"I don't think so. You are on Israeli sovereign territory. This is our country, not yours. Your President is upstairs and quite safe. This man is in our custody." He turned back to Nick. "Your weapon, please."
Nick carefully lifted his .45 out of the holster, using a thumb and one finger on the grip, and held it out to the Israeli. He took it, nodded once in satisfaction. Calloway's expression looked like he'd been forced to drink vinegar.
The agents crowded in and the tension level in the hall went up. Several Israeli policemen moved closer. Then a commanding voice cut through the noise in the hall.
"That's enough!"
President James Rice was coming down the corridor, thirty feet away. He wore tan slippers and an unbuttoned gray cardigan vest over a blue shirt and casual slacks. Three more grim faced agents were with him. Calloway straightened. All sound died away. Down the hall, a woman in a pink robe and hair curlers peered out of her room.
The President had the kind of presence people expect of the single most powerful politician in the world. With Rice, it was more than political practice. He radiated command and confidence. An intense energy belied his sixty-seven years. He was just under six feet tall, with silver hair still showing a few strands of black. His penetrating, hazel eyes didn't miss anything.
Calloway stepped forward. "Mr. President. Sir, you shouldn't be here."
"It's all right, John, I know who this man is. He is not a threat."
Rice looked at Nick. "A short time ago I received a phone call from Director Harker. When I heard what happened down here, I decided to see for myself."
The President was known for hands-on involvement with anything he deemed important. It drove his advisors and his security details crazy.
"Mr. President," Nick said. "Sir, if I could have a few moments, I need to speak with you."
"All in good time, Carter, all in good time. Sergeant." He nodded at the police officer. "It is Sergeant, isn't it? Please return Mr. Carter's weapon to him."
The Israeli policeman was at a loss as to what he should do. He opened his mouth to speak, closed it. Just then Ari came down the hall, his Shin Bet ID held high in front of him. The crowd parted before him like the red sea before Moses. He stopped in front of the policeman.
"Sergeant Major, I think you had better do as the American President suggests."
The Israeli cop started to say something, thought better of it and gave the pistol back, butt first. The woman agent had moved to the side of the President and was talking into her microphone, holding one hand against her earpiece, the other on her holstered Glock, watching Nick the way a cat watches a mouse.
"You are…?" Rice looked at Ari.
"Ari Herzog, Mr. President, Shin Bet. Mr. Carter and I have been working together. One of my operatives was with him and injured when they were attacked. It's an unfortunate incident. We'll pursue it. "
"Shin Bet. You believe this was a terrorist operation of some sort?"
"Mr. President. We — Mr. Carter and I — have been concerned about your safety. It's possible this attack has something to do with your presence here in my country."
Rice sighed. "Thank you, Mr. Herzog. I regret the trouble my visit causes you. I hope your agent recovers quickly." Rice paused. "Perhaps you would allow me to take charge of Mr. Carter. I'm sure you have much to attend to."
It was a gracious dismissal and an order at the same time.
"Of course, Mr. President. Nick, please contact me."
"As soon as possible, Ari."
Rice said, "This way, Carter." He turned and headed for the elevators, his detail flanked around him. Nick caught a hard look from Calloway, but the agent said nothing. Rice was the boss. There was no doubt about who was in charge.
The ride up to the ninth floor was made in silence. Rice looked preoccupied. Calloway and his agents looked unhappy. Nick didn't know how he looked but decided to keep his mouth shut and work at getting the sake under control. He had a vivid picture in his mind of Rivka lying on the floor of his room.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Touted as the most exclusive accommodations in Jerusalem, the Royal Suite where Rice was staying was twelve hundred square feet of carpeted luxury. Kings, Premiers and Presidents had all stayed here.
The main room featured a grouping of white brocade chairs placed before a fireplace at one end. Sideboards, tables and elegant side chairs of polished hardwoods were arranged throughout. A windowed terrace swept the length of the entire suite, with a million dollar view of the Old City and its spotlighted battlements. Above the ancient walls, the deep black of the Judean night sky glowed with stars.
The suite had separate reception rooms and a full kitchen. A large bedroom opened off a study furnished with a Chippendale style desk. Paintings in earth tones and grays dotted the walls. The room reeked of privileged elegance and money.
Rice led the way into the study. He took a seat by the desk and gestured Nick to a chair. Calloway stood by the door, hands clasped in front of him. Nick half expected him to put on sunglasses, even though it was nighttime and indoors.
"At ease, Carter, for God's sake. You're making me nervous."
"Yes, sir." Nick made an effort to relax.
Now that they were in the quiet privacy of the President's rooms, Nick could see how tired he was. Rice's eyes were fringed with red and there were deep shadows under them. The President was a man who needed sleep. A line from one of Bob Dylan's songs popped into Nick's mind.
Even the President of the Yew Nited States must sometimes have to go naked.
"John," Rice said to Calloway, "we may have a situation."
"Yes, Mr. President."
"Carter." Rice took a sip of water from a bottle on his desk. "I don't think Director Harker is the kind of person who makes unfounded accusations or gets pulled into conspiracy fantasies. Would you agree?"
"Yes, sir."
"Are you aware of her concerns?"
"Yes, sir. She believes General Dysart may be part of a conspiracy and that there may be a plot to assassinate you."
For an instant Calloway lost his mask of composure. Good, Nick thought. The guy's human after all.
"Mr. President, someone tried to kill me three times today and a deep cover source of ours was murdered before I could talk with him. Someone breached our security. No one was supposed to know I was here, but Dysart found out. Now he's running NSA and he tried to get Harker to call me off. It adds up to a lot of suspicion."
"General Dysart took over General Hood's duties because he's in Walter Reed after suffering a stroke."
"Sir, he'd just completed his annual physical and he was in fine health. How could he have a stroke?"
"We're going to find out. I've directed his medical team to pursue detailed toxicology studies as well as the usual regimens. In any event, Director Harker was adamant that I am in danger. She said she is working on getting evidence Dysart is involved in a conspiracy."
"If something is there Harker will find it, Mr. President."
"As of now, Carter, you are part of my immediate security detail until I leave Israel. I'm sure the Director can take care of herself. I want you close by and I want you armed."
There was only one possible response. "Yes, sir."
Rice glanced at Calloway. "Okay with you, John?"
It wasn't really a request, but it was typical of Rice to include others in decisions he had already made. Calloway was in a tough spot.
"Of course, sir."
"Good. Find a place for him to sleep. Put him up with our people. I want him with us tomorrow on the Temple Mount."
"Yes, sir."
"Mr. President, may I call Director Harker and tell her of our conversation? I also need to contact Shin Bet."