“Oh? Cromwell and the Potato Famine don't count? Get off that horse, General. We're deploying the U.S. troops here. If it comes to that, there will be American blood on the Negev, or Golan, or whatever.”
“And what if—”
“Avi, you ask what if. If that what-if ever happens, General, I will fly here myself. I used to be a Marine. You know I've been shot at before. There will be no second Holocaust. Not while I live. My countrymen will not let it happen ever again. Not my government, Avi, my countrymen. We will not let that happen. If Americans have to die to help protect this country, then Americans will die to do so.”
“You said that to Vietnam.” Clark 's eyes flared at that one, Ben Jakob noticed. “You have something to say?”
“General, I'm no high official, just a grunt with pretensions. But I got more combat time than anybody in this country of yours, and I'm telling you, sir, that what really scares me about this place is how you guys always fuck up the same way we did over there — we learned, you didn't. And what Dr. Ryan says is right. He'll come over. So will I, if it comes to that. I've killed my share of enemies, too,” Clark told him in a low, quiet voice.
“Another Marine?” Avi asked lightly, though he knew better.
“Close enough,” Clark said. “And I've kept current, as they say,” he added with a smile.
“What about your associate?” Avi motioned towards Chavez, who stood casually at the corner, eyeing the street.
“Good as I ever was. So're those kids in the Cav. But this war talk is all bullshit. You guys both know that. You want security, sir, you settle your domestic problems. Peace will follow that like a rainbow after a storm.”
“Learn from your mistakes…”
“We had a four-thousand-mile buffer to fall back through, General. It isn't that far from here to the Med. You'd better learn from our mistakes. Good news is, you are better able to make a real peace than we ever were.”
“But to have it imposed—”
“Sir, if it works, you'll thank us. If it doesn't work, we have a lot of people to stand by you when the crap hits the fan.” Clark noticed that Ding had moved casually from his post across the street, moving aimlessly, it seemed, like a tourist.
“Including you?”
“Bet your ass, General,” Clark replied, alert now, watching the people on the street. What had Chavez spotted? What had he missed?
Who are they? Ghosn wondered. It took a second. Brigadier General Abraham Ben Jakob, Deputy Director of the Mossad, his brain answered after sorting through all the recognition photographs he'd memorized. Talking to an American. I wonder who he is… Ghosn's head turned slowly and casually. The American would have several bodyguards… the one close by was obvious. A very serious fellow that one was, old… late forties, perhaps. It was the hardness — no, not hardness, but alertness. One could control the face but not the eyes — ah, the man put sunglasses back on. More than one. Had to be more than one, plus Israeli security officers. Ghosn knew that he'd let his eyes linger a touch too long, but—
“Oops.” A man had bumped into him, a fraction smaller and slighter than Ghosn. Dark complexion, possibly even a brother Arab, but he'd spoken in English. Contact was broken before Ghosn had time to realize that he'd been quickly and expertly frisked. “Sorry.” The man moved off. Ghosn didn't know, wasn't sure if it had been what it seemed to be or if he'd just been checked out by an Israeli, American, or other security officer. Well, he wasn't carrying a weapon, not even a pocket knife, just a shopping bag full of books.
Clark saw Ding give the all-clear sign, an ordinary gesture, like shooing an insect off his neck. Then why the eye-recognition from the target — anyone who took an interest in his protectee was a target — why had he stopped and looked? Clark turned around. There was a pretty girl just two tables away. Not Arab or Israeli, some sort of European, Germanic language, sounded like, maybe Dutch. Good-looking girl, and such girls attracted looks. Maybe he and the other two had just been between a looker and his lookee. Maybe. For a protective officer, the balance between awareness and paranoia was impossible to draw, even when you understood the tactical environment, and Clark had no such illusions here. On the other hand, they'd selected a random eatery on a random street, and the fact that Ryan was here, and that Ben Jakob and he had decided to look things over… nobody had intelligence that good, and nobody had enough troops to cover even a single city — except maybe the Russians in Moscow — to make the threat a real one. But why the eye-recognition?
Well. Clark recorded the face, and it went into the memory hopper with all the hundreds of others.
Ghosn continued his own patrol. He'd purchased all the books he needed, and was now observing the Swiss troops, how they moved, how tough they looked. Avi Ben Jakob, he thought. Missed opportunity. Targets like that one didn't appear every day. He continued down the rough, cobbled street, his eyes vacant as they appeared to scan at random. He'd take the next right, increase his pace, and try to get ahead of the Swiss before they made it to the next cross street. He both admired what he saw in them and regretted that he saw it.
“Nicely done,” Ben Jakob observed to Clark. “Your subordinate is well trained.”
“He shows promise.” As Clark watched, Ding Chavez looped back to his lookout point across the street. “You know the face?”
“No. My people probably got a photograph. We'll check it out, but it was probably a young man with normal sexual drives,” Ben Jakob jerked his head towards the Dutch girl, if that's what she was.
Clark was surprised the Israelis hadn't made a move. A shopping bag could contain anything. And “anything” had generally negative connotations in this environment. God, he hated this job. Looking out for himself was one thing. He typically used mobility, random paths, irregular pacing, always keeping an eye out for escape routes or ambush opportunities. But Ryan, while he might have had similar instincts — tactically speaking, the DDCI was pretty swift, Clark judged — had an overdeveloped sense of faith in the competence of his two bodyguards.
“So, Avi?” Ryan asked.
“Well, the first echelon of your cavalry troops is settling in. Our tank people like your Colonel Diggs. I must say I find their regimental crest rather odd — a bison is just a kind of wild cow, after all.” Avi chuckled.
“As with a tank, Avi, you probably don't want to stand in front of one.” Ryan wondered what would happen when the 10th Cav ran its first full-up training exercise with the Israelis. It was widely believed in the U.S. Army that the Israelis were overrated, and Diggs had a big reputation as a kick-ass tactician. “It looks like I can report to the President that the local situation is showing real signs of promise.”
“There will be difficulties.”
“Of course there will. Avi, the millennium doesn't arrive for a few more years,” Jack noted. “But did you think things would go so smoothly so fast?”
“No, I didn't,” Ben Jakob admitted. He fished out the cash to pay the check, and both men rose. Clark took his cue and went over to Chavez.
“Well?”
“Just that one guy. Heavy shopping bag, but it looked like books — textbooks, matter of fact. There was a sales slip still in one. Would you believe books on nuclear physics? The one title I saw was, anyway. Big, thick, heavy mother. Maybe he's a grad student or something, and that is one pretty lady over there, man.”
“Let's keep our minds on business, Mr. Chavez.”
“She's not my type, Mr. Clark.”
“What do you think of the Swiss guys?”
They look awful pretty for track-toads. I wouldn't want to play with them unless I picked the turf and the time, man.“ Chavez paused. ”You notice the guy I frisked eyeballed them real hard?'
“No.”
“He did… looked like he knew what he was—” Domingo Chavez paused. “I suppose people around here seen a lot of soldiers. Anyway, he gave 'em a professional sorta look. That's what I noticed first, not the way he eyeballed you and the doc. The guy had smart eyes, y'know what I mean?”
“What else?”
“Moved good, decent shape. Hands looked soft, though, not hard like a soldier. Too old for a college kid, but maybe not for a grad student.” Chavez paused again. “Jesucristo! this is a paranoid business we're in, man. He was not carrying a weapon. His hands didn't look like he was a martial-arts type. He just came down the street looking
