By Joel C. Rosenberg
Osama bin encumbered is useless. Saddam Hussein is buried. Baghdad lies in ruins.Now the eyes of the realm are on Jerusalem as Jon Bennett--a Wall road strategist became senior White residence advisor--his appealing CIA companion Erin McCoy and the U.S. Secretary of country arrive within the center East to fulfill with Palestinian chief Yasser Arafat.On the desk: a dramatic and in all probability old Arab-Israeli peace plan, of which Bennett is the manager architect. on the middle of the proposed treaty is the invention of black gold deep beneath the Mediterranean-a great and impressive tract of oil and common gasoline which can supply unheard of riches for each Muslim, Christian, and Jew in Israel and Palestine.With the foreign media heavily monitoring the tale, the yank message is as bold because it is direct: either side needs to placed in the back of them centuries of sour, violent hostilities to signal a peace treaty. either side needs to really cooperate on drilling, pumping, refining, and delivery the newly came across petroleum. either side needs to interact to strengthen a dynamic, new, built-in economic climate to exploit the lovely chance. Then--and simply then--the usa can help underwrite the billions of bucks a raffle capital had to flip the dream into reality.But within the shadows lie males whose hearts are packed with evil--men who don't delight in a post-Saddam period, males for whom the chance of a Palestinian peace accord with Israel is going opposed to every thing for which their fathers have fought and died. Such men--and the nations that finance them--are able to do something essential to slaughter those that stand of their means. The clock is ticking. Can Bennett, McCoy, and the yankee President make peace sooner than the center East once more erupts in warfare?
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Additional info for The Last Days (Political Thrillers Series #2)
Example text
He crawled forward—around McCoy and Bennett—to open the front door of Snapshot and grab the satellite phone off the front seat. He speed dialed the State Department's Operations Center back in Washington—code-named Black Tower—and connected with Agent Robbie Trakowski, the night-watch officer. "Black Tower, this is Snapshot," said Mancuso. "We are Code Red—/ repeat, we are Code Red. We have extensive casualties. Requesting immediate air support and extraction. " He began to hear sirens in the distance.
A silent, unnerving pause. " Jibril asked, perhaps too bluntly. Instantly regretting the question, he could feel a chill descend upon the room. Gogolov sat motionless in an overstuffed velvet chair. He looked out at the mountains and the minarets and the twinkling lights of the ancient Iranian capital. He drew long and hard on the Cohiba, and the cigar glowed in the shadows. " Flanked by four F-15E Strike Eagle fighter jets, the gleaming new Boeing 747 quickly gained altitude and banked toward the Atlantic.
Instantly regretting the question, he could feel a chill descend upon the room. Gogolov sat motionless in an overstuffed velvet chair. He looked out at the mountains and the minarets and the twinkling lights of the ancient Iranian capital. He drew long and hard on the Cohiba, and the cigar glowed in the shadows. " Flanked by four F-15E Strike Eagle fighter jets, the gleaming new Boeing 747 quickly gained altitude and banked toward the Atlantic. President James "Mac" MacPherson stared out the window.