“In other words, you want carte blanche to rebuild the Babylonian Empire.”
“We have the same right to reorganize our region of the world as you had in reorganizing Europe. We are not asking for your permission. We are looking for assurances that no one will interfere.”
“Such as?”
“Withdrawal of foreign troops from the region. Coordination of all relief and reconstruction efforts through my office, not through the U.N. Guaranteed accession to the WTO. A few others. I will give you a list.”
Lucente took it all in without tipping his hand one way or the other.
“There is one thing more,” said Al-Hassani.
Lucente waited. Al-Hassani said nothing.
“Let me guess,” Lucente said at last. “Jerusalem.”
Al-Hassani nodded. “The U.N. must seize control of the Temple Mount. The Jews must not be allowed to build anything there — not a Temple, not a visitor center, not a falafel stand, nothing. Ever. Period.”
“Or else?” asked Lucente.
“I wouldn’t put it that way,” said Al-Hassani, a slight twinkle in his eye.
“Didn’t you just?”
38
“Mr. Prime Minister, we have a situation developing.”
Doron looked up to see a very agitated Avi Zadok, flanked by the heads of the Shin Bet and the Border Patrol along with the chief of police.
“What have you got?” Doron asked, removing his reading glasses and setting them on the desk.
“Three more murders,” Zadok explained.
“Where?”
“Eli Mordechai’s house.”
“What? When?” asked Doron, standing.
“We just found them, but the bodies have been there most of the night.”
“Are they connected to the other killings last night?”
“Ballistics is running tests right now. We should know soon. But yes, we believe they’re connected to the killings at the café in the Jewish Quarter and to the others in the Arab market a short while later. We’re just not sure how yet.”
“Have you found any witnesses?”
“The police are canvassing the neighborhood, but nothing so far.”
“Keep me up to speed, Avi. I want reports every fifteen minutes.”
Lucente looked the Iraqi president in the eye.
“I’m not sure if I can deliver on the Temple Mount.”
But Al-Hassani didn’t believe him. “Do not take me for a fool, Salvador. I know Mogande is dying. I know you’re angling for the secretary-general position. And I know you have almost all the votes you need to be nominated—almost. But my sources tell me that China is threatening to veto you unless you get oil flowing out of the Middle East again. Which means you need a deal with me, and you need it quick.”
“And you trust these sources?” Lucente asked.
“With my life,” Al-Hassani said firmly.
Lucente turned and looked out across Babylon, glowing in the morning sun. “Very well, you are correct,” he confirmed. “China would be more supportive if I can help them with their energy needs.
“So, no deal with me, no job for you?” asked Al-Hassani.
“Not quite, my friend,” Lucente countered. “As I said before, if you don’t cut a deal favorable to the global powers, I assure you, I will be the least of your worries. But on one thing you are correct: I am in more of a bargaining mood than the rest of the Security Council. So let me be clear: if you cut a deal with me, one that I can announce to the rest of the world, I will guarantee you Russia’s seat on the Security Council.”
Al-Hassani leaned back in his seat. “And the rest?”
“Everything but the Temple Mount.”
“Come, come, Salvador,” said Al-Hassani, lighting his pipe again. “You can do better than that.”
“I cannot guarantee the internationalization of the Temple Mount, Mr. President,” Lucente responded. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Israel has just become an economic superpower. Even if you can get oil flowing out of the Gulf again in the next three to six months, most of the world will still be buying most of their oil from Medexco. They have us over a barrel, Mustafa, literally. My hands are tied.”
Al-Hassani grew angry. “You want to be the secretary-general? You want to bring about global peace and prosperity? Then how can you, of all people, even consider for one moment the notion of the Jews building the Temple on land sacred to all Middle Easterners? Do you not know what that will unleash?”
“I never said I favored the idea,” Lucente insisted. “I’m just being honest with you. I don’t know if I can stop it. But I can promise you this: I will try.”
As soon as Lucente left, Khalid Tariq rushed into the room.
“Your Excellency, it’s Mariano. He says it’s urgent.”
Al-Hassani accepted the call. “What is it, Viggo?”
“Sir, we have a problem.”
“What is it?”
“Alonzo and Scarpetti are dead. So is Miletto. Bennett and his wife killed them and took their car.”
“What about the Barak girl? Did they get her, at least?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“What? How could this have happened? You assured me both Baraks would be dead by now, did you not?”
“I said it might take a few days.”
“And it’s been a few days,” countered Al-Hassani. “Where are they now?”
“They’re on the run,” said Mariano. “I don’t know where. But at this point there are only two realistic options.”
“I’m listening.”
“First, they’re fleeing the country, in which case they’ll go dark and we won’t find them until they choose to pop back up on the grid.”
“And the other?”
“They know where the Key Scroll is, and they’re on their way to get it.”
Al-Hassani’s face turned dark red. “You cannot let that happen, Viggo. You must stop them, whatever it takes.”
“Yes, Your Excellency,” said Mariano. “I’ve got another team in Cyprus. I’ve already called them. They should be in Tel Aviv by nightfall. In the meantime, I’ll try to contact our mole and see if I can pick up their trail.”
“You had better, Viggo. Or I will have your head on a platter.”
39
Bennett glanced back in his rearview mirror.
Natasha was staring out the window. Her eyes were red and there were smudges of mascara on her cheeks.
He looked at Erin, who was poring over a map, no doubt planning a route to the Golan and several escape routes back. The three of them had been driving in near silence for almost forty-five minutes. They would be in Tiberias any minute. Perhaps it was time to break the ice.
“You okay?” he asked, again looking into the rearview mirror.
Natasha wiped her eyes but did not look up. “I guess.”
“You want to talk about it?”
“Not particularly.”
Erin set her map down and turned to Natasha. “I would like to have gotten to know your grandfather more.”
Natasha nodded. “You would have liked him.”
“I already did.”
They drove in silence another few minutes. Then, still gazing out the window at farmland covered with oil wells, Natasha said, “He was convinced he was going to live to see the Temple rebuilt. For most of my life, I thought he was crazy. Even when I was studying to follow in his footsteps, I thought his obsession with the Temple and the Ark was all a little much.”