basis of their relationship.
The one person she did trust was Ravid. She hadn’t until he told her why he wanted to destroy the Muslim holy city. There was no emotion in his voice when he told her of the death of his wife and child; his tone had been flat and unaffected. That was how she knew he spoke the truth. She didn’t even hold his attack against him; it was to be expected in his position.
“Who are you working with?” Birk asked.
“I’m not at liberty to say. I’ll be in touch.”
“Tell me that it’s not Khazaal.”
She shook her head.
“An Arab?” Birk asked.
“I can’t say.”
But he saw it in her face: not an Arab. “You’ll be in touch?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, be in touch,” said Birk expansively. “Have some champagne before you go.”
“Another time,” said Coldwell.
33
“This brandy is very good.”
“I’m sure,” Corrine told Bellows. “But, really, I can’t.”
“Still on duty?” The ambassador put the snifter down, and went over to the chair. “It is after ten.”
“The president’s counsel is always on duty.”
“McCarthy runs everybody ragged, I hear.”
“I wouldn’t say that. He has high standards.”
Bellows swirled his glass gently, then took a sip, savoring the liquor. “So tell me, Corrine. Why exactly did he send you?”
“To take a snapshot of the Middle East before the president arrives.”
“The State Department has a regular advance team for that.”
“The president likes a personal touch.”
Bellows nodded but added, “There’s a rumor that you work for the CIA.”
“Well, there’s a rumor I’d like to encourage.” Corrine laughed. “I hope you’ve helped spread it.”
“Well, I did think it was preposterous.”
“I don’t think it’s
“You would, you would.” He took another sip. “But, seriously, why are you here? You’ve been traveling throughout the Middle East. It’s not because of the trade legislation. That’s clear.”
“The trade legislation is part of it,” said Corrine.
“The initiative between Israel and the Palestinians?” asked Bellows. If that were the case, he thought, she was in way over her head. Corrine was a good girl but young, and certainly unschooled in the nuances of diplomacy, let alone the Middle East. Not that he would tell her that.
“I’m just familiarizing myself with the area,” said Corrine. “It’s been quite a while since I was in Israel and Egypt. And I’ve never been to Iraq. Or to Syria, which turned out to be a much more beautiful country than I had realized.”
“It’s rumored that the president is going to appoint someone to shepherd his peace plan for the Palestinians and the Israelis,” said Bellows, deciding to cut to the chase. There was no reason not to be forward with her; she was his friend’s daughter, practically his niece. If she could help, she surely would. “Am I in the running?”
“Would I know?”
“Would you?”
“Well, I guess if I were a spy, I might.”
Bellows was a veteran of several administrations, democratic as well as republican, and he knew a prevarication when he heard one.
“I do want the job. I would take it if you’re here to offer it,” he said.
“I’m not.”
“Will you recommend me?”
“You’re an old family friend. You don’t think the president would take a recommendation with a grain of salt? Or a barrelful?”
“Iraq has turned the corner,” said Bellows, reprising a speech he’d given on their tour after she arrived. “The country is stable. It’s an example to the Middle East.”
“You don’t think the resistance is lying low until after the last of our troops are withdrawn?”
“Not at all.”
“You can be honest with me.”
Bellows put down his drink. “You’ve seen the city. What do you think?”
“I haven’t been here long enough to form an opinion. I’d be more interested in what you think.”
“Well, I think Iraq has turned the corner, as I said.” Bellows didn’t have a real opinion of Iraq. He knew only that the secretary of state believed it was useful to cite progress and that it was therefore useful to him to do the same, especially if he wanted a more important position.
Like peace envoy. And then maybe secretary of state.
The beeper at Corrine’s belt began to buzz. Corrigan or someone else on the First Team wanted to talk to her.
“I have to return this call,” she told the ambassador. “I’m sorry. I have to go down to the bunker.”
“Of course. We’ll chat later on.”
“I’d like to.”
“And you can have some brandy.”
“We’ll see about that.”
34
Rankin and Monsoon were heading back toward the castle when Corrigan called Rankin on the radio.
“Ferguson wants you to head down toward Latakia. We may have a situation with Thera. We’ve lost contact with her.”
“Where’s Monsoon?”
“He’s outside the building where the Russian was holed up. Thera’s inside somewhere.”
“I thought the Russian was at the meeting.”
“We’re working on it. Just get there, OK?”
“Yeah. We’re going.”
When Monsoon had seen the lights go on in the hotel room, he assumed that it was Thera. But she’d gasped a few seconds later, the sort of sound a person made when they tripped, he thought. From that point on, her radio had been dead.
He went to the side of the building when the fire alarm began to ring, looking for a way to get in. Then he heard someone on the fire escape and saw it was Thera and the Russian.
He slid to the corner of the building and took out his radio unit to dial into the shared team circuit. Before he could, Ferguson buzzed in on the man-to-man line.
