Meanwhile, the planet’s embittered and disaffected would, at last, have a casus
belli; inchoate suspicions would find a catalyst. Among both official political
parties and broader resistance movements, the revelations would provide a
rallying cry against the American imperium. The semi-unified entity that was
Europe would finally coalesce—around a new shared enemy, with a united Europe
squaring off against the United States.
Who could defend it? Who would think to? Here was a country that had betrayed
its closest and staunchest allies. A country that had secretly manipulated the
levers of government across the planet. A country that would now incur the
unmitigated wrath of billions. Even organizations that were dedicated to
international cooperation would fall under suspicion. It would, very likely,
spell the end of the United Nations, if not immediately, then in short order, in
a tide of broadening rancor and suspicion.
And that would mean—what was the American expression?—a world of trouble.
The Caliph reread the cable he had just received, and felt a pleasurable glow of
anticipation. It was as if overcast skies had parted to reveal a pure and
luminous ray of sunlight. Peter Novak was going to be addressing the annual
meeting of the U.N. General Assembly. The man—and he was, ultimately, no more
than a man—would show his face at last. He would be greeted by insipid
gratitude, by laurels and acclamation. And, if the Caliph had his way, by
something more.
Now he turned to the Mansur minister of security—plainly little more than a
jumped-up carpet merchant, despite the rhetorical inflation of his title—and
spoke to him in tones both courteous and commanding. “This meeting of the
international community will be an important moment for the Islamic Republic of
Mansur,” he said.
“But of course,” replied the minister, a small, homely man who wore a simple
white head wrap. On matters that did not concern Koranic orthodoxy, the
leadership of this spavined, desolate little country was easily impressed.
“Your delegation will be judged, rightly or wrongly, by its professionalism,
comportment, and discipline. Nothing must go awry, even in the face of unknown
and unexpected malefactors. The very highest level of security must be
maintained.”
The Mansur minister bobbed his head; he knew he was out of his depth and, to his
credit, realized there was no point in pretending otherwise, at least in the
presence of the master tactician who stood before him.
“Therefore, I shall myself accompany the delegation. You need only provide the
diplomatic cover, and I shall personally ensure that everything happens as it
should.”
“Allah be praised,” the small man said. “We could hope for nothing more. Your
dedication will be an inspiration to the others.”
The Caliph nodded slowly, acknowledging the tribute. “What I do,” he said, “is
merely what must be done.”
The narrow town house was elegant and yet anonymous-looking, a brownstone like
hundreds of others in New York’s Turtle Bay neighborhood. The stoop was a
gray-brown, with raised black grip stripes in diagonals across the steps. They
would prevent slippage when the stairs became slick with rain or ice; the
electronic sensors beneath the strips would also detect the presence of a
visitor. The sun bounced off the thick, leaded glass of the parlor: it was
purely ornamental in appearance, but proof against even heavy-caliber bullets.
Sterile Seven is what the deputy director of the Defense Intelligence Agency had
called it: it was a safe house reserved by the Mobius planners for their
occasional use, one of ten around the country. Janson would be protected here,
he was assured; equally important, he would have access to the most
sophisticated communications equipment, including direct access to the extensive
data banks compiled by the joint intelligence services of the United States.
Janson sat in the second-floor study, staring at a yellow pad. Janson’s eyes
were bloodshot from lack of sleep; a headache pounded behind his eyes. He had
been in scrambler communication with the surviving members of the Mobius
Program. None was sanguine, or even pretended to be.
If Novak were arriving in the country, how would he do so? What were the chances
that border control would alert them of his arrival? An advisory had gone out to
every airport, private and public, in the country. Airport officials were
notified that because of “credible threats” to Peter Novak’s life, it was
crucial to report his whereabouts to a special security task force coordinated
by the U.S. State Department and devoted to the protection of foreign
dignitaries.
He phoned Derek Collins, who was on Phipps Island, where the size of the
National Guard contingent had been tripled. In the background he heard the
jangle of a dog’s collar.
“Gotta say, Butch has really taken to this place,” Collins said. “Hell, the
sorry-ass mutt’s actually growing on me. With all that’s been happening, it’s
kind of relaxing having him around. Of course, the workmen who were here
yesterday fixing things up didn’t exactly take to him—he kept looking at them
like they were food. But I bet you’re calling for a status report on other
matters.”
“What’s the word?”
“The good news is, the cobra’s en route—we’re pretty sure, anyway. The bad news
is, Nell Pearson’s body was discovered yesterday. The Mrs. Novak of record.
Supposedly a suicide. Slit her wrists in her bathtub. So that thread’s been
snipped off.”
“Christ,” said Janson. “Think she was murdered?”
“Naw, it was a ‘cry for help.’ Of course she was fucking murdered. But nobody
will ever be able to prove it.”
“What a goddamn waste,” Janson said. There was lead in his voice.
“Moving right along,” Collins said bleakly, “nobody’s sighted Puma. Zip, nada,
nothing. Four reports of look-alikes, quickly falsified. The fact is, our guy
might not be arriving from overseas—he might already be in the country. And he’d
find it child’s play to arrive incognito. This is a large, populous country with
more than five hundred international airports. Our borders are inherently
porous. I don’t have to tell you that.”
“This isn’t a time to talk about impossibilities, Derek,” the operative said.
“Thanks for the pep talk, coach. You think every damn one of us isn’t working
balls-out on this? None of us knows who’s going to get killed next. If you want
to talk about impossibilities, though, you’ll be interested in the latest
thinking around Foggy Bottom.”
Five minutes later, Janson hung up with an unsettled feeling.
Almost immediately afterward, the silver-gray phone on the green-baize-topped
desk rang quietly, the quietness of the ring somehow lending it additional
significance. It was the line reserved for White House communications.
He picked up the phone. It was the president.
“Listen, Paul, I’ve gone over and over it with Doug here. This address
Demarest’s giving before the General Assembly—there could well be an implicit
ultimatum here.”
“Sir?”
“As you know, he asked for the control codes to the entire Echelon system. I put
him off.”
“Put him off?”
“Blew him off. I think the message he’s sending is pretty unambiguous. If he
doesn’t get what he wants, he’s going to appear before the General Assembly and
set an explosion. Lay the thing out, with the whole world hanging on his every
word. That’s just a surmise. We could well be wrong. But the more we think about
it, the more we think it’s a credible threat.”
“Ergo?”
“I hope to God he’s hit by a thunderbolt before he can stand up and give that
speech.”
“Now that sounds like a plan.”
“Barring that, I’ve decided to meet with him just beforehand. Capitulate. Give
in to his first round of demands.”
“Are you scheduled to make an appearance at the U.N.?”
“We’d left it unclear. The secretary of state will be there, along with the U.N.
ambassador, the permanent representative, the trade negotiator, and the rest of
the tin soldiers we always send. But if we’re making this … barter, it’ll have
to come from me. I’m the only one with the clearance and authorization to do
this.”
“You’d be putting yourself in harm’s way.”
“Paul, I’m already in harm’s way. And so are you.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
U.N. GENERAL ASSEMBLY TO MEET from around the world, hundreds of national
leaders to assemble in “dialogue of civilizations” By Barbara Corlett
NEW YORK—For most native New Yorkers, the convergence here of hundreds of
foreign heads of state and high-ranking ministers prompts one big worry: will
the motorcades make the problem of traffic gridlock worse? In the U.S.
Department of State and in diplomatic circles elsewhere, however, loftier
concerns are the order of the day. There are hopes that the 58th General
Assembly meeting will lead to substantial reforms and a heightened level of
international cooperation. U.N. Secretary General Mathieu Zinsou has predicted
that it would be a “watershed moment” in the history of the troubled
organization.
Anticipation has been bolstered by rumors of a possible appearance before the
General Assembly by the revered philanthropist and humanitarian Peter Novak,
whose Liberty Foundation has been compared to the United Nations in its global