The Last Days (37 page)

 

“Sir, we've got a body.”

FBI director Scott Harris heard the words but couldn't believe them.

He was in one of the Bureau's black-and-gold jet helicopters heading to New York from Washington on orders from the president. He and Chief of Staff Larry Kirstoff and three bodyguards were three thousand feet above the coast of New Jersey. They were inbound for a press conference with the mayor and police commissioner at city hall. Thus far, the manhunt hadn't turned up anything. Now he feared the worst.

“This is Harris, talk to me—what have you got?” he told the Bureau's lead investigator on the ground.

“Sir, one of the NYPD's search-and-rescue units just found a floater in the East River. Probably been there twenty-four to thirty-six hours, best they can tell.”

“And?” pressed Harris, hesitant to ask the obvious question on a frequency that was probably being monitored by the media.

“Hard to say, sir. The body's badly disfigured. The ME is on the way—but my guys tell me it's definitely a woman, somewhere between the ages of forty and sixty.”

Harris didn't know what to make of that. The age range was a bit young. But in the fog of war, first reports were often wrong.

Investigators had also just positively confirmed that it was indeed Ruth Bennett's ATM card used to withdraw $300 at a Chase Manhattan branch near Radio City Music Hall. But the ATM's security camera apparently had malfunctioned. There was no video of the transaction. Fingerprints were useless. At least eight other people had used the same ATM before the police could secure the scene.

No one remembered anyone matching Ruth Bennett's photograph being seen in the area. But no one could positively say they hadn't seen her either. It was too early in the morning. Too much was going on.

Prime Minister Doron had questions.

“Assuming Prime Minister Sa'id and I and our respective governments and countries can come to some agreement—that's a big assumption, I understand—but let's just make it for the purpose of this portion of our discussions.”

“Fair enough,” said Bennett.

“How long would it take for the oil and gas to start flowing? And, more to the point, how long would it take for the money to start flowing?”

“It's a good question, and, of course, there are all kinds of variables. The first and foremost being that the Medexco joint venture currently has exploration licenses, but not drilling and production licenses. Before the oil, gas, and money start flowing, Medexco needs to be granted such licenses.

“This could take several forms. One way would be to grant a concession to Medexco, whereby the company essentially leases the drilling rights, does all the work, and pays the Israeli and Palestinian governments a certain dollar amount each year, or a certain agreed-upon percentage of gross revenues. The government could then put these revenues in public trust, and distribute them annually by way of royalty checks.

“The State of Alaska does this. It leases petroleum and mineral rights to private companies. It collects about twenty-five billion dollars a year in fees, aside from corporate taxes. It puts all that money into what it calls the Permanent Fund, which it made part of its constitution back in the '70s when they struck black gold on the North Slope. At the end of the year, every official resident of Alaska gets a royalty check of more than fifteen hundred American dollars. It's not the only route, of course. But it's a relatively clean and simple process, and it would put hard, cold cash directly in the hands of every Israeli and Palestinian adult every single year of their lives.”

“And the other routes?”

“Well, there are lots of them, actually. But the most attractive would be some form of direct ownership.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning Israel and Palestine would basically grant Medexco drilling and production rights for a nominal fee, and the right to tax its profits at a low, flat rate. In exchange, Medexco would hold an initial public offering—an IPO—and become a publicly traded company. It would distribute shares of its common stock to every adult Israeli and Palestinian, as well as to its employees, venture capital partners, et cetera. Rather than receive an annual royalty check, Israelis and Palestinians would simultaneously be creating wealth in two different ways. First, each shareholder would, of course, receive dividend checks. The size of those checks would depend on how many shares a person held and the profits generated by Medexco that quarter or year. Second, each person would in all probability see the value of their stock rise—perhaps exponentially—overnight and then over the long haul. There would be a holding period of course, during which you couldn't sell the stock.”

“How long?” asked Doron.

“Depends. It's really up to you two, whatever you negotiate. But I'd say anywhere from eighteen months to three years would be a reasonable time frame. The idea is to prevent people from flooding the markets with their stock instantly. Create some stability. Give people a chance to see the company growing, maturing. Give people a stake in its security, and the security of the region. And, quite frankly, give people the chance to see the value of their stock increase dramatically in a relatively short period of time. The longer people hold on to their stock, the more wealth they'll have, the more they'll see the value of this joint venture, and peace between these two peoples.”

“OK,” said Doron, “so, again, assuming for a moment that all these details—and all the political details—could be worked out. Licenses. Concessions or IPOs, or whatever. How much time would it take to get drilling platforms and pipes and refineries and all that in place?”

“Well, again, there's lots of variables. But I think it's fair to say—and Erin, please correct me if I'm wrong—that the first oil and gas could begin coming out of the ground within one year of the signing of a peace agreement.”

McCoy nodded.

“That's about right,” she said. “The drilling platforms will be the quickest items to get into place, and we can begin building pumping and storage facilities simultaneously. What you won't have at first is much refining capacity. There's some in Israel by private companies. The rest would have to be outsourced. And of course, you don't have a deep-water port in Gaza, so there'd be some challenges there, as well. But all of these are manageable.”

“The key here is the dynamic that is set into motion,” Bennett interjected. “Arab and Israeli gas and oil companies—as well as all of the majors—are going to see what's going on and want a piece of the action. They'll raise capital and start building whatever they need to get into the game. Assuming there's peace, investors will be throwing billions of dollars into the mix. And the more they put in, the faster everything gets done. Everything that's needed can be built within a few years.”

And then, once he knew he had Doron's attention, Bennett sweetened the pot.

“The president has also authorized me to tell both of you that if both sides sign a fair and just agreement along the lines of what we'll be talking about over the next few days…”

He paused for effect. Both men were listening intently.

“…my government is prepared to underwrite the work and provide substantial loan guarantees to both sides.”

“‘Substantial'?” asked Doron. “What does that mean exactly?”

“Well, that all depends on the two of you,” said Bennett. “I'm not prepared to give you a precise answer right now. We want to see what kind of deal you two make together. But let me just say this: The president is ready to get behind this project in a big way. I think he's already shown the lengths to which he is willing to go to get this peace process on track, and we are ready to see it through to the end. We see its potential. Heck, we may be the only people who really see the full potential. Most Israelis and Palestinians have no idea how big this could be. And we believe that once all the proper equipment and facilities are built and in place and everything is running at full speed—several years to be sure, but far sooner than most people would think—the joint Israeli-Palestinian venture known as Medexco could rapidly become one of the largest petroleum companies in the world.”

“Meaning what?” Doron pressed.

“We project it could eventually pump between five and six million barrels a day, grossing—conservatively—about fifty to sixty
billion
dollars a year, just from raw oil and gas sales alone, to say nothing of all the other refined products and retail sales they could produce down the road.”

It was the first time Doron had heard the figures, and he was visibly taken aback.

“When one factors in all the other potential products and sources of revenue for which Medexco, GSX, and the Joshua Fund have outlined in their business plan—that's included in your briefing book—Medexco could before too long, I believe, do gross annual sales somewhere on the order of a hundred eighty billion dollars to two hundred twenty billion dollars a year.”

Now Doron sat back in his chair and stared Bennett in the eye.

“Our
entire
GDP is only one hundred twenty billion a year.”

“Indeed,” said Bennett. “Almost overnight, Medexco would become one of the largest oil companies in the world, on the order of ExxonMobil, which typically rings up about a quarter of a trillion dollars a year in gross sales.”

Bennett put up slides laying out the numbers vis-à-vis other major oil companies.

“Of course,” he continued, “all of these figures were based on low-intensity violence in the region before the war with Iraq, and, of course, before the current military operations began in the West Bank and Gaza.

“Medexco's oil and gas drilling platforms and refinery facilities—if actually built—would be vulnerable to attack. But the Iraqi threat is now neutralized. And if some kind of real peace between the Israelis and Palestinians could actually be found—and particularly if together we can eliminate or severely minimize the threat of radical Islamic extremism in the Palestinian areas—then the calculations made by our team may be moot, or conservative at best. The real value of the company could be in the trillions of dollars, virtually overnight.”

 

Bennett now upped the ante.

The presentation was almost over. But he had one more point to make, and it was central to his “oil-for-peace” concept.

“We'll talk about the details of our peace proposal tomorrow, but for now I want to talk about how to make the benefits of peace tangible for everyone. Recognizing there are a number of ways to go about it, nevertheless, we would recommend that your two governments leverage the Medexco proposal into an initial public offering, and that this IPO take place on the New York Stock Exchange to ensure the greatest access to international capital markets. We further recommend that every Israeli and Palestinian man and woman over the age of eighteen be given shares in the new company. In essence, we're recommending that you make everyone an owner of this new company, and thus give everyone a tangible, financial stake both in its success and in its safety.”

Sa'id sat motionless, Bennett noticed. It was as though he was afraid of doing anything that might distract Doron, who was clearly intrigued with the concept.

“We believe the IPO would raise hundreds of billions of dollars,” Bennett continued. “That would accomplish two objectives simultaneously. First, even low-and middle-income Israelis and Palestinians could become wealthy overnight. And second, Medexco could raise enough capital to complete all the necessary facilities as quickly as possible. While the president has no interest in micromanaging such an undertaking, as a former Wall Street CEO and chairman of the Joshua Fund and GSX, he understands the opportunities and nuances of this project, and he has some suggestions.”

Doron nodded, as did Sa'id.

“In no particular order, the president would like to see a deep-water shipping port built in Gaza, capable of receiving supertankers and other ocean-going cargo ships. He'd like to see refineries built in the West Bank and southern Israel, and perhaps even in the Sinai Desert, if a deal could be made with the Egyptians, which I suspect it could.”

“Under the right circumstances, I think we'd be open to such ideas,” said Doron, cautiously optimistic at what he was hearing, but still waiting for the political cards to be played a few days hence.

“Excellent,” said Bennett. “And is it fair to say the PLC would look favorably upon such options as well, once they were fully briefed on the president's proposals?”

“I think that's a fair assumption,” Sa'id concurred, adding cryptically, “given the right circumstances.”

Sa'id, too, was wary. He was betting everything on such a deal. Indeed, he was gambling his very life. The list of people lining up to assassinate him the moment they found out where he was had to be growing by the minute, and the mile. But if the warlords and jihadists were willing to sacrifice their lives in pursuit of war, Sa'id had decided in the last few days that he was willing to sacrifice his life in the pursuit of peace. Palestine did not need another Arafat or Ayatollah. She didn't need a Saddam. She needed a Sadat, an Arab leader with the courage of his convictions, a man willing to die so Palestinian children and grandchildren would not have to.

At the same time, Sa'id was also willing to waive all prospects of financial gain from such a joint venture now that he was prime minister. He had already asked the PLC and Galishnikov to research how he could give up his financial stake in PPG and the Medexco joint venture, without giving up the ability to direct the company's involvement in this peace process. If he turned control over to his deputies or board of directors, they could turn on him and refuse to allow PPG to participate in such an IPO or peace deal. But he didn't think they would. They were all longtime friends. They'd been dedicated to Sa'id and his company from its earliest days as a start up in the Gulf.

But Sa'id knew the hearts of men. He knew money and power were temptations few could resist. It warped their loyalties. It tempted their allegiances. He was living in a house of mirrors now. He wasn't sure who he could trust, or how even his closest friends would react to him now that he was suddenly the man at the top of the greasy pole. So even now, Dmitri Galishnikov—an Israeli, a Jew, but perhaps Sa'id's closest friend in a world gone mad—was in his room down the hall trying to come up with a solution.

Any way one sliced it, Sa'id knew he was about to forfeit billions of dollars in personal wealth. It wouldn't be easy for the youngest of six children, born penniless in the West Bank town of Ramallah under Jordanian occupation. But that was a long time ago. Sa'id was now a very wealthy man. Yes, he had always dreamed of becoming a billionaire, and now such a dream was within his grasp. But this was more important. He had no choice. He had to send his fellow Palestinians—and the Arab world—a message: There could not be even the appearance of corruption or impropriety in the new government of the new Palestine. So as soon as possible, he would sign away his fortune. The real question was, would he ever sign a treaty, or would it all be for naught?