How, then, could the U.N. so readily accept Gogolov’s blatant lies? Bennett asked himself.
Israel wasn’t defying the international community. Just the opposite. Never before had Israel been so willing to grant such concessions to the Palestinians. All that was needed now was a final status agreement that would lock in these gains and pave the way for an even more extraordinary era of peace and prosperity. Had it all been in vain?
33
Slowly Erin McCoy opened her eyes.
The room spun. The light from two naked bulbs, each hanging by bare wires from the cement ceiling, was almost blinding.
She felt groggy. She could tell she was under heavy sedation and felt an IV in her left arm. Her mouth was dry. Her lips were chapped. She had no idea where she was. Guessing would take too much energy.
But she was alive. And as that fact sank in, McCoy began to cry, thanking God for saving her. And then it hit her: Where was Jon? Was he dead or alive? She looked around the room, but she was alone.
The door opened.
Out in the hall stood a burly, unshaven man in fatigues, toting an AK-47. A woman entered, pushing a cart stacked with medical supplies of all kinds — bandages, gauze, cotton balls, needles, and small bottles filled with various pharmaceuticals. She was a young woman, in her mid-to late twenties, about McCoy’s height and build.
Though her nose and mouth were covered by a surgical mask, her eyes were not cruel. In fact, they looked terrified, as though she had no desire to be in this room one second longer than she had to be.
Good, thought McCoy, at least we’ve got something in common.
The woman’s skin was pale, as if untouched by sunlight. She wore no makeup, no jewelry of any kind, just a simple watch with a nondescript black band, and an ID of some sort dangling from her neck.
McCoy tried to read her name but couldn’t.
The woman nodded to the guard, who closed the door, remaining in the hallway. She then proceeded to pull back the covers and check McCoy’s wounds.
McCoy realized her hands were cuffed to the sides of the bed.
And then she saw the needle, just before the sharp pain as it jabbed into her thigh. She would be out cold again in a matter of seconds, but even in her medicated haze, McCoy realized her training was kicking in.
She strained to take in every detail of the woman, the room, everything. She knew she could process it later, her eyes closed, even in her sleep. But she desperately needed a visual layout if she were ever to escape.
If it was the FSB holding her, she was in trouble. She knew how the Russian intelligence service worked. The sooner she recovered, the sooner they would torture her — until she broke or they put a bullet through her skull.
Bennett was checking into the King David when his phone rang.
It was Mordechai. “Anything new on Erin?” he asked.
“No,” said Bennett. “What about you?”
“I have the Mossad on the case, and I have contacted nearly a dozen sources I have used in and around Moscow over the years. Nothing yet. But I wanted you to know I am doing everything I can.”
“Thanks,” said Bennett. “I appreciate it.”
“Of course. Oh, by the way, I do have an answer for your mother.”
At first, Bennett had no idea what Mordechai was talking about.
Then it came back to him.
Mordechai’s midnight drop-by in Georgetown. The phone call from Bennett’s mother in Orlando. The National Enquirer story: Was Gogolov the Antichrist? It was an increasingly hot topic on the Internet, but hardly one Bennett wanted to talk about now.
“Look, I’m a little busy,” Bennett demurred. “Can I get a rain check?”
It wasn’t a question. It was a lie. Bennett had no intention of talking about the Antichrist with Mordechai. Not on this trip, at least. Immediately following the meeting with Doron, he was meeting Ibrahim Sa’id’s widow and sons and then having dinner with Dmitri Galishnikov, still devastated by Sa’id’s death and terrified of what Gogolov was going to do to Israel. After that, he was heading home.
Bennett’s BlackBerry beeped.
He scrolled through a secure flash traffic e-mail from Marsha Kirkpatrick at the NSC. In coordination with six former Soviet republics, including Georgia, Armenia, and Azerbaijan, Russia was about to announce a massive series of naval and ground-forces exercises — code-named “Black Star”—in and around the Black Sea and the Mediterranean. The story would break over the weekend. The exercises would commence in four days, on the day of the U.N. vote on Resolution 2441.
Bennett’s stomach tightened.
Gogolov was about to pre-position a quarter of a million troops and half the Russian fleet within striking distance of Israel’s borders.
The Rubicon had just been crossed.
34
Doron got right to the point.
Having offered his condolences regarding Erin McCoy and the DSS agents killed during the coup, he described the rise of Yuri Gogolov as “a massively destabilizing event,” one that Israel now had to consider “an existential threat.”
And he made it clear that the Jewish state would not be blackmailed into forfeiting her trump cards.
“Israel does not now — nor will it ever — discuss the details of its defensive-weapons systems,” the prime minister continued. “Moreover, Israel is not now — nor will it ever be — a signatory to the NPT, not as a tacit admission that we possess nuclear weapons but to keep all of our options open, and to keep our enemies guessing.”
Bennett knew full well that Israel had between one hundred and three hundred nuclear warheads and enough Jericho-I, Jericho-II, and newly completed Jericho-III missiles to deliver them as far as Moscow, Tehran, and Berlin if need be.
What’s more, Doron knew Bennett knew.
But such was the Kabuki dance of Middle Eastern diplomacy, and Bennett tried to keep step with the music.
“Strategic ambiguity?” Bennett asked, with a wry smile.
“Call it what you will,” said Doron. “We are not about to bow to the demands of a Fascist Russian dictator.”
“Just to be clear, then,” Bennett said, “the Israeli government has no intention of complying with Resolution 2441?”
“I do not think it would be appropriate to comment on hypotheticals,” said Doron. “The resolution to which you refer has not even been voted upon, much less passed.”
“But if it is?”
“The U.S. will veto it, will it not?”
“My government isn’t prepared to take a position until we’ve seen the final language,” Bennett said, seeing the concern in Doron’s eyes suddenly intensify.
“You are saying there is a chance the president will not veto a resolution that is tantamount to a declaration of war on a strategic ally of the United States?”
“Mr. Prime Minister, I’m saying it’s a long way until we get to that point.”
“It is not as far away as you think,” Doron shot back. “Do not fool yourself, Jonathan. The creation of a Russian-Iranian alliance poses danger not just to Israel but to American and European security and economic interests as well. Did Eli give you the excerpts from Zhirinovsky’s book, The Final Thrust to the South?”