The Washington Stratagem (29 page)

Yael watched a passenger ferry progress up the Golden Horn, remembering the many meetings she had held with Turkish officials at the country’s UN mission on First Avenue. Helped by their friends in Congress and the firms they hired on K Street, they had lobbied hard to host the summit, beating off strong competition from Jerusalem, Doha, Amman, and Cairo. The Turkish officials argued that having the summit in Istanbul would send a message, to both East and West: Turkish Islam, a faith that engaged with the West instead of fighting a jihad against it, offered the best hope for the future. At a time of regional chaos, Turkey was a bastion of stability and moderation. That, and a promise to finally close the supply lines to al-Qaeda–sponsored rebels in Syria, had swung it for Istanbul, along with Fareed Hussein’s support.

Yael had never seen him work so hard before. His habitual languor evaporated in a blaze of enthusiasm for the summit and all it could achieve, including, of course, a confirmation of his legacy as a peacemaker, one that would, he hoped, finally banish the ghosts of Rwanda and Srebrenica. And then, on the very eve of his triumph, the summit had been snatched away from him. Or perhaps not, Yael thought, as she took out Saturday’s
New York Times
from the seat pocket and reread the story on the top of page 7.

GROWING FEARS OVER PREPARATION FOR ISTANBUL SUMMIT

US Officials Concerned about New Stewardship at United Nations

By SAMI BOUSTANI

UNITED NATIONS—Senior US officials are concerned that a UN-sponsored summit on the Middle East could be vulnerable to security lapses because of inadequate preparation by the new UN leadership, according to a confidential briefing note.

The briefing note, written by James Berger, the deputy chief of the US mission to the UN, highlights growing concern about the leadership abilities of Caroline Masters. Ms. Masters, a former US ambassador to the UN and deputy secretary-general, was appointed acting secretary-general on Wednesday. “Masters’s appointment is bad news both for US policy and the UN in general. She is in thrall to the corporate world and has lost her sense of judgment,” wrote Mr. Berger in the memo, dated Wednesday, obtained by the
New York Times
. “She has pushed to take over the Istanbul Summit for months and now she has done so; there is still no sign of a final agenda or delegate list.” Neither Mr. Berger nor the spokesman for the US mission returned repeated calls and e-mailed requests for comment.

Fareed Hussein, the UN secretary-general, has been on sick leave since Wednesday and UN officials say privately he is suffering from fainting attacks. Mr. Hussein has notably failed to attend several high-level planning meetings for the summit in recent weeks. Ms. Masters is due to fly out to Istanbul on Sunday evening after finalizing a $250 million contract with prominent Washington firm the Prometheus Group to provide security services at the summit. The contract also includes a clause providing for a pilot scheme under which Prometheus will assist with security at UN buildings around the world, “supplementing” the role of the UN security department. Ms. Masters has long been one of the most outspoken advocates of a greater role for corporations in conjunction with the United Nations.

The summit, described by President Freshwater as the most ambitious diplomatic event in decades, will start in five days in Istanbul. It aims to solve the interlinked crises in Syria, Egypt, and Israel-Palestine. The rise of Islamic radicalism across the Middle East and the recent establishment of the self-declared Islamic Caliphate of Greater Syria by the al-Qaeda–sponsored Army of the Shaheeds (martyrs) in parts of Syria and Iraq have triggered a rare show of unity among the members of the UN Security Council as they attempt to bring all the warring parties to the negotiating table.

Mr. Berger’s concerns are shared by a growing number of Western and UN officials, according to Keir Rogerson. Mr. Rogerson, a former British diplomat stationed at the UN, now runs Diplomacy Unbound, a research organization based in New York. “The word in Washington, London, and Paris is that Masters is out of her depth. The summit is due to start next Thursday, in six days, and the planning is all over the show. Washington, London, Paris, Moscow, and Beijing are all getting increasingly nervous. There is too much at stake for the summit to fail.”

In addition to the controversy surrounding the UN’s agreement with Prometheus, there are increasing worries about security. The Istanbul Summit will be attended by the presidents of the Permanent Five members of the Security Council—the United States, China, Russia, Britain, and France—as well as the presidents of Israel, Egypt, Syria, Turkey (the host country), and leaders of other states, including Saudi Arabia, Jordan, and Iraq. The presence of so many leaders will be “a magnet for jihadis,” said a US official with knowledge of security matters.

Two bombs recently exploded in downtown Istanbul, killing three German tourists and wounding several dozen. The Turkish authorities blame Kurdish separatists, and officials have launched a crackdown on the Kurdish community. Scores of Kurdish activists have been arrested, prompting claims from UN and Western officials that Turkey is flouting human rights. Ahmet Kirkuki, a spokesman for the banned Kurdistan Workers’ Party (PKK), strongly denied that the PKK had any involvement in the bomb attacks. There have been daily protests at Taksim Square in downtown Istanbul against the detentions.

A new entente with Iran has opened a rare window of opportunity for regional stability, said a senior UN official who asked not to be named as he was not authorized to speak on the record. “Tehran is open for business. It’s ready to cut off aid to Hezbollah, its proxy militia in Syria and Lebanon. The Gulf monarchies are petrified of the Islamic Caliphate in Syria. The Israelis know they have to choose: peace with the Palestinians or another intifada. The Egyptians want a role for moderate Islamists. Everything is in place.”

Roxana Voiculescu, Acting Secretary-General Masters’s newly appointed spokeswoman, denied claims that the summit preparations are inadequate. “Months of hard work have gone into planning the summit. We are confident that everything will go ahead as planned.”

Additional reporting by Najwa al-Sameera
.

Yael smiled as she came to the end of the article, remembering her dance with Najwa. The mystery of Najwa’s fiancé, often discussed, but never sighted, was now a little clearer. As for the man who might once have been Yael’s fiancé—what, exactly, was Eli Harrari doing in New York? Yael did not for a moment believe his story about a job as chief of staff to the Israeli ambassador. Nor did she believe in coincidences, especially where Eli was concerned. Meanwhile, there was Fareed—down but certainly not out. The arch-conciliator had, over the years, built up a favor bank that reached around the globe. Now, it seemed, he was calling in some of his debts from his exile at Sutton Place and delivering the results to Sami. Masters, Yael was sure, would retaliate.

Thanks to Beaker’s hacking of Cyrus Jones’s telephone, Yael, Joe-Don, and Braithwaite knew the outline of the plan to attack the Istanbul Summit. The two bombs in Istanbul were just a foretaste of the carnage to come. The plan was to kill as many global leaders as possible. The attacks on the summit would destabilize the West, trigger massive retaliation against Muslims around the world, and tip the Middle East into bloody chaos. The question was, how were they going to stop it? They had discussed simply going to the US mission to the UN, asking for an appointment with the ambassador, and telling him everything. But the Prometheus Group had lines into every US government department, especially the Pentagon and the intelligence services. Even if the ambassador believed them and red-flagged their information, Prometheus’s allies would surely dismiss it as fantasy. All they would achieve would be to draw more attention to themselves and drive the conspirators further underground with a new plan. Yael had agreed with Joe-Don that she would travel immediately to Istanbul. He and Braithwaite would follow the next day. It was not ideal, but Joe-Don wanted to visit a contact in Washington, DC, who, he said, had some useful information. And in Istanbul there was someone Yael could ask for help, someone with whom she had already worked. But could she trust him?

The Turkish Airlines flight had departed on time, on Saturday evening at nine o’clock. It was supposed to be a direct flight, a journey of eleven hours, due to land at three o’clock in the afternoon local time. At first Yael had had two seats to herself. She went to sleep, but eight hours in, the captain had announced that the plane would be making an unscheduled stop in Frankfurt, for “technical reasons.” He assured the passengers there was nothing to worry about as a frisson of alarm ran through the cabin. Yael was an experienced traveler, attuned to the sequence of engine noises that marked an airplane journey. There had been no bumps, lurches, or grinding sounds. Nothing was on fire. The cabin staff, the best barometer of any danger, seemed completely relaxed, so she fell back to sleep. She woke up somewhere over Serbia to find she had a neighbor. A young woman had boarded in Frankfurt. She was in her early twenties, plump with olive skin, short-cropped brown hair, glasses, and a snub nose. Yael had glanced at her, wondering how a passenger was allowed to board during an unscheduled stop, but she was exhausted, still sore from her fight with Cyrus Jones, and soon fell back sleep.

Yael had folded away the newspaper and was jamming it into the seat-back pocket, when she sensed movement on her right. Her neighbor was peering through the window, leaning so close that Yael could smell her almond-scented shampoo.

“It’s so beautiful, isn’t it?” the young woman said, her voice full of enthusiasm.

Yael stifled a yawn. “Very.”

She turned to look at Yael. “First time in Istanbul?” She spoke English with an American accent, overlaid with the long, harmonious vowels of Turkish.

“Yes.”

“Lucky you. You have a treat awaiting,” she said, her right hand touching and smoothing her hair.

“If we ever get off this plane,” said Yael, noting her nervous gesture.

“I’m so sorry about that; it’s partly my fault,” said the young woman, before launching into a long, detailed explanation of how she had been traveling back to Istanbul from Hamburg in Germany, with a layover in Frankfurt, but her original flight was canceled, and then it turned out there were seats on this one, even though it was not supposed to stop at Frankfurt and was only there to get something checked in the engine and so on and so forth.

She looked at Yael. Yael nodded, not especially sympathetically, and did not say anything as the young woman continued talking. She was not picking up Yael’s signals that she did not want to chat. Maybe she was a nervous flyer. Maybe she was just trying to be friendly. But Yael did not feel very friendly. After fourteen hours sitting in seat 8A she wanted to be left in peace, until she could get off the plane.

“Do you mind?” her neighbor suddenly asked, leaning toward Yael, her iPhone in her hand.

Before Yael had a chance to answer, the young woman moved sideways again, holding her phone against the cabin window. “It’s such a stunning view. I want to grab a quick video.”

“Quick is fine,” said Yael, leaning back in her seat to make room.

The young woman held her phone in three different positions against the window for about a minute, then stopped filming. She thanked Yael, apologized for the inconvenience, and placed it in her purse. She sat back and closed her eyes.

Yael looked out the window once more. The plane began its direct approach to the airport and she felt the wings clunk as the landing gear came down. She checked her watch. It was now six o’clock. She could see the fishermen standing on the quay, tiny figures with their rods leaning against the rail, and the boat-restaurant bobbing in the tide that sold only one dish: fried mackerel sandwiches with salad and onions, the most delicious fish she had ever tasted. Just the thought of them made her hungry. Until she remembered a darker harvest.

The policemen grimace as they drag the dead man into the boat. His back is crisscrossed by deep welts, their ruffled edges bleached white by the water
.

Yael picked up her newspaper again and found the item in the Metro section.

MAN FOUND DEAD IN CAR IN MANHATTAN

A man was found dead in a car yesterday on the Lower East Side, police said. Officers responded to a call at 4:20 a.m. and found the man dead apparently from a single gunshot wound to the head. The car, a blue Volkswagen Touareg, was parked under the Williamsburg Bridge by East River Park. The police said the victim appears to be in his thirties and may have committed suicide. He was holding a .22 Beretta fitted with a heavily scratched silencer. He was carrying no identification documents or credit cards. However, he had a distinguishing purple birthmark on the right-hand side of his neck. There was no sign of a struggle. Police have appealed for anyone with possible information to come forward.

Yael felt no regret at the death of Cyrus Jones. Neither the news of his demise nor its manner was a surprise. But the murder weapon was. Yael slipped her hand inside her jeans pocket and took out a silver earring. It was a half loop, with a small turquoise stone set underneath, one of a pair her father had bought in the Jaffa flea market when she was a teenager. She had not worn the earrings for many years, and as far as she could remember, they were jumbled in a pile in her jewelry box. Since she’d found it she had searched for the other half of the pair, but it had disappeared. More to the point, why had the earring been on the floor of her apartment, next to the space where she had hidden Cyrus Jones’s gun? A space, she had discovered, that was now empty.

Joe-Don sat back in the polished leather armchair and sipped his bourbon. It was too sweet for his taste, especially at eleven o’clock in the morning.

“Does she know you are here?” asked the man sitting next to him in a matching armchair.

“Of course not.”

He picked up the bottle and offered it to Joe-Don, who declined. He topped up his own drink and swirled it around his glass, staring at the amber liquid as though it held the very secret of existence. He looked up before he spoke. “JD, we go back a long way.”