The president leaned back in his chair and looked around at his senior advisors. Bennett could sense he was gaining ground, but the argument wasn't won yet.
"Jon, it's Jack Mitchell again from CIA, can you hear me?" Yes, sir.
"Look, I hear what you're saying. But you're sitting on a volcano, son, and it's erupting. We've got a civil war on our hands. Three different Palestinian security forces are out there trying to butcher each other, trying to seize control of the post-Arafat environment. Somebody's got to clamp down, provide some order, and do it pronto."
"I understand, sir," Bennett cut in. "I do. You're absolutely right — we can't just sit back and ignore what's happening here. The world can't just turn a blind eye. Somebody has to go in and do the dirty work. But it cannot be the Israelis. An Israeli invasion would destroy everything the president is trying to achieve."
"Then who's it going to be, the U.N.?" Mitchell snapped. "Come on, Jon, wake up. People are killing each other over there and your polls don't mean squat. That 'silent majority' you talk about — all those Palestinians you say want peace — first of all, I'm not sure I buy the premise. But second of all, none of this so-called 'silent majority' is going to lift a finger to take on all these security forces. So a whole lot of innocent people are going to die, and who's going to get blamed? Not Arafat. He's dead. Not Mazen. He's dead, Not the E.U. They're not there. We're going to get blamed. Why? Because we sent the Secretary of State to stir up a hornet's nest. And if the Israelis don't go in with an overwhelming show of force, and if we just sit back and watch thousands of Palestinians get slaughtered on the evening news, I don't see how that exactly furthers the cause of peace. Do you?"
No one said a word. Mitchell had a point, and it was obvious most of the president's senior team agreed, or were certainly leaning that way.
McCoy didn't know what to say. She'd seen Bennett in hundreds of meet ings and negotiations over the years. She'd seen him speak his mind and play hardball when necessary. But this was completely different. She was used to hearing him make utilitarian arguments based on economic and financial considerations. She was not used to him making moral arguments based on right and wrong, good and evil. Bennett wasn't exactly known for waxing philosophical in strategy sessions of any kind, least of all closed-door sessions of the National Security Council, and given his newcomer status to the team and its standard modus operandi, it was risky. He was rocking the boat in a storm and about to be thrown overboard.
Bennett knew he was outgunned. The CIA director was, after all, one of the president's best friends and closest confidants. Moreover, even half a world away he could feel the mood turning against him. It wasn't a sensation he was used to, and he didn't know quite what to do next. He finally looked away from Mitchell and found Kirkpatrick, then looked to the president, hoping to find a bit of reassurance. But Kirkpatrick was staring down at her notes. The president looked around the table at the others gathered with him in the Situation Room and tried to gauge their mood.
Bennett knew he had to say something. Leave no charge unanswered. It was the cardinal rule of brinksmanship, business or political. But what exactly was he supposed to say? He was already sinking fast. Was he now going to recommend that the president send ground troops into the West Bank and Gaza instead of the Israelis? Was he insane? Why not just play Russian roulette with every chamber loaded?
The silence was unnerving. He had to speak. If not, the case would be closed. He'd lose by default. The peace process would be finished for decades to come, and all these deaths would be for naught. Bennett cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. But before he could speak, the vice president suddenly stepped in and cut him off.
"Mr. President, with your permission, I'd like to say a few words."
That was it. He'd waited too long.
"Please, Bill, go right ahead," said the president, almost visibly relieved.
"Thank you, Mr. President. I'll be brief."
McCoy quietly slid a piece of paper across the conference table, out of camera range. Bennett opened the note, read it to himself, then crumpled it and looked back at the VP, now beginning to speak.
"I've been listening to this conversation with great interest."
Bennett braced himself. Oaks was about to lower the boom.
"I must say that with all due respect to my friend Jack Mitchell, for whom I have the highest regard, I'm afraid I find myself with Jon on this."
Bennett looked up. So did McCoy.
"Look, all of us know our Edmund Burke—'The only thing necessary for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing,' " the VP continued. "We have to do something. But the more I look at the situation, the less comfortable I am with the Israelis going in. Not because I don't trust them. I just think Jon's right."
No one was more surprised than Mitchell. His stony expression said it all.
"An Israeli invasion," the VP continued, "even if it's called a rescue operation, will simply inflame an already terrible situation and make peace efforts all but impossible. The Jordanians and Egyptians want to be helpful, but won't be — can't be — if the Israelis invade. Russia is offering intelligence assistance. But that's off if Israel moves in. And given what else is happening in the region, the risk of a wider war is too big. I'm not saying I've got a perfect solution. I'm not saying I've got any solution at the moment. But, Mr. President, I'm pretty clear on what not to do."
McCoy reached over and squeezed Bennett's left hand. It was trembling. He'd just gained a major ally. But would it be enough?
FIFTEEN
Checkpoints were up on all roads and bridges leading into Washington.
It was still dark, still well before morning rush hour. But the Secret Service and DC Metro Police were taking no chances. The security perimeter was rapidly being expanded. Concrete barricades were being put into place in a five-block radius around the White House, Capitol, Supreme Court, and other major landmarks. SWAT teams began taking up positions on the roofs of key buildings. Counterterrorism assault units armed with Stinger missiles were being deployed throughout the city. Avenger antiaircraft missile batteries surrounded the Pentagon. Police reconnaissance helicopters patrolled the skies — spotlights and thermal imaging cameras looking for any signs of trou ble — while U.S. Air Force F-l6s armed with Sidewinder missiles roared overhead.
The White House itself was in total lockdown. Even staff members with West Wing clearance would be subject to extensive searches, metal detectors, and questioning by the Secret Service.
Jack Mitchell regrouped. He wouldn't argue with the VP directly. He'd simply focus the president on the facts. He introduced Jack Ziegler, his man in Gaza, then fired a series of questions at him, each more difficult than the one before. What did he make of all the horrific video images they were see ing flashing across their screens? What exactly was happening on the ground? Who was doing what to whom? And, more important, were Jon Bennett and the vice president right? Should the Israelis stay out of the territories, or was it essential for them to move in immediately, before the situation really got out of hand? And if the Israelis did move in, what were the prospects that such a move could trigger a wider conflict in the Middle East, drawing in the Syrians, or the Egyptians, or Hezbollah forces in southern Lebanon, backed by the mullahs in Iran?