Don watched the ambassador out of the corner of his eye as he disrobed. The man was mid-fifties, with a thick mane of gray hair and piercing hazel eyes. He was also in pretty good shape for a guy his age. Don wrapped a towel around his own milky white belly and made his way to the showers.
The plan was for Don to enter the room first, then Reza, and the ambassador would follow along last. Don tried to keep his flat feet from slapping on the tiled floor as he made his way to sauna number six. They had chosen welclass="underline" sauna six was at the end of the hall, with the door facing him, so there was no room adjacent to any wall. Very secure.
The door creaked as Don entered. The embassy security man, a short, muscled man in his mid-thirties, nodded to Don and left.
Don took a seat on the wooden plank and tried to relax. Saunas were not really his thing — all he got out of them was sweaty and uncomfortable — but he was pretty proud of his quick thinking about the location.
The door creaked again and Reza entered. Like Don, he had a towel wrapped around his waist and kept it on when he sat down. His plump form began to glisten with sweat almost immediately. “Good evening, Donald.” His voice seemed taut with apprehension.
The door opened again to admit the ambassador. He entered the room like a Finn — with full frontal nudity. Don averted his eyes, but not before seeing the mat of gray hair that covered a manly chest.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” he said, and waited for Don to make the introductions. Evans sat on the plank across from Reza and Don and breathed deeply of the hot air. He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees and spread his hands. “What can I do for you, sir?”
Reza fidgeted with his towel. “I carry a message directly from President Rouhani. It is intended for the highest levels of the US government — Secretary of State at a minimum, and hopefully the President himself.”
Evans leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms. In addition to being in good shape, Don could see the ambassador was well hung, too. “I can’t promise anything, Mr. Sanjabi, but I am here to listen.”
Reza nodded. “I understand. In the event that your government chooses not to follow through on this proposal, we ask that you keep its existence private. The proposal could be very damaging to President Rouhani at home. We will, of course, deny its very existence if it should become public knowledge in an unfavorable way.”
Evans rubbed his jawline. “I’m still listening.”
Reza took a deep breath.
“My president understands the mistrust of the world toward Iran. He especially understands the mistrust of the Israelis. Our recent past, under previous administrations in the Islamic Republic, likely conveyed to Israel no sense of shared interest in a peaceful and prosperous region. The formation of an Islamic State, the group you call ISIS, reinforces the feeling that the Middle East is becoming less friendly toward Western ideals.
“President Rouhani would like to change this dynamic in a meaningful way. In American history, you often cite Nixon’s visit to China as a turning point in history. My President believes that we — Iran and the US — should engineer another historic event, one that will change the trajectory of the Middle East forever. President Rouhani would like to request that the upcoming nuclear negotiation in May be hosted in Tel Aviv, and that he be invited to meet with Prime Minister Netanyahu in Israel.”
Ambassador Evans’s arms had uncrossed and he leaned forward as Reza spoke. His mouth hung open.
“It’s brilliant,” he whispered.
“I assure you, President Rouhani’s proposal is quite sincere,” Reza said. “If the Prime Minister of Israel makes this offer, he will accept. Furthermore, he will ensure that the lion’s share of the credit for this diplomatic coup go to Prime Minister Netanyahu. This is a chance for Israel to secure a legacy of peace that will change the course of history.” Reza placed his hands on his knees and leaned forward. A drop of sweat fell from his nose.
“My President would like to emphasize the need for speed in this matter. The forces against this meeting — on both sides — are substantial. Our only hope of success is if we move quickly.”
“What about security guarantees?” the ambassador asked.
Reza’s face clouded, and his voice took on an air of exasperation. “My country has opened our nuclear facilities to multiple inspections, given you all of our data, including our transgressions. Have we not been as transparent as humanly possible? We do not possess nuclear weapons; this is a fact.” Reza shot a glance at Don, who nodded.
“Now we offer to go to the home of our most vocal enemy to show the world we are sincere, and you ask for guarantees from us?” Reza spat out the last words. Then he sat up and adjusted the towel across his waist, seeming to remember himself.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “My admiration for President Rouhani is exceeded only by my concern for his safety. The offer, Mr. Ambassador, is genuine. I ask that you treat it as such.”
The ambassador pressed his lips together. “Thank you, Mr. Sanjabi, and please convey my gratitude to President Rouhani for his boldness and his sense of history. I will do my best to make his request a reality.” He shook Reza’s hand and left the room.
For a long time, the only sound in the room was the wheeze of the hot rocks that heated the atmosphere.
“Thank you, Donald.”
“I hope it happens, Reza. It could change everything.”
Reza stood. “Perhaps, but that is not our concern at the moment. I’m told the food here is quite good. Would you join me?”
They took cold showers and secured robes before wandering into the common area. Reza pointed to a pair of comfortable chairs set apart from the crowd. They settled into the seats and ordered some beer and light food.
Reza scooted his chair close to Don’s and leaned across the gap between them. “You have seemed on the verge of wanting to ask me something for the last two days now. What is it, my friend?”
Don squirmed in his seat. The Rogue File plagued him again. Surely a man with Reza’s connections could fill in some of the blanks. Maybe he knew about the Iraqi nuclear program. Maybe he knew about this strange man they called “The Blade.”
He cleared his throat and paused as the waiter set their food down on the small table. “Well, now that you mention it, there is one thing I’ve been wondering…”
CHAPTER 37
The President paused on the darkened portico outside the Oval Office.
He drew in a deep breath and held it for a moment. The February air in Washington, DC, was more damp than cold this evening, and fog clung to the lawn of the White House. There was a smell of snow in the air. The Secret Service agent behind him fidgeted. He nodded for the Marine to open the door.
The National Security Advisor and the Director of National Intelligence were waiting for him. They rose to their feet when he entered and he waved for them to sit. “Good evening, ladies. How long til SecDef joins us?”
“He’s five minutes out, sir,” replied Letitia Lowen, the DNI. “And we have State and Ambassador Evans from Helsinki on the line as well.”
The President forced a smile at Tisch Lowen. “How’s the new job, Tisch?”
DNI Lowen’s appointment to replace James Clapper had been one of the few appointments he’d made that was not blocked by the Republicans in the Senate. That was not to say her hearing had been easy, but the fact that it had gone through at all was nothing short of a political miracle.
“We’re settling in fine, sir. Shall I open the phone line?”