The End Game

“Yes, sir.” Your Eminence. She wasn’t terribly fond of her boss, but she couldn’t deny they had made an excellent political team. She’d brought California, and the female vote, which tipped the scales. Their only major disagreement was foreign policy, the Middle East in particular. She knew firsthand the dangers America, Israel, and the rest of the world faced by a saber-rattling nuclear Iran and their enforcers, Hezbollah, and the rest of the undemocratized Middle East. Bradley wanted a lasting legacy of peace in the region, and he’d made that his number-one priority when he took office. Only a year into his presidency and he’d managed to get all the parties together and actually sitting down at the same table in Geneva. That in itself was quite a coup. He’d even managed to talk Israel into letting the Taliban and the Saudis come to the party. He knew Israel wouldn’t come if he invited Hezbollah, no matter what he threatened, but he managed to get the Iranian mullahs and the president, even the fanatical Colonel Vahid Rahbar, always eager and vicious in his denunciation of Israel and the West. Everyone agreed this was a miracle, and prayed.

But Callan knew it wouldn’t work just as she knew the glory Bradley was seeking would very likely end up being his downfall. And the world’s as well?

No hope for it; at least at this moment, he was her boss. “I’ll talk to them immediately, sir.”

“Do that. I’ll be back Wednesday night for my speech congratulating the Yorktown facilities for moving to clean energy resources, then I’ll go to Camp David for the weekend and get this peace accord written up. It will happen if you do your job, do you understand?”

“Yes, sir, I understand.”

“Good. The heads of state will be in the U.S. next week to do the signing. I want your smiling face both at Yorktown and at the signing, Callan.” He paused for a moment, retrenched a bit. “Look, I know you aren’t on board with my approach, but I truly believe this is the right course of action. I’m showing them the right way, showing them how to save face and save their countries, their countries’ futures. They will come around to reason; I will guide them.”

How can you be so blind? If leaders do sign a peace accord, it’s all for show, the same show that’s been played in the past, to let you preen for a while, let you give them financial incentives, promises that could cripple us, before they strike.Can’t you look at Colonel Rahbar and see the abiding hatred in his eyes? Are you content to ignore what he says about the West? That we’re a blight, vermin, and should be exterminated?

But she couldn’t tell him that, she’d fought with him enough. So he wanted her at Yorktown and at the peace accord signing next week to prove to all the Middle East leaders that the U.S. vice president had finally come to the dark side and agreed America’s enemies were their friends. If it happened.

“Understood, sir.” She knew she shouldn’t prod the beast with a stick, but she couldn’t help herself. “So, otherwise, how are the talks going?”

She knew he hated to say it, but he had no choice. “Not well, even with all my efforts, but still, it will turn around, once you get the Israelis back to the table. I have another twenty-four hours left to get them all on board. Do your job, Callan,” and he hung up. Callan immediately dialed her chief of staff, Qui

“Morning, ma’am,” came Qui

“Not yet. Is my schedule insane today? I have some work I’d like to do from here.”

“You have three meet and greets, a photo op with the dairy farmers at ten. We don’t need you here until nine at the earliest. I take it Bradley is making you jump?”

“Of course. Gather the security folks. I want a full briefing on COE at ten-fifteen. I’ll send word when I’m on my way.”

She hesitated only a moment before dialing a number she knew by heart. When he answered, his deep voice was so familiar, and now so distant, she wanted to chuck it all and set things right between them.

“Mizrahi.”

“Ari? It’s Callan.”

“I know. I still recognize your number.” The coldness of his tone broke her heart. At least he’d answered, and that was an improvement. He wouldn’t take her calls for months after she’d broken it off, had no choice when she’d joined the campaign. She’d needed him the most then, but he’d cut her off completely, seeing her as a traitor since she’d teamed up with Bradley, a man he distrusted. She understood, all too well. She’d chosen her career over him and he wouldn’t get over it. She’d hoped she could break through, but after today, she knew there wouldn’t be a chance. Today she had to rattle his cage.

“I’m calling on official business.”

“I would expect nothing else from you.”

Another stab to the heart. “Ari, please. Let’s not fight. You know my situation. You know when I accepted this job I could hardly go on the campaign trail with a lover from Mossad.”

He went silent, and she rested her forehead in her hand. “This is temporary, Ari. You know how I feel. That hasn’t changed.”

When he spoke again, his voice cool and remote, she knew their personal fight was put back in its bottle for another time. Please be patient, Ari. Please forgive me for today.

“What do you need, Madam Vice President?”

“I need your people, your government, back at the table in Geneva, to cooperate with President Bradley’s talks.”

“Our stance hasn’t changed, Callan. We won’t capitulate here, we can’t afford to, and you of all people know exactly why we can’t. Iran has their warheads pointed at us. Any concessions on our part right now will be tantamount to opening the border and letting the dogs through. They stand down, take those reactors offline permanently, then we’ll talk, but you know they have no intention of doing that, not in my lifetime.”

“We’re working on it, Ari, I promise you we are. If you’d give us one bit of a good-faith showing—”

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this, from you of all people. You, who knows firsthand what we’ve sacrificed, how we’ve continued to bend and compromise. Do you wish to ignore that we’re under constant attack? That we live daily with death riding on our shoulders and blood in our coffee shops? My own i

“I’m asking that you consider the possibility of reaching a lasting peace, Ari. Think of the possibilities, keep an open mind, that’s all.”

He laughed once, short and bitter. “A lasting peace. You will never see past the end of your nose. No, it’s not your nose, it’s his, Bradley’s. He doesn’t want to see that Iran has no intention of cooperating, or working toward peace, with us, Israel. They want us destroyed. They say it out loud for the world to hear. Even Colonel Rahbar, he’s saying all the right things as he sits at the table, pandering to the president. These peace meetings—they’re all for show.”

She agreed with him, but she said, “Perhaps this time is different, perhaps—”

He cut her off. “Tell me why there’s a contract out?”

Her heart froze. “What? What did you say?”

“We intercepted an e-mail going to Jordan last night. In it were wire transfers to a series of accounts we’ve been monitoring. We believe it’s the Iranians, acting with Hezbollah. We believe they belong to—”

“Don’t say it,” she said sharply, all personal animus forgotten. “Not on this line. Do you have any tangible proof of this?”

“He’s gone. Three months ago, he flew to Mexico, through London. There was a small slaughter outside of Ciudad Juárez. A group of ISIS jihadists we’ve been collectively watching. A pollero, a local coyote, is missing as well. Official word is a pissed-off drug lord killed them, but I saw the pictures. It’s his work, without doubt. He’s on the move, Callan, and he’s in the United States.”