"After all these years," Sa'id continued, his anger controlled but rising, "after all this suffering, after so many wars and intifadas, what do we have to show for ourselves? Our people live in squalor. Around the world, 'Palestinian' means terrorist, criminal, suicide bomber. And what did Arafat do? Did he lift a finger to stop the violence? Recently, yes, a bit. But for years— while we lived under curfew, and the tourists dried up, and incomes went into the toilet — did he rein in the violence? Did he throw the gangsters into prison? Did he claim the moral high ground and lead us to a new era of peace and prosperity, much less freedom and democracy?"
No one said a word.
"No. Arafat said nothing — did nothing — when Saddam Hussein sent money to Palestinian families to turn them into suicide bombers. How did that help us? The E.U. and you Americans send millions of dollars in aid to help build a Palestinian economy and society. So where is it? Who has gotten wealthy here in Palestine? No one. I made my money in the Gulf, not here. Why? Why can't Palestinians grow and prosper here? The Israeli occupation? Of course. But that's not the only reason. It was because of Arafat and his corrupt regime. Everybody knew it. Let me put it to you this way, Jonathan. Are you on the Forbes four hundred list yet?"
Bennett shook his head.
"No, not yet. But I'm sure you will be someday. That's a dream of yours, I know. And I'm sure you're going to achieve it. But Yasser Arafat? He's already on that list. Forbes says he has—had—more than one-point-three billion stashed away, probably in Swiss banks. How? How did Arafat make that money? Was he a Wall Street strategist like you? Did he produce and refine and ship oil like me? How did he make all that money? That's my point, Jonathan. Yasser Arafat got rich stealing people's money, stealing peo ple's dreams, while the Palestinian people kept sinking further and further.
"Jonathan, I'm not about to say these things in public, in Ramallah or Jenin or Gaza City. Certainly not now. I'd be shot by Rajoub or Dahlan or one of Arafat's other thugs. But someone has to say these things. Someone has to stop this madness. It's insanity. I mean, just look at what has hap pened. Arafat spent the last twenty years turning up his nose at various peace plans and funding an entire generation of suicide bombers. Now the whole country is committing suicide."
"Do you see any chance for peace, Ibrahim?" Bennett asked, wondering why he'd done so the moment the words left his lips.
The businessman leaned back and sighed.
"You know, the strange thing, Jonathan, is that I do. People want this madness to end. It was true when I woke up this morning. I think it's even more true now. They want the freedom of which your president speaks— freedom from hatred, freedom from fear. They want democracy. They're worn down — worn out. Not everyone. There are still radicals out there, obviously. But with your war against Iraq, something happened. People watch Al-Jazeera. They listen to the BBC. They see most Iraqis rejoicing that Saddam and his evil regime are dead. They see Iraqis free even to curse the very Americans who set them free. And Palestinians want that, too. They're hungry for freedom after being starved half to death. And they're beginning to believe that a half a loaf of something might be better than nothing at all."
European and Asian financial markets were already reacting.
Investors around the world could see the handwriting on the wall and were rushing to short-sell American companies. Most foreign stock exchanges were down 5 to 6 percent already. MacPherson expected the New York Stock Exchange to lose between 6 and 8 percent at the opening bell. Tech stocks would probably do worse. The NASDAQ could easily lose upward of 8 or 9 percent. Trillions of dollars in corporate value were going up in smoke, or about to. It would only get worse.
He needed to get the economy back on track. Not just consumer confidence. He needed to muscle his flat tax plan through Congress and he'd lay out all the details during the State of the Union, just a few weeks away.
At least the prospect of imminent, cheap, abundant Gulf oil was calming inflation fears. Iraq, after all, had the second-largest proven oil reserves in the world, behind Saudi Arabia. Once Iraqi wells got back on line, the price of sweet crude would begin to drop from the wartime high of over $43 a barrel back to around $25 a barrel. Once Iraq's oil industry was modernized, prices could very well drop below $20 a barrel. And if the Medexco oil and natural gas fields off the coasts of Israel and Gaza ever got going… well, perhaps that was too much to think of, dream of, or imagine.
But the president couldn't help it. He knew the moment was right. The Middle East was poised for a new era of peace and prosperity. Bennett's plan was solid. Saddam Hussein was gone. Rank-and-file Palestinians were exhausted from years of fighting. So were most Israelis. There was a deal to be had — and somehow he couldn't let go.
It was quiet for a moment.
Bennett desperately needed something for his pain, but he was riveted by what Sa'id was saying. He'd just made a similar case to the president. Still, it was better hearing it from a Palestinian of Sa'id's intellect and reputation.
"Where do we go from here, Jonathan?" asked Galishnikov.
"Well, first of all, Dmitri, the president would like you to get on the phone with our old friend, Dr. Mordechai."
"What's Eli got to do with any of this? He hasn't run the Mossad for years."
"The president wants to know what he makes of all this, and so do I. What he's hearing from his friends in the Mossad? What's he hearing from the top brass of the IDF? You know, the inside stuff, the stuff they're not telling Langley."
"Da, I can do that," Galishnikov agreed, "so long as they give me an open line."
"Already done. The lines have been up in here since I walked in."
"Good. What specifically are you looking for?"
Bennett thought about that for a moment, then looked Galishnikov in the eye.
"Just tell Eli to follow the money, Dmitri — he'll know what I mean."
"I want the AG to cut a deal with Iverson."
There was silence at the other end of the line.
"You sure?" Corsetti finally said.
"I'm sure," said the president. "There's too much at stake. We need to know what he knows as fast as we can. Get on the phone with Neil. Have him make the deal within the hour. I want a full progress report by close of business today. Got it?"
"I got it," said Corsetti, "I'm just not sure I like it."
What about me?" Sa'id asked. "What can I do?"
Bennett could see in his eyes the fire of determination.
"Well, that gets complicated. Israel's offering to send in ground forces."
"Good God, no," Sa'id blurted out. "Jonathan, you can't let him—"
"Why not?" Galishnikov broke in. "Of course Doron should send in forces. It's your people that are getting slaughtered up there, Ibrahim."
"You think I don't know that? Of course I know that," Sa'id snapped back with such force he took both Bennett and Galishnikov off guard. "But you cannot let the Israelis attack. You'll be playing right into their hands."