"Guy's a freaking two-time Pulitzer Prize winner-never read one of his own kid's term papers."
It was quiet again for a few minutes.
"And my mom never said anything. She hated what that job did to my dad. She hated all that time he spent on the road. But she hated confrontation more. She never told him to quit. She never told him to spend more time with us. She just kept everything to herself. Sometimes I wonder why she ever married him."
"To have you," said McCoy, nudging him with her arm.
Bennett shook his head and took another swig from the bottle in front of him.
"I was a mistake. My dad never wanted to have kids. My mom, she wanted like six or seven or twenty, I don't know. She wanted a lot, but little mun-chkins running around the house wasn't exactly conducive to the life of a New York Times foreign correspondent… "
Bennett closed his eyes again.
"But here I am, smack-dab in the middle of the biggest story in the world, a story my dad would've given both his arms to get, and he's not even here to see it. And there's my mom — a woman who believed the only two times your name should be in the paper was when you're born and when you die — and there's her name and picture splashed across the front page of every paper in the world."
There was silence again for a few minutes.
"I can't do this anymore, Erin. I thought I could, but…"
He put the bottle down and toyed with the Harvard class ring on his finger.
"My dad's dead. I missed his funeral. Missed Deek's funeral. Practically everyone I've met in the last few days is dead. Some died right in front of me. I've almost been killed more times than I can count. You've almost been killed. And now my mom…"
He stopped and stared at the bottle of Jack Daniel's.
"You know, McCoy, I said a little prayer the other night. Yes, I did — I actually asked for God to do something to help us all out — help you, help my mom, keep us safe… and don't I feel like a freaking moron now."
McCoy wanted to put her arm around him, then thought better of it and held back.
"I'm tired," Bennett said quietly. "I'm so tired…"
"I know."
"I didn't sign up to lose everything… I just… I'm done, I can't do this anymore."
She got down on her knees in front of him, took his face in her hands, and looked into his eyes, wet and bloodshot.
"Jon, Jon, you're tired. You're drunk. You've been through hell. Now this with your mom — I know how you feel. Believe me, I lost my dad, my mom — it's hard. It just is. I know. But let me tell you one thing, Jon Bennett — you were born to do this deal. Don't ask me why. I've got no idea. But I'm telling you, my friend, you're here for a reason. And you're going to wake up tomorrow morning, and take a lot of aspirin, and then you're going to make your case to Sa'id, and you're going to keep putting one foot in front of the other until you get this thing done.'
"Erin, really, I need to go home. I need to…"
"And what? Sit around watching TV, worrying? Come on…"
"No, but I…"
"Jon, listen to me—listen to me."
Bennett tried.
"Jon, ever since you hired me, I've been totally amazed by you — amazed how you can find buried treasure, how you can see a deal before anyone else does, how you can negotiate so everyone feels like they're getting what they want. Jon, this is it. This is what you've been getting ready for your whole life. And now you're here. I watched you with Doron today. He likes you. He responded to you. You're painting a picture for him. He can see it, and I think he just might buy it. And I don't know anyone else who could have done that. I couldn't have, that's for sure. And honestly, I don't think the president could have done it either. You've got a gift, Jon. And you've got a moment. The only question is, what are you going to do about it?"
Bennett was listening. He was also studying every contour of her face, like he was trying to burn it into his memory forever.
"I'm scared of dying, Erin," he said, his hands beginning to shake again. "I'm scared of losing you, losing my mom. I'm scared of being alone…"
His voice trailed off.
"I'm scared, too," she said, searching his eyes for something she could hold on to. "And I'm not saying it's easy. God knows it's been hard. But Jon, that's what makes it exciting. That's what makes it worth doing — because it's hard, because it's never been done, because people think it can't be done. And we should show them they're wrong."
"Or die trying?"
"Maybe — maybe, I don't know. I don't want to die. But I'm willing to if that's what it takes. It's just that whatever price we've paid so far — and it's been high, too high — but it's all worthless if we don't see it through to the end. Right? Jon, look, I want to see you do this deal. I think you might be the only one who can, and I want to see you make it happen. I want to help you make it happen. Not because it's going to make us rich, or win us his-and-hers Nobel Peace Prizes, or get our names splashed across the headlines, or whatever. I just think it's the right thing to do. I think it's going to help a lot of people you and I will never meet. And I think that's a good thing. I don't know if we're going to make it. But I sure as heck don't want to quit before I give it my best shot. Do you?"
The question hung in the air unanswered. At least out loud. McCoy looked into Bennett's tired eyes and smiled. She'd seen what she needed to. She kissed him on the forehead, eased the bottle out of his hands, and headed for the door.
"I'll make sure the guys bring you a little dinner. Then get some sleep, OK? We've got a big day tomorrow."
FORTY
Bennett and McCoy met for breakfast at nine.
They reviewed the game plan and the latest directives faxed in from the NSC and State. It was mostly last-minute guidance on wording and negotiating tactics from previous Arab-Israeli meetings.
The professionals at Foggy Bottom were almost apoplectic that Bennett and McCoy were beginning to conduct the actual peace talks without a senior American diplomat present. So Bennett suggested that later in the week, after the memorial service for Tucker Paine and the slain DSS agents, the president send over Ken Costello, the Undersecretary of State for Political Affairs, and Marty Benjamin, director of the Policy Planning Staff, to assist. The president agreed. He'd also have Deputy Secretary of State Dick Cavanaugh begin a round of off-the-record meetings with Arab foreign ministers to sketch out the administration's thinking of the post-Saddam Hussein, post-Arafat world.
The four principals met at 1:00 p.m. in the same private dining room they'd used the day before. Doron said his government would do anything they could to help the FBI find Bennett's mother. Sa'id gave Bennett a long embrace and repeated the prayer he'd been praying all night and morning for Mrs. Bennett's safe return. He noted that his wife and four teenage sons had been safely airlifted out of Ramallah and were now in the United States under the 24/7 protection of the U.S. Secret Service. And he described the live, New Year's Eve call-in interview he'd done on Al-Jazeera, updating people on Operation Palestinian Freedom, and urging fellow Arab leaders to do everything in their power to persuade the rogue Palestinian forces to lay down their arms and begin the New Year in peace.
After about forty-five minutes, all four were done eating and moved over to the more comfortable chairs. Bennett thanked both men for all they were doing to achieve peace and for agreeing to meet again. He thanked Prime Minister Doron particularly for agreeing to meet on the Jewish Sabbath. And he noted President MacPherson's appreciation that they were willing to meet in secret, without aides, without massive diplomatic delegations, in an NSA facility built in a tunnel deep inside the Rock of Gibraltar. It wasn't easy for any of them, he conceded. But it was the right thing to do.