Honor Among Thieves

“Our man in Tel Aviv says Rabin is going to come up with something that isn’t officially on the agenda. That’s all he could find out. No details. You know as much about the Middle East as anyone in the department, so Christopher wants you around. He isn’t taking any risks. I’ve had Tess put the latest data together so that you’ll be right up-to-date by the time we get to this afternoon’s meeting.” Dexter Hutchins picked up a pile of files from the corner of his desk and handed them to Scott. The inevitable “Top Secret” was stamped on each of them, despite the fact that a lot of the information they contained could be found strewn across the Foreign Desk of the Washington Post.

“The first file is on the man himself and Labor Party policy; the others are on the PLO, Lebanon, Iran, Iraq, Syria, Saudi Arabia and Jordan, all in reference to our current defense policy. If Rabin’s hoping to get more money out of us, he can think again, especially after Clinton’s speech last week on domestic policy. There’s a copy in the bottom file.”

“Marked ‘Top Secret,’ no doubt,” said Scott.

Dexter Hutchins raised his eyebrows as Scott bundled up the files and left without another word. Tess unlocked a door that led to a small empty office next to her own. “I’ll make sure you’re not disturbed, Professor,” she promised.

Scott turned the pages of the first file, and began to study a report on the secret talks that had been taking place in Norway between the Israelis and the PLO. When he came to the file on the Iraq-Iran conflict there was a whole section he’d written himself only two weeks before, recommending a surprise bombing mission on the Mukhbarat headquarters in Baghdad if the UN inspection team continued to be frustrated in their efforts to check Iraqi defense installations.

At twelve o’clock Tess brought in a plate of sandwiches and a glass of milk as he began to read the reports on no-fly zones beyond the 36th and 32nd parallels in Iraq. When he had finished reading the President’s speech, Scott spent another hour trying to puzzle out what change of course or surprise the new Prime Minister of Israel might have in mind. He was still deep in thought when Dexter Hutchins stuck his head around the door and said, “Five minutes.”

In the car on the way to the State Department, Dexter asked Scott if he had any theories about what the Israeli leader might surprise them with.

“Several, but I need to observe the man in action before I try to anticipate anything. After all, I’ve only seen him once before, and on that occasion he still thought Bush might win the election.”

When they arrived at the C Street entrance it took almost as long for the two men from the CIA to reach the seventh floor as it always did for Scott to penetrate the inner sanctum of Langley.

At 2:53 they were ushered into an empty conference room. Scott selected a chair against the wall, just behind where Warren Christopher would be seated but slightly to his left so he would have a clear view of Prime Minister Rabin across the table. Dexter sat on Scott’s right.

At one minute to three, five senior staffers entered the room, and Scott was pleased to see that Susan Anderson was among them. Her fine fair hair was done up in a coil, making her look rather austere, and she wore a tailored blue suit that accentuated her slim figure. The spotted white blouse with the little bow at the neck would have frightened off most men; it appealed to Scott.

“Good afternoon, Professor Bradley,” she said when Scott stood up. But she took a seat on the other side of Dexter Hutchins, and informed him that the Secretary of State would be joining them in a few moments.

“So how are the Orioles doing?” Scott asked, leaning forward and looking straight across at Susan, trying not to stare at her slim, shapely legs. Susan blushed. From some file, Scott had recalled that she was a baseball fan, and when she wasn’t accompanying the Secretary of State abroad, she never missed a game. Scott knew only too well that they had lost their last three games.

“Doing about as well as Georgetown did in the NCAAs,” came back her immediate reply.

Scott could think of no suitable reply. Georgetown had failed to make the national tournament for the first time in years.

“Fifteen all,” said Dexter, who was obviously enjoying sitting on the high stool between them.

The door suddenly swung open and Warren Christopher entered the room, accompanied by the Prime Minister of Israel, and followed by officials from both countries. They split down each side of the long table, taking their places according to seniority.

When the Secretary of State reached his seat in the center of the table, in front of the American flag, he spotted Scott for the first time, and nodded an acknowledgment of his presence.

Once everyone was settled, the Secretary of State opened the meeting with a predictably

banal speech of welcome, most of which could have been used for anyone from Yeltsin to Mitterrand. The Prime Minister of Israel responded in kind.

For the next hour they discussed a report on the meeting in Norway between representatives of the Israeli government and the PLO.

Rabin expressed his conviction that an agreement was progressing satisfactorily, but it remained vital that any further exchanges should continue in the utmost secrecy, as he feared that if his political opponents in Jerusalem got to hear of it, they could still scupper the whole plan before he was ready to make a public announcement.

Christopher nodded his agreement, and said it would be appreciated by the State Department if any such announcement could be made in Washington. Rabin smiled, but made no concession. The game of poker had begun. If he was to deliver the Americans such a public relations coup, he would expect something major in return. Only one more hand remained to be dealt before the home team discovered what that “something” was.

It was during “any other business” that Rabin raised the subject no one had anticipated. The Prime Minister circled around the problem for a few minutes, but Scott could see exactly where he was heading. Christopher was obviously being given the opportunity, if he wanted it, to kill any discussion stone dead before Rabin raised it officially.

Scott scribbled a note on a piece of paper and passed it over to Susan. She read his words, nodded, leaned across and placed the note on the blotting pad in front of the Secretary of State. He unfolded the single sheet, glanced at the contents but showed no sign of surprise. Scott assumed that Christopher had also worked out the size of the bombshell that was about to be dropped.

The Prime Minister had switched the discussion to the role of Israel in relation to Iraq, and reminded the Secretary of State three times that they had gone along with the Allied policy on Operation Desert Storm, when it was Tel Aviv and Haifa that were being hit by Scuds, not New York or Little Rock. It amused Scott that at the last meeting Rabin had said “New York or Kennebunkport.”

He went on to say he had every reason to believe that Saddam was, once again, developing a nuclear weapon, and Tel Aviv and Haifa still had to be the first candidates for any warhead.

“Try not to forget, Mr. Secretary, that we’ve already had to take out their nuclear reactors once in the past decade,” the Prime Minister said. “And if necessary, we’ll do so again.”

Christopher nodded, but made no comment.

“And were the Iraqis to succeed in developing a nuclear weapon,” continued Rabin, “no amount of compensation or sympathy would help us this time. And I’m not willing to risk the consequences of that happening to the Israeli people while I’m Prime Minister.”