by Tom Clancy
“Now wait a minute!” another commentator responded heatedly.
“God, these people are passionate,” Jack noted.
“I lost family members in the Holocaust,” Mendelev said, his voice still reasonable. “The whole point of the State of Israel is to give Jews a place where they can be safe.”
“But the President is sending American troops—”
“We sent American troops to Vietnam,” Rabbi Mendelev pointed out. “And we made promises, and there was a treaty involved there also. Israel’s only possible security is within defensible borders behind her own troops. What America has done is to bully that country into accepting an agreement. Fowler cut off defense supplies to Israel as a means of ‘sending a message.’ Well, the message was sent and received: either give in or be cut off. That is what happened. I can prove it, and I will testify before the Senate Foreign Relations Committee to prove it.”
“Uh-oh,” Jack observed quietly.
“Scott Adler, Deputy Secretary of State, personally delivered that message while John Ryan, the Deputy Director of the CIA, made his own pitch to Saudi Arabia. Ryan promised the Saudi King that America would bring Israel to heel. That’s bad enough, but for Adler, a Jew, to do what he did....” Mendelev shook his head.
“This guy’s got some good sources.”
“Is what he says true, Jack?” Cathy asked.
“Not exactly, but what we were doing over there was supposed to be secret. It wasn’t supposed to be widely known that I was out of the country.”
“I knew you were gone—”
“But not where to. It won’t matter. He can make a little noise, but it won’t matter.”
The demonstrations began the next day. They’d bet everything on this. It was the last desperate throw. The two leaders were Russian Jews who’d only recently been allowed to leave a country that manifestly had little love for them. On arrival in their only true home, they’d been allowed to settle on the West Bank, that part of Palestine that had been taken from Jordan by force of arms in the Six Day War of 1967. Their prefabricated apartments—tiny by American standards but incomprehensibly luxurious by Russian ones—stood on one of the hundreds of rocky slopes that defined the region. It was new and strange to them, but it was home, and home is something people fight to defend. The son of Anatoliy—he’d renamed himself Nathan—was already a regular officer in the Israeli Army. The same was true of David’s daughter. Their arrival into Israel so short a time before had seemed to all of them like salvation itself—and now they were being told to leave their homes? Again? Their lives had borne enough recent shocks. This was one too many.
The whole block of apartments was similarly occupied by Russian immigrants, and it was easy for Anatoliy and David to form a local kollektiv and get things properly organized. They found themselves an Orthodox rabbi—the only thing they didn’t have in their small community—to provide religious guidance and began their march toward the Knesset behind a sea of flags and a holy Torah. Even in so small a country this took time, but the march was of such a nature as to attract the inevitable media coverage. By the time the sweating and weary marchers arrived at their destination, all the world knew of their trek and its purpose.
The Israeli Knesset is not the most sedate of the world’s parliamentary bodies. The body of men and women ranges from the ultra-right to the ultra-left, with precious little room for a moderate middle. Voices are often raised, fists are often shaken or pounded on whatever surface presents itself, all beneath the black-and-white photo of Theodor Herzl, an Austrian whose ideal of Zionism in the mid-19th century was the guiding vision for what he hoped would be a safe homeland for his abused and mistreated people. The passion of the parliamentarians is such as to make many an observer wonder how it is possible, in a country where nearly everyone is a member of the Army Reserves and consequently has an automatic weapon in his (or her) closet, that some Knesset members have failed to be blasted to quivering fragments at their seats in the course of a spirited debate. What Theodor Herzl would have thought of the goings-on is anyone’s guess. It was Israel’s curse that the debates were too lively, the government too severely polarized both on political and religious grounds. Almost every religious subsect had its own special area of land and consequently its own parliamentary representation. It was a formula calculated to make France’s often-fragmented assembly look well organized, and it had for a generation denied Israel a stable government with a coherent national policy.
The demonstrators, joined by many others, arrived an hour before debate was to begin on the question of the treaties. It was already possible—likely—that the government would fall, and the newly arrived citizens sent representatives to every member of the Knesset they could locate. Members who agreed with them came outside and gave fiery speeches denouncing the treaties.
“I don’t like this,” Liz Elliot observed, watching the TV in her office. The political furor in Israel was much stronger than she had expected, and Elliot had called Ryan in for an assessment of the situation.
“Well,” the DDCI agreed, “it is the one thing we couldn’t control, isn’t it?”
“You’re a big help, Ryan.” On Elliot’s desk was the polling data. Israel’s most respected public-opinion firm had conducted a survey of five thousand people and found the numbers were 38 percent in favor of the treaty, 41 percent opposed, and 21 percent undecided. The numbers roughly matched the political makeup of the Knesset, whose right-wing elements slightly outnumbered the left, and whose precarious center was always fragmented into small groupings, all of which waited for a good offer from one side or the other that would magnify their political importance.
“Scott Adler went over this weeks ago. We knew going in that the Israeli government was shaky. For Christ’s sake, when in the last twenty years has it not been shaky?”
“But if the Prime Minister cannot deliver ...”
“Then it’s back to Plan B. You wanted to put pressure on their government, didn’t you? You’ll get your wish.” This was the one thing that hadn’t been fully considered, Ryan thought, but the truth of the matter was that full consideration would not have helped. The Israeli government had been a model of anarchy in action for a generation. The treaty work had gone ahead on the assumption that once transformed into a fait accompli, the treaty would have to be ratified by the Knesset. Ryan had not been asked for an opinion on that, though he still thought it a fair assessment.
“The political officer at the embassy says that the balance of power may be the little party controlled by our friend Mendelev,” Elliot noted, trying to be calm.
“Maybe so,” Jack allowed.
“It’s absurd!” Elliot snarled. “That little old fart hasn’t even been there—”
“Some sort of religious thing. I checked. He doesn’t want to go back until the Messiah arrives.”
“Jesus!” the National Security Advisor exclaimed.
“Exactly. You got it.” Ryan laughed and got a nasty look. “Look, Liz, the man has his personal religious beliefs. We may think they’re a little off, but the Constitution demands that we both tolerate and respect them. That’s the way we do things in this country, remember?”
Elliot waved her fist at the TV set. “But this crazy rabbi is screwing things up! Isn’t there anything we can do about it?”
“Like what?” Jack asked quietly. There was more to her demeanor than panic.
“I don’t know—something....” Elliot allowed her voice to trail off, leaving an opening for her visitor.
Ryan leaned forward and waited until he had her full attention. “The historical precedent you’re looking for, Dr. Elliot, is, ‘Will no one rid me of this troublesome priest?’ Now, if you’re trying to tell me something, let’s get it clear and in the open, shall we? Are you proposing that we interfere with the parliament of a friendly democratic country, or that we do something illegal within the borders of the United States of America?” A pause while her eyes focused a little more tightly
. “Neither one of those things will happen, Dr. Elliot. We let them make up their own minds. If you even think of telling me to interfere with Israel’s democratic processes, the President gets my resignation just as fast as I can drive down here to deliver it. If you’re wishing out loud for us to hurt that little old guy in New York, remember that such wishes fall under at least two conspiracy statutes. My duty as an ordinary citizen, much less an official of the government of my country, is to report suspected violations of the law to the appropriate law-enforcement agencies.” The look Ryan got after his pronouncement was venomous.
“Damn you! I never said—”
“You just fell into the most dangerous trap in government service, ma’am. You started to think that your wishes to make the world a better place supersede the principles under which our government is supposed to operate. I can’t stop you from having such thoughts, but I can tell you that my agency will not be a party to it, not as long as I’m there.” It sounded too much like a lecture, but Ryan felt that she needed it. She was entertaining the most dangerous of thoughts.
“I never said that!”
Bullshit. “Fine, you never said or thought that. I was mistaken. You have my apology. Let the Israelis decide to ratify the treaties or not. They have a democratic government. It is their right to decide. We have the right to nudge them in the right direction, to tell them that our continued level of aid is contingent upon their agreeing to it, but not to interfere directly with their governmental processes. There are some lines you may not cross, even if ‘you’ happen to be the U.S. government.”
The National Security Advisor managed a smile. “Thank you for your views on the matter of proper government policy, Dr. Ryan. That will be all.”
“Thank you, Dr. Elliot. My assessment, by the way, is that we should let things be. The treaty will be approved despite what you see here.”
“Why?” Elliot managed not to hiss.
“The treaties are good for Israel in any objective sense. The people will realize that as soon as they’ve had a chance to digest the information and make their views known to their representatives. Israel is a democracy, and democracies generally do the smart thing. History, you see. Democracy has become popular in the world because it works. If we panic and take precipitous action, we’ll only mess things up. If we let the process work as it’s supposed to work, the right thing will probably happen.”
“Probably?”
“There are no certainties in life; there are only probabilities,” Ryan explained. Why didn’t everyone understand that? he wondered to himself. “But interference has a higher probability of failure than doing nothing. Doing nothing at all is often the right thing. This is such a case. Let their system work. I think it will work. That is my opinion.”
“Thank you for your assessment,” she said, turning away.
“A pleasure as always.”
Elliot waited until she heard the door close before turning to look. “You arrogant prick, I’ll break you for that,” she promised.
Ryan climbed back into his car on West Executive Drive. You went too far, man, he told himself.
No, you didn’t. She was starting to think that way andyou had to slam the door on it right there and then.
It was the most dangerous thought that a person in government could have. He’d seen it before. Some dreadful thing happened to people in Washington, D.C. They arrived in the city, usually full of ideals, and those fine thoughts evaporated so rapidly in what was in fact a muggy and humid environment. Some called it being captured by the system. Ryan thought of it as a kind of environmental pollution. The very atmosphere of Washington corroded the soul.
And what makes you immune, Jack?
Ryan considered that, unmindful of the look Clark gave him in the mirror as they drove toward the river. What had made him different to this point was the fact that he had never given in, not even once ... or had he? There were things he might have done differently. There were some things that hadn’t worked out quite as well as he might have wished.
You’re not different at all. You just think you are.
As long as I can face the question and the answers, then I am safe.
Sure.
“So?”
“So I can do many things,” Ghosn replied. “But not alone. I will need help.”
“And security?”
“That is an important question. I have to make a serious assessment of what the possibilities are. At that point I will know my precise requirements. I know I will need help in some areas, however.”
“Such as?” the Commander asked.
“The explosives.”
“But you are an expert in such things,” Qati objected.
“Commander, this task requires precision such as we have never been forced to face. We cannot use ordinary plastic explosives, for example, for the simple reason that they are plastic—they change shape. The explosive blocks I use must be as rigid as stone, must be shaped to a thousandth of a millimeter, and the shape must be determined mathematically. The theoretical side of that is something I could assimilate, but it will take months. I would rather devote my time to refabricating the nuclear material ... and ...”
“Yes?”
“I believe I can improve the bomb, Commander.”
“Improve? How?”
“If my initial readings are correct, this type of weapon can be adapted to become not a bomb but a trigger.”
“Trigger for what?” Qati asked.
“A thermonuclear fusion bomb, a hydrogen bomb, Ismael. The yield of the weapon might be increased by a factor of ten, perhaps a hundred. We could destroy Israel, certainly a very large part of it.”
The Commander paused for a few breaths, assimilating that bit of information. When he spoke, he spoke softly. “But you need help. Where might be the best place?”
“Günther may have some valuable contacts in Germany. If he can be trusted,” Ghosn added.
“I have considered this. Günther can be trusted.” Qati explained why.
“We are sure the story is real?” Ghosn asked. “I have no more faith in coincidences than you, Commander.”
“There was a photograph in a German newspaper. It appeared quite genuine.” A German tabloid had managed to get a graphic black-and-white photo that showed the results of a hanging in all its ghastly splendor. The fact that Petra was nude above the waist had ensured its publication. Such an end for a terrorist murderer was too juicy to be denied to the German males, one of whom had been castrated by this woman.
“The problem is simply that we must minimize the number of people who know about this, else—excuse me, Ismael.”
“But we need some help. Yes, I understand that.” Qati smiled. “You are correct. It is time to discuss our plans with our friend. You propose to explode the bomb in Israel?”
“Where else? It is not my place to make such plans, but I assumed—”
“I have not thought about it. One thing at a time, Ibrahim. When are you leaving for Israel?”
“I planned to do so in the next week or so.”
“Let it wait until we see what this treaty business will do.” Qati thought. “Begin your studies. We will make haste slowly on this matter. First you must determine your requirements. We will then try to meet them in the most secure location we can arrange.”
It took forever, it seemed, but forever in political terms can be a time period ranging from five minutes to five years. In this case it took less than three days for the important part to happen. Fifty thousand more demonstrators arrived before the Knesset. Led by veterans of all of Israel’s wars, the new crowd supported the treaties. There were more shouts and shaken fists, but for once there was no overt violence as the police managed to keep the two passionate groups separated. Instead they labored to outshout each other.
The cabinet met again in closed session, both ignoring and attending to the din outside their windows. The Defense Minister was surprisingly quiet during the discussion. On bei
ng asked, he agreed that the additional arms promised by the Americans would be hugely useful: forty-eight additional F-16 fighter-bombers; and for the first time, M-2/3 Bradley fighting vehicles, Hellfire antitank missiles, and access to the revolutionary new tank-gun technology America was developing. The Americans would underwrite most of the cost of building a high-tech training center in the Negev similar to their own National Training Center at Fort Irwin, California, where the 10th Cav unit would train constantly as the “OpFor” or opposing force against Israeli units. The Defense Minister knew the effect the NTC had had for the U.S. Army, which was at its highest state of professionalism since World War II. With the new matériel and training base, he judged that the real effectiveness of Israel’s defense forces would increase by fifty percent. To that he added the U.S. Air Force F-16 wing and the tank regiment, both of which, as spelled out in a secret codicil of the Mutual-Defense Treaty, chopped to Israeli command in time of emergency—a situation that was defined by Israel. That was totally unprecedented in American history, the Foreign Minister pointed out.
“So, is our national security degraded or enhanced by the treaties?” the Prime Minister asked.
“It is somewhat enhanced,” the Defense Minister admitted.
“Then will you say so?”
Defense pondered that for a moment, his eyes boring in on the man seated at the head of the table. Will you support me when I make my bid for the premiership? his eyes asked.
The Prime Minister nodded.
“I will address the crowds. We can live with these treaties.”
The speech did not pacify everyone, but it was enough to convince a third of the antitreaty demonstrators to depart. The crucial middle element in the Israeli parliament observed the events, consulted its conscience, and made its decision. The treaties were ratified by a slim margin. Even before the United States Senate had a chance to clear the treaties through the Armed Services and Foreign Relations committees, implementation of both agreements began.
