“You may be right,” said Bennett, mulling over their options. “What about sending an e-mail to Rajiv? Maybe she knew Donovan and Harkin. She might have something that could help us.”
“Good idea,” said Erin. “Give me a few minutes.”
“We need to move fast,” Bennett insisted. “When you’re done with that, get Natasha up. Have her listen to the tape and see what she thinks. Then print out a copy of the journal and delete the file. I’m going to get the car. I’ll meet you at the Damascus Gate in one hour. If for whatever reason I don’t show, don’t wait. Go without me.”
“What are you talking about?” Erin asked. “Go where?”
“To the DMZ,” Bennett said as he headed up the stairs. “We need to find the Key Scroll before anyone else does.”
37
It was Salvador Lucente’s first visit to the new Iraqi capital.
He had met President Al-Hassani on numerous occasions, including a weekend at Camp David with President MacPherson and at the opening session of the United Nations General Assembly the previous September. The Iraqi president had also been a guest of the E.U. leadership in Brussels twice before, and they spoke together by phone or videoconference at least once a week.
But there was something different about actually landing at the dazzling new Babylon International Airport and being driven to the Great Tower of the People in a twenty-vehicle screaming motorcade down massive new highways, all paid for by U.S. and E.U. taxpayers.
How quickly the world could change, Lucente realized.
It hadn’t been that long since Saddam Hussein had brutalized these people and forced them to live in such squalor. Nor had it been that long since America destroyed Saddam’s regime and fought a brutal war of attrition with Iraqi insurgents. Who could have imagined in those dark days when the entire country teetered on the brink of civil war that Iraq would finally crush the rebellion, see order restored to its streets, and become a magnet for capitalists rather than car bombers?
The motorcade passed a sign announcing the upcoming opening of the famed Hanging Gardens. They passed the dazzling new Iraqi Museum of Archeology and Antiquities, complete with its own IMAX theater bringing the ancient history of Babylonia to life in 3-D and THX surround sound. Lucente was stunned by how much construction was under way in the city, by how much progress had been made in just a few short years, and it suddenly struck him how powerful a force Al-Hassani and his people were rapidly becoming.
“Welcome, my friend. How wonderful to see you again.”
“It is an honor to be here, Your Excellency,” Lucente responded, receiving from Al-Hassani the traditional Arab kiss on each cheek.
“Come, come, let us enjoy the morning sunshine,” the Iraqi president insisted, leading Lucente through his private office to the balcony overlooking the city. “Have a seat. Make yourself comfortable. Breakfast will be served to us in a few minutes, but first some coffee? Fresh-squeezed orange juice? What would you like?”
The two men settled in, exchanged pleasantries, and ate their breakfasts, admiring the views and sharing tidbits of news about the relief efforts ongoing across the region. But when their plates were cleared, they finally turned to the business at hand.
“Mr. President,” Lucente began at last, “as you know I have just come from Jerusalem, where I toured the areas of the worst devastation and had some very frank conversations with Prime Minister Doron. And as you requested, I insisted that he forestall any plans to build a Jewish Temple until, at the very least, we can all reengage in final status negotiations and hammer out a peace treaty between the Israelis and Palestinians once and for all.”
“And how did the prime minister respond?” asked Al-Hassani as he began lighting up his pipe.
“Let’s just say he was noncommittal,” Lucente explained.
“You don’t think the aid package you offered will be enough?”
“Frankly, I doubt it.”
“Why?”
“It’s simple, really,” said Lucente. “At the moment, Europe is getting 60 percent of our oil from Medexco. Doron acts like he needs our aid. He’d love as much international assistance as possible. Who wouldn’t? But with oil topping 175 euros a barrel, he knows full well that he doesn’t need us as much as we need him right now.”
“Which, I assume, is why you are here.”
“It is, Mr. President. Our economies are choking. Unemployment is soaring. We can’t operate with oil prices this high. We have got to get oil flowing out of the Gulf states again within the next few months. My advisors tell me that’s possible, but it will take an enormous effort, and it’s one that we simply cannot take on by ourselves.”
Lucente noted that Iraq was in a far better position to take the lead in bringing the petroleum facilities in Saudi Arabia, Kuwait, Iran, and the other regional OPEC players online, and doing it quickly.
“Right now you and the Israelis are experiencing a great windfall,” Lucente noted. “But you know as well as I do that if the global economy slips into a depression, everyone loses. That’s why I have been asked by the various leaders of the E.U. to make our position very plain: you must get oil prices down below a hundred euros a barrel by summer, or I am afraid we will have to consider some unpleasant scenarios.”
Startled, Al-Hassani stared into Lucente’s eyes. Had he heard the man correctly?
“Mr. Foreign Minister, did you just threaten me?”
“Of course not, Mr. President,” Lucente replied coolly. “You know how much Europe has done to rebuild your country. I have no doubt you will now help us in our time of need.”
“Or else?” asked Al-Hassani.
“I wouldn’t put it that way,” Lucente replied.
“Didn’t you just?”
Lucente paused a moment, then leaned toward Al-Hassani and spoke almost in a whisper. “You have a formidable military, Mr. President. Two hundred thousand troops, armed with the latest weaponry. I know. Be-cause we — NATO and the Americans — recruited them, trained them, equipped them, and helped them gain combat experience in crushing the insurgency. But do not deceive yourself. Your forces are not yet ready to face the combined forces of a unified Western alliance determined to achieve energy security at all costs. And who might your allies be? You think I don’t know about the little conclave you held here the other day? Did you think you could shuttle in leaders from all over the region without our notice? They cannot help you now. Do not miscalculate as Iraqi leaders are wont to do. Your country cannot afford a misstep.”
The black Mercedes headed north on Highway 90.
If they weren’t stopped and arrested first, they would be in Tiberias in less than an hour. Natasha’s cousin had a house up there, in the hills overlooking the Sea of Galilee. They would go there first, Bennett had decided, hunker down until dark, then head for the Golan Heights. Time was not on their side, but none of them thought it wise to be seen in the mountains in daylight.
“We want Russia’s seat,” Al-Hassani began.
“So does Israel,” Lucente countered.
He could tell by the look in Al-Hassani’s eyes that he had caught him by surprise.
“They have not made that public,” Al-Hassani noted cautiously.
“Nor have you,” said Lucente. “Doron just told me yesterday. By now he has talked to the Americans.”
“Nevertheless,” said Al-Hassani, “if you want our oil, we want a permanent seat on the Security Council. It can be Russia’s. It can be new. But it is nonnegotiable. We want assurances that neither the E.U. or the U.S. or the U.N. will interfere with our efforts to unify the region’s political and economic structures.”.