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BEN GURION INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT, TEL AVIV

Annie Stewart couldn’t believe they were already on the ground.

It had been the smoothest touchdown she had ever experienced, and the most restful flight, after all the initial turbulence. It was her first trip on Air Force One, and she felt just a pang of regret that the senator wasn’t going to run after all.

Pete Hwang sat in the DSS operations center, watching the live coverage.

Even as he texted and radioed steady updates to DSS agents in Israel, it was hard not to watch Air Force One come to a full stop outside the designated hangar without a stab of envy. But for his wounded arm, he would be there too, with his best friend, right in the thick of it. Yet as the door opened and the stairway was rolled into place and the IDF military band began to play “Hail to the Chief” and a smiling and waving POTUS emerged on a cloudy but dry day to roars of applause, Pete was five thousand miles away missing it all.

The Israeli commander was finally convinced the first floor was clear.

On his order, commandos poured into the building and confirmed the robot’s findings. But the procedure had to be painstakingly repeated on the second and third floors. In the end, there were no booby traps, though the commander radioed to Marcus that they had found extensive traces of explosives on the third floor.

And a body.

Outside Aspen, the Raven was glued to the live coverage.

He watched as King Faisal’s 747 touched down after the two-hour and two-minute flight from Riyadh. He was watching on RT, the Russian propaganda network, to see how they covered the story. So far they were playing it straight. The anchors noted that this was the first direct trip between the Saudi and Israeli cities ever flown by the Saudi national airline in history. It was going to be the first time a Saudi leader had ever met with an Israeli leader, at least publicly. It was also going to be the first time the remarks of an Israeli prime minister would be aired live on Saudi television and on Arabic stations throughout the Gulf region.

It was, Oleg knew, a day of many firsts. Yet, terrified by the immense danger the three world leaders were now in, Oleg Kraskin did something he had never done before —he bowed his head and prayed to a God he still wasn’t sure he believed in to keep these men safe from all evil and harm.

Yasmine Mashrawi sat spellbound as she watched the coverage on Al-Sawt.

The anchors were using every opportunity to disparage the Saudi king for betraying not only the Palestinian cause but “that of every Muslim” for daring to “normalize” relations with the “criminal Zionists.” The shoemaker and his wife, with whom Yasmine was sitting, meanwhile, wouldn’t stop talking, wouldn’t stop echoing every critical word the anchors uttered, and far worse.

Yasmine said nothing. She nodded her head occasionally, wanting her hosts to feel that she was with them. But privately, she couldn’t help but think that just maybe the Saudi king was doing the right thing. Yasmine was not a political person. She would certainly never contradict her father, who was constantly blasting the Zionists and their American “enablers.” And there was no question that the Israeli occupation of Jerusalem and the West Bank and Gaza grieved her. Yet secretly she could not understand why Ismail Ziad constantly refused every offer for peace and reconciliation that the Americans or Israelis proposed. Of course the Israelis’ offers were ridiculous and unfair. But what did Ziad and his people expect? Why not go back to the bargaining table and bargain? How were the lives of the Palestinians ever going to get better if he didn’t make a deal and start truly building their state?

Reaching into her pocketbook, Yasmine pulled out the phone her husband had given her. She powered it up and set it in her lap, full of anticipation of joining Hussam very shortly.