Executive Power Part 20

Kennedy, in return, thanked Anna for being so understanding and told her to call if she had any questions.

This sudden coziness between his boss and wife would give the intensely private and compartmentalized Rapp reason for pause once he found out about it. Kennedy took a certain amount of devious comfort in that and in the fact that Rapp would be dreading how to explain what had happened.

As Kennedy stepped off the elevator on the third floor of the Executive Mansion she was prepared to do what Presidential advisors had done for centuries: spin. She didn't care for the tactic, but one of her most trusted and loyal employees had put her in the awkward situation of having to do so. The alternative would be to tell the President the stark truth, which could potentially have some ramifications that she didn't need to deal with right now.

The outcome of the operation was just what the President had wanted. The Andersons were safe, the United States had suffered no casualties and a message had been sent to the terrorists. Using Rapp's line of logic, or defense as Kennedy was more inclined to say, it didn't much matter how they got there, just so long as they got there.

Kennedy entered the fitness room and after sidestepping a weight bench approached the President, who was hunched over the console of a stair-stepper.

Hayes tore his eyes off one of three TVs mounted on the wall in front of him. He'd seen Kennedy enter the room in the reflection of the mirrored wall. With sweat pouring from his face he snapped, "What in the h.e.l.l happened in Israel last night?"

Kennedy was only momentarily caught off guard. On her way over from Langley she'd scanned the Presidential Daily Brief, a top secret doc.u.ment compiled by the CIA that kept the President and his top national security advisors apprised of what was happening in the world.

"I've already put a call in to Ben Freidman, but he hasn't gotten back to me yet."

The President frowned at the mere mention of Freidman's name.

He was well acquainted with the head of Mossad. He in fact detested the man, and if it wasn't for Kennedy, the President would have demanded that Prime Minister Goldberg fire the b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

The President wiped a film of sweat from his face with a towel and growled, "It still burns my a.s.s that he has a job."

Kennedy instantly regretted mentioning Freidman's name. The previous year he had been caught giving intelligence to, and aiding, one of the President's chief political adversaries. It had taken a great deal of skill to convince the President that it would be better to keep Freidman in his post and use his guilt as leverage.

Hayes looked at the clock.

"What time is it over there?"

"They're seven hours ahead of us, sir. It's two-twenty in the afternoon."

"How long ago did you call him?"

"About thirty minutes ago." Kennedy folded her arms in front of her. She'd actually put in the call about an hour ago, but saw no reason to get the President more agitated than he already was.

"Well, call him back again," snapped Hayes.

"And tell him I want some answers!" Pointing at one of the TVs he said, "They leveled an entire city block, and they're saying the death toll could surpa.s.s one hundred people, for Christ's sake."

Kennedy looked awkwardly at the floor and then back at the President's reflection in the mirror. He had grown considerably more irritable lately.

"Sir," she cautioned, "you know the Palestinians always inflate those numbers."

Hayes gripped a black bar with one hand and with the other he lowered the speed of the machine.

"Have you seen the footage?" he asked a little less confrontation ally "Yes."

"And you don't think it looks bad?"

"Yes, it does, sir, but let me get some more information before we jump to any conclusions."

Hayes nodded and began to breathe a little easier. Realizing he'd been a little hard on one of his most trusted advisors he asked, "So, did you have a good time last night?"

"Yes, I did. It was a very nice party, sir."

"Good." He mopped his brow again and asked, "What's happening over in the Philippines?"

Kennedy forced a smile and adjusted her gla.s.ses.

"I have good news. The Anderson family is safely onboard the Belleau Wood as are all military personnel who partic.i.p.ated in the operation."

As if someone had delivered an unexpected gift, a mix of joy and confusion spread across the President's face. He glanced at the clock on the wall and said, "I thought the rescue wasn't set to take place for another hour or two."

"Well, there were some developments during the evening, sir, that caused us to move up our timetable." Fortunately, Kennedy knew the President was a man who never punished success. Like most good chief executives he delegated authority and wanted results.

"A tropical storm blew in," she continued to explain, "threatening to ground our aircraft. At the same time, the rain provided the cover needed to sneak our ground forces into position earlier than we had antic.i.p.ated. Not wanting to lose the opportunity we gave the green light and it went off without a hitch." Kennedy was tempted to mention that Rapp had been shot, but for now she wanted to keep that little nugget of information to herself.

The President's face lit up.

"That's great! When will they be arriving stateside?" The politician in him was already looking forward to greeting the family.

"They have to wait for the storm to break and then they'll start back. They could be here as early as tomorrow or Monday."

"And how are they doing?"

"Fairly well," answered Kennedy.

"A little malnourished and covered with insect bites, but otherwise stable."

The President stopped the machine and climbed off. He moved over to a treadmill and climbed on.

"How are they psychologically?"

Hayes pressed several b.u.t.tons and the tread started moving.

Kennedy could only guess at the horrors they had suffered. From her intelligence reports on other kidnappings, Abu Sayyaf and MILF were fairly humane in the sense that they seemed to avoid rape and torture, especially of Americans. But still, being held captive thousands of miles from home in extremely primitive conditions would have taken its toll.

"I'm not sure, sir. For now I bet they're just happy to be free."

"Yeah, I suppose." The belt picked up speed and the President began walking faster. He pumped his arms and said, "Do me a favor and brief Valerie on this." The President glanced at the wall clock.

"She's usually in by eight on Sat.u.r.days."

The President needed his chief of staff. Kennedy understood better than most how Washington worked. Political effectiveness rose and fell with the tide of positive or negative media attention. This was too good of a story not to manage properly. Kennedy would brief Valerie Jones and then Jones in turn would mobilize the formidable White House communications and press people. They would prod and squeeze this story into a five-point jump in the polls.

"Anything else, sir?"

The President hesitated and then sighed.

"I suppose we should have the NSC meet for a full briefing."

Kennedy nodded. If the President hadn't suggested it she would have. The various cabinet level departments needed to be brought up to speed, especially the State Department. Somebody needed to tell President Quirino in the Philippines what the United States had just done, and in light of the sensitive subject it would be wiser if that person were the Secretary of State rather than the President.

"What time would you like me to schedule it for?"

"Let's say eleven o'clock downstairs and oh if you talk to Mitch before then, thank him for me."

Kennedy nodded.

"He's an amazing man."

Kennedy did not hesitate to reply.

"Yes, he is." Any man brash enough to usurp the authority of the director of the CIA, the Secretary of defense and the President all in one evening was an amazing man indeed.

FORTY TWO.

Trust was a word that David wasn't very fond of at the moment.

Ben Freidman had broken their agreement. There could be little doubt based on the news reports that the head of Mossad had wanted his newest informant to die in the attack that had taken place on the previous eve. Extending that logic, and understanding the brutality that Freidman was known for, David felt the need to get out of Israel as quickly as possible.

After stumbling away from the site of the bombing, David didn't make it far; only two blocks to be precise. A ruptured eardrum caused him to walk as if he were drunk. His dust-covered suit, listless walk and bloodied face caught the attention of a paramedic, who after a quick examination thrust him into a waiting ambulance. Upon arrival at the hospital David gave a fake name.

Mossad had spies everywhere and if they weren't lucky enough to have one at the hospital, they could hack into the patient files with little effort. One of the first people to arrive after the attack, he was treated right away. The gash in his leg and neck were cleaned and st.i.tched up with great speed. More seriously injured people were being pulled from the rubble and on their way.

Having grown up around hospitals David had no problem finding the doctors' lounge. He moved without fear of being discovered. The staff would be working at a crisis pace for the next day or more. His clothes were no longer useful, so he threw them into the garbage and cleaned up. The only thing he kept were his undergarments, shoes, and a money belt that contained cash and doc.u.ments for an a.s.sumed ident.i.ty. Next he searched the lockers until he found one that contained clothes roughly his size. David changed into them and took the car keys sitting on the top shelf.

Out in the parking garage he went to the first level where the physicians parking was located and hit the door lock b.u.t.ton on the keyless entry twice. Up ahead on his right a pair of headlights flashed and a horn honked. David left Hebron as directly as possible. Various Palestinian groups had already begun setting up barricades to keep the Israeli Defense Forces from entering the city and he was lucky to find a way through them.

By sunup David had made it all the way to the south and crossed the border into Jordan at Arava. Feeling only slightly safer, he called the Prince and requested that he send his plane to the seaside town of Aqaba to pick him up. The Prince, comatose from a night of festivities, was unable to speak, so it was his always efficient a.s.sistant Devon who sent one of Omar's five private jets. By noon he was safely out of Freidman's reach and on his way to France. He landed in Nice in mid-afternoon and was taken by limo to the Carlton Hotel in Cannes, where Devon had booked him a suite.

The first order of business was clothing, so after an hour of shopping along de la Croissette and billing everything to his hotel room, and ultimately the Prince, David returned to the solitude of his plush room and collapsed out of exhaustion. Sometime later, he was awakened by the fleshy soft hand of none other than Prince Omar.

David rolled over onto his back and tried to blink the weariness from his eyes. As the room came into focus he realized it was nighttime.

Omar reached out and pawed the side of David's neck. The touch stung the tender skin around the st.i.tches. Out of reflex David slapped the Prince's hand away. Almost instantly he was aware of someone else in the room. Someone large by the size of the shadow they cast against the wall.

Chung, the obedient Chinese bodyguard, was making his presence known, lest David try anything stupid. Prince Omar, however, was not bothered by the slap. He was too amused by the mark on David's neck and the implications it held.

"I think someone has been up to something." Omar cupped David's cheeks in his hands and said, "I want to hear all about it."

David shooed Omar's hands away. His head was killing him and the last thing he wanted right now was the Prince touching him.

"Hear about what?"

"About last night!" proclaimed the Saudi Prince with a twinkle in his eye.

"I don't know what you're talking about," David groaned.

Omar stood up laughing. He was dressed immaculately in a very expensive silk suit.

"Oh you know what I'm talking about. Now get your duff out of bed and get ready for dinner." Omar gestured with his hands toward the bathroom.

"Come now hurry. I am very hungry and I have been watching Al Jazeera. I want to know everything.

We will eat and celebrate tonight. I will be waiting for you downstairs."

Omar, as giddy as a schoolgirl, left the room with Chung in tow.

By the time he got into the shower his spirits had lifted a bit. He was famished. Maybe a nice feast with Omar wouldn't be so bad. Shaving proved to be a bit more of a challenge than he would have liked, but with Omar skipping it was not an option. The Prince was a stickler for appearances. He wanted to be surrounded by beautiful people and that meant well-groomed and well-dressed people.

David put on his new clothes: a white shirt, four-b.u.t.ton black suit, and blue tie. The tie was a bit tricky but as long as he didn't turn his head too much it was manageable. A large flesh-colored Band-Aid over his st.i.tches helped keep blood off the collar.

David found Omar downstairs in the bar. He was sitting in a corner booth squeezed in between four women, two on each side. Two other men sat at each end of the U-shaped booth. They were both Arab and more than likely were several of Omar's three-thousand-plus cousins. As for the women, they were undoubtedly high-priced hookers that had been secured for however long the Prince chose to stay in Cannes, or until he tired of them and replacements were obtained.

David almost didn't notice Chung, which was no easy feat considering his size. Somehow he'd managed to conceal himself on the other side of a large potted fern and column. David winked at him, just to let him know he wasn't fooled. Chung's sphinx like face remained utterly impa.s.sive.

As David approached the table, Omar released his always groping hands from two of the girls. Reaching out, he held his palms up in a gesture of enthusiastic welcome.

"David, I am so glad you could join us." Looking to his guests he said with a conspiratorial wink, "David is a man of many talents, and he is soon to be very famous." The two Arab men nodded as if they knew more than they should.

The girls looked at him with playful eyes and then began giggling and muttering to each other in French. David ignored the women and gave the Prince a disapproving look.

Omar, not wanting his little party spoiled by the often too serious David, rushed to say, "Sit!" The Prince gestured to one of his cousins to make room.

"Come sit with us. We will celebrate." Looking to the waiter standing obediently near the booth, Omar yelled, "Champagne more champagne!"

David held up his arm, freezing the waiter before he could fill the order. With a smile, and a slight bow at the waist, David said, "My Prince, if I may have a moment of your time in private?" David's forceful dark eyes conveyed that his words were not a request but a demand.

"Of course." Omar clapped his hands twice and gestured for the table to be removed. He was not about to slide his plump form out of the booth.

The waiter snapped his fingers and two busboys rushed over and removed the table. Omar left his guests without saying a word and grabbed David by the elbow. With a look of deep concern, he asked, "What is wrong?"

David strained to look at ease. He was willing to bet double or nothing on the ten million dollars that Omar had given him not even a week ago, that the Prince had shared their secrets with other members of the Saudi royal family.

"Who are those two men?"

"Cousins, of course."

"Ah just as I thought. And what have you told them?"

"Nothing."

David stared doubtfully at Omar.

Caught in an obvious lie, Omar said, "Nothing of consequence. I simply told them you are a great man who is changing the world. A true warrior for the Arab people."