The Last Days (39 page)

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.”

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.

“Gentlemen, the author Isaiah Berlin once wrote that the world is divided into two camps. The Fox knows many things, observed Berlin, and scurries after them all. The Hedgehog knows one big thing and stays focused like a laser.”

McCoy didn't know where he was going with this.

“In our case,” Bennett continued, “the Fox is the man easily distracted by centuries of hatred and mistrust and by decades of previous deals, many of them unworkable, some of them unwise, and all of them unconsummated. The Fox is easily fixated on issues that should not be—cannot be—solved first, and may not be solved for many years to come. He is perpetually chasing his tail, going around in circles, making himself and all who watch him dizzy, and frustrated and despondent that anything of lasting value will be achieved. The Hedgehog, on the other hand, sees the big picture, refuses to be sidetracked, and does not let the perfect become the enemy of the good. I propose we follow the way of the Hedgehog.

“The president considers the peaceful resolution of the Arab-Israeli conflict a top priority. We'll help you strike agreements on final borders, refugees, water rights, and the status of Jerusalem. But that's Phase Two of our oil-for-peace proposal. Phase One is about agreeing to a three-year transition in which both sides create a terror-free zone, build political and economic infrastructure, commence oil and gas operations, and begin to establish a free and vibrant Palestinian democracy committed to a peaceful two-state solution.”

Bennett took a sip of coffee and continued.

“Obviously, we now have a new situation in the disputed territories. My government has made no determination at this early stage in Operation Palestinian Freedom how long U.S. troops might remain. But the president is open to the possibility of our forces serving as a buffer between Israel and the Palestinians to prevent suicide bombings, rocket attacks, and the like.”

There was an awkward silence for a few moments. The riptides of history were already pulling them out to sea.

“I am open to this,” Prime Minister Sa'id offered. “But it must be said up front that ending all occupations—by the Israelis or the Americans—must be central to these talks, as well as an acknowledgment by Israel of full Palestinian sovereignty over the pre-1967 boundaries.”

Bennett could see Doron shift in his seat. This was it. They were in it now, and playing for keeps.

“And we need a firm timetable,” Sa'id continued. “President Carter promised us a fair resolution at Camp David. President Bush did so at Madrid. Then there was Oslo, and the Road Map. We were supposed to have a Palestinian state by 2005. Now here we are. It's the first day of
2011.
And we've got nothing. We are like your Charlie Brown cartoons, like Charlie, Lucy, and the football. Someone always pulls away the football at the last moment and we land flat on our backs. We are losing confidence in this game.”

“Mr. Prime Minister,” said Bennett, “I appreciate your goals, and your candor. I don't want to recount the entire history of failed negotiations or either side's failures to keep their promises. But the president has instructed me to say this, to say it as plainly as I possible can.”

Bennett paused, and looked Sa'id straight in the eye.

“Palestinians do not have a state today because the Palestinian leadership has thus far refused to give up its ambition to have
all
the land of Israel. Refused to give up the strategy of armed conflict to achieve that goal. Refused to clamp down on terrorist networks that attack innocent Israeli civilians. And refused to accept any of the previous political deals that have been negotiated. The president understands full well that the Israelis have often mistreated the Palestinians and subjected them to all kinds of human-rights abuses. He doesn't condone or excuse such behavior. But he believes, and it is the position of my government, that it is ultimately the fault of the previous Palestinian government that your people do not have a state.”

Sa'id couldn't believe what he was hearing. Neither could Doron.

“In 1947,” Bennett continued, “the League of Nations came up with the Partition Plan, essentially dividing the Holy Land in half. Israel said yes. The Arabs said no. And five Arab nations invaded, seeking to throw the Jews into the sea. In the summer of 2000, at the second Camp David summit, Prime Minister Barak offered Chairman Arafat eighty-seven percent of the West Bank and Gaza. Previously, no Israeli prime minister had ever offered more than forty or fifty percent, I believe, and it struck many in Washington as a very generous offer.”

Doron wanted to add “Too generous,” but he held his tongue.

“But Chairman Arafat wanted more,” Bennett continued. “He negotiated all the way up to ninety-seven percent of the land, and half the Old City of Jerusalem. Barak agreed. But what did Chairman Arafat do? He rejected the deal outright. Then he went back to Ramallah and set into motion the Al-Aqsa intifada, a wave of terrorism and suicide bombings that left thousands of Israelis and Palestinians dead and wounded.”

The tension in the room was palpable.

“My government will not dictate the terms of an agreement. It doesn't matter to us what percentage you two agree upon. Indeed, the whole point of our oil-for-peace proposal is to shift the terms of debate away from how much
land
each side is giving away to how much
wealth
each side can acquire if a deal—
any deal
—is agreed to and lived up to. Israeli foreign minister Abba Eban once said, ‘The Palestinians never miss an opportunity to miss opportunity.' President MacPherson is adamant; this had better not be another opportunity missed.”

 

New Year's Eve was over.

There were no bombings to report. The most dramatic incident occurred at three minutes after midnight local time. Three men were in a Cessna trying to fly from Toronto to Rochester, skimming the waters of Lake Ontario at barely a hundred feet. Spotted by a coast guard cutter, they were warned repeatedly to identify themselves and turn back. When those warnings had failed, two F-15E Strike Eagles flying combat air patrol intercepted the aging Cessna, and shot it down just minutes before it reached Greater Rochester, home of such industrial giants as Kodak, Xerox, and Bausch & Lomb.

Investigators were still picking through the crash site. It was unclear whether the men were planning a kamikaze attack (the plane was filled with cases of explosives) or perhaps were planning to land at a small, private airstrip where they'd meet other operatives, or set out on their own.

As best they could tell, the feds had busted up at least nine terror cells trying to penetrate U.S. borders over the past week. Fourteen men and three women were now in federal custody, and seven more men were dead after battles with federal agents on the borders or in the air.

 

“Jonathan, I resent your premise,” Sa'id stated calmly.

“Fair enough. But it's not my premise,” Bennett responded. “It's the president's.”

“Nevertheless, it is entirely unfair. It suggests that we must make all the concessions, not the Israelis.”

“The president isn't blaming you personally, Ibrahim. He's blaming Chairman Arafat, and his regime—the very regime that is now out there ripping themselves and your people to shreds. It's a fair analysis, and it happens to be true.”

“I'm sorry you feel that way, Jonathan.”

“I don't
feel
that way. Those are the facts.”

“Look, Jonathan, I want a state. Chairman Arafat wanted a state. Abu Mazen wanted a state. My people want a state. Period. Not tomorrow. Not next year, or three years, or three thousand years from now. We want a state. We want to rule ourselves and live in dignity. That's all we've ever wanted. A state and peace to raise our children. Please don't insult me by saying the last half century of violence was all our fault.”

“Ibrahim, it wasn't
your
fault at all. It wasn't the fault of the Palestinian people. But look, it's simply not true that Arafat and his regime simply wanted a state and peace to raise their children. That's what
you
want. That's what
most
Palestinians want. But that's not what Yasser Arafat wanted or he would have taken Barak's deal.”

“Mr. Prime Minister,” Bennett now asked Doron, “didn't your predecessor, Ariel Sharon, agree to a two-state solution? Didn't he say the occupation couldn't continue?”

“He did.”

“And what about you?”

Doron took a deep breath. He hadn't expected being put on the spot so soon. A Palestinian state terrified Doron. Not for ideological or religious reasons. Doron's concerns were entirely security related.

A state meant sovereignty. The right to establish an army, air force, and navy. The right to build airports. The right to buy weapons and make treaties and conduct military exercises and so forth. Sa'id seemed like a reasonable person. But who would succeed him? What if the next Palestinian prime minister—or the next after him—cut a deal with Syria? Or the Saudis? Or Tehran? What then? What recourse would Doron's successor have if he gave away so much so soon? Still, Doron knew the negotiations could very well be over before they really started if he couldn't give Sa'id a private assurance that a three-year transition would eventually have a payoff to something more substantial.

“With caveats about secure borders and assuming the terrorists were eliminated and other Arab states were willing to end the embargo against Israel—with all those caveats built in—yes, my government is not opposed to a two-state solution.”

There. He'd said it. Now the question was, did Sa'id believe it?

 

“Director Harris, it's for you.”

FBI Director Scott Harris was huddled with Homeland Security Secretary Lee James, Secret Service Director Bud Norris, National Security Advisor Marsha Kirkpatrick, and their senior staffs in the White House Situation Room. The president and First Lady were still asleep in the Residence. Those gathered for this meeting had been up most of the night, overseeing the most extensive antiterror campaign in U.S. history, grabbing only an occasional catnap in their offices.

But this call was urgent.

“It's Harris, what've you got? You're sure. All right. Thanks.”

He hung up the phone and turned to the others.

“Autopsy report just came in.”

“And?” asked Kirkpatrick

“It's not Ruth Bennett.”

“They're sure?”

“Dental records.”

“Which means…”

“You got it,” sighed Harris. “She's still out there somewhere.”

 

The principals reassembled after a fifteen-minute break.

McCoy handed each man a five-page, single-spaced, typed, and stapled document. It was marked “Confidential” and “Eyes Only.” But it had been vetted before the trip by the vice president and his policy and political team, each member of the NSC—particularly the CIA, Defense, and the State Department Policy Planning Staff—as well as by three former Secretaries of State.

Bennett suggested he simply give each man an overview and save the substantive discussions for Monday after they'd all had some time to think it over and discuss it with their advisors. Both men agreed.