He would have loved to provide Bennett with news about McCoy, and he’d been working his sources for weeks, but so far there had been no progress.
He logged on to his laptop. There was one source in Moscow he had been hoping to avoid. Unfortunately, that was a luxury he could no longer afford.
“Sasha — I need help.”
Moments later, an IM came back.
“anything for a friend.”
Mordechai gritted his teeth. Yes, a very good friend as long as I pay you….
“Need information on an American MIA in Moscow.”
“the mccoy girl.”
Mordechai was surprised. “How did you know?”
“rumor mill is going wild.”
“Is she alive?”
“couldn’t say.”
“I need to know — fast. And I will pay handsomely.”
“you always do…. i will check…. you will hear from me soon.”
MacPherson rubbed his eyes and glanced at his watch.
It was almost 5 a.m. The First Lady was still asleep. The Residence was quiet, but for the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner of their bedroom.
He slipped out of bed, donned a bathrobe, and sat down in his private study, where he fumbled for the lamp and put on his reading glasses.
“The Ezekiel Option.”
Bennett hadn’t said much about it other than that it was Dr. Eliezer Mordechai’s take on the current crisis. This was MacPherson’s first chance to read it, and he was curious. He picked up a phone and got a White House steward.
“Yes, Mr. President?”
“Tom, could you bring some breakfast up to my study?”
“Absolutely, Mr. President. The usual?”
“That would be fine, thanks.”
He settled back in his chair and opened the brief, wholly unprepared for what he was about to read.
44
The vote was about to begin.
MacPherson gathered with his National Security Council in the Situation Room to monitor the proceedings and provide final instructions to the U.S. ambassador to the U.N. in New York.
“Where’s Bennett?” the president asked as on the large-screen video monitor the Argentinian ambassador finished his prepared remarks.
“On his way,” said Corsetti.
MacPherson turned back to the video display, where the Italian ambassador — currently serving as president of the Security Council — cleared his throat and said, “As to Resolution 2441 to compel the State of Israel to fully disclose and subsequently to destroy any and all stockpiles of weapons of mass destruction within thirty days, how does Argentina vote?”
“Argentina votes aye.”
“Argentina votes aye. How does the People’s Republic of China vote?”
“China votes aye.”
“China votes aye. How does the French Republic vote?”
“France votes aye.”
Bennett’s car pulled onto West Executive Avenue.
His driver pulled within a few feet of the entrance to the West Wing, but Bennett couldn’t get out. He was glued to the radio, desperate not to miss a single moment as the U.N. vote transpired in Manhattan.
The Federal Republic of Germany was next, and not surprisingly, the German ambassador voted in favor of the resolution.
One after another, Indonesia, India, Japan, and Libya all cast their lots with Moscow as well.
The vote was now eight in favor, none opposed.
Bennett knew all too well that according to the rules of the U.N. Charter, the Russian Federation needed only nine votes of the nonpermanent members of the Security Council, so long as all five of the permanent members — China, France, Russia, Great Britain, and the U.S. — voted unanimously in favor as well.
There was still a chance to avoid a veto, but Bennett knew it was slim, at best. Over the past week, the president and Secretary of State Warner had been putting extraordinary pressure on five countries — the Philippines, Poland, Turkey, Italy, and Great Britain — to vote against the resolution. But since the Gogolov-Kharrazi press conference, their resolve had been weakening.
The Italian ambassador continued his roll call.
“How does the Republic of the Philippines vote?”
“This is a travesty against the Jewish people, and the people of the Philippines vote no.”
“Yes!” Bennett shouted, pounding his fist on the seat beside him. Had the dam begun to crack?
“How does the Republic of Poland vote?”
“The Republic of Poland will have no part of another Moscow-inspired pogrom. The Jewish people have suffered too long, too much, and they have every right — indeed, they have a solemn responsibility — to defend themselves as they see fit. The people of Poland will do nothing to infringe upon that right. Noting that Article 51 of the United Nations Charter affirms every nation’s right to self-defense, the Republic of Poland votes no on this insidious resolution.”
Bennett could almost hear Doron and his cabinet cheering. Indeed, he could almost hear the cheers of an entire country as Israelis were glued to their televisions and radios now, even as they prepared for yet another war.
Bennett wondered if MacPherson was cheering.
He felt guilty for doubting his mentor of nearly two decades. James “Mac” MacPherson had taught Bennett everything he knew about research, the markets, politics, and the art of the deal. He was one of the few men Bennett admired. He was a man of convictions, a man willing to take risks for peace, even if that meant war.
The code name Gambit was befitting.
But something was different. Something had changed. Bennett couldn’t put his finger on it. Somewhere along the way fissures had begun to develop in their relationship, a distance that had never been there before.
It was uncomfortable, disorienting even. Bennett hated himself for the suspicion—distrust might be a better word — he felt toward the president. He wasn’t sure where such feelings were emanating from, but they were real, and they were growing.
Suddenly his phone rang.
“Bennett.”
“Jonathan, thank God you answered.”
“Dr. Mordechai?”
“No, no, it’s Dmitri — Dmitri Galishnikov. Are you listening? Of course you are listening. Can you believe it?”
Bennett hadn’t spoken to Galishnikov, his partner in the Oil-for-Peace deal and the president of Medexco, in several weeks. It was good to hear from him. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the best time.
“We’re not there yet, my friend.”
“No, no, but it is happening, Jonathan. I can feel it.”
“I hope you’re right, Dmitri. But I’m afraid I need to keep this line open.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” said Galishnikov, trying to contain himself. “I just had to talk to someone, to share the good news, and I thought of you.”
“I appreciate it, Dmitri. Believe me, you and your family are in my prayers.”
“Thank you, Jonathan. Thank you for all you are doing for peace. God bless you, my friend. We will pray for you, too — and Erin as well.”
That was odd, thought Bennett.
Galishnikov and his wife didn’t even believe in God.
MacPherson felt his chest compressing with every “aye” vote.