EPILOGUE

THE KNESSET, JERUSALEM —18 DECEMBER

Thunder boomed over the Holy City.

Lightning flashed across a dark and ugly sky. Israeli, Saudi, and American flags whipped fiercely in the winter winds outside the parliament building, and a great downpour commenced and didn’t let up.

Inside the central chamber, the aging Saudi monarch climbed to the rostrum with the help of an aide.

As he was introduced by the Speaker of the Knesset, every elected member not only stood but roared in thunderous cheers and applause —all, that was, but the twelve Arab parliamentarians. Immediately they began shouting curses and epithets at the king at the top of their lungs, unfurling banners written in Arabic, Hebrew, and English that accused the king of “betraying the cause of Palestine” and bringing “disgrace on the House of Saud and the whole of the Arab people and the Muslim world.”

Seeing such rage in their eyes, Marcus, Geoff Stone, and two other DSS colleagues —all of whom were standing post behind where Secretary Whitney was seated —immediately hardened up their defenses around the secretary, even as their Secret Service colleagues tightened up around Clarke, who was sitting directly beside Prime Minister Eitan. In the end, it was a raucous but short-lived protest. Israeli security removed the twelve from the chamber, and things began to settle down.

When Agent Stone finally took two steps back from Whitney, Marcus and his colleagues followed suit. It took a few moments for his adrenaline to settle, but even as the Speaker apologized to His Majesty for the “brazen show of disrespect,” Marcus was having trouble making sense of what he’d just witnessed.

The protestors were not part of Ismail Ziad’s government. They were not members of the Palestinian Authority’s legislature. Everyone who had just been removed from the chamber was both an Arab and a full Israeli citizen, with all the rights of every Jewish citizen of the state. Each was a Sunni Muslim, a member of one of several Muslim-majority political parties in Israel. Each had been duly elected to the parliament by fellow Israeli Arab citizens in the only true democracy in the Middle East. Certainly none of them were fans of Reuven Eitan’s right-wing government; that much Marcus got. But why, as Sunni Arab Muslims, were they so vehemently opposed to the king of Saudi Arabia coming to Jerusalem to make peace? Wasn’t this move toward peace a good thing, he wondered, something to which one should aspire, not rebuke?

As he scanned the room for other possible threats, Marcus looked across the gallery, packed with members of the American and Saudi delegations, foreign ambassadors to Israel, and myriad other VIPs. He scrutinized the faces of the dozens of reporters present and the camera operators and producers as the entire session was being broadcast live around the planet. Even without the drama of the previous day, the world would have been riveted on this city at this unique moment. But in the aftermath of the unprecedented suicide bombing on the Temple Mount, Marcus had no doubt that viewership in the U.S. was going to break every ratings record imaginable, not just on cable networks but on the Big Four broadcast networks as well. What he found truly extraordinary was the fact that viewers in the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, and in most Gulf states —with the exception of Qatar —were able that day to watch live images from the Israeli parliament for the first time in their lives.

The Israeli president had already delivered his speech. So had Prime Minister Eitan, and —just moments before —President Clarke. Now they were all about to witness something few, if any, had ever dreamt possible: the king of Saudi Arabia, the Custodian of the Two Holy Mosques, addressing the legislature of the world’s only Jewish state.

Clearing his throat, then taking a sip of water, King Faisal Mohammed Al Saud held the lectern tightly, steadying himself as he looked into one teleprompter, then the other, and gathered his strength.

“In the name of God, the Gracious and Merciful,” he began.

The line was in Arabic, but Marcus had spent enough time in the Arab world over the years to know what the first sentence of every speech by every Arab Muslim leader meant.

The next line, however, was in Hebrew, and everyone was stunned.

“Anee ba b’shalom.”

Marcus had no idea what it meant, but it must have been good, for the Israelis erupted, rising again to their feet and giving the monarch an ovation that lasted at least two full minutes, maybe more. Amid the cacophony, a Knesset staffer whispered in his ear, “The king just said, ‘I come in peace.’”

Now the monarch switched to English.

“Mr. Speaker, Mr. Prime Minister, Mr. President, esteemed dignitaries, friends: Yesterday we witnessed a gruesome act of evil, the work of those who would not only oppose peace but also seek to kill all who would dare to make it, and do so in the name of my religion. But that was yesterday. Today, here and now, I tell you I reject such outlaws of Islam. They do not represent my faith. They do not represent me, my family, or my creed. And they do not represent my people.”

Again the applause was thunderous.

“I come to you today —as the great Anwar Sadat of Egypt once did; as Jordan’s great King Hussein once did —to forge a peace between our nations, a friendship between our peoples, and a hope for our region and for the world. I come to honor those who came before me —to build on what they accomplished, not threaten or undo it. And I come with the prayer —earnest and heartfelt —that if our two countries can find the courage to make peace, then perhaps my fellow Arabs will be inspired to join us, from Rabat to Ramallah, from Algiers to Abu Dhabi, from Muscat to Manama. . . .”

Line after line electrified the room. Yet Marcus would not remember all the king said. He was not there, after all, to listen to the Saudi leader’s address but to protect the American secretary of state. He doubted many others, aside from diplomats and historians, would remember the words either. What they would remember —so long as the peace process stayed on track and soon came to resolution —was the gesture and the spirit from which it came.

Back in the secure holding room, after the king was finished, Marcus stood near Secretary Whitney as the principals thanked one another for their remarks, discussed their next meeting at Camp David in early January, and took photos together. He was struck by the genuine camaraderie he was witnessing. Gone was the initial awkwardness the leaders had experienced in their first hours together. On the Temple Mount, they had been through a terrifying ordeal, and staring down Hussam Mashrawi’s attack and surviving it had bonded them in a way the Kairos leadership could scarcely have imagined. That wasn’t to say the road ahead was clear or straight. These were profoundly different men from profoundly different backgrounds who faced immense obstacles before an actual peace treaty could be forged. Yet more than anything else, what was fusing them together and what might very well enable them to cross the finish line against all odds could be summed up in one word.

Iran.

For the Israelis, there was very little downside to negotiating a treaty with the Saudis. The two countries had never been in direct warfare with each other. They had no outstanding land disputes. What’s more, both sides could declare how much they wanted to achieve a fair and comprehensive peace agreement with the Palestinians with precious little chance of having to make good on the pledge anytime soon.

That said, Riyadh had far more at stake in reaching out to the Israelis, and everyone in the room knew it. Everyone from al Qaeda and ISIS to the Muslim Brotherhood to Qatar to the Turks would be working to undermine the new Saudi stance. Still, the existential threat posed by the regime in Tehran was dramatically reshaping the geopolitics of the Middle East. The ayatollah’s race for nuclear weapons and the missiles to deliver them —and his funding of every terror group in the region from Hezbollah to Hamas to the Houthis —was forcing every Arab leader in every Arab capital in the region to fundamentally rethink who was a friend and who a foe. Clearly, His Majesty had concluded he no longer had the luxury of treating the Israelis as an enemy. The two nations had to become not just friends but strategic allies if the Iranian threat was to be neutralized. But would anyone now come to the Saudis’ side? Would the Bahrainis? Would the Emiratis? What about the Moroccans and the Omanis? Or would Riyadh be forced to go this one alone? And if so, at what cost?

Marcus heard in his earpiece that the presidential motorcade was ready to depart. Final instructions were being issued to both the Secret Service and DSS agents in the room to prepare to move the American principals out of the holding room in the next few minutes. Yet just then, to Marcus’s surprise, one leader after another came over to him to personally express thanks for saving their lives. True to form, perhaps, the Israeli prime minister was the most formal and thus somewhat awkward in conveying his appreciation. The Saudi monarch, on the other hand, was the most effusive, hugging Marcus and kissing him on both cheeks and inviting him to come back to Riyadh to see the king when everything quieted down.

“There are things to say,” His Majesty said quietly. “Things I would prefer to say only to you.”

Touched, Marcus nodded. Though he could not imagine any scenario in which his supervisors at the Diplomatic Security Service —much less the Central Intelligence Agency —would let him travel to the kingdom alone for a private parley with a foreign head of state, he kept such thoughts to himself and simply thanked the king for his kindness.

The last to come over was Clarke. “You did good, Ryker,” he said with a smile. “You turned out not to be a traitor after all.”

“Thank you, Mr. President,” Marcus replied, laughing despite the pain from all the cuts and contusions on his face and neck.

Clarke asked how Agent Curtis was doing.

“Quite well, sir. I spent several hours with her at the hospital last night and saw her briefly again this morning. She’s going to be just fine.”

“That’s good to hear,” Clarke said. “And Miss Stewart?”

“Annie’s doing great as well. She and Agent Curtis were actually on the same floor, so as luck would have it, I got to spend time with them both.”

“Glad to hear it. When will they be released?”

“Annie was released about an hour ago, and Agent Curtis is being released as we speak. Lord willing, they’re both going to fly home later tonight. I promised to be with them to make sure they’re okay.”

“And they’re both up for flying so soon?”

“These are two tough cookies, Mr. President.”

“They must be.”

For a moment, the president seemed as if he was going to go back to chatting with the other principals before heading to his motorcade for the quick trip to the airport. Instead, however, he stopped himself. “You folks want a ride home?” he asked Marcus.

“I’m sorry?” Marcus replied, not sure he could have possibly heard the question right.

“I’m asking if you, Miss Stewart, and Agent Curtis would like a ride home,” the president repeated. “After all, I assume your destination is Washington, and as it happens, I’m heading there myself. I’d be honored to have you all as my guests, if that would interest you.”

“Wow, Mr. President, I’m not sure what to say.”

“Say yes.”

“Well then, yes, I’d love a ride home,” Marcus said. “I’m sure the others would too. I’ll need to get permission from the head of my detail, but . . .”

Clarke laughed. “I’m the head of your detail, Ryker. Permission granted.”

And so it was that some ninety minutes later, Marcus Ryker was sitting aboard Air Force One with Annie Stewart, Kailea Curtis, and Senator Dayton, soaring over the Mediterranean and homeward bound, recounting with laughter and a few tears the drama they had just lived through and wondering what the future held for them, for their country, for the region, and for the world.