other governments of what was in the offing, and uniform approval had come back. The Israelis knew about that. The proper back-channel leaks had been allowed to percolate in the desired direction. If they stonewalled — well, Bunker had put a hold on that shipment of aircraft parts, and the Israelis had been too shocked to react yet. More accurately, they'd been told not to react if they ever wanted to see the new radar systems. There were already rumbles from the Israeli lobby, which had its own sources throughout the US government, and was making discreet calls to key members of Congress. But Fowler had briefed the congressional leadership two days earlier, and the initial read on the Fowler Plan was highly favorable. The chairman and ranking member of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee had promised passage of both draft treaties in under a week. It was going to happen, Jack thought to himself. It might really work. Certainly it wouldn't hurt anything. All the good will America had generated in its own adventure in the Persian Gulf was on the line. The Arabs would see this as a fundamental change in US policy — which it was— America was slapping Israel down. Israel would see it the same way, but that wasn't really true. The peace would be guaranteed the only way that was possible, by American military and political power. The demise of East-West confrontation had made it possible for America, acting in accord with the other major powers, to dictate a just peace. What we think a just peace is, Ryan corrected himself. God, I hope this works out.
It was too late for that, of course. It had, after all, been his idea. The Fowler Plan. They had to break the cycle, to find a way out of the trap. America was the only country trusted by both sides, a fact won with American blood on the one hand, and vast amounts of money on the other. America had to guarantee the peace, and the peace had to be founded on something looking recognizably like justice to all concerned. The equation was both simple and complex. The principles could be expressed in a single short paragraph. The details of execution would take a small book. The monetary cost — well, the enabling legislation would sail through Congress despite the size of it. Saudi Arabia was actually underwriting a quarter of the cost, a concession won only four days earlier by Secretary Talbot. In return, the Saudis would be buying yet another installment of high-tech arms, which had been handled by Dennis Bunker. Those two had really handled their end superbly, Ryan knew. Whatever the President's faults, his two most important cabinet members — two close friends — were the best such team he'd ever seen in government service. And they'd served their President and their country well in the past week.
This is going to work,“ Jack said quietly to himself in the privacy of his office. ”Maybe, maybe, maybe.' He checked his watch. He'd have a read on that in about three hours.
Qati faced his television with a frown. Was it possible! History said no, but—
But the Saudis had broken off their supply of money, seduced by the help America had given them against Iraq. And his organization had bet on the wrong horse in that one. Already his people were feeling the financial pinch, though they'd been careful to invest what funds they had received over the previous generation. Their Swiss and other European bankers had ensured a steady flow of money, and the pinch was more psychological than real, but to the Arab mind the psychological was real, just as it was to any politically astute mind.
The key to it, Qati knew, was whether or not the Americans would put real pressure on the Zionists. They'd never done so. They'd allowed the Israelis to attack an American warship and kill American sailors — and forgiven them before the bleeding had stopped, before the last victim had died. When American military forces had to fight for every dollar of funds from their own Congress, that same spineless body of political whores fell over itself giving arms to the Jews. America had never pressured Israel in any meaningful way. That was the key to his existence, wasn't it? So long as there was no peace in the Middle East, he had a mission: the destruction of the Jewish State. Without that—
But the problems in the Middle East predated his birth. They might go away, but only when—
But it was a time for truth, Qati told himself, stretching tired and sore limbs. What prospects for destroying Israel did he have? Not from without. So long as America supported the Jews, and so long as the Arab states failed to unite…
And the Russians? The cursed Russians had stood like begging dogs at the end of Fowler's speech.
It was possible. The thought was no less threatening to Qati than the first diagnosis of his cancer. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. What if the Americans did pressure the Jews? What if the Russians did support his absurd new plan? What if the Israelis gave in to the pressure? What if the Palestinians found the concessions demanded of Israel to their taste? It could work. The Zionist state might continue to exist. The Palestinians might find contentment in their new land. A modus vivendi might evolve into being.
It would mean that his life had been to no purpose. It would mean that all the things he had worked for, all the sacrifice and self-denial had gone for nothing. His freedom fighters had fought and died for a generation… for a cause that might be forever lost.
Betrayed by his fellow Arabs, whose money and political support had sustained his men.
Betrayed by the Russians, whose support and arms had sustained his movement from its birth.
Betrayed by the Americans — the most perversely of all. By taking away their enemy.
Betrayed by Israel — by making something akin to a fair peace. It wasn't fair at all, of course. So long as a single Zionist lived on Arab lands, there would be no fairness.
Might he be betrayed by the Palestinians also? What if they came to accept this? Where would his dedicated fighters come from?
Betrayed by everyone!
No, God could not let that be. God was merciful, and gave his light to the faithful.
No, this could not really happen. It wasn't possible. Too many things had to fall into place for this hellish vision to become real. Had not there been so many peace plans for this region? So many visions. And where had they led? Even the Carter-Sadat-Begin talks in America, where the Americans had browbeaten their putative allies into serious concessions, had choked and died when Israel had utterly failed to consider an equitable settlement for the Palestinians. No, Qati was sure of that. Perhaps he could not depend on the Russians. Perhaps he could not depend on the Saudis. Certainly he could not depend on the Americans. But he could depend on Israel. The Jews were far too stupid, far too arrogant, far too short-sighted to see that their best hope for long-term security could only lie in an equitable peace. The irony struck him very hard, hard enough to garner a smile. It had to be God's plan, that his movement would be safeguarded by his bitterest enemies. Their obstinacy, their stiff Jewish necks would never bow to this. And if that was what was required for the war to continue, then the fact of it, and the irony of it, could only be a sign from God Himself that the cause guiding Qati and his men was indeed the Holy Cause they believed it to be.
“Never! Never will I bow to this infamy!” the Defense Minister shouted. It was a dramatic performance, even for him. He'd pounded the table hard enough to upset his water glass, and the puddle from it threatened to seep over the edge and into his lap. He studiously ignored it as his fierce blue eyes swept around the cabinet room.
“And what if Fowler is serious with his threats?”
“We'll break his career!” Defense said. “We can do that. We've jerked American politicians into line before!”
“More than we've been able to do here,” the Foreign Minister observed sotto voce to his neighbor at the table.
“What was that?”
“I said it might not be possible in this case, Rafi.” David Askenazi took a sip from his glass before going on. “Our ambassador in Washington tells me that his people on the Hill find real support for Fowler's plan. The Saudi ambassador threw a major party last weekend for the congressional leadership. He performed well, our sources tell us. Right, Avi?”
“Correct, Minister,” General Ben Jakob answered. His boss was out of the country at the moment, and he spoke for the Mossad. “The Saudis and the rest of the 'moderate' Gulf states are willing to end their declared state of war, to institute ministerial relations with us preparatory for full recognition at an unspecified later date, and to underwrite part of the American costs for stationing their troops and planes here — plus, I might add, picking up the entire cost of the peace-keeping force and the economic rehabilitation of our Palestinian friends.”
“How do we say no to that?” the Foreign Minister inquired dryly. “Are you surprised at the support in the American Congress?”
“It's all a trick!” Defense insisted.
“If so, it's a damnably clever one,” Ben Jakob said.
“You believe this twaddle, Avi? You?” Ben Jakob had been Rafi Mandel's best battalion commander in the Sinai, so many years before.
“I don't know, Rafi.” The deputy director of the Mossad had never been more cognizant of his position as a
