"Exactly."
"We can, Mr. President, but it'll be messy."
"How messy?"
"Overnight, the Joint Chiefs did a crash update of a scenario we'd war gamed out a few years ago — before you got here, sir — when Secretary Powell was headed to Ramallah, and Hamas was threatening to blow up the peace process. Cheney, Rumsfeld, and Wolfowitz were concerned that Hamas might lash out at the Powell delegation, that an attack could unleash a civil war, and how could the U.S. respond if our people were pinned down inside the territories. It was a scenario not dissimilar to what we've got right now, but at that time it was solely an extraction mission — an NEO, we call them, a noncombatant evacuation operation — not orders to simultaneously hunt down terrorists and secure the peace. The Powell extraction scenario was Op Plan one-oh-nine-D. This is Op Plan one-oh-nine-E and one-oh-nine-F. We've code-named the first part, the rescue of Bennett and Sa'id and their team, Operation Briar Patch. The overall seizure and liberation plan and the name we would release to the media, with your approval, Mr. President, would be Operation Palestinian Freedom."
"Walk me through it, Burt — quickly," urged the president.
"Yes, sir. Basically, what we'd do is ask the Israelis to step up their operations along the Green Line, stir up a lot of radio traffic — lots of chatter in the media and elsewhere — all to appear as if the Israelis are about to invade. But this would simply be a diversion. While the rogue Palestinian forces begin redeploying their forces to stop fighting each other and prepare to stop an Israeli invasion, we'd send teams of army Rangers and Delta Force operators who are currently on the ground in the western desert of Iraq and send them eastward, over Jordan and Saudi Arabia, into the West Bank. We've got pretty good intel at this point on what's happening on the ground, and the Israelis could secretly give us whatever else we need, if they'll agree to hold back in the first place and let us go in. Delta and the Rangers would be backed up the one hundred sixtieth SOAR, the Special Operations Aviation Regiment also in the Iraqi theater at the moment, and several Air Force Special Ops Spectre Gunship Teams."
MacPherson held up his hand and stopped him there. "Marsha."
"Yes, Mr. President."
"Get over to the op center across the hall. Get on the line with Doron imediately. Tell him it's urgent. Get him out of whatever meeting he's in. Walk him through this as fast as you possibly can — tell him we're under a deadline — and get his reaction, ASAP. Tell him I'll get on the line with him in just a few moments." "Yes, sir, Mr. President." "Good, thanks — and Erin, can you hear me?" "Yes, Mr. President."
"Go talk to Mr. Sa'id. Tell him to open up a direct line with the PLC and ask for more time. Tell him we're intrigued with their proposal, and are starting talks with the Israelis. But we need more time." "Yes, sir."
"OK, Burt," said the president, "continue."
"Sir, the bottom line is that I'm not so worried about moving our forces into the West Bank. Weather's breaking a bit, and we could have our forces airborne and on their way to the West Bank within six hours if you give us the order. But Gaza's more trouble." "Why?"
"Well, sir, the plan calls for sending in an MEU — a Marine Expeditionary Unit — from the Roosevelt and Reagan to establish a perimeter around Gaza Station. Then SEAL Team Eight would come in on choppers, fast rope onto the roof of the Hotel Baghdad, and extract Sa'id, Bennett, and his team, Once the extraction was successful, we'd send in Rangers and Delta operators. The problem, Mr. President, is that Gaza is densely populated. Islamic strongholds. Lots of RPGs. It's arguably the most dangerous urban warfare environment in the world. The risk of casualties is very high." "Worst-case scenario?" asked MacPherson, quickly running out of time. "It could be Mogadishu all over again, Mr. President."
TWENTY-NINE
The phone rang at exactly midnight Washington time.
It was 7:00 a.m. in Gaza.
Ibrahim Sa'id glanced over, then looked away and kept pacing. He couldn't sit down. He couldn't stay still. He was on his fourth cup of coffee in less than an hour and his nerves were raw. On the surface, leaning back on the couch with his feet propped up on the coffee table, Dmitri Galishnikov tried not to look worried in the slightest about who or what might be on the other end of that call. But it was just an act. He'd already worked through one pack of cigarettes since waking up, and he was about to begin his second.
McCoy was closest to the phone. She was dying to answer it herself, but she knew who was calling, and it wasn't for her. Bennett picked up the receiver on the third ring.
"Yes, sir… I did… just waiting for your word…. Yes, Mr. President, he's right here… one moment… "
Sa'id stopped pacing. Bennett held out the phone.
"It's the president."
Sa'id looked over at Galishnikov. The Russian suddenly looked pale, even numb. He set down his new cigarette and lighter, straightened up and pulled his feet off the coffee table. Then he motioned to his Palestinian friend to hurry up and take the call.
"Thank you, Jonathan," Ibrahim said quietly, then accepted the phone and cleared his throat. "Good morning, Mr. President… No, no, please, the honor is all mine, sir… Well, thank you, that is most kind… It is a very difficult time for all of us… Please allow me to express our deepest sorrow for the barbaric attacks on the American delegation and our condolences for the loss of innocent American lives, beginning with the Secretary of State — Mr. President I simply can't begin to express the anger and shame we are all feeling right now… Well, perhaps… I'm grateful for the op portunity to talk with you directly, to let you know that this civil war has changed everything, and we need your help… I'm not sure, let me ask Jonathan…"
Sa'id put his hand over the receiver and whispered to Bennett.
"Are you and Erin able to join in on the call?"
"I guess so," said Bennett, glancing at McCoy. "Why?"
"I don't know. The president wants you both on the line."
Bennett nodded at McCoy and checked to see if the receiver Sa'id was holding had a speaker phone. It didn't, nor did the other two phones in the room. No one in the CIA had ever expected to map out an American in vasion of the Palestinian territories — or strategize the birth of a Palestinian state — from a safe house in Gaza, much less from the bedroom of the station's number-two man. It was another bizarre twist to an increasingly bizarre chain of events, thought Bennett.
"Mr. President, it's Jon."
"Good, I think it's better if you're on with us," MacPherson said. "It'll save us some time, and I want you in on all these decisions since you're going to have to be my eyes and ears on the ground there for a while longer. Is Erin there also?"
"Yes, sir, I'm here," McCoy added quickly.
"You OK?"
"I am, sir, thank you for asking."
"Very well. I wanted to talk to you both and the new prime minister."
There it was. Confirmation. MacPherson was going with Bennett's plan.
"First of all," MacPherson continued. "May I call you prime minister?"
"I suppose. It's going to be a hard thing to get used to."
"I know how you feel."
"I know that you do, Mr. President, and I appreciate your help. I want you to know that I have no political ambitions. I will do everything in my power to bring about the day that someone far more qualified than I am is elected by a popular vote of the people. The Palestinian people have been cheated of many things over the years, but chief among them is a right to determine our own leaders and our own destiny. I see this unexpected turn of events as a way to remedy that, and I would very much value your help towards that end, Mr. President."