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Rapp stood up straight and looked across the sea of cubicles at the far wall to see if Tom Lee, the CTC’s deputy director, was in his office. If Rapp had been a typical government employee, he would already be racing across the Bull Pen on his way to tell Lee everything he had just learned. Needless to say, R
app was more than some bureaucrat worried about covering his ass and making sure his government pension was protected at all costs. This was a tricky situation. Lee was not an employee of the CIA, he merely had an office in the building. He was FBI and with the FBI came a lot of rules on how things were handled. Rules that Rapp felt got in the way.
Rapp had to make a quick decision. They needed to catch this guy, but they didn’t want to spook him. Plus once they told the FBI about him there was no taking it back, no flexibility in how to handle the situation.
He decided on a cautious course for the moment. Looking down at Bourne and Dumond who were seated he said, “Call the cab companies and find out who was working the station at the time this guy stepped onto the curb, and”—Rapp lowered his voice—“keep it within our little group right here.”
Both Bourne and Dumond nodded. They were CIA and knew exactly what Rapp was talking about.
“And, Marcus, keep working on Fat Omar’s accounts. There should have been a large chunk of change moved sometime in the last week. If anything comes up call me on the digital.” Rapp grabbed the printout of the surveillance photo and a train schedule and started for the exit.
“Where are you going?” asked Dumond.
Rapp folded the printouts and shoved them into his pocket. “The White House.”
60
President Hayes sat behind his desk with a phone to his ear while his national security team sat on the couches and waited for him to join them. Kennedy was sitting next to Valerie Jones pretending to read a file. In truth she was listening to what the president was saying, or more accurately what he wasn’t saying. The senior senator from New York, a state the president had barely carried, had called to advise him not to come down too hard on the Israelis for their incursion into Hebron.
Hayes didn’t even want to take the call, but Jones had practically demanded it. When he was up for reelection they would need New York. This was not the first call placed to the White House this morning on behalf of Israel. The powerful Jewish lobby was in crisis mode trying to avert a potentially disastrous vote that was to take place at the UN later today. Every member of the National Security Team had fielded at least two calls from influential power brokers pleading the Israelis’ case. Secretary of State Berg had been solicited the hardest, followed by Chief of Staff Jones and then Secretary of Defense Culbertson. Even Kennedy and General Flood had been hit up.
“I’ll take it all under advisement,” said the president as he looked at nothing in particular. Hayes listened for a few seconds and then said firmly, “I fully understand the gravity of the situation, Senator. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.” Hayes slammed the phone down in its cradle and shot Valerie Jones an extremely unhappy look.
Getting up from behind his desk he kept his eyes on his chief of staff and said, “That’s the last one I’m taking. These people are more concerned about Israel than their own country.”
“What did he say?” asked Jones.
“Pretty much that if I want to win New York next time around I’d better make sure this French resolution doesn’t make it out of the Security Council.” Hayes chose to stand rather than sit. “And if things weren’t already bad enough, they went and sent tanks into Hebron. American-made tanks, I might add.”
“Sir,” started Jones, “I think we need to focus our efforts on getting the vote delayed.”
Hayes ran a hand through his hair and then grabbed the back of his neck. “Bea?” He looked to his secretary of state for an answer.
“From what I’m hearing the French are hell-bent on putting this to a vote now. Especially since the tanks rolled in last night.”
“Let’s not forget about the suicide bombs,” interjected Secretary of Defense Culbertson. “That’s how this all got started. Israel has a right to defend herself and if the Palestinians are going to locate their bomb factories in residential neighborhoods, then no one should feel too bad for them when one of them blows up.”
The secretary of state ignored her colleague and said, “Mr. President, I would never argue that Israel doesn’t have the right to defend itself, but the reality is that the UN is fed up with this never-ending cycle of violence, and the assassination of one of their own has galvanized the entire assembly like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”
Culbertson moved to the edge of the couch. “But there’s no proof Israel had anything to do with the ambassador’s death. In fact, it’s preposterous to think they’d do such a thing.”
The president turned his gaze on Kennedy. Now was the time to let the rest of the team in on what only a few knew. “Irene.”
Kennedy closed the folder on her lap and looked at the secretaries of state and defense and General Flood. The president had been very specific about what he wanted her to say, or more precisely, what he didn’t want her to say. There was to be no mention of the mysterious man who had met with Prince Omar. The Brits had quite an extensive file on the brother of the crown prince. While they felt that he was somewhat business savvy, or at least wise enough to surround himself with people who made good decisions, the Brits also felt that Omar was a bit dense. Their initial opinion was that they doubted Omar could be involved in something as complicated as the assassination of a UN ambassador. So for now, Kennedy was sticking with what they knew to be fact.
In a voice barely above a whisper she said, “There was no bomb factory in Hebron.”
Secretary Berg stared at Kennedy. “Did the Israelis admit to this?”
“No. In fact they are standing by their story.”
Culbertson asked suspiciously, “Then how do we know there was no factory?”
“We had satellite coverage of the attack. There were no secondary explosions.”
“Then where did all the damage come from?” asked Berg.
“Sixteen Hellfire missiles fired by Apache helicopters.”
