Fuse of Armageddon (20 page)

“As much cream and sugar as you can stick in your coffee,” Kate said sweetly. “So you’ll enjoy a long drive back to Jerusalem.”

“Brad, I need you here,” Quinn said. “Information is one of a negotiator’s most vital assets. You’ll know things and give us perspective that may save your father’s life. It’s obvious that you’re willing to speak your mind. That’s a good thing. When we go into huddles and plan the next step, I want you to second-guess everything until a decision is made. That way it will be the best decision possible. Here’s a warning though: if you second-guess it after a decision is made, you’re out the door.”

“This is not going to work,” Hamer said.

“Rule one in negotiating: I’m just a go-between. You’re the final decision maker. Brad’s got to agree to that to stay on the team. But what happens when the terrorist makes a demand for something that only Brad or the Silver organization can meet? There’s less chance for misunderstanding if Brad knows exactly what’s happening and is right here to give you the answer. No delays, either, when time matters.”

“I still don’t like it,” Hamer said.

“I don’t like it in any way,” Kate said.

“There’s no way you’re going to make me like it either,” Brad said.

“Listen to the three of you. Already in agreement. A true team.” Quinn grinned. “Get into the boxing ring when all of this is finished, but for now think about those thirty people. We do what it takes to get them home.”

“Fine,” Brad said with ill-disguised petulance.

Hamer merely nodded.

Kate glared at Brad. “Doesn’t sound like I have a choice. But he gets me the first cup of coffee.”

“Brad,” Quinn said, “before you get to the coffee, we need you leaving through the front door of the lobby.”

“What?” Brad exploded. “You went through all of this to get rid of me?”

“Go check into a hotel,” Quinn said. “The Olympia, the Armon Hayarkon, anyplace you want. Draw the media there. Then, if you can, find a way to sneak here again without the media attention.”

“You’re not making sense.”

“Good. You’re second-guessing me. If I can’t sell you on my reasons for it, we do something else. Fair enough?”

Incredible, Kate thought. Quinn was deftly negotiating here, and Brad didn’t have a clue it was happening.

“Try me.” Brad was a touch less petulant than a moment before.

“We’ve agreed already there’s going to come a point, maybe more than a couple of times, when the person or people on the other end will ask for something that only you can give. Most often in these situations, the best response is a delayed one. Gives us time to think things through. While it’s best for us to have you here to discuss it, if it
looks
like we can’t get to you for an immediate answer, stalling isn’t likely to put your father or the others in danger. The kidnapper is certain to be watching media reports. I’d like him to believe you’re staying at your hotel, not here. Lets us stall when it’s convenient for us.”

Kate watched Quinn study Brad, as if Quinn was deciding if he needed to explain more.

“Sold?” Quinn finally asked.

“Fine,” Brad said.

“Good. You’ll use your expertise and connections to handle the media, then, in a way that works for us?”

“That’s why I have speed dial,” Brad said, all petulance gone.

“What do they know at this point?” Quinn asked.

“Only that my father is among Americans kidnapped.”

“Not that Safady may be involved?”

“Cohen told me not to release that information.”

“He’s right,” Quinn said. “If you want to turn this into a media frenzy, that’s what it would take. It will only help Safady.”

Brad nodded.

Kate was amazed at how Quinn had converted an enemy into an ally.

The word stuck in her mind.
Enemy
. With it came an image—the grainy video shot taken in the casino, capturing Quinn as he followed the man that Kate would later find upside-down and dead in a cube van.

No mistakes,
she warned herself.
The most dangerous snakes are the ones who hypnotize you before they strike.

16

CCTI Headquarters, Tel Aviv • 8:29 GMT


I’m not that impressed with your negotiating skills,” Hamer said to Quinn.

Kate was in the kitchen suite and out of earshot. Quinn and Hamer were standing at the window, watching the two media vans disappear down Hayarkon Street in pursuit of Brad Silver.

“Silver’s gone for a while, and he took the media with him,” Quinn said. “What more do you want? The three of us now have time to decide how to deal with him.”

“The lines you fed him weren’t bad, but—”

“We need him,” Quinn said. “At the least, having him here will keep him from calling news conferences every half hour to demand that the IDF make better progress. Most important, I earned his trust. That’s rule one in negotiating: earn trust.”

“I was talking about Penner. You haven’t done much with her.”

“She’s making coffee for us. She let me out of her sight. Considering that she was ready to kill when the Mossad turned the jet around, I’d call both of those a negotiating coup.”

“Out of sight? She’s, what, twenty steps away?” Hamer pointed at the handcuffs that Penner had slapped on Quinn’s wrists before going into the kitchen. “Good thing you’ve built such a huge trust factor with her.”

“Sometimes as a negotiator you understand things have to be done to save face.” Quinn played this with a straight face. “Think about all her earlier threats to me. If she were serious about not trusting me, my hands would be cuffed behind my back. Or, from what I’ve seen already, she’d just shoot me.”

“I’ll bet victories like this don’t come too often in your business. You’ll probably remember it as a highlight of a brilliant career.” Hamer checked to make sure Kate wasn’t out of the kitchen suite yet. “Why’d you tell Silver that the Mossad would locate his father and the other Americans by noon? I don’t like that kind of pressure.”

“Because you and I are going to trade favors. I want as much background as you can get on Kate Penner and the extradition order and where she got what she did on me . . . without her knowing it. While you’re at it, get what you can on Brad Silver. The more we understand about him and his evangelical organization, the better we can evaluate whatever information he gives us.”

“You want secret background on a U.S. marshal who can yank you out of the country at any given moment, when escape will take you away from a murder indictment. In exchange for that highly unethical move, I receive what?”

“The location of the kidnapped Americans and credit for it. Like you said, you don’t like that kind of pressure.”

“You’ll get me the information?” Disbelief showed on Hamer’s face.

“Yeah.”

“How?”

“I guess you really do think I’m a bad negotiator. I tell you that, and you’ll do it yourself. Then I’ve lost leverage.”

“You’ll get me the information.” The statement was flat now.

“But we need to be extremely careful with it. If it leaks, we’ve turned a kidnapping situation into a hostage situation, where shooting hostages becomes leverage for the kidnapper. Especially now that the media will be on this like a pit bull.”

“You told Brad by noon. That sounds confident.”

“Remember I put an escape clause in that promise.”

“I heard it. Even after locating them, we might not decide to tell him. Still, why’d you pick a deadline only hours away?”

“I’ll tell you just to convince you to start on getting me the information I want. We’ve got great computer geeks here at CCTI. Some don’t mind breaking privacy restrictions and hacking into servers to track down IP addresses.”

“That’s so wrong,” Hamer said.

“We hired our best geeks from the Mossad, where they were trained to do that and worse.”

“That’s what I meant by wrong. We can’t match private sector salaries. What’s the plan?”

“Last night, our contact was face-to-face via webcam. Our geek has promised me that the link from his computer to mine lasted long enough to give us a decent shot at locating him.”

“Nobody can track through the Internet that fast,” Hamer said. “I’m a dinosaur when it comes to computers, but even I know enough about cybercrime to understand that something like this can take weeks. Months if it’s done legally.”

“Not if our geek planted a beacon,” Quinn said. “Then it will be like finding the vehicle with a car alarm going off in a church parking lot.”

“Planted a beacon? How?”

“Think I know the technological aspects? I just know it’s worked before. You’ve heard of tracer programs, right?”

Hamer shrugged, as if refusing to commit one way or the other. “If I don’t agree to this exchange? You strike me as the type of guy who would give IDF the information anyway to help those thirty Americans.”

“I would.”

“Look at the leverage you’ve just lost by admitting that. See what I mean about unimpressive negotiating skills?”

“Remember rule one in negotiating: earn trust.”

“I thought you said rule one was that you were the go-between, not the decision maker.”

“That’s definitely rule one. So is gathering information. So is earning trust.”

“Of course,” Hamer said.

“By giving up my leverage to you in this situation, I open the door for you to trust me. You’ll want to give something up in return. Like getting me information on Penner and the extradition. It’s great negotiating. I give up one thing and get two in return.”

“Wrong. I’m IDF. I don’t give out classified information.”

“How’s this for leverage then?” Quinn said. “Get me what I want, or I’ll tell Silver you weren’t talking to the prime minister when you made that dramatic offer of resignation on your cell phone. Bad as you made Brad look, he’s going to love payback when he knows the call was faked.”

“He’s got media on his speed dial,” Hamer said. “I’ve got the PM. That call was legitimate, and all you need to do to prove it is call the PM yourself.”

“Nice try. You know I don’t have the PM on
my
speed dial.”

Hamer flipped out his cell phone and offered it to Quinn. “Hold down the number three key for a couple seconds.”

“Impressive bluff and impressive poker face,” Quinn said. “But remember rule one.”

“Which rule one? I’ve lost track.”

“That’s rule one. Keep track. Here you’re trying a bluff, but I know your cards and you don’t know mine.”

“
You’re
bluffing.”

“Rule one: information is your most valuable asset. This office is buffered against wireless reception. Unless I shut off the hidden scrambler, no calls get in, no calls go out.”

“Oh,” Hamer said. His jaw clenched briefly.

“So, you want me to tell Silver you didn’t reach the PM? Or want to get me some classified information in exchange for what I learn about the terrorists’ location?”

Hamer didn’t pause long. “You’ll have the report on Penner by noon.”

“See what I mean?” Quinn said. “Right then, I was a go-between that you trusted, allowing you to make a decision based on information that you kept track of. Negotiating is simple. All you do is remember rule one.”

Dayr al-Balah, Gaza Strip • 8:29 GMT


“Let me ask you something,” Joe Patterson said to Frankie Burge, the soldier who was helping him guard Orphan Annie. “You still cool with all this?”

The platoon had slept through the night without incident, then traveled north, halfway through the Gaza Strip—maybe six or seven miles—to reach Dayr al-Balah. Here Saxon had ordered them into an empty building that gave them a clear view of the wire-fenced compound where their trucks were held. Patterson and Burge knew they were expected to sacrifice their lives to keep the heifer from harm.

Patterson had been thinking about too many things. He wished he could find the mental space to trust orders like a good soldier. But watching defenseless men get slaughtered—Muslim or not—had wedged into his mind the first small and unanswered doubts. Then came the bigger questions and the bigger doubts. This had so far been a complex military action, obviously well planned and supported by a resource structure beyond his imagination. Where was all of this leading? How much more slaughter would it involve?

“Am I cool with standing beside a cow?” Burge patted Orphan Annie.

“Heifer,” Patterson said.

“Sure. I’m cool standing with a heifer. I just take orders.”

Patterson’s point exactly. But nothing he wanted to say aloud. Yet.

“I meant are you cool with
all
of this,” Patterson said. “Not just this morning’s orders to watch Orphan Annie.”

“Like our crusade and putting my life on the line and wondering if I’ll be killed in the next firefight?” Frankie shrugged. He was the largest of all the Freedom Crusaders but had a surprisingly high-pitched voice. “I know where my soul is going. I’m not afraid of dying.”

To Patterson, this answer revealed how much Burge’s perspective differed from his own. Patterson hadn’t been worrying in the least about death in battle. He couldn’t shake the horrible feeling that the Freedom Crusaders weren’t crusaders but executioners. Patterson wouldn’t define any of their dozen engagements so far as battles or firefights, only slaughters of Muslims, like the evening before, when the Freedom Crusaders had held every advantage in terrain, surprise, technology, firepower, and manpower.

“And you’re cool with shooting down men who are begging for mercy?” Patterson said softly.

Burge narrowed his eyes. “Just as cool as they were when they flew those jets into the WTC. You saw the footage later. Muslims all across the world celebrating while Americans burned to death. They were begging for mercy too. I’m cool with payback, if that’s what you mean.”

Patterson hated his own doubts. He was thinking that maybe the media footage had shown only a few Muslim crowds. He wondered if that attitude really reflected all of them. Wondered if that made it right to be a Freedom Crusader. Hadn’t that been basic in kindergarten? Two wrongs don’t make a right.