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rics in Mecca and Medina, and the clerics were growing increasingly leery of the king and his cozy relations with America. Muhammad knew he needed to show the religious men that he was a man of action. Someone who was willing to stand up to the Americans.
There would be great personal satisfaction in having a hand in the death of a foul nonbeliever like Rapp, but in the more strategic sense, Rapp’s murder would eventually provide proof not just to the clerics, but to the other members of the royal family that Muhammad bin Rashid was a great defender of Islam, and not some pandering fool like the king. Revealing his hand in the matter would have to be handled very delicately and over a certain period of time. Prince Muhammad was fifty-nine and in good health. He could bide his time for another five years and slowly chip away at the king’s support. When the time was right, the clerics would support him, that he knew for certain. They wanted Rapp dead more than he did, and they would be very grateful that a member of the House of Saud had finally picked up a sword and defended Islam. For now, though, he had to go through the motions and act as if he actually liked the Americans.
Prince Muhammad bin Rashid stepped from the plane into the late-afternoon sunlight. He was dressed in his white robes and he clutched them against the blowing wind. To the undiscerning eye it was difficult to tell him apart from his half brother, the king, especially when he was wearing sunglasses as he was at this moment. Both men stood six feet tall and had jet black mustaches and goatees. This sometimes caused a bit of confusion as it did now with the group of dignitaries and photographers who were waiting on the red carpet at the foot of the stairs. Prince Muhammad descended with a slight smile on his face as he watched one of the king’s protocol officers pointing frantically at the last of the jumbo jets which was pulling to a stop just a little ways down the tarmac.
The air force general waiting to greet him held his ground. He was not about to slight the Saudi foreign minister by bolting. Enjoying the spectacle, Prince Muhammad took his time getting down the stairs. Upon meeting the base commander, he clutched the man’s hand in both of his and became quite effusive in his praise for the military band. The whole time he kept one eye on the protocol officer and took great joy in seeing the man begin to tremble. Finally, the base commander broke free and with a hand on Prince Muhammad’s back he sent him down the carpet toward his waiting limousine.
35
U.S. STATE DEPARTMENT
K ennedy stood in the corner of the John Quincy Adams State Drawing Room and nursed her glass of Chardonnay while two State Department undersecretaries tried to sell her on a new approach toward North Korea. They knew if she sided with their boss, the president would likely change course. That was not going to happen. Kennedy listened politely even though she disagreed with everything they were saying. The North Korean leader was mentally unstable, and nothing these two diplomats said would change that irrefutable medical fact. Single-party talks were a nonstarter and nothing more than an ego game by the North Korean premier. China, Japan, and South Korea had to be at the negotiating table. It was their backyard. Kennedy was tempted to tell the two Ivy Leaguers that she had been secretly counseling the president that it was time to give the Chinese an ultimatum; either rein in North Korea, or the United States would help Japan develop a nuclear weapons program. Kennedy was convinced the specter of a nuclear Japan would force China to bring North Korea to heel. There were others who understandably disagreed. China could counter by saying it would invade Taiwan and things could spin out of control rather quickly.
Telling these two doves any of this, however, would be foolish. She let them drone on and on about how it wouldn’t be such a bad concession to conduct single-party talks. After all, they could always go back to six-party talks if it didn’t work out. This conversation was a perfect example of why she had been reluctant to attend the reception for the Saudi foreign minister. Mixing with other departments in a social setting, especially State, often meant being trapped in these types of diametrically opposed discussions. She looked around the room for her new boss. This had been his idea. A command performance. Had Kennedy been invited by the secretary of state herself, she would have still been ambivalent about attending the diplomatic reception, but Ross had ordered her to come, and had done so in a very condescending manner. He told her, as if he was giving her an employee review, that she needed to work more on relationship building with their allies. She took all of this in stride and bit her lip, but in the back of her mind she heard Rapp’s warning—Ross is an idiot.
Kennedy wondered if this was about Rapp—if Ross was punishing her for what he’d done. She had not let on that she knew about their confrontation, but it was safe to assume Ross thought she knew all the details. What had started off as a decent enough working relationship was suddenly not looking so good. Whether this was exacerbated by Rapp or inevitable she did not know, but she was beginning to seriously wonder if Ross was the wrong man for the job.
Kennedy had been tempted to force Rapp to accompany her as a form of punishment, but he had gotten out of it. He’d shown up at her office limping earlier in the day and told her he was going in to have his knee operated on in the morning. She asked how serious it was and he shrugged it off with a mumbled answer. After a few more questions she found out they were going to scope his knee and he’d be back at work in two days. That didn’t sound like such a big deal, so she pressed him further and found out the procedure was only a short-term solution. The doctor told him within five years he’d need to undergo knee replacement surgery. Kennedy was surprised by her own lack of concern for his health. On the contrary, she was pleased to hear that he would finally have to slow down. With any luck, she could get him behind a desk soon and keep him there.
Ross entered the room in a manner befitting the president himself. He was followed by the ever-present Jonathan Gordon; two female staffers, whom Kennedy only vaguely recognized; and four immense Secret Service agents. Kennedy looked across the room at Secretary of State Berg and noted that not a single member of her security detail was in the room. They were in one of the most secure buildings in Washington, after all. There was no reason, other than hubris, to have the agents so close to their protectee.
Kennedy stood in the corner and continued to listen to the two State Department officials. She was in no rush to talk to Ross so she waited for him to make his way over. Ross was shaking hands and slapping backs. Kennedy was amused to read the lips of a senator who asked Ross, “What are you doing here?”
Very good question, Kennedy thought to herself. She looked at her watch and noted that he had told her to be on time, and yet he had arrived thirty minutes late.
Ross made his way over to Secretary Berg and kissed her on the cheek. After a few minutes he spotted Kennedy and waved her over.
Kennedy excused herself and made her way through the crowd. “Secretary Berg.” Kennedy extended her hand. “How are you?”
“Well, Irene, and you?”
“Just fine, thank you,” answered Kennedy. She and the secretary of state were often at odds philosophically, but had a good working relationship.
“I didn’t expect to see you here,” Ross said, thinking he was funny.
“I thought I’d crash the party,” Kennedy replied with a half smile.
“I’m glad you came,” said the secretary of state quickly. She squeezed Kennedy’s arm and gave her a reassuring nod.
Kennedy knew exactly what she meant. The Saudis had a way of making women feel very uncomfortable. To the old guard of Saudi men a woman’s place was at home, taking care of the children and running the household. It was inappropriate to look a woman in the eye or address her directly. This made for some awkward moments when powerful women like Berg and Kennedy were placed in the same room with an all-male delegation of Saudis. In Kennedy’s twenty plus years in the intelligence business things had gotten much better. The next generation of Saudis, the ones who had been educated at universities in Europe and America, were far more accepting of women, at least whe
n dealing with foreign governments. Back in Saudi Arabia, though, the great divide between the sexes was still alive and flourishing.
One of Secretary Berg’s assistants came up and informed her that the Saudi foreign minister had entered the building. Berg excused herself and left Ross and Kennedy to take up her position in the diplomatic receiving line. Ross grabbed Kennedy by the elbow and pointed toward the far corner of the room. They wove their way through the crowd with Ross’s bodyguards shadowing them as they went. Kennedy thought the security must have looked ridiculous and was relieved when Ross finally gave the detail leader a signal to stand down.
Ross stood with his back to the room, facing Kennedy. Jonathan Gordon stepped from his shadow and took up position beside his boss. Ross smoothed his light-blue-and-silver-striped tie with the palm of his right hand and then adjusted his trousers before placing his hands on his lips. The director of National Intelligence looked at her, tilted his head slightly, as if he was going to say something, and then stopped.
Kennedy had a pretty good idea what was on his mind, so she said, “Mark, about you and Mitch, and what happened the other day…”
Ross cut her off. “You don’t need to say a word. It’s water under the bridge.”
Kennedy glanced at Gordon, whose expression said different. “I just want you to know I don’t operate that way,” Kennedy said to Ross. “If one of my people has a problem with you they need to come to me first. Mitch went behind my back, and I’m not happy about it.”
Ross considered his reply. “I know Mitch has sacrificed a great deal for this country, but a lot of people worry he’s uncontrollable. That it’s just a matter of time before he does something that really embarrasses the Agency. Neither of us want that to happen.”
“No, we don’t,” Kennedy said honestly.
“Then I suggest you keep him on a short leash.”
