If it weren't for the audio surveillance they had of his meetings with Omar, and the fact he'd been a Mossad informant, Rapp would have sworn the man was nothing more than one of Omar's abundant financial advisors. He found it hard to believe this wealthy man from a well-educated family was a terrorist, but the evidence was conclusive.

Before the night was over Rapp was hoping to have a little chat with the Palestinian to see if he could clear a few things up.

They didn't have much time. The President's deadline was firm.

Every time Rapp had talked to Kennedy she'd reminded him of that.

Things in Washington had grown even more hectic since he'd left.

Neither the French nor the Palestinians had been placated by Israel's withdrawal from Hebron. The Israelis now claimed incontrovertible evidence that there had been a bomb factory in Hebron, and they were prepared to present that evidence before an international board of inquiry.

The evidence of course had been planted during the military occupation of the town, in order to save Prime Minister Goldberg from a controversy that would spell the end of his government.

The French Ambassador to the UN had privately confronted the American Ambassador and accused the CIA of doing exactly what they'd done; phoning in a bomb scare in order to delay the vote on Palestinian statehood. Ambassador Joussard was offended and indignant that the world's lone superpower would stoop so low. Even though he was right, it was rather amusing that the condemnation was coming from a man who'd been bribed into putting forth the resolution that was causing so much consternation in the first place.

Israel was offering to sit down and discuss peace with the Palestinians as soon as the Palestinians honored a cease-fire agreement. The Palestinians for their part refused to abide by a cease-fire agreement until they had it in writing that Prime Minister Goldberg would close and relocate every Jewish settlement in the West Bank. Prime Minister Goldberg flat-out refused such a request and the violence continued.

Both the Russians and the Chinese were suspicious about the timing of the bomb scare that shut down the UN, and both were vowing to make sure the French resolution was voted on first thing in the morning.

The President was getting a great deal of pressure from the Secretary of State and his chief of staff to bring the French into the fold on the entire matter. Rapp had just spoken to Kennedy on the secure satellite phone and she had reassured him that although the President was tempted, he was going to honor his commitment of twelve hours.

SEVENTY FIVE.

David tipped the driver and declined the man's offer to carry his lone bag to the yacht. He stood for a long moment at the beginning of the pier and looked toward the hulking white ship. It seemed as if all of his strength and energy were being sucked from him. He did not look forward to seeing Omar. He desperately wanted information; he just wished there was a way to get it without having to sit down for a royal audience.

Reluctantly, he put one foot in front of the other and started for the white yacht. He was barely halfway there when he spotted Devon LeClair standing in the open gangway at the side of the ship. High above on the bridge David could see men in white uniforms moving about. He knew from previous visits that the ship was always more active at night. That was when Omar entertained, when he held his hedonistic parties after he'd returned from the discos and the casinos. The casinos in Cannes didn't even open until eight in the evening. The high rollers like Omar rarely showed up before midnight.

David secretly hoped Omar was gone and Devon could tell him what was going on, but he doubted he would be so lucky. Omar would want to hear all the details of his trip to America, especially the car bomb in Washington. That had been Omar's idea. At first David had said no. There were too many things that could go wrong, too many innocent bystanders who could be hurt. Omar persisted though. He'd badgered him for months and had thrown larger and larger amounts of money at him. He threatened to pull out of the entire operation, and send David packing. He pointed out that the brutal murder of the Saudi Ambassador would put the Crown Prince in a position of sympathy.

Omar explained that he had been preaching to his brother for years to stand up to the Americans and that when the time was right he would be there in his ear telling him what to ask of the Americans when they apologized for the shocking international incident that had taken place on their soil.

Everything hinged on the Americans. They had the veto power and they alone could stand in the way of the creation of a Palestinian state. Omar explained that international pressure wasn't enough. They needed economic pressure on their side and they needed the American President to feel guilty over the death of Crown Prince Faisal's favorite cousin. It wasn't enough to simply show the world once again that Israel was run by thugs. The world already knew that. Killing the Palestinian Ambassador would rally the UN to their cause, but would it be enough pressure to forestall a veto by the United States? Possibly not.

David didn't like the idea of putting so much into his plan and coming up short. Omar was right and like everything else in his Princely life he eventually got his way.

As he approached the gangplank he asked himself again what could have possibly gone wrong. They had thought of everything, but somehow the Americans had delayed the vote.

He forced himself to smile at Devon.

"Good evening."

"You look tired," was all the Frenchman said in response.

"Thank you," replied David with feigned sincerity.

"And you look marvelous as always."

Devon frowned at him from behind his glasses.

"The Prince is waiting for you in his private salon."

David nodded and stepped into the ship.

"Leave your bag, and I'll have someone put it in a stateroom. I assume you're staying the night."

"I suppose." David dropped his bag and headed down the passageway in search of his benefactor.

When he reached the lavishly decorated private salon he was pleasantly surprised to find only Omar and his ever present bodyguard Chung. This was where Omar usually entertained the call girls and prostitutes that he kept around for his perverse sexual pleasures. As with almost everything Omar commissioned, the room was overdone.

Too many pillows, too many Persian rugs on the floor, too many silk panels on the walls and too much chiffon draped from the ceiling. The place looked like some kind of a cross between a desert harem and a whorehouse, which on second thought was probably exactly the look Omar was after.

Before David got far, Chung stepped forward, his eyes checking out the assassin from head to toe. David opened his suit coat and did a three-sixty so Chung could see that he was unarmed. It amused him slightly that Chung had stopped frisking him. It would have been very easy to hide a small-caliber pistol in the waistband of his underwear.

There had been times lately where the thought had crossed David's mind. Omar disgusted him more and more. David knew what his own cause was, but with Omar it wasn't so clear.

At first the Prince had espoused with great passion his belief that there was no more important Arab cause than Palestinian statehood.

David had listened to Omar speak glowingly of his commitment to the Palestinian cause, and David had believed every word of it. That had been more than two years ago, and since then he had learned a great deal. First and foremost he'd learned that Omar didn't really care for anything other than his own pleasure. And sometimes his own pleasure involved watching other people suffer. Omar's feigned love of Palestine was the thin outer veneer of a sadistic hatred of Israel. Where David dreamt of a free Palestinian state as an end, Omar dreamt of a free Palestinian state as the beginning of an end… the end of Israel.