detail, Ryker. Permission granted.”
And so it was that some ninety minutes later, Marcus Ryker was sitting aboard Air Force One with Annie Stewart, Kailea Curtis, and Senator Dayton, soaring over the Mediterranean and homeward bound, recounting with laughter and a few tears the drama they had just lived through and wondering what the future held for them, for their country, for the region, and for the world.
A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
The Jerusalem Assassin is entirely a work of fiction.
It is true that I once worked for an Israeli prime minister, though that was for a very brief time and occurred some two decades ago.
Yes, I may be one of the few—perhaps the only—novelist to have traveled to the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia to meet with and spend hours in conversation with senior Saudi officials and members of the royal family.
It is also true that just prior to the release of my previous novel—The Persian Gamble—I had the opportunity to meet in the Oval Office with the president of the United States, the vice president, the secretary of state, and the national security advisor and discuss then, and in other meetings, a number of themes in this book.
That said, I want to be clear: the characters herein are made up from whole cloth, figments of my fertile imagination. They are not meant in any way, shape, or form to represent real people, living or dead. The dialogue herein is also completely fictional. There are no actual quotes from any real person I may have met or read about.
On one level, this novel contains a number of worst-case scenarios. That is, high-ranking American diplomats are assassinated. Various world leaders—including the head of a NATO ally—are involved in funding the launch of a new and deadly terrorist organization. Palestinian leaders continue rejecting all efforts to forge a real and lasting peace treaty between their people and the people of Israel. The list goes on. While all of these plot elements are plausible, they are not predictions of what I believe will necessarily happen in the near or distant future—only fears.
And let me hasten to add that I certainly pray that no harm ever befalls the brave men and women involved in peacemaking efforts in the Middle East, as befalls some of the fictional characters in these pages.
On another level, of course, this novel certainly contains elements of wishful thinking. That is, as both a dual U.S.-Israeli citizen and an evangelical from a Jewish heritage, I pray every day for the peace of Jerusalem, just as commanded in the Scriptures. What’s more, as a resident of Jerusalem, I long for the day when another Sunni Arab leader demonstrates the boldness and the courage of Egyptian president Anwar Sadat and Jordan’s King Hussein by choosing to make peace with the State of Israel, and that the leaders of Israel show the wisdom and the discernment to make it easier—not harder—for such a day to come and come soon.
Will the Palestinian leadership continue to resist every effort to bring about peace? Perhaps, but I genuinely hope not, because I want to see peace for their sake and for ours. Will the Saudis see it in their national interest to make peace with Israel, even if the Palestinians maintain a rejectionist posture? Perhaps someday, and I genuinely hope so, though we all know there are many forces inside the kingdom and throughout the region who will try to thwart such moves should they ever be actively contemplated, much less acted upon.
This is one of the reasons I love to tell stories. For writing a novel is not fortune-telling or prophecy. It is the act of exploring my nightmares and my dreams. It is the art of trying to capture the im
aginations of readers around the world and take them into a world I hope might be one day, and a world I hope never comes to pass.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Ever since I was eight years old, I have wanted to write novels or screenplays. I have yet to write a movie or television script, but this is my fifteenth novel and I want to express my deepest appreciation to those who have helped make this one a reality.
Scott Miller has been my agent and my good friend since agreeing to represent my first novel, The Last Jihad—he and the Trident Media Group are without a doubt the gold standard in the world of literary agents.
The Tyndale House publishing team is the finest in the business—Mark Taylor, Jeff Johnson, Ron Beers, Karen Watson, Jeremy Taylor, Jan Stob, Elizabeth Jackson, Andrea Garcia, Maria Eriksen, Caleb Sjogren, Danika King, the entire sales force, and all the remarkable professionals who make Tyndale an industry leader. And a special shout-out to Erin Smith for her wonderful copyediting assistance and especially to Dean Renninger, who continues to design amazing covers for my novels.
Our award-winning PR team—Larry Ross, Kristin Cole, and Kerri Ridenour and their colleagues—is first-rate and a joy to work with.
Nancy Pierce and June “Bubbe” Meyers are my rock-star teammates at November Communications, Inc.—they continue to handle everything from my schedules to flights to finances and a great deal more, and with them I am in very kind and capable hands.
Every year that goes by, I am even more grateful to my parents, Len and Mary Jo Rosenberg, and to all of my extended family and Lynn’s, for their love and grace, wise counsel and prayers, and all the fun and laughs we have together.
The same is true of our four sons: Caleb—and his beautiful wife, Rachel—Jacob, Jonah, and Noah. I am proud to be your dad and love all the adventures and challenges we face together.
Most of all, I want to thank my dear wife, Lynn. She was just eighteen when we met at Siberacuse—I mean, “No Excuse”—er, rather, Syracuse University. I was only nineteen. Through those long, bitter central New York winters, we became the best of friends and then fell deeply in love. We married in her adorable little church in Point Pleasant, New Jersey, on June 30, 1990—just weeks after her graduation—and this year we will celebrate our thirtieth wedding anniversary. I’ve said it before but I happily repeat myself: Lynn is my best friend in the world and there is no one whose love or advice or affection and companionship I could possibly cherish more than hers. May the Lord give us another thirty years—and many, many more.
FROM NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR
JOEL C. ROSENBERG
FOLLOW FOREIGN CORRESPONDENT J. B. COLLINS AS HE RISKS IT ALL IN SEARCH OF THE TRUTH AND A GOOD STORY.
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