“And your solution, Senator?”
“The time for talk is over, Larry. These murderers grow bolder by the minute. If the President doesn’t strike now, and strike hard, I fear that American soil will become a prime target for every half-crazed terrorist on the planet. Some of whom our intelligence tells us already have access to deadly biological weapons and makeshift dirty bombs.”
The senator, his face red, gazed directly into the camera. “Swift and severe reprisal is the only language these international criminals can understand. It’s time President Pierce showed some backbone. We’ve got to convince the terrorist organizations and their backers-not to mention those spineless nations hiding within the United Nations-that we mean business.”
Ross Pierce threw down the remote control. “I’m not a coward, Karl. And by God I do have the force of character and courage to unleash the wrath of America’s military and technological might on these bastards. I’m even willing to support targeted covert operations and assassinations if necessary.”
“But…?” Karl van Ness watched his protege.
“When I was in Vietnam I saw first hand the senseless futility of war. No outsider can really force a country into submission. Hate and violence only breed more hate and violence, never peace.”
“But this isn’t a conventional war.”
“I know. The terrorists have moved well beyond seeking recognition or understanding for their cause. By amassing body counts, their goal now seems to be to destabilize the global economy and weaken the willpower of the West.”
“So what keeps you from letting the military strike?”
“A couple of things. For one, the polls are pretty evenly split. While half of the American people favor retaliation, the other demand a peaceful solution. They believe its time the United States took a stand for what is right. To stop the global escalation of terrorism, retaliation, more terrorism, and more retaliation. Look at the mess the Israelis are in. Tit for tat, bodies for bodies. And it spills over to other parts of the world as well.” President Pierce sat down in his chair once again and closed his eyes.
Karl van Ness waited, his coffee cup still untouched. “Let’s have your views, Mr. President.”
Ross Pierce spoke again, much calmer now. “The solution is really straightforward, Karl. Recognize the State of Palestine and stop giving support to Israeli aggressiveness.”
Beyond the bulletproof glass traffic honked on 17 ^th Street and protestors chanted and carried signs in front of the White House. Van Ness listened, trying to make out the words, but only the anger came through clearly. “That wouldn’t be a very wise political move.”
“I know that, Karl. But a growing percentage of Americans feel that Israel’s true purpose is not self-defense, but territorial expansion. And full recognition would immediately erode Arab sympathy for the terrorists, whose stated aim after all is recognition of the rights of the Palestinian people.” Ross took a sip of coffee. “Once we’ve recognized Palestine, the Arab nations will have to withdraw their support of terrorism, or face being branded by the UN as terrorists themselves.”
Van Ness nodded. “Believe it or not, Mr. President, I do see the logic of this approach. For years the United States and the international community have seen the recognition of Palestine as the only real solution, the only path to lasting peace. The problem was none of our politicians and elected officials had the courage to make the final decision. In fact, as we both know, several times over the past fifty years the United States, on the verge of official recognition, has pulled out at the last hour. Always for political reasons.”
“I know, Karl. But it is the right decision. If we hope to maintain a position of positive influence in the world, then we must take the high road in times of international crisis. Especially now.”
“You may be right, Mr. President. But you certainly won’t be very popular with the supporters of Israel. You know as well as anyone the financial muscle and political strength of the Jewish lobby. And the fundamentalist Christians, another strong lobby, also back a strong Israel.”
“So what’s your advice, Karl?”
“The peaceful path might work. But if you chose to follow it, you need more political ammunition than you have at the moment. A lot more. You also need some leverage. Big leverage. Against Israel. Against the Arabs. And here in the U.S. Otherwise, you won’t survive your first term in office.” Karl van Ness now stood directly in front of the President.
The intercom buzzed, breaking the mood. “Your next appointment is waiting, Mr. President.”
“Have them wait a little longer.” He watched his mentor.
“Not only would recognition be political suicide, Mr. President, but there’s no telling what the Israeli secret service would do if they got wind of it. Many influential and powerful people depend on America’s financial and military support of Israel. A third of our annual foreign aid-close to seven billion dollars-goes to Israel, a country no bigger than the state of Kentucky. They definitely wouldn’t take it lying down.”
The deadly Mossad. “Yes, I’m aware of that. But I’ve got another reason for seeking a peaceful solution.”
Van Ness remained quiet.
“Oil. And the oil lobby is even bigger than the Jewish lobby.” Pierce stood up and came around the wide desk. “Imagine the potential, Karl? With skillful negotiations, we could obtain massive concessions, even partial ownership of vast oil fields. And to complicate matters, these same oil fields have long been coveted by the Russians. It would definitely be in the long-term interests of the United States to keep the Russians away from the Middle East’s massive oil deposits.”
“Then you are going to need some very big leverage.”
“Just what kind of leverage, Karl?”
“I might have a few ideas. If you will excuse me, Mr. President, I have some work to do.”
Long Beach, California
“Thank God I arrived last night.” Brian Walker was being escorted through the basement from the hotel to the main hall of the Long Beach Convention Center. “What do you make of the mobs out there?” The two heavyset security guards shrugged. Walker had a resume a mile long-among other things, he was a professor of law at the University of California, Berkeley, an internationally recognized expert on terrorism, and a renowned criminal defense lawyer- and today he was scheduled to give the keynote address at the Southern California Convention of Palestinian-Americans.
“I’ve been working as a security guard at the convention center for nearly ten years, and this is the biggest and meanest crowd of protestors I’ve ever seen,” said one of the guards, fingering his holstered gun. “I’m expecting that mob to come rushing through these underground corridors any minute now.”
“You sure picked a crappy time to give a speech, mister,” the other guard said. “I hope you got a helicopter waiting.”
Protestors began arriving several days before. Campers, vans, rented buses and motor homes were filled with people from all walks of life who had an opinion to express about terrorism and America. Some traveled for days to reach the southern California beach community. By 9 A.M., the official start of the convention, over four thousand people were pressed together in the grounds surrounding the convention building. More spilled over onto Ocean Boulevard. The undermanned and inexperienced Long Beach police force had given up trying to control the swelling throng. At the moment, they were just waiting, and hoping the day wouldn’t turn ugly.
“Support Israel,” shouted some. “Recognize Palestine,” shouted others. The mob had separated into two camps. On one side were those deeply concerned about terrorism on American soil and blindly opposed to anything Arab. This noisy, unruly group included rednecks, bikers and NRA supporters hoisting incendiary placards, Get a Free Carpet, Shoot a Rug-Head. On the same side were zealous, vociferous supporters of Israel carrying equally inflammatory banners: God Chose the Jews-Not the Palestinians and Support Israel, Attack Now.
And strangely, nestled within this camp, was a large contingent of fundamentalist Christians, clean-cut God Bless America types led by a charismatic minister who loudly belted out ‘Onward Christian Soldiers’. They carried their own posters: Jesus Died for Our Sins-It’s Time the Arabs Died for Theirs.
In a small bricked area in front of the brightly painted convention center, the smaller half of the crowd, mothers with young children, college students, liberal ministers with congregations from numerous faiths, as well as
