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"I haven't been challenged from within my own party because there has never been an alternative, but if the President were to lean hard enough on the people who run the party back in Connecticut if he were to promise to infuse a bunch of cash into their coffers, they'd dump me in a heartbeat."
"Maybe so, but that's a risky proposition for the President. Voters don't always like bigwigs from Washington interfering in their local politics. You could spin it in the media that the President had a vendetta against you. If you played it right you could make yourself into a victim of petty Washington politics. The local voters and media would love it."
Rudin thought about it for a moment and saw that it might work. Maybe he wasn't in as dire of a spot as he'd thought. "But what about the present? If I launch an investigation they'll cut my balls off."
"It might be too late for them to do anything if the media gets behind the story." Clark folded his arms across his chest and gave this some time to sink in.
Rudin gave the idea some serious consideration. "That would be a risky play."
Clark could see his words were having the right effect. It was time to lead him to action. "Albert, I know you as a man of great integrity. I don't always agree with your politics, but you've stayed true to your party through the worst of times, and frankly I don't think you deserve to be treated like this." He studied the malleable congressman while he spoke. All he was doing was telling Rudin exactly what he wanted to hear. "Great men are often hated and envied by their peers. It is usually not until they are gone that their greatness is recognized." Clark shook his head as if saddened by the whole affair."I don't think you should be treated like this. Being threatened by the President is wrong." "Why don't you say that to him?" asked Rudin in earnest.
Clark shook his head emphatically. "In this town we have to fight our own battles. You know that, Albert. As a Republican my opinions on a dispute within your party would not be welcome. No that wouldn't work at all. You have always been a man of principle and conscience, and I don't think you should change now. "The senator searched Rudin's face for a sign that he was with him, and that his ego was inflated to the proper degree. Satisfied, Clark went for the kill. "Albert, you should follow your conscience. If you truly think Irene Kennedy is corrupt," he hesitated as if it were painful for him to give such advice. Leaning closer, he finished by saying, "If she is as bad as you think she is then you really have no other choice."
Rudin let his head drop into his hands. The struggle he was having was apparent. In a pleading tone he said, "But it will be political suicide. They will kill me."
Oh, he was so close. He had to tread very carefully. "I have already told you how you can neutralize them. Let the media get the ball
rolling and then call hearings. The President wouldn't dare do anything to you at that point."
"How in the hell am I going to get the media to cover this? I've been bitching about the abuses at Langley for so long none of them listen to me anymore. I need some help. I need your help. All you have to do is get her in front of your committee during the confirmation hearing and hammer her."
"No way." Clark shook his head vigorously. "I'm going to tell you this for the last time, Albert. I like Dr. Kennedy. I think she will do a good job. If you think she's as bad as you say she is, then it's up to you to prove to the rest of us that she's rotten." "But I can't," Rudin practically shouted. Regaining some control he said, "I know what I know, but I don't have the kind of proof that I could take to the press. All you'd have to do is ask her some questions that I'd prepare, and I will guarantee that she'll cave in."
In your wet dreams, Clark thought to himself. Irene Kennedy was not the type of person to wilt under the bright lights of a confirmation hearing. Not unless she was confronted with real evidence. Clark decided that a little anger was needed. Raising his voice, he said, "Albert, I'm not getting involved in this. If you want to derail her then it's up to you. I'm here as your friend, but if you ask me again to ambush her in my committee room, in front of the cameras, after I've given my word to the President, I will get up and leave!"
Rudin backed down. "All right. I understand your position, but what the fuck am I going to do? When I heard that bastard Stansfield had cancer I jumped for joy. I thought, finally we can clean out that rats' nest." Its too much for me. I've given too much of my life to public service. I just can't sit back and watch the blatant corruption continue."
There was a long silence. Finally, Clark decided Rudin was ready. "I feel bad for you, I really do " he said. "It's just that I've given my word." The senator looked away thoughtfully, as if he were struggling with a tough decision. "There is one thing I can do that might help." Clark paused to see just how eager Rudin was. It was painfully obvious on the congressman's face that he would gladly accept what his friend had to offer.
"I know of someone who is quite remarkable at digging things up." Clark stared his fellow politician in the eye. "Things that people don't want dug up. I will articulate that you'd like to have a talk with him."
"Is he expensive?"
Clark moaned inside. Rudin was the cheapest bastard he'd ever met. In truth the man was expensive, but Clark was willing to subsidize the job. "He's actually quite reasonable." With a grin Clark added, "Or so I've been told."
"When can I meet with him?"
"I'll see if he can stop by your office this afternoon, but I can't make any promises. He's a very busy man."
"The sooner the better. I don't have a lot of time to derail this train."
Clark nodded. "And one more thing, Albert. Keep me out of this. All I'm doing is giving you someone's name. What you do from this point forward is up to you."
"Don't worry. Hank. I'll never forget that you were there for me during my darkest hours."
With a soft smile, Clark said, "Don't mention it. That's what friends are for." Clark kept the smile on his face, but inside he was elated. Rudin was about to be spoon-fed just enough information to bring about the end of Irene Kennedy's bid for the directorship of the CIA. The Democratic Party was about to be blindsided.
CHAPTER NINE.
Tel Aviv, Wednesday morning The sleek, black Mercedes sedan moved quickly through the streets of Tel Aviv. The sedan had tinted bulletproof windows, anti-mine flooring and armor-plated sides and roof. Ben Freidman sat in the backseat by himself. Two Mossad bodyguards were in front, one driving, the other riding shotgun. A small arsenal of weapons was stashed throughout the vehicle in case of an attack, which was a very real threat. So real that Freidman had two armor-plated cars, the Mercedes and a Peugeot. Freidman was switched from one car to the other throughout the day, always in an underground garage or a secluded area away from prying eyes.
Colonel Ben Freidman, the director general of Mossad, was perhaps the most hated man in the Middle East. Yes characters like Saddam Hussein and Yasser Arafat had their enemies, but they were Arabs, and make no mistake about it, the Middle East was overwhelmingly Arab. The multitude of factions and tribes that made up the Arab people had fought each other for millennia. The feuds ran deep, rich in historical lore. Despite the tiniest of differences from one group to the next they rarely got along. There was, however, one exception, and that exception was an almost universal hatred of Israel.
Amongst Arabs, the most hated and feared organization in all of Israel was Mossad. They were a den of assassins and thieves given official sanction by the government of Israel to conduct an illegal war against the Muslim peoples of the world.
This reputation did not bother Ben Freidman. In fact, he did everything in his power to perpetuate the fear. If one of the fallouts was that he had to lead a life in which he was constantly surrounded by bulletproof composites and heavily armed men, then so be it. The Arabs had sworn to crush the Israeli state and he had promised to defend it. They were in a war and had been for over fifty years. This sham of Middle East peace perpetuated by American do-gooders and soft Israeli politicians had made his job more difficult, but Freidman was not one to complain. He was always adapting, always preparing for the next battle.
For the first forty years of Mossad's existence the agency had been cloaked in secrecy, so much so that the various directors general were unknown to all but the prime minister and his or her cabinet. Times had changed though, and in the nineties Mossad became a victim of Israel 's increasingly partisan and volatile politics. The agency's anonymity was stripped away and the office of the director general became one of the hottest seats in the government. Ben Freidman's name was regularly printed in the papers and his picture was shown frequently on television. Any terrorist with half a brain could pick him out of a crowd and blow his head off.
