Bennett felt another twinge of pain shoot through his stomach. Where was Jackson getting all of this? And if he'd gotten this much, how soon would it be before he got the rest? After all, this wasn't even Bennett's official White House e-mail account. Jackson had that address and they wrote back and forth from time to time. But this was Bennett's personal e-mail account. How had Jackson gotten that?
Bennett clicked off his computer. He shut his eyes and tried to breathe deeply. Then he headed to the private bathroom, just off the large master bedroom. He needed to clear his head and get focused. He shaved quickly and jumped in the shower.
Twenty minutes later, he was ready to go, dressed in fresh blue jeans, a white T-shirt, black cotton sweater, and brown leather loafers. All of his clothes had arrived safely from the King David Hotel in Jerusalem. There were power suits and power ties he could wear if he wanted. But despite the imminent commencement of "formal" peace talks between the Israeli and Palestinian prime ministers, Bennett wanted the atmosphere to seem anything but formal.
At precisely 7:00 a.m., there was a knock at the door.
It was McCoy, and she looked incredible. Nothing glamorous or overtly sexy, just light makeup, blue jeans, a brown wool sweater, her hair pulled back in a scrunchy, and brown leather boots.
"Hey, Point Man, how'd you sleep?" She smiled, her eyes dancing with life.
"Don't ask," groaned Bennett. "How 'bout you?"
"Slept like a baby."
"Woke up and cried every few hours?"
She laughed.
"No, actually, I feel pretty good, considering. You ready?"
"I don't know." He sighed. "I guess."
They sat down at the round conference table in Bennett's suite and went over the plan. In less than thirty minutes, they'd meet Doron and Sa'id for breakfast. No aides or advisors were with them. None had been allowed to come.
It would just be the two prime ministers, McCoy and himself, and a small cadre of Israeli and American security agents outside the doors. President MacPherson had been insistent on the basic framework of the negotiations, and Bennett and McCoy had readily agreed. This had to be the work of two men who truly wanted to make peace, and who personally understood the high price of failure.
Both men could and should consult with their governments back home, of course, and the U.S. had secure communications facilities that would be made available to both sides. But naysayers and meddlers, particularly those from the U.N., the E.U., and the rest of the Arab world, need not apply. Indeed, they wouldn't even be told of the existence of such negotiations unless the talks began to bear fruit.
What was needed now was privacy, secrecy, and the time to get to know each other. This would begin with a casual, friendly breakfast. It would be their first meeting ever. It would be time for two men to shake hands, break bread, and get comfortable. Bennett would brief them on the progress of Operation Palestinian Freedom, and both men would have an opportunity to compare notes and offer feedback, concerns, and suggestions. If necessary, they could hook up a videoconference with the president and the National Security Council, though the chance of such a move leaking was high enough that Bennett wanted to avoid that if possible.
McCoy would then brief the two leaders on the progress of the international effort to track down the terrorists on their way to the United States. Countries throughout Europe, Asia, and Latin America were providing tremendous assistance over the past twenty-four hours, and the president wanted Doron and Sa'id — particularly Sa'id — to see themselves as part of an international antiterrorist coalition, not simply as two warring parties trying to reconcile their seemingly irreconcilable differences.
The key was keeping expectations low. They needed to baby-step their way from areas of wide agreement to areas of serious contention. They would begin, therefore, by focusing on something to which both sides were now firmly committed — waging a war on terror. They'd finish by 9:30 a.m. local time, 10:00 at the latest. Both leaders would then have a few hours to consult with their governments. Then they'd reconvene for a working lunch and begin the long pilgrimage to peace.
It was Friday, the Muslim holy day, but Sa'id insisted they not wait. Too much was at stake. Too many Palestinians were dying. Doron quickly agreed, and offered to continue the meetings on Saturday, despite the fact that it was the Jewish Sabbath.
"The Psalmist urged us to never stop praying for the peace of Jerusalem," said Doron, not much of a religious man himself. "If we can pray for peace on the Sabbath, I think in this instance we can work for it as well."
It was a good sign, and Bennett hoped a good omen for what lay ahead. And thus, at MacPherson's directive, Bennett would begin to lay out the administration's "oil for peace" proposal. Friday he'd focus on oil. Saturday he'd focus on peace. No real negotiations of any kind. Not at first. He'd simply make the president's case and answer any initial questions the two leaders had. Day one and two weren't about haggling over the price, just about viewing the merchandise.
It was a somewhat awkward beginning.
But perhaps that was to be expected. Bennett made proper introductions and the two prime ministers shook hands and made some chitchat. Doron seemed comfortable enough, but it was Sa'id who struck Bennett as unusually reserved. It could have been the lack of sleep, or the traumatic events of their stay in Gaza and narrow escape. It might also be the fact that Sa'id was just beginning to get used to the role of being the Palestinian prime minister and careful not to give his Israeli counterpart the impression this was going to be easy. They had some very tough days ahead of them. Perhaps Sa'id was just lowering expectations.
Either way, it wasn't exactly warm and cozy in the opening minutes, but soon enough they were seated for fruit salad, bagels, and Turkish coffee. It was a round table, purposefully chosen for the occasion, with place cards written in black calligraphy for each principal. In the center of the table were three small flags — American, Israeli, and Palestinian. Sitting in front of each prime minister was also a small wrapped gift, framed illuminations of Psalm 122:6, "Pray for the peace of Jerusalem," the very verse Doron quoted earlier, hand-painted by Nancy Warren, the White House artist-in-residence.
The four gathered in the private, paneled dining room of Marty Kunes, the tall, lanky, fifty-six-year-old commander of Echelon Station and a twenty-eight-year veteran of the U.S. National Security Agency. Kunes was a legend in the American intelligence community, nicknamed Magic Marty. He and his team routinely scored some of the most valuable electronic intercepts of any U.S. or British station, and were known for their quick turnaround and accurate translations. They weren't showboats, never sought attention within the NSA, just kept their heads down and turned out consistently impressive work.
But none of the four were likely to meet Kunes or his team on this trip. On direct orders from his superiors in Ft. Meade, Maryland, Kunes had completely cleared out of his living quarters, as had his senior officers. They'd basically cleared three entire floors for their VIPs, though only Kunes himself knew who their visitors actually were.
Doron and Sa'id had each arrived separately under the cover of darkness and surrounded by small security details. Fifteen Shin Bet Secret Service agents were protecting Doron, while Tariq, Nazir, and thirteen Gold members of SEAL Team Eight were tasked with protecting Sa'id. Bennett, McCoy, and Galishnikov had entered the Rock the same way, guarded by fifteen members of ST-8's Red Team.