Now he had to choose. At his command, Israel had held back during the Americans' recent war with Iraq, even when her very existence hung in the balance. It was an enormous risk, a gamble that could have cost millions of lives. That time it worked out. The question was whether he was prepared
to acquiesce to American pressure again.
This White House and State Department's insistence upon Israeli "re straint" in the face of relentless, barbaric terror was absolutely preposterous.
It was downright hypocritical, not to mention incredibly dangerous.
Why was it that every time Palestinian homicide bombers — that is what they were, after all, cold-blooded murderers, committing homicides, not suicides — why was it that every time the Palestinians killed Israeli women and children, the Americans demanded that the Israelis exercise restraint! And not just the Americans, of course. The Europeans all demanded that Israel show restraint. So did the Russians, and of course the Arab League.
Restraint? What in the world did that mean?
Had the Americans shown restraint against Al-Qaeda or the Taliban in Afghanistan? Absolutely not. Had Washington shown restraint against Saddam Hussein? Of course not, and thank God. Had the British shown restraint against IRA terrorists? Had the Russians shown restraint against Chechnyan terrorists?
The whole notion was as foolish as it was infuriating. How dare President MacPherson demand on worldwide television that in the wake of Palestinian terrorists blowing up Yasser Arafat, Abu Mazen, the U.S. Secretary of State and dozens upon dozens of Americans and Palestinians, that somehow Israel should "exercise restraint" and not "inflame the situation"? Doron could feel his blood pressure rising, not a good thing for a man approaching his seventy-second year.
The temptation to strike hard and fast, and wipe out every last vestige of these lethal Palestinian mafia factions was almost overpowering. Everything in him wanted the violence to be over once and for all. Perhaps this was the only way. The world would no doubt condemn him. The question was, would his conscience?
It was decision time at the White House, as well.
The president turned to his senior team, cognizant of the fact that they were out of time, and resigned to the fact that it was probably time to unleash the Israelis after all.
"All right," he began, shaking his head, "back to the territories. I think we all know what needs to happen. I asked you all to work up military options in case there was some reason for us to go in unilaterally instead of the Israelis, or in case we needed to lead an international peacemaking or peacekeeping force. But it doesn't look like that's going to be necessary. If everyone's in agreement, I'll give Doron the go-ahead to commence operations, while we concentrate on a massive global manhunt to hunt down these suicide teams. Does that sound about right to everyone?"
Bennett struggled to keep his mind focused on the conversation. He worried about his mom, berated himself for not having done something sooner.
She was practically all alone in the world now. She needed him, and he was half a world away, so consumed in a crisis that he might in fact have fatally neglected her. Still, as guilty as he felt about it, thinking about her safety and security was actually a luxury he couldn't afford right now.
He could see MacPherson was battling mental and physical fatigue, not to mention an overwhelming consensus among his top political, military, and diplomatic advisors that the peace process was over. A new Palestinian-Israeli war was about to begin. It was a war whose ferocity, duration, and death toll could very well be unlike anything the Holy Land had experienced for de cades, and Bennett could feel his window of opportunity slipping away.
"Mr. President?" he broke in, knowing he was about to go up against some tremendous resistance. "I realize events are moving very rapidly. But there are some new developments here I think you should know about before you make a final decision."
Before MacPherson could respond, his CIA director cut in.
"Jon, I appreciate what you're trying to do here, son, I really do," Mitchell said with an edge of condescension. "But we've crossed the Rubicon. The Israelis are going in, and that's that."
Bennett was instantly defensive.
"Mr. President, I understand that, but—"
"Jon, really, I'm afraid Jack's right," MacPherson said, cutting him off. "You've done a great job mapping out this peace plan, and maybe when this war is over, after the two sides cool down, I don't know when, but maybe we'll have another shot down the road a few years, but not right now. I'm afraid it's just too late."
"No, Mr. President, please — I need two minutes of your time. Just two minutes."
"Jon, really, I don't see how—"
"Two minutes, Mr. President, that's all I'm asking for."
Both rooms were dead silent. The tension was palpable. Bennett worried he'd overplayed his hand, but he didn't see how he had a choice. He had to take a shot, and he was prepared to face the consequences, regardless of what happened next.
The president stared at him through the video camera in the Situation Room, then glanced around the room at Kirkpatrick, Corsetti, Mitchell, and then the vice president. Bennett was tempted to seize the moment and just start talking, to get out the facts as quickly as he could and see what hap pened. But he hesitated. The stakes were too high. He couldn't come off looking emotionally involved. It wasn't his call, after all. It was the presi dent's. His job was to give the man the facts and his best judgment, not to blast his way through an NSC meeting and expect to ever be invited back. Yet wasn't this precisely why he'd been hired? To be the "point man for peace"? McCoy jokingly drilled it into his head day after day. But maybe she was right. What kind of point man was he if he didn't do everything in his power to force the president to seek peace, not war? So many lives hung in the balance. How could silence be an option? How dare he hesitate?
Bennett shifted in his seat and leaned forward. He began opening his mouth to speak. But before he could — before anyone noticed he was about to — he suddenly heard the voice of the vice president.
"Mr. President," the VP said calmly. "I don't think two minutes can hurt." All eyes were on the president. MacPherson looked at the VP, then down at his hands, still scarred from the attacks just a few weeks before. He took a deep breath, then leaned back and nodded. He'd put Bennett through an awful lot. Hadn't he earned the right to be heard, even for a few minutes? Perhaps Checkmate was right.
"All right, Jon, you've got two minutes — but I don't want a speech. If you've got something new, fine, otherwise we move on." McCoy exhaled with relief. Bennett did, too.
"Absolutely. Thank you, Mr. President. Yesterday, you asked me to talk to Galishnikov and Sa'id and get them pressing their sources to find out what was going on. I got the answer just before we started this videoconference." MacPherson looked over at Kirkpatrick and Mitchell. Did they know where Bennett was going with this? The blank looks on their faces made it clear they didn't.
"Less than an hour ago," Bennett continued, "Sa'id was on a conference call with the seventeen highest ranking members of the Palestinian Legislative Council who are still alive after the attacks. There are a total of fifty-three PLC members still alive. Thirty-five were killed in the initial attacks, or in assassinations over the past twenty-four hours. The seventeen that Sa'id talked to are the inner circle — all top-ranking, experienced, and, as it turns out, fairly moderate PLC legislators. Ironically, it appears that most of the hardline, anti-Israel, anti-peace members of the PLC were in the courtyard Monday morning. They were trying to signal Arafat and particularly Abu Mazen not to do something they'd regret. Most of them ended up dying in the blast."