Leon Uris (61 page)

‘I do not understand what kind of idiotic press it is that is not operated by a royal family or the government.’

‘It is a terrible system, I agree, but the press is very strong in the West. They can make something out of nothing and in the end it will do our noble cause no good.’

‘A royal personage has no rights,’ Rahman grumbled.

‘Yes, Western behavior is very strange,’ Kabir agreed.

‘Well, if we cannot get rid of these refugee dogs in the time-honored manner, then let us purchase their loyalty. At least they won’t be as expensive as the other delegations.’

‘Again, a bizarre situation, my prince. Neither Charles Maan nor Haj Ibrahim is open to the bribe.’

‘What? I cannot believe that!’

‘I know, but they are very sick, obsessed men. We can probably reach Sheik Taji. A good idea to splinter him off from the other two. It would weaken their delegation tremendously. A brilliant idea, my prince.’

‘You will deal with him, then, Kabir.’

‘At once, Your Highness. However, Taji might well ask that his tribe be allowed to resettle, maybe even in Saudi Arabia.’

‘That angers me, and my grandfather will never permit it. Our golden principle is that there is to be no refugee resettlement.’

‘Yes, my prince, exactly, no resettlement. I must be free, then, to make Taji a handsome offer. Let us, say, make him a special adviser to His Majesty Ibn Saud on refugee affairs.’

‘How much?’

‘How important is it that we break them up?’

‘A hundred thousand?’ Ali Rahman ventured on the low side. ‘Dollars,’ he added quickly.

‘A hundred thousand ... sterling,’ Kabir returned.

The prince wondered to himself how much of it Fawzi Kabir would pocket. But no matter, if the investment held, it was a pittance. He nodded for Kabir to proceed.

‘Now as for the other two,’ Kabir continued, ‘let us give them credentials.’

‘Are you mad!’

‘Please let me finish. The rules of the convention are like this. Small committees made up from all the delegations will have to agree on what demands and what agenda we will present to the International Arbitration Commission. Charles Maan and Haj Ibrahim will be drowned out in these committees. Let them argue for eternity how many hairs there are on the camel’s neck.’

‘That could be dangerous. They might start conspiring with each other.’

‘Your Highness, you are the grandson of the great Ibn Saud, who is rarely out of my prayers, may Allah bless his immortal name. What are our principles? No peace with the Jews. No negotiations with the Jews. No recognition of the Jews. No return of the refugees to the Zionist entity. No resettlement of the refugees in Arab lands. Every other delegate agrees to this. We are solid. These little intruders will not change that. So we put them on a treadmill. We talk. One week, one month, six months. Soon they will collapse.’

Ali Rahman struck a statuesque pose and pondered with princely might. Kabir knew the strange ways of the West, a world in which he was still a stranger. The calculated creation of chaos in the committees would indeed preserve the five principles, and this was what his grandfather had told him to do at all costs.

‘What are we spreading around to the other delegations?’

‘A few thousand here, a few thousand there,’ Kabir answered. ‘Key generals and ministers, a bit more. Enough to ensure that our wishes are carried out.’

‘What about the nigger slave?’ Ali Rahman asked.

Kabir cleared his throat. ‘Please do not use that expression in public, my prince. Dr. Ralph Bunche is a very respected man, despite the misfortune of his birth.’

‘Can we get to him?’ Ali Rahman, said, rubbing his fingers together.

‘We explored this carefully. He does not take gifts. However, he is naïve to our ways. We will swamp him.’

Kabir licked his lips nervously and spoke tentatively. ‘Certainly your immortal grandfather, all praise to him, has given you the instructions I have requested.

‘Concerning what?’

‘Our long-range plans to lock in Syria and Egypt after the conference.’

Ali Rahman cracked his long fingers, stroked his goatee, and nodded. ‘Tell the Egyptians and Syrians they will receive one million dollars a day from the Saudi treasury for arms.’

‘That is what they are waiting to hear, my prince,’ Kabir said, scarcely able to control the rush of excitement within him. ‘And the other matter ...’

‘What other matter?’

‘As I have explained, the Western press is very strong. The West is buying our oil. I speak of making a gesture to sway them, the donation for the refugees’ relief. It will sit very well with them.’

‘No!’ Ali Rahman interrupted. ‘We will not get involved in relief. The refugees made this situation for themselves.’

‘But it was the United Nations who created this Zionist monstrosity,’ Kabir persisted.

‘Exactly! The United Nations is therefore responsible for the refugees. It is a world matter, not an Arab matter. The point is that if life is made too comfortable for the refugees, they will be content to sit and rot in the camps. They must be kept thirsty for vengeance.’

‘I believe I have an idea,’ Kabir said, feigning the inspiration of sudden discovery. ‘Do not jump out of your seat, my prince, but suppose we were to announce to the Western press a series of plans to resettle the refugees in Arab lands.’

‘What!’

‘I implore you, let me finish. Do not underestimate the importance of winning the sympathy of the West. Let us say Egypt announces a plan to take the refugees now in the Gaza Strip and move them permanently into the Sinai. Libya will go along with taking others. Suppose, now, Syria announces a resettlement of the refugees from Syria and Lebanon to the Euphrates Valley.’

‘Your tongue is preparing itself for amputation, Kabir!’

‘No, no, no, my prince. Please, hear me. After these announcements, the great royal house of Saud declares it will donate a million dollars a day to implement the resettlements.’

Rahman’s face reddened, but he also began to smell the deftness of Kabir’s thinking.

‘All these proclamations are only for consumption in the West. We prove we are not intransigent. We prove we are humane. Times passes. This conference is over. More time passes. The resettlement plans fade over the horizon like a desert sunset. The million a day has never been spent but is shifted now into arms purchases. It will give us a great propaganda victory here in Zurich.’

The sense of outrage diminished and the silken deliciousness of the scheme became apparent. Prince Ali Rahman’s desert cunning was now producing juices of intrigue.

‘I will speak of it with my grandfather and the crown prince. As men of the desert, they could see the merit of the scheme.’

‘Meanwhile, I will keep all the delegations under control, believe me. And let us deal the Lebanese in,’ Kabir said.

‘For what? They are nothing but a land of cheap merchants filled with nonbelievers.’

‘Ah, but they are only second to the great house of Saud when it comes to progressive thinking. Even now, the princes of Kuwait and Oman are discovering the ... the ... the magnificent alternatives to Switzerland. Beirut is becoming Paris, Mecca, the seven paradises all rolled into one. And despite the presence of a great number of Christians, they are truly our own people. A gesture to the Lebanese.’

‘Keep it tidy, Kabir.’

‘A pittance.’

‘Very well, but before I present this to my grandfather, I must have the foreign ministers of Egypt, Syria ... and Lebanon here, in this room, together to make certain that our understandings are complete.’

Fawzi Kabir sucked in a fast deep breath, bit his lip, and shook his head. ‘You ask the impossible, my prince.’

‘We pay the bills! They will appear here!’

‘I beseech you, Your Most Noble Highness, let me speak to them privately.’

‘Why can’t I speak to them together?’

‘Have I not always treated you with honesty?’ Kabir asked.

‘I demand to see them together, this day, this hour, this minute!’

Kabir sighed sincerely. ‘I beg you to hear my point. No delegation here is ready to make a commitment in front of any other delegation. The Syrians do not trust the Egyptians. The Lebanese only trust money. No one trusts Jordan. The various Palestinian delegations are under the control of their host countries. They argue furiously in closed committees, which is what we want. However, when they appear in public before the arbitration commission, they all close their mouths, for one fears the other. Everyone is suspicious of everyone, and even now each is maneuvering against the other. May Allah help us, but some of them are even trying to make side deals with the Jews. We cannot put them together in the same room, my prince. Trust me. You see, the only real unity we have is hatred of the Jews.’

Strangely, Prince Ali Rahman understood the twists in Kabir’s mind and thinking. A splendid, delicate job had been accomplished till now. The conference had to end on a note of war against the Jews. However, was he manipulating Kabir or was Kabir manipulating him? If every Arab delegation had the same goal, why were the Saudis spending millions in payoff money? Well, he knew the answer to that. It was because the Saudis had the money to spend. Do not throw camel shit into the machinery, Ali Rahman told himself. Do not make a failure before Ibn Saud.

The prince looked about the room suspiciously, even though it was empty, then leaned forward in his seat. ‘What have you done about Abdullah’s assassination?’ he asked.

Fawzi Kabir plucked a single grape from the bowl. ‘Very tricky. Abdullah has been in the survival business for three decades. His palace is encased by an outer guard of the Arab Legion. Abdullah spreads around British pounds like candy to ensure their loyalty. The palace is very tight. On the inside he has a personal guard of fanatical Circassians.’

‘Not even Moslems,’ Ali Rahman scoffed. ‘They are Russians.’

Kabir clasped his hands together in a washing motion. ‘Let me say, we do not yet have the man with his hands on the hilt of the dagger. However, we have made progress. I have made contact with a key Jordanian minister here in Zurich who knows the king’s movements in advance. He will play. He will cost but he will play. When he returns to Amman, he can report to us where and when Abdullah will appear outside of the palace. We will have the finger on him. Once we know a week in advance that Abdullah will be in Hebron or Nablus or East Jerusalem, we can then import a member of the Moslem Brotherhood from Egypt or one of the Mufti’s assassins. We have a list of such men who are available on short notice. No one can get too close to Abdullah, so it cannot be with a knife. Even a sniper from a distance cannot hope to escape alive. That, of course, is why we need a fanatic willing to make a martyr of himself. A machine pistol from a crowd at close range. However, we must be patient, my prince.’

They continued with a range of trivial financial discussions. Prince Ali Rahman’s own favorite grandson had bribed his way into the Sorbonne and had purchased a forty-room villa on the outskirts of Paris. Ali Rahman cursed and fumed but agreed to pay the bill. The boy was an integral part of his own ambitions within the royal court and, after all, he had to be educated. Ibn Saud was generous in these matters, but fifty princelings on the Continent were eating up even more than the million dollars a day that was being promised to the Egyptians and Syrians.

Fawzi Kabir’s inoculation was wearing off and his head became sweaty. He prayed to be dismissed.

‘One more matter, Kabir.’

‘Yes, my prince.’

‘What if this Maan or Haj Ibrahim decides to sit down and talk to the Jews on his own?’

‘The Jews are making all sorts of offers to the arbitration commission. That, of course, is why we must also appear reasonable. However, Maan and Haj Ibrahim cannot legally consummate a treaty without the approval of all the Arab delegations. We shall launch the most tremendous campaign possible in the Arab press and over the Arab radio. We shall paint these two so vividly as traitors that they will be drowned in the spit of their own people.’

T
ICK, TOCK, TICK, TOCK,
bong, bong, bong, bong, bong, intoned the mammoth clock in the tower of the Lady Cathedral.

Bong, bong, bong, bong, bong, retorted St. Peter’s, only a quarter of a bong behind.

Haj Ibrahim stepped out of the dimly lit Congress Hall into a blare of late-afternoon light. The air was chilled as autumn announced itself. Charles Maan had gotten Ibrahim a secondhand coat to go along with his single secondhand suit. The new coldness made him feel even more isolated from Palestine. Some of the strangeness of Zurich had worn off. He looked forward to his evening ritual, a walk from the conference to his room in a boardinghouse across the river near the university.

‘Do you think you will be going home soon?’ the landlord had asked with delicacy. After all, the university had begun its fall classes and students needed lodging. If Ibrahim left in the middle of the semester they might not be able to rent his room until spring.

At first there had been chocolates on his pillow at night and Frau Müller had found an old pair of bedroom slippers and a used bathrobe. She had set the slippers out each night at the foot of his bed on a small clean white towel. The chill of autumn was in the landlord and his wife as well, and their uneasiness was reflected in Ibrahim’s growing weariness.

‘Palestine is an Arab problem that can only be settled by the Greater Arab Nation. We do not understand why this so-called delegation of West Bank refugees is even here. Our refugee brothers are more than represented by the legitimate Arab powers,’ spoke one minister after another, belittling the Haj’s role.

Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, tock.

How Ibrahim had come to hate the ridiculously high ceilings and the polished paneling of the committee rooms. Forty sessions. Forty wasted days. Words bolted out over the grand mahogany table with the speed and violence of summer lightning. Their meanings dissipated as quickly as lightning. Slogans regurgitated patented propaganda with the regularity of the Swiss clocks bonging from their Swiss steeples.