Executive Power

Chapter Seventy
Ambassador Eitan had been sitting in the Oval Office for eleven minutes and thirty-eight seconds. The Israeli emissary to the United States knew this because he was a fastidious time checker. Having to wait to see the President of the United States was not an unusual occurrence, but waiting alone in the Oval Office was.

Either intentionally or unintentionally it was very unsettling, and this morning had been unsettling enough. It had started with a frustrating conference call to his superiors back in Jerusalem. They told him to tell the Americans nothing, which was easy enough since he knew nothing, but incredibly irritating because his own government didn't trust him enough to let him know what was going on.

Then there had been the protestors and the bright orange spray paint. His security chief had refused to stop and clean the paint, and as he'd predicted, the camera crews stationed at the White House had descended on the graffiti-strewn limousine like a pack of rats on a garbage heap. And then the most unsettling thing of all occurred: the car bomb.

Eitan and his assistant had been shoved into a corner table of the White House Mess and told to stay put. They were under lockdown. No one was to leave or enter the White House until the Secret Service said so.

While drinking his coffee, he had seen the news bulletins on TV reporting that the Saudi Ambassador had been the target. Eitan was not embarrassed by the fact that he felt no sorrow for the man. He barely knew the Ambassador, but that wasn't the reason for his lack of sadness.

There were plenty of people who he'd never met that he regularly felt compassion for. Eitan was not an insensitive man; he just simply felt that it was about time others experienced the pain that he and his countrymen experienced on a weekly basis. Especially the Saudis, who through their so-called charities supported many of the groups who spilled Israeli blood in the most indiscriminate and inhumane of ways.

He had been at the White House for almost two hours and was growing more nervous by the minute. The UN vote for Palestinian statehood was creeping closer, and if Eitan didn't deliver his message soon it would be too late to do any good. His government was depending on him to move the Americans in the right direction. After almost two solid years of suicide bombs, the UN was about to reward the perpetrators of such violence with statehood. The United States had to stop such a precedent from being set.

President Hayes entered his office with a determined stride and an angry expression on his face. That on its own should have warned the Israeli Ambassador that something bad was about to happen, but at that moment someone other than the President had caught his attention. Actually two people had, but the second one of the two was far more unsettling. Eitan had expected to see Secretary of State Berg, or Valerie Jones or maybe even Michael Haik. He was mildly surprised to see CIA director Kennedy, but it was the sight of her companion that literally made him slightly weak in the knees.

He had read stories about the man, but they were nothing compared to the things he'd heard. Eitan had been told he was capable of great violence. Even the formidable head of Mossad, Ben Freidman, feared him. The Ambassador had never seen him in person, only in photographs. His hair seemed longer now, and he was very tan. If it wasn't for the fact that he'd followed Kennedy into the room he probably would have never known who it was. When the man turned and stared at Eitan with his dark brown eyes all doubt vanished. Eitan had seen eyes like that before and they didn't belong to diplomats. The Ambassador quickly looked away and found the President standing before him.

"Mr. President," Eitan started, his voice a bit shaky, "I am very sorry about the attack on your country this morning."

Hayes stared back at the man, his suit coat unbuttoned and his hands on his hips, his eyes searching for the slightest sign of insincerity.

"Mr. Ambassador, I'm short on time so I'm going to make this real simple. I want your country to pull its military forces out of Hebron immediately."

Eitan stood frozen before the President. He hadn't even been offered a seat and he'd been given an ultimatum that he knew would not be accepted. He licked his lips and tried to temper his reply.

"Mr. President, I will gladly forward your request, but I of course can make no guarantees."

"First of all," replied Hayes, "it is not a request-it's a demand. And I want Prime Minister Goldberg to go on TV immediately to announce the withdrawal."

The Israeli Ambassador was reeling.

"But, Mr. President, I cannot make such a request without-" Hayes held up his hand and stopped him from speaking further.

"I know... you want a concession... and it is this: In exchange for an immediate withdrawal we will get the Security Council vote delayed until tomorrow."

Eitan felt himself begin to sweat. This was not an offer that he could take to the prime minister. He knew what his job was, and despite being caught off guard he gathered just enough confidence to hold his ground.

"Mr. President, Prime Minister Goldberg will never agree to such a demand without assurances that you will veto the French resolution."

The President shook his head vigorously.

"If the troops aren't pulled out immediately, we will make no effort to delay the vote. In fact, if the troops aren't pulled out immediately we will back the French resolution."

All Eitan could think to do was shake his head.

"I'm afraid I will need more to work with... a concession of some sort."

What Hayes had to offer was the opposite of what the Ambassador was looking for.

"Here's something to work with. Tell the prime minister that I know what really happened in Hebron, and unless he wants his cabinet to collapse in scandal he'll announce an immediate withdrawal."

The President turned to his left and said, "Mr. Rapp, if you would please show the Ambassador across the hall to the Roosevelt Room, we have it all set up for him to call Prime Minister Goldberg."

"I would like to go back to my embassy to make the call, sir."

The President testily replied, "I don't know if you've noticed, Mr. Ambassador, but we're running out of time. If you want me to forestall a vote on Palestinian statehood I suggest you get the prime minister on the phone as soon as possible."

Rapp stood up with one arm pointing toward the door. The message he conveyed was simple. The President was done talking. With a sigh and a nod the Ambassador reluctantly gave in. As Rapp escorted him from the room the Israeli's discomfort was obvious.