The Washington Stratagem (42 page)

Yael froze at the sound of the rifle shot. There was nowhere to go.

She was lying on the edge of the roof. If she stood up and ran, she would make herself a bigger target. She forced herself down as flat as she could, bracing herself for the exploding tiles, for the searing agony of the bullet, the plunge to earth, the moment of impact.

She looked down.

It was a twenty-foot drop into the han. With luck and a good landing she would live, but she would almost certainly break at least one limb, maybe more.

She slid forward, preparing to make the drop.

She glanced behind her, one last time.

Eli was gone.

The gunman began to dismantle his Dragunov.

It had been a tricky shot, hitting a moving target at five hundred yards. He had earned his lunch.

The gunman unscrewed the barrel; removed the stock, magazine, and telescopic sight; and placed all the pieces in a long aluminum case lined with dense foam rubber. He checked all around him, ensuring that he had not left anything behind in the dusty attic.

Just before departing, he pulled out a small leather pouch from his trouser pocket. He opened the pouch and tipped it over his hand.

A small silver and turquoise earring fell into his palm.

He stared at it for several seconds, then nodded, a smile on his face. He slipped the earring back into the case and left.

Yael lifted her head and looked down. The hairs on the back of her neck slowly settled.

President Freshwater lay on the ground, semiconscious, surrounded by Secret Service agents. Isis was handcuffed, her arms behind her. A line of agents, now backed up by Turkish plainclothes policemen, stood at the entrance to the han, blocking the crowd of journalists, who were pushing forward.

Najwa was standing with her back to the han, giving a running commentary.

Yael slowly raised her hands to show she was not a threat. “Isis!” she shouted. “It’s me.”

Four Secret Service agents instantly spun around, their guns trained on Yael.

Isis stared up at the roof.

“I know about Babur,” said Yael. “I know how it feels. Isis, let’s talk about Babur. We can work this out. Isis, please.”

Reardon looked at Isis. Her face trembled.

The decision, he knew, was his alone, and had to be taken now.

“Help her down,” he told the Secret Service agents, directing them toward Yael.

Isis was standing against the wall of the jewelry shop, a female Secret Service agent on either side of her. Yael saw fear, anger, but most of all, longing, grief, and regret.

“I need some time alone with her,” she said to Reardon.

“We don’t have time.” He glanced at his watch. “Six minutes at the most.”

“That should be enough,” replied Yael as she walked forward. “You guarantee my authority? That anything I agree with her on will be acted on?”

“Yes, yes,” said Reardon. “Just get the antidote.”

“
In writing!
” shouted Isis, her face set and determined again. “I want it in writing.”

“There’s no time for this bullshit!” yelled Reardon.

Isis turned to Freshwater, now unconscious. “Five minutes.”

Reardon gestured at the Secret Service agents. “Someone give me a pen and paper.”

The paper and pen were thrust into Reardon’s hand.

He quickly wrote:

By the power vested in me as the ranking US official I hereby authorize Yael Azoulay to negotiate with Isis Franklin for the antidote—any agreement reached will be honored.

Dave Reardon

He handed the paper to Isis. She read it and handed it back. “Date and place.”

He scrawled the date and “Istanbul,” then pushed the paper at Isis, his face murderous.

Isis nodded. “OK.”

“Undo her handcuffs,” said Yael.

Reardon gestured for the two agents to stand aside. One freed Isis, barely able to control her anger.

Yael sat down on the bench and beckoned for Isis to sit next to her. Reardon moved forward.

Yael shook her head. He stepped away, his fury almost tangible.

Yael held Isis’s hand, their heads almost touching.

Isis shook her head, protested.

Yael looked at her, and took her other hand. Yael continued speaking for a long minute.

Isis began to cry softly. Yael nodded.

Isis stood up, walked over to the tree in the courtyard, and pointed at a spot in its base, her whole body shaking.

“
Go, go, go!
” shouted Reardon, as the Secret Service agents leapt forward.

TURMOIL CONTINUES AT UNITED NATIONS

Fareed Hussein Returns, Deputy Resigns, Detained US Diplomat “Used UN Connections” to Adopt Afghan Child

By SAMI BOUSTANI

UNITED NATIONS—Fareed Hussein, the secretary-general of the United Nations, returned to his post Monday after being absent for almost two weeks on medical leave. Mr. Hussein, who had been suffering from fainting fits, declared himself “fully recovered.”

At the same time Caroline Masters, the deputy secretary-general, resigned. As acting secretary-general in Mr. Hussein’s absence, Ms. Masters had taken charge of the Istanbul Summit, the global gathering last week aimed at resolving the crises in Syria, Egypt, and between Israel and the Palestinians. The summit was postponed after Isis Franklin, the head of public diplomacy at the US mission to the UN, was arrested by Turkish authorities a week ago. She is currently being held on charges of attempted murder. She is accused of trying to poison President Freshwater. Secret Service agents were able to administer the antidote for the poison in time, after a dramatic intervention by senior UN official Yael Azoulay, who persuaded Ms. Franklin to reveal the location of the antidote.

Ms. Azoulay narrowly escaped serious injury herself after a rooftop chase at Istanbul’s Grand Bazaar, during which Eli Harrari, the new chief of staff at the Israeli mission to the UN, was shot in the hand. Ms. Azoulay, a former covert negotiator for Fareed Hussein, was demoted by Ms. Masters and placed in charge of the Trusteeship Council, a largely defunct arm of the organization. It is unclear why Ms. Azoulay was in Istanbul. Neither Ms. Azoulay nor the Israeli mission to the UN responded to requests for comment by telephone and e-mail.

Internal UN documents obtained by the
New York Times
show that Ms. Franklin used her UN connections to try and adopt a two-year-old orphan from Afghanistan. Ms. Franklin, an ambitious career diplomat, had previously worked for USAID in Kandahar, Afghanistan, running literacy programs and had also served in Sarajevo and Montevideo. She is divorced and has no children. Babur Hamid, the child whom Ms. Franklin planned to adopt, was killed earlier this year, along with three of his relatives, in a US drone strike. The family was en route to the UN headquarters in Kandahar, where Ms. Franklin was serving; she had planned to take charge of the child. The drone strike has been described by US officials as a “tragic mistake,” but no investigation has taken place and no officials have been held to account.

Negotiations with Turkey over Ms. Franklin’s extradition are continuing, said a senior US official who was not authorized to speak on the record to journalists. President Freshwater is recovering well, and is expected to be back at work next week, said a spokesman for the White House. Both Republican and Democrat leaders have pledged to speed a new bill through Congress allowing fast-track adoptions for five thousand orphans from conflict zones, including Afghanistan and Syria, by American families.

Ms. Masters’s resignation will raise questions about the push by some UN officials for closer cooperation with corporations. Ms. Masters is widely seen as the architect of a controversial policy by which the UN will increasingly outsource services to the private sector. Confidential UN e-mails newly obtained by the
New York Times
reveal that as early as a year ago, Ms. Masters was negotiating a pilot scheme with Clarence Clairborne, chairman and owner of the Prometheus Group, to supply security services for the Istanbul Summit. The e-mails detail how, behind the scenes, Prometheus was working with Efrat Global Solutions (EGS), the world’s largest private military contractor, which is owned by Menachem Stein.

If successful, the scheme, referred to in the e-mails as the “Washington Stratagem,” would pave the way for a wholesale privatization of UN security and potentially, international peacekeeping, a market worth billions of dollars annually. Mr. Stein was named by German prosecutors as a potential co-conspirator in last year’s coltan scandal. EGS, the KZX Corporation, and the Bonnet Group attempted to take control of global supplies of the mineral, which is vital for the manufacture of mobile telephones and computers.

KZX supplied the transport and accommodation for members of the New York–based UN press corps, who traveled to Istanbul for the ill-fated summit, including the
New York Times
(the
New York Times
has made a donation to charity equivalent to the estimated cost of the flight). Earlier this month German authorities dropped all charges against three senior KZX executives and Mr. Stein. All charges have also been dropped against Joe-Don Pabst and Quentin Braithwaite, two senior UN officials who were arrested on their way to the Istanbul Summit.

Roxana Voiculescu, the newly appointed spokeswoman for Fareed Hussein, declined to answer a series of questions submitted by the
New York Times
on the relationship between Ms. Masters, the Prometheus Group, Efrat Global Solutions, and the KZX Corporation, and the reasons for the arrest of Mr. Pabst and Mr. Braithwaite. In a written statement Ms. Voiculescu said that all these matters were under investigation, as was the death of her predecessor, Henrik Schneidermann. Spokesmen for all three companies declined to return repeated telephone calls or reply to written questions by e-mail.

Mr. Hussein is likely to survive the revelations about his role in the collapse of Srebrenica and the death of three hundred civilians who were forced from the UN base there, reportedly under his direct orders, said a US official who asked not to be named as he was not authorized to speak on the record. “Nothing has been proved and Bosnia was twenty years ago. The P5 need Fareed as much as he needs them.”

Yael stepped out of Saint Ignatius Loyola Church and into the warmth of a sunny April afternoon. The sky was a pale blue, studded with fluffy white clouds. The air smelled of exhaust fumes, and the road was filled with the surging tide of Manhattan’s lunchtime traffic. Police officers stood on every corner, their radios crackling. More than two hundred of Henrik Schneidermann’s colleagues had attended his memorial service, as well as several dozen diplomats and most of the press corps, including Sami Boustani, Najwa al-Sameera, and Jonathan Beaufort. The service had been poignant and moving. Fareed Hussein had spoken eloquently and movingly about Schneidermann’s commitment to the ideals of the United Nations and the tragic loss of a life cut short. Roxana Voiculescu had also paid a touching tribute to her former colleague. The most notable absence was that of Caroline Masters.

The SG and his new spokeswoman were now standing in front of the church, on the corner of East Eighty-Fourth Street and Park Avenue, in the bright sunshine. There was a queue in front of Yael, and she waited as Hussein and Roxana greeted the mourners one by one. They both worked the crowd with impressive professionalism, shaking hands, making eye contact for several seconds, occasionally hugging the person in front of them before moving on to the next in line. Hussein looked imposing in his black Nehru jacket, black silk collarless shirt, and trousers. Roxana had splashed out, Yael saw, on a new Prada two-piece trouser suit, which she wore with a plain gray blouse and matching black and gray Christian Louboutin shoes. Her hugs, Yael noted with amusement, seemed to be confined to those of the rank of assistant secretary-general and above.

Yael’s turn came and she greeted Fareed. Hussein hugged her, holding her surprisingly tightly. His belly pressed against her and she smelled his coconut hair lotion. The familiar aroma was curiously comforting, a rare constant in her chaotic life. The SG stood back and looked at her, his hands warm on her forearms.

“Welcome back, Yael. And well done. You saved the president’s life. That’s something to tell your grandchildren.”

Yael smiled. “Thank you.”

The SG looked like his old self again, confident, clear skinned, straight backed, loving being the center of attention, albeit at such a sad occasion. They exchanged a few words about Schneidermann. Beneath Hussein’s public front, Yael felt his guilt and regret. They both knew that Schneidermann had been murdered—murdered because the SG had wanted to pass the Prometheus file, with the details of the connection to Salim Massoud, to Sami. However, neither of them wanted to discuss that in public, or in front of Roxana. Yael sensed Roxana watching her interaction with Hussein with intense interest, weighing and analyzing every word of the conversation and watching their body language to try and gauge the extent of their relationship.

Yael turned to Roxana. For a second she froze, unsure how to behave. Then she stepped toward Yael. The two women hugged for a second before Roxana stepped away, her body stiff and unresponding. Yael felt the turbulence of Roxana’s emotions. Irritation at Yael’s obvious closeness to the SG. Confusion—why was Yael so indestructible and how come she kept bouncing back? And nervousness—what kind of threat did she represent?

The two women stepped apart. Roxana was staring at Yael, her realization that she would have to get rid of her written clearly on her face—until she suddenly remembered where she was. She gave Yael a broad smile.

Good luck with that plan, Yael thought. She smiled back until she saw Roxana looking at the jacket of her Zara trouser suit, where the button was still missing.

Roxana touched Yael’s cuff, her face the very picture of guileless assistance. “I know a wonderful seamstress if you need one. She could fix that in a couple of minutes. She has the buttons from all the chain stores.”

“Thanks. I can do it myself,” Yael said, suddenly back in the foyer of the Prometheus Group.
Chain stores
. Now war was really declared. And she would definitely be asking for a wardrobe allowance.