And he knew how. “What are we giving away?”
“Such an attitude, Zachariah. There is nothing wrong with talking to your adversary.”
“Provided you do not concede.”
“Now, that I cannot promise. As of yesterday, the Knesset was considering more concessions. The United States is pressuring. More so than ever. They want movement on our part. Significant movement. We stall but, in the end, there is a feeling that perhaps we should concede.”
This man headed one of six minor Israeli parties. They varied in slant from Ultra-Reform to Orthodoxy. His was more moderate, centrist, which was why Zachariah kept the line of communication open. Ordinarily, all six’s presence would be ignored, but the Israeli Parliament was severely divided, coalitions forming and dissolving by the hour. Every vote counted.
“Billions in aid comes from America,” the man said. “You can ignore them for a while, but not forever. It is reality. There is even talk of leveling the separation fence. Many think it is time.”
A 760-kilometer-long physical barrier defined the border between Israel and Palestine. Most was three layers of barbed wire. Sections that passed through urban centers were concrete wall. Periodic observation posts and gates controlled access from one side to the other. The idea had been to define the border and prevent terrorist attacks and, on both counts, the barrier had worked. To remove it seemed unthinkable.
“Why would such a thing be considered?”
“Because to get you have to give.”
No, you did not.
“This government is at an end point. Parliamentary elections are coming soon. Everyone knows there is going to be a change. What that will be remains to be seen. Nobody knows, Zachariah. Uncertainty breeds compromise.”
He hated the world interfering with Israel. One world leader after another, American presidents especially, wanted to be its peacemaker. But Jews and Arabs had remained in conflict a long time. Their divisions were impenetrable. No one, other than the participants, could possibly understand the depth of their disagreements.
He did.
And he planned to do something about it.
Which did not involve concessions.
“Our enemies are not interested in peace,” he made clear. “They never have been. They are only interested in what we are willing to give away to get it.”
“That kind of thinking is exactly why we are in the position we currently are in.”
Not at all. Men like the man on the screen, and others in Israel, who actually thought they could negotiate an end to 5,000 years of conflict were the reason.
Idiots.
All of them.
Jews must be
And so they would.
———
TOM HUSTLED ACROSS THE PLAZA BEFORE ST. STEPHEN’S CATHEDRAL. His watch read 12:25 P.M. He’d made it to Vienna in plenty of time. The drive west from Bratislava was an easy forty minutes, his rental car parked in a public lot a few blocks away. He glanced up at the massive cathedral, its steeple rising like a jagged arrow to an azure sky. After Simon had so readily agreed to the swap, he’d decided that he might need some help. So while surfing the Internet at the library in Jacksonville he’d caught a break. Someone he knew still worked at
He veered from the square and found a narrow passageway that led to a series of backstreets. He still remembered the location after ten years. It was a talent that had always come in handy. He was bad with names, but he never forgot a face or a place. The cafe he sought was once one of his favorites, frequented by the local and foreign press. He entered through a glass door, his gaze noticing the same fine trompe l’oeil ceiling fresco. Not much else had changed, either. He also recognized a face in the sparse crowd.
“Inna, you’re as lovely as ever,” he said in English, walking over.
“And you are still a man with charm.”
She was midforties, with stark blond hair that fell in broad curls to just above her shoulders. Her face contained not a blemish, her eyes a pale shade of blue. Time had been kind, her figure remained thin and petite, the curves he recalled still there. They’d never ventured beyond business in their relationship, as she was married, but they’d been friends. He’d called her from Bratislava, and though they hadn’t spoken in a long time, she immediately agreed to meet him.
“I need a favor, Inna. I’m in a mess and a hurry, but I’m hoping you can help.”
“You always were in a hurry, Thomas.” She was one of the few who called him that.
“My daughter is in trouble here, in Vienna, and I have to help her. To do that, I need your help.”
“How have you been?”
He allowed her to shift the topic, as she seemed to genuinely want to know. “Not good, Inna. But I made it.”
“You were the best reporter I ever knew,” she said. “I wanted to tell you that, after everything happened, but I
