In 1989, McCoy noted, though he wasn't even in the West Bank or Gaza, Barghouti became the youngest member ever elected to the Fatah Revolutionary Council. He came back to the West Bank in 1994, and went on to be elected from Ramallah as a representative to the Palestinian Legislature Council in 1996.
Along the way, Barghouti emerged as the Secretary General of Fatah, rejected the Oslo peace accords between Israel and Yasser Arafat, and became the head of the Tanzim, an armed youth faction of Arafat's political party. In that capacity, he began stockpiling German MP-5 submachine guns via Jordan and Egypt, building a network of commandos, and accruing a budget of more than $2 million. He also helped create and lead the Al-Aqsa Martyr's Brigades, one of the most dangerous and radical of the Fatah factions, responsible for many of the suicide bombings that killed Israeli and American civilians from 2000 onward.
McCoy whispered something to Ziegler, who then opened up a file cabinet, pulled out a floppy disk, and loaded it into the computer on his desk. A moment later, McCoy was directing the president and the NSC principals to a series of Power Point slides on a large screen monitor in the Situation Room.
McCoy began at the top, reading a quote by Abdel Bari Atwan, editor of the Arab language Al-Quds newspaper: "Marwan Barghouti has always identified with the grass roots rather than the [Arafat] leadership… His star really came into it its ascendancy after he spoke out against the Palestinian Authority leadership."
"That, Mr. President, is what makes Barghouti a potential successor to Arafat," said McCoy. "He's got a very strong grassroots network of fighters. He's willing to do anything to keep and maintain power. And he's fearless— he and his followers absolutely don't care if they live or die. They're not quite as committed as the devoutly religious Islamic fighters. But they're close. They're very well organized and, from what my guys can tell, they're moving into the streets and into the battle against Dahlan and Rajoub's forces with a vengeance."
McCoy flashed more Power Point images on the screen, all excerpts from Barghouti's thick CIA dossier. Much of the material was obtained from the Mossad and Shin Bet and it was a chilling read.
Slide 37: "On April 14, 2002 an IDF force in Ramallah arrested Marwan Barghouti, head of the Fatah supreme committee in the West Bank and leader of the military wing of the Al-Aqsa [Martyrs] Brigades, which between September 2000 and April 2002 carried out thousands of terror attacks against Israel, including suicide bombings."
McCoy nodded to Ziegler. He pushed a button and the image changed. Slide 38: "Marwan Barghouti served as Secretary General of Fatah in Ju dea, Samaria, and Gaza, a member of the Palestinian legislature, head of the Tanzim, and the founder of the Al-Aqsa Martyrs Brigades, which has carried out a large number of deadly terrorist attacks killing scores of Israelis and wounding hundreds. In the framework of his activities, he has received large amounts of funds from different sources both inside and outside Israel, Among these sources is the Palestinian Authority. The specific allocations of these funds were authorized by the actual signature of Yasser Arafat. These funds were used by Marwan Barghouti to finance many activities carried out by terror cells in the West Bank."
McCoy had Ziegler advance the image to the next slide, but this time she stayed quiet. Everyone read the material silently. The evidence, a partial list of "the more heinous terror attacks" for which the Israelis believed Marwan Barghouti was implicated, spoke for itself.
January 17, 2002—the shooting attack during a bat mitzvah celebration at a banquet hall in Hadera. Six Israelis were killed in this attack, twenty-six were injured.
January 22, 2002—the shooting spree on Jaffa Street in Jerusalem. Two Isrelis were killed, thirty-seven wounded.
February 25, 2002—the shooting attack in the Jerusalem residential neigh borhood of Neve Ya'acov. One Israeli policewoman was killed, nine Israelis were wounded.
February 27, 2002—the murder of an Israeli at a coffee factory in the Atarot industrial zone of Jerusalem.
February 27, 2002—the suicide attack perpetrated by Daryan Abu Aysha at the Maccabim checkpoint in which two policeman were injured, March 5, 2002—the shooting spree at the Tel Aviv Seafood restaurant, Three Israelis were killed, thirty-one wounded, March 8, 2002—a suicide terrorist was killed in Daheat el Barid as he was on his way to carry out an attack in Jerusalem.
March 27, 2002—the interception of an ambulance and the confiscation of an explosive belt that was being smuggled from Samaria into Barghouti's terrorist infrastructure in Ramallah.
The president closed his eyes. The list of horrors went on for pages. But he couldn't take any more. What if one of these thugs actually ended up in power? What if he let it happen?
He called an end to the meeting. They'd been going for more than an hour. Now he needed time to think, and Bennett and McCoy needed time to rest. He ordered both of them, and Ziegler, to call it a night. They'd all regroup at 9:00 a.m. Wednesday, Washington time.
Ten minutes later, Bennett was out cold.
TWENTY-TWO
It came without warning.
One minute the Hotel Baghdad was standing. The next minute, it was not.
The attack came at precisely 4:49 a.m. local time. Without warning, the five-story structure above Gaza Station began to implode, rocked by three massive explosions and an eighteen-hundred-degree firestorm, The east face came down first, followed by the south portico. Then, just a few seconds later, the rest of the building came down in a deafening roar of shattering glass and disintegrating concrete. The street filled with smoke, Flames shot out from every crevice, and thick clouds of smoke and ash began rising into the night sky.
Bennett was thrown to the floor. Covering his head with his arms, he desperately tried to shield himself from chunks of ceiling crashing down all around him. Everything in the room was shaking violently. He could hear the pipes in the bathroom being ripped through the tiles and erupting into a ceaseless spray of water. The lights flickered, sparked and then all shorted out, and then several more explosions rocked the so-called safe house, Disoriented and half-asleep, Bennett was overtaken by an almost paralyz ing sense of fear. His thoughts were racing. He tried to make sense of what was happening around him — on his stomach now, coughing, gagging, strug gling to fill his lungs with anything but the hot, toxic gases rapidly filling the room. There'd been three successive detonations, followed by two or three more. It was a devastating surprise attack. But by whom? Was it a car bomb? CouId that be causing so much destruction so quickly? That might explain the first explosion, but what about the others? Missile attacks? Mortar rounds? RPGs? From where? Who was firing at them? Who knew they were there?
He knew the questions had to wait, but more kept pouring in. Where was McCoy? Was she safe? What about Galishnikov and Sa'id? Had they told anyone where they were? How could they have? They didn't know. Not precisely. He needed to get his team out of there alive. But how? And where would they go? The minute they surfaced outside — assuming they could find a way out of the rubble, through the raging fires and the suffocating smoke— weren't they likely to get cut down in a hail of machine-gun fire?
The explosions stopped. Debris stopped falling. The temperatures were spiking quickly and it was getting more and more difficult to breathe.
Bennett crawled his way through the broken glass of the television and shattered mirror and picture frames over to the door. He put the back of his hand against the door, just like his father had taught him when they'd stayed in hotels. It was hot — too hot — and he winced in pain and quickly pulled his hand back and blew on it. He could see an orange glow through the cracks in the door frame. The fires had to be close. But he didn't really have any choice. If he stayed in Ziegler's room, he was a dead man. That much was certain. He decided right there — he might not make it out of this place, but at least he was going to die trying.