But even if it was all true, what exactly was he supposed to do about it? Neither he nor Erin had time to gather more answers now, so they arranged to meet the Baraks after dinner.
Bennett just prayed they would all live that long.
It was a strange meeting.
The Bennetts had worked with Lucente over the years on the Oil-for-Peace plan. Together they had hammered out an interim peace deal between the Israelis and the Palestinians and had cut a deal by which the U.S. and E.U. would buy a growing percentage of their oil and natural gas from Medexco.
But since the Russian-led attack on Israel, they had not spoken to each other at all. It had, after all, been Lucente — now in his seventies — who had helped Russian leader Yuri Gogolov muscle his anti-Israel resolution through the United Nations, trying to force Israel to give up its strategic weapons in return for NATO membership. What’s more, it was Lucente, Bennett had learned recently, who had pressured President MacPherson not to come to Israel’s defense during the midst of the crisis, and in so doing Salvador Lucente had earned Bennett’s disdain, if not his contempt.
“Jonathan, Erin, thank you for seeing me — I am so sorry for your loss,” Lucente said upon seeing them enter La Regence, the five-star restaurant on the lower level of the King David Hotel. He stood and hugged and kissed them both, though he didn’t receive a particularly warm response. “I want you to know I have spoken personally with the head of Interpol and demanded they do whatever possible to hunt down Eli’s killers.”
“Thank you,” said Erin. “That’s very kind.”
“It’s the least I can do,” he said. “I understand you were both with Eli when he passed away. I can only imagine how difficult that must have been.”
“We were glad to be able to say good-bye,” Bennett said softly as they all took their seats at a small table at the far end of the dining hall. The large room was deserted but for the foreign minister’s security detail.
“Prime Minister Doron told me you had a few minutes to speak with Eli before he died. Is that true?”
Bennett nodded.
“Was he lucid?” Lucente asked. “Did he know it was you?”
Bennett took Erin’s hand under the table and squeezed it gently.
“He did,” said Bennett. “The doctors were as surprised as we were.”
“Could he talk?”
“A little.”
“What did he say, if you don’t mind me asking?”
A waiter came over, poured each a glass of water, and set down a basket of warm rolls, then stepped away.
Bennett was grateful for a spare moment to gather his thoughts. He wanted to unleash on this guy for cozying up to Gogolov while Erin was being tortured in some gulag in Moscow. But something in Erin’s eyes gave him pause. She was trying to remind him that Costello and the president had asked them to take Lucente’s temperature and find out what he was up to, and they shouldn’t let them down.
Bennett shifted in his seat. His personal problems with Lucente would have to wait. “Remarkably, he seemed to be thinking quite clearly, given the circumstances,” he answered, pacing himself.
“Really? How so?” asked Lucente.
Bennett took a sip of water, then looked Lucente in the eye and said, “Actually, he told me to watch for the first guy to pressure Israel not to build her Temple. Guess he meant you.”
That raised Lucente’s bushy gray eyebrows in a hurry.
“You don’t say,” the foreign minister replied, scrambling for a comeback. “Actually, I would think you would be the first one to agree with me, Jonathan.”
“Why?” asked Bennett.
“Well, to be quite candid, I’m not opposed to the Jews building their Temple — not per se,” said Lucente, splitting open a freshly baked roll. “But my main interest, as I thought was yours, is finding a way to conclude a peace treaty between Israel and her neighbors once and for all. And toward that end, a unilateral move like seizing the Temple Mount doesn’t seem very peace-inducing, does it?”
In his previous job as the president’s senior advisor on the Arab-Israeli peace process, Bennett very likely would have agreed, or been required to by his boss back at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. But his perspective — and thus his allegiances — had been shifting, and not toward Europe.
Before he could answer, however, Erin cut in.
“To what exactly do we owe the honor of a meal with you, Mr. Foreign Minister?” she asked, cool though not quite impolite.
Lucente, however, was startled. “Well, I thought we might ease into the pool a bit more, but if you would like to dive in… ”
He reached down to open his briefcase and fished out a letter-sized envelope. Bennett noticed it had the distinctive blue-and-white United Nations logo on the front.
“Well then, yes… ,” Lucente began, clearly thrown off his game plan by Erin’s abrupt question. “Yes, well, as you both no doubt know, the secretary-general’s term in office expired on the first of January.”
“We know,” said Erin. “And President Mogande of South Africa is set to replace him, if I’m not mistaken.”
“Actually, I’m afraid you are,” said Lucente.
“What do you mean?”
“There’s been a change.”
“I haven’t heard anything,” Bennett said.
“Then again, you’ve been on your honeymoon.” Lucente smiled.
“Nevertheless,” said Erin, “we would have heard about a change like that.”
“Which is why we’re breaking bread together tonight,” Lucente said. “It has just come up.”
He handed over the sealed envelope, labeled “Private and Confidential for the President of the United States.”
“What is this?” asked Jon.
“It is a handwritten letter from Secretary-General Pipilo. It explains that President Mogande has been diagnosed with liver cancer. It appears to be terminal. That is why he has been in the hospital the past few weeks, delaying the January first transition. President Mogande has, therefore, changed his mind. He is not going to serve, and the secretary-general intends to nominate me to be his replacement.”
Neither of the Bennetts could believe what they were hearing.
For the last several years, Lucente had been engineering a new foreign policy for the European Union that diverged sharply from American interests and threatened to rip the NATO alliance to shreds. He had been bad enough to deal with in his current role. As secretary-general, he could make life extremely difficult for Washington.
“I have the votes,” Lucente said after a moment, sensing their reactions. “It would be a mistake for the president to oppose me.”
“It is no longer our concern,” said Bennett. “We don’t work for the president, and we no longer advise him on such matters. But you know that. You could have told him directly, or Secretary Warner, or Marsha Kirkpatrick. Why us? Why tonight?”
“Because I’d like to hire you,” Lucente replied.
“Both of us?” Bennett asked, taken aback.
“I want both of you to serve on my senior team.”
“To do what?” asked Erin.
“To help me finalize the peace deal between Israel and the Palestinians,” Lucente explained. “It’s almost done, as you know, but we need to finish it off quickly.”
“And?”
“And I want you to hammer out a treaty between Israel and Iraq.”
Bennett looked at Erin. “What kind of treaty?”
“Full peace, full recognition, full economic and diplomatic ties,” said Lucente. “Think about it. The Israelis and Iraqis are now the biggest oil producers in the world. They’re making money hand over fist. The last thing we need is for either of them to start an arms race or square off against the other. One more price spike and the entire global economy will collapse.”