“Sure you can if you tell him the president’s life is in danger.”
Alicia released a long, slow breath. “Oh, boy. Okay, hold on.”
Marcus drove through traffic, winding around sightseeing buses and taxis trolling for tourists. In thirty seconds, Bill Gray’s voice came on the phone. “Paul, how’s the president’s life in danger?”
Marcus knew he was on speakerphone and his conversation was being recorded. “If the president’s standing next to the prime minister tomorrow when the wreath is set in front of the Lincoln Memorial, he could be in the line of fire. If there’s an attempt on the prime minister’s life, there could be one on the president’s, too. Or the president may be hurt or killed by being in the wrong place at the wrong time. The Pentagon calls it collateral damage.”
Gray cleared his throat. “Paul, listen to me. This is really wild speculation based on the information you provided Alicia. We’re taking appropriate action to spend more of the taxpayer’s money to add additional precautions.”
“Bill, save the money and cancel the damn ceremony…or, at the very least, back the prime minister out of it.”
“Paul, this is Les Shepard.” The director’s voice was deep, almost guttural. “I never personally had a chance to offer my condolences for the loss of your wife and child. I can only imagine the stress you must have been under, combined by winning the Nobel Prize, almost by fluke. Your world goes from one extreme to the other — polar opposites. It’s enough to make a man bi-polar, if you’ll excuse the pun. The White House is not going to cancel the ceremony on the basis of some disclosure you stumbled upon in the Bible. It has no real connection to the prime minister or the ceremony to take place tomorrow. We do appreciate your concern, though. Maybe it’s time you pack your bags in Jerusalem, come back home and get some much needed rest.”
“So you’re ignoring this?”
“No, we’re deciding not to overreact to it. Now, I have a meeting to conduct. Paul, I hope you won’t discount my suggestion to come back home and get some rest.”
The line disconnected. Marcus held the cell phone to his ear, his mind racing. He pulled over, parked on the side of the road near Jaffe gate, opened his wallet and found the card Secretary of State Hanover had given him. He turned it over, memorized her private number and made the call.
THIRTY-SIX
After three rings, a woman answered the phone. Marcus didn’t recognize her voice. She said, “Department of State, may I help you?”
“Yes, my name is Paul Marcus. I met with Secretary Hanover recently. She gave me her private number and said I should call it directly if I needed to reach her.”
“Please hold, Mr. Marcus.”
It was almost a minute later when Secretary Hanover came on the line. “Hello, Paul. How are you?”
“I’m fine, Madame Secretary. I’m calling you from Israel.”
“How is your biblical research going?”
“It’s a little overwhelming. I’m not sure how to say this, so I’ll just say it.”
“Please, Paul, what is it?”
“The president’s life may be in danger.”
“What do you mean?”
Marcus told her and added. “I wouldn’t call you with this information if I hadn’t tried channels at NSA.”
“What response did Director Shepard give you?”
“He thinks I’m under stress, thought I needed rest. Secretary Hanover, I’m a scientist, not a psychic or somebody who dabbles in paranormal matter. I don’t know if this warning is authentic or not. I believe too much is happening over here for me to ignore it. You have the president’s ear. I just want him to be made aware of the possibility. It’s his event, and he can cancel it.”
“He’s constantly reminded of the possibility of a fatal encounter. It comes with the job. I will tell him that we spoke. I’ll urge him to consider the plausibility of what you’re saying. In view of your impressive record as a cryptographer and a medical researcher, I feel he has every reason to believe you wouldn’t offer this warning if you didn’t think it was credible.”
“Thank you.”
“Paul, last we spoke you were going to consider accepting the Nobel Prize. Have you made up your mind?”
“I’ve been so swamped over here I haven’t put a lot of thought into it.”
“Time is of the essence now. I hope you will decide to accept it. Not because of the president’s interest, but for yours. Don’t feel guilty because the result of your work couldn’t reach your daughter. It will reach the daughters and sons of many people the world over, and it’s because of you. We are very grateful to you.”
Marcus was quiet a moment, a tour bus roared by as he rolled up the window in the Toyota. “Thank you, Madame Secretary. There’s something else. The niece of a friend of mine was one of the two people captured by the Iranians for allegedly crossing the border between Turkey and Iran. It’s bogus. Can you tell me how close we are to getting them out?”
“Bill Gray brought your concerns to me. Unfortunately, it’s not as close as I would like. We’ve had near daily negotiations with the Iranians. I’m sure you know they want the release of four terrorists in exchange for the freedom of two graduate students who were picking berries in a mountainous area where the border is poorly marked at best.”
“My friend’s niece is in failing health. She’s diabetic and is in need of medical attention. I don’t ask people for favors…but I am now. Please negotiate hard for their release.”
“We’re doing everything possible to reach an accord and get them back home. The unfortunate angle on this is our relationship with Iran, a terrorist state. It’s no different than negotiating with terrorists, something this nation overtly does not do. We’re hoping the publicity — the public outcry, will be the leverage we need.”
“What happens if it’s not?”
“I don’t know. It’s obvious that the Iranians are holding the couple as hostages. The president is very pragmatic. He does not and will not negotiate with terrorists.”
“Maybe there’s another way to gain the release of these kids.”
“How, Paul?”
“Play cards with the Iranians. Put the chips on the table. Find something the Iranians want and dangle it in front of them. Keep it covert so the rest of the world doesn’t think the president’s cutting a deal. The Iranians look like they’re being good guys, all concerned with the girl’s health. They save face, and we get Brandi and Adam back. It can be done. It’s a poker game; we can win.”
“The chips on the table — what are these chips?”
“There has to be something more important to them than their request for some terrorists. As Secretary of State, you’re in a better position than I am to know what to use for stakes in playing this game. Even if the chips are part of a deception and the Iranians don’t win the hand, we can. The U.S. has done it before. If it’s not common knowledge, the general public won’t be aware that any negotiations were on the table. In the end, it would be hard for the Iranians to look bad if they get kudos on an international stage for a humanitarian release given for health reasons.”
“We don’t have any chips to put on the table.”
“Yes, you do.”
“Paul, I’m being summoned by the White House. It’s urgent.”
THIRTY-SEVEN
A crowd, estimated to be more than seven thousand people, watched as the long, black Cadillac limousine made its way slowly down the National Mall in the direction of the Lincoln Memorial. The limo, flying the American flag on the left and the presidential seal flag on the right, was flanked by two black SUV’s filled with Secret Service agents. Metro police on motorcycles led the procession. More black cars with government agents followed in the rear.