61

Marcus glanced at his watch as thunder boomed and it began to pour.

It was six minutes past closing time. He was the last customer sitting in the Starbucks near the corner of Pennsylvania and Seventeenth Street, a stone’s throw from the White House complex. The staff were wiping down counters and mopping floors, but the manager told him as long as he kept buying, she’d let him stay.

Then she told him why.

She remembered him from his days with the Secret Service. He’d been a regular, after all. Moreover, she told him that she remembered the day he’d been awarded the Medal of Valor for defending the president and the White House staff through a terror attack she otherwise had chosen to forget. She’d watched the whole ceremony on TV, as had everyone in the store that day. If he wanted to sit in her coffeehouse after hours all alone, then so be it. He was always welcome.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door. Three men stood outside.

“Those your friends?” the manager asked.

Marcus nodded, and she unlocked the door and let them in.

“You gentlemen want anything?” she asked.

The two large men with earpieces said, “No thank you, ma’am.”

Bill McDermott, on the other hand, asked for a cup of “something strong, as big as you’ve got.” She obliged him, then gave them their space. One agent took up a position by the front door. The other checked to make sure no one was in either of the bathrooms before taking a post by the back door.

“What’s this all about, Marcus?” McDermott asked.

“I need to see the president.”

“What for?”

Marcus explained his lunchtime conversation. The acting national security advisor was as stunned as Marcus had been. He asked a flurry of questions. But in the end, intrigued if not entirely satisfied by Marcus’s answers, he pulled out his government-issued BlackBerry and hit the first number on his speed dial.

“Maggie, I need fifteen minutes with POTUS —no, right now —and give the Secret Service a heads-up. I’m bringing in an old friend.”

“Agent Ryker,” said Clarke. “This had better be good. My plate’s full.”

“I understand, Mr. President,” Marcus said as they sat down on couches in the White House residence. “And I’m sorry to bother you so late on a weekend.”

“Bill here says you’ve got something pretty hot —too hot, apparently, to go through normal channels. That’s not how I typically do business. But you’ve got your fifteen minutes. So let’s have it.”

“Thank you, Mr. President. I promise to keep this brief.”

He proceeded to tell Clarke exactly what he had just told McDermott, which was exactly what he had heard from Senator Dayton and Annie Stewart. The Saudis liked his peace plan. They didn’t agree with all of it. It wasn’t how they would have written it. But it was serious. It was credible. And the Palestinian leadership was foolish for shooting it down like an Iraqi Scud missile. Marcus then explained that the king was ready to make a bold move toward peace with the Israelis —sending the crown prince to Jerusalem, but only if the president would call and host a peace summit.

Clarke listened carefully. He neither interrupted nor asked any questions until Marcus was through. Then he got up and walked over to the rain-streaked crescent window overlooking the South Lawn and the Washington Monument. After a while, he turned back and looked Marcus square in the eye. “How do I know Dayton isn’t setting me up?”

“Did he last time, with Luganov?” Marcus asked.

“That was different,” Clarke said. “We were facing war with the Russians.”

“We’re facing war again, Mr. President, against Kairos and whoever is funding them.” Marcus was not prepared to mention Moscow’s apparent connection to Kairos. That was too explosive and as yet unverified. Indeed, it could very well be that Iran had a hand in the latest attacks as well, just as the Saudis had said. The CIA needed more time to work their sources and gather hard facts. For now, however, something else was at stake. “We’re also facing what could prove to be the greatest breakthrough in the Middle East since Sadat went to Jerusalem in November 1977,” he added.

“You think the Saudis are really serious?” Clarke asked.

“I really can’t say, sir; I’m just passing on what I’ve been told.”

“Did the king bring any of this up with Evans or Davis when they saw him?”

“I wasn’t there, so I don’t know.”

“What about their detail?” McDermott asked. “Surely they heard the conversations with the king and crown prince.”

“No, they didn’t. I checked,” said Marcus. “After I met with the senator and Miss Stewart, I called Geoff Stone and Kailea Curtis. As you’ll recall, Geoff was the special agent in charge on the general’s detail. Kailea was his deputy. They were wounded in London and only released from the hospital today. But they both told me there were no agents in the room at the palace in Riyadh.”

“What about notetakers?” McDermott asked.

“No —not American ones, anyway. I checked. It was just Evans and Davis.”

“Did Stone and Curtis know why you were asking?” the president inquired.

“No, sir. I asked them about all the meetings they had —made it look like routine fact-checking.”

“Have you talked to anyone else about your conversation with Dayton?”

“No, sir.”

Clarke looked to McDermott. “Bill, what do you think?”

“Well, sir, I don’t like the idea of you being anywhere near the Temple Mount. But if the Saudis were really serious about making peace with the Israelis, that would pull your plan right out of the fire and put it in the history books. It would be a huge, huge story.”

“It would, wouldn’t it?” said Clarke, beginning to pace the room. “So do I meet with Dayton?”

McDermott turned to Marcus, but before he could respond, Clarke asked another question.

“Did Dayton really say he’s going to shut down his exploratory committee?”

“He did, sir. He said he was planning to do it this morning on Meet the Press, but the attacks scrambled his plans. Look, I know you’re concerned about the senator’s motives. And he’s a lib, don’t get me wrong. But he’s also a patriot. He proved that with the Russians. He has strong disagreements with you on domestic and economic policy, Mr. President. But on foreign policy, you two actually see eye to eye on more than you’d imagine.”

“If he works with me again, he’s finished in the Democrat Party.”

“I suspect so, sir,” Marcus said. “But actually that gives me an idea.”