PEACE PIPE - CHAPTER SIX

Character Build

Peter Elkins III - American Mercenary
Paul Connolly - Irish Mercenary
Mary Murphy -Irish Widow Woman
Sergeant Thompson - Mercenary Recruiter
Major Alistair Leigh - Tough Guys
Archie Andrews - African Mercenary

Rashid Al-Mannai - Jordanian Ambassador
Officer Windrush - MPD Patrolman
Jerri Neighbour - Freelance Journalist
Kolé Cutter - American President
J A Metcalfe (JAM) - CIA/UK Liaison
Horace Lime - SO11/CIA Liaison
Philip Dalton - British Assassin
Morris (MO) Schlick - Film Director
Nicola Schlick - Mo's Wife
Tse Lin Yan - Chinese Miliary Attaché
Victor Miles - Secure Armed Services
Abdul Miandad - Syrian Lawyer

Rosie Hoare - Limes' Secretary
Lobb - Policeman

Alan Borg - MPD Homicide Detective
John D Elkins - Bank President & City Mayor

Maurice Le Clerc - Monaco Security Chief
René Dupont - Interpol

Mendy Wade - Chief of White House Staff
George Bartlett - Head of White House Security
Sam McDonald - Head of FBI
Charles Howe - Sam's No.1

6

Washington DC - August 07, 2013 – 07.30

The early morning thunderstorm had stopped, but light rain still blew in across the Potomac and around the capital, with dark skies hinting of more bad weather to come. On an old running track close to the White House, grey squirrels refused to acknowledge the swirl of leaves and were not put off by the posse who strode over the dirty shingle towards them. An individual with a long thoughtful face, shoulders hunched against the biting wind, led the group, his body encased in an old tracksuit, his cropped brown hair hidden under a black baseball cap.

Kolé Cutter had proved good for his term, worthy of respect - even from those who forecast disaster after he took the oath of office as leader of the Western world first time round, four years earlier. A black man had never previously been in charge of the White House. It was an unfortunate fact that many Americans would have wished that to continue, certainly in their lifetime. On the other hand, so far, Cutter had shown how the job should be done. True, he had not been as positive as some of his liberal friends would have liked. Many figured he had, perhaps, been too anxious to establish a united front amongst disparate politicians on either side of the political divide; a policy he continued to pursue. Likewise, his largess had slowed his ambitious program of reform and reconciliation. He had discovered, even in his own party, too many so-called machine politicians; those who welcomed lobbyists for drug, tobacco, gun manufacturers and the like, with absolutely no display of conscience and all for the sake of a nice fat fee. For Cutter, it continued to be a difficult path to counter these forces. That he did was, to a large extent, through astute use of both media and public.

Now, as his companions neared the end of their run, Cutter slowed to bring himself alongside the trim, disciplined body of his chief of staff. Younger than his boss, Mendy Wade's light steps and ease of breathing betrayed a man whose regular pursuits contrasted with the demands of his job.

‘How’s my schedule later?’ A friendly grin accompanied the question.

Wade checked his watch. The time was coming up to 07.35. He winked and shook his head. ‘Don't worry, we'll find time, even if you just go for afternoon tea.’

George Bartlett, White House security chief - a large burly man, closer to 70 than he would care to admit - running on the far side of the President, gulped in some more air and tried to keep his voice steadier than his lungs would, in fact, allow.

‘You want I should get one of my people ring the embassy?’

Cutter shook his head. ‘Nah, George. Don't worry. Once we've sorted the agenda, I'll give Rashid a call. After all, it's their meeting!’ The President referred to Rashid Al-Mannai, Jordanian Ambassador to Washington who, only days earlier, had confirmed his arrangement to meet with Morris Schlick, the celebrated film director, to discuss collaboration on a CBS documentary series entitled ‘Family of Man.’ The chosen subject happened to be one close to Cutter’s heart, one he approved when Rashid had told him about it several weeks ago.

President Cutter knew both men well, but what made this meeting unusual was Peace Pipe, the new Middle East peace initiative. It had been carefully negotiated by Al-Mannai over several months and was due for ratification the following day.

World leaders were already starting to arrive in the capital. It was not too surprising that the President would be involved, although mostly in a ceremonial capacity. Building Middle East bridges had been on his agenda throughout the election campaign and, with things beginning to fall into place in Israel and Palestine, many boxes were already ticked.

Later this morning Cutter would receive final briefings on essential press conferences and photo opportunities due to take place in the White House prior to a grand reception dinner the same evening.

Cutter started to sprint as they neared the end of the regulation twelve laps while everyone else increased their stride to keep up. They entered a private path leading to the White House through special gates permanently guarded by Marine sentries. Bartlett, Cutter’s security chief, sighed with relief. For him, at least, the only running left today would be to catch up on any outstanding business. Over the next couple of days, everything would be as tight as a drum throughout the District of Columbia.

Washington DC - August 19, 2012 – 08.30

No sooner had Lime seated himself in Metcalfe’s comfortable office than the door opened to reveal Metcalfe’s extremely attractive black secretary. Welcoming them with a big smile, she turned to the Londoner. ‘Coffee?’ Lime nodded.

‘I’m dried up after last night.’ The girl smiled understandingly then turned to JAM who wrinkled his nose. She knew what that meant and returned to their visitor.

‘With sugar, right?'

Grateful for the temporary absence of the fearsome Rosie, his own no nonsense secretary also due for her pension, Lime grinned. ‘With everything in sight, please.’ The girl frowned. She was not impressed and nodded tartly. ‘Rosie tried to contact you last night. I suspect it might have been important. Said she’d call back at 08.00 hours this morning.’ Lime checked the time: just after 9 o’clock. The girl shook her head. ‘She’s talking GMT; about 4 o’clock now.’ She turned back to her boss and consulted her watch again. ‘If you’re taking Mr Lime for a tour around the Pentagon, why not pop back before lunch, say 12 o’clock. That should be about right.’

Lime nodded and buried himself in the snug looking sofa of an otherwise strictly functional office. He hadn’t seen Rosie for over seven days. The day before he had left for Washington, following his short excursion to Paris, she had left on a week’s package holiday to Spain. Yesterday would have been her first day back.

Metcalfe’s secretary delivered a plastic tray and Lime studied its contents: a large plastic cup of coffee, eight tiny sachets of sugar, two small plastic milk containers and, finally, a silly little plastic peg. He tore open five of the sugar sachets, stirred them into his coffee and promptly burned his tongue. His colleague, having received a mug - probably his own property - walked over to a wall map showing the DC Metropolitan area in a diamond shape at the center. ‘That's the Pentagon,’ Metcalfe said simply, pointing to a small octagonal area close to the Arlington National Cemetery. ‘Shortly I'll take you down for a last tour of duty.’ He grinned. ‘It's bigger than it looks.’ Lime shook his head and Metcalfe continued. ‘You think that I’d kid you, a senior British Policeman, already? While we’ve been enjoying ourselves, they’ve been preparing for Peace Pipe.’ He grinned. ‘The big guns arrive this afternoon and Cutter’s hosting a banquet at the State Department tonight. The Israelis have insisted on their own security people, but our secret service are responsible for individual delegations everywhere else.’ Lime nodded, he knew the rules well enough.

‘Do the FBI and MPD become involved as well as the Secret Service?’

Metcalfe smiled. ‘The FBI shouldn’t need to become involved at all, but if they do, diplomatic security will bring them in. It’s all a part of the federal system. Of course, life can get hectic for the Met boys. They’re responsible for everything within the DC diamond. You can imagine how a show like this disrupts the city.’ He shook his head. ‘They know the VIPs will be around. So, what else is new except that not too many of our finest get a chance to stand down.’

Metcalfe answered his own question. ‘Apart from us, everyone’s on top alert for the next few days.’

Lime smiled. ‘And the whole jamboree is coordinated by the State Department.’

Metcalfe nodded. ‘In a nutshell, that’s about it.’ Then he smiled at his guest. ‘Are you ready to go?’ The old policeman glanced at the debris scattered over the small plastic tray; all for a mouthful of coffee!

* * *

Horace Lime had expected it to be big but this was monstrous. While the general public were split into small organized groups, following a Royal Marine guide who walked backwards for the whole of a specified tour lasting almost an hour, he and Metcalfe were chauffeured by a VIP passenger conveyor for the best part of one and half miles including numerous displays highlighting significant military history. The driver, a smart young lady miked to a speaker, talked non-stop from the time they started to the return point. She proudly explained that the District of Columbia would fit into any one of its five wedge-shaped sections. It was almost a city, with some 25,000 employees responsible for planning and defense. Constructed during World War II, the building was still considered to be one of the most efficient in the world. Lime was interested to hear that around 4,500 coffees were consumed every day. He figured, with the debris created, it would need to be bloody efficient.

Washington DC - August 19, 2012 - 09.30

Inside the Jordanian embassy on North Wisconsin Avenue, all attention had fixed on the new accord, ‘Peace Pipe’, due for ratification on the following day. The senior envoys, closeted with their ambassador, were finally wrapping up their briefing notes. They had been up since dawn, even before a small army of cleaners arrived, and were now due to leave for discussions with other diplomats at the Pentagon.

The first session in the afternoon would cover protocol. It would also confirm and clarify map references, timings, financial, political and religious implications. The second session would comprise official briefing meetings between junior ministers and foreign envoys.

The plan required Israel to return to original borders, established prior to the 1967 war. This, in turn, would signal a UN protection treaty to start a 10-year plan for land reclamation, irrigation programs, reforestation, industry and building development. Al-Mannai’s strategy had not changed since it was presented to King Abdulla II and his advisors earlier in the year.

Israel would retain military jurisdiction over the new city of Jerusalem with a proviso that full integration would be sought at a later stage. In the meantime, the old city would be designated international - free to incorporate Jewish, Muslim and Christian beliefs.

Arab and World Bank funding would help create a new Palestinian territory alongside Israel. New Jewish settlements, established after the occupation of Palestine, would be subjected to independent resolution - in some cases returned to the previous occupiers, in other cases the subject of proper compensation.

All participating nations had agreed to be present to witness the historic signing of Peace Pipe. This included political leaders and their legal and financial experts.

The Jordanian Foreign Minister would arrive at Dulles International Airport at 17.30 hours, followed by the Israeli Foreign Minister and his entourage. Each would be greeted by Ambassador Al-Mannai and Secretary of State, Ella-May Russell - who had given Kolé Cutter a run for his money in the presidential primaries four years earlier. Everyone, including the new Palestinian leadership, would be honored guests of the President at the White House for dinner that evening.

The next morning, Secretary of State Russell and Jordanian Ambassador, Al-Mannai, with other key participants, including the Israeli Foreign Minister and the Palestinian President, would address a plenary session of the conference.
Final wording on the treaty would be the penultimate task, including financial guarantees agreed by the new democratized World Bank, whose representatives would attend the final sessions. Having concluded the historic moment of resolution, the master plan for peace would be ready for implementation.

* * *

Within the last few days, the extent of diplomatic activity required to deal with vital aspects of the conference had placed enormous strains on Jordanian embassy staff. With their American counterparts, they were held responsible for a successful conclusion. Due to the commencement of Ramadan and the absence of a number of key employees, the embassy had been forced to work with a skeleton staff. However, Al-Mannai had scheduled yet another important meeting on this final day before the summit.
Months earlier, CBS had approached the ambassador regarding a new TV documentary entitled ‘Family of Man’. Scheduled for prime time release on the night of Thanksgiving, the program would feature famous Middle East personalities in full and frank discussion on definitions of freedom which would be intercut with documentary footage.

Other than Al-Mannai, it also proposed to feature the famous film director, Morris Schlick. So far as the ambassador was concerned, such collaboration would renew an acquaintanceship long forgotten. As a child visiting London, Al-Mannai’s father had taken him to the director’s first film, hailed as the work of a young master. After this, Al-Mannai made sure to see all of Schlick’s films and was never disappointed.

During the 60s, as a student enjoying a privileged education in the UK, the young Al-Mannai found himself walking side by side with Schlick at a Vietnam peace march - both damning President Johnson’s decision to send more troops to South-East Asia, fighting a war already lost. They might have become friends but, instead, each went their own way in pursuit of their own destinies.

That they could meet today was a miracle in itself. Schlick, called to Washington for an important commercial matter, enquired if the ambassador could make time to see him. It was short notice, but a window of opportunity had opened - a day before the settlement was to be signed.

As his last senior envoy left the building, the ambassador picked up a book entitled ‘Boy David’ by Morris Schlick. The cover was a skyline illustration of refugees pulling a cart loaded with furniture and silhouetted against a blood red sky. Superimposed over this was the Star of David insinuated between a swastika and a hammer and sickle. The book was precursor to the director’s new movie, premiered a week previously. ‘Boy David’ was the story of a Jew, a child of his tribe and began with the Israelites flight from Egypt.

In an ever-changing landscape and over many generations, David remained constant: the character at the centre of the problem - a problem that seemed to have no solution. As the proverbial wandering Jew, David moves through history, discovering in his wake only hopelessness and calamity. The film was long and in two parts; the second part dealt with Germany, from the mid-thirties through the horrific Nazi holocaust and decimation of the Jewish nation. David finally discovers freedom with the creation of Israel. Schlick might have chosen to end his film in triumph. However, he then continues into the 21st century and his hero, David, turns, suddenly, from Jew to Arab; a metamorphosis that brings home the Palestinian agony against its new Pariah. David throws sling-shots at tanks and is finally used as a human shield by Jewish troops in the remains of Hebron.

The film ends in full freeze frame when David - the Palestinian – is trapped and forced to step on a buried mine. History has changed nothing.

Al-Mannai had attended the Washington DC Film Society Club for a special showing of ‘Boy David.’ Nominated for seven Oscars, this latest of Morris Schlick’s famous block-buster films had been acclaimed and criticized in equal parts around the world.

As a diplomat and representative of his country, Al-Mannai had certainly changed with his responsibilities and the need to serve Jordan to its greatest advantage. Nevertheless, to his credit, the man had developed a more reasoned sense of fair play. He knew that two sides existed to any debate. This had been observed by Schick in his depiction of ‘Boy David.’ At the film’s end, Al-Mannai knew one thing for sure: this particular Jew had lost none of his humanity. It shone out like a beacon of light and freedom.

Washington DC - August 19, 2012 - 10.00

Wearing only a thin slip and lying on her bed in the top garret of 5835 Wisconsin Avenue, Jerri Neighbour was still uncomfortable, in spite of being in an air-conditioned apartment. She felt a sense of rejection, a state of mind often experienced by the unemployed. The August news, as usual, had dried up.

In her late twenties, Jerri had followed her famous father - Dan Neighbor, top news anchor at CNN - into journalism. She had learned her trade in New York, London and, most recently, Seattle, employed as international editor for one of its principal newspapers. However, the paper, on a cost-cutting exercise following the recent recession, had given world news low priority and dispensed with her services. She headed back across the Dakotas in pursuit of gossip indicating that a job might be up for grabs on the Washington Post. Unfortunately she had discovered only a false dawn. Even the Post was suffer-ing cutbacks. So now, having completed a small editing job, she was out of work again.
Jerri occupied a comfortable, if tiny, apartment at the top front of the building. Blues Alley, famous Washington jazz club and popular nitery, operated in a basement at the rear, close to M Street - a lively area, full of great delis and bargains.

Having showered and dressed, Jerri decided a visit to the shops might improve her mood. It was to prove the least exciting part of what was about to become the most tumultuous day of her life.

Washington DC - August 19, 2012 - 12.00

Metcalfe’s secretary began working the phone as soon they walked in. She looked pointedly at the London policeman. ‘Rosie, your secretary?’ Lime nodded. ‘She came in early. Said I was not to disturb you, but to call as soon as you got back. It sounds important. She wouldn’t say what it was about, just it was urgent.’ Then suddenly, ‘Hi, Rosie is that you?’ She nodded. ‘Yeah, they just got here.’ The girl wagged a finger urgently to-wards Metcalfe’s office behind her. ‘Hang in there, Rosie, he’s ready for you now.’

Rosie sounded deflated, even for her; the reason quickly became evident. Incredible as it sounded, the week before, when Lime had flown in from Paris, the men for whom he and his CIA colleague had been hunting for months, Paul Connolly and Peter Elkins, had been on the same flight. Moreover, it was likely that they were still in DC. She had checked all outgoing flights since.

Lime felt physically sick. It was impossible to believe: on a Boeing Executive, and in no way segregated, he and his piker of a nose - celebrated in the Met for smelling out villains from a hundred miles - had missed those at the top of his wanted list. What made it worse, even horrifying, was he’d been as pissed as a rat. He could barely recall Dupont helping him aboard. He remembered closing his eyes and waking up ten minutes before the plane landed … but was that really an excuse?

Unlike his colleague, Metcalfe felt no sense of recrimination. Lime could never have suspected. The odds on the men catching that plane, on that day were incalculable - unless… Warning signs churned in his belly. ‘Why are they here?’

Lime also felt the hairs standing up on the back of his neck; a chill of apprehension swept down his body. ‘To disrupt Peace Pipe in some way?’

Metcalfe turned and hit the phone speaker button.
‘Operations, quickly!’ He leaned on the desk, his voice tense. ‘I want an all points priority on two suspected felons, one Paul Connolly and Peter Elkins. Elkins may be trading under de Herdt. They are dangerous and may be armed.’

The voice was doubtful. ‘All points, including the FBI?’

JAM winked at Lime. ‘The FBI in particular! Concentrate on DC. This one’s top of the list.’ The reply was immediate and unconditional.

‘You got it!’

JAM glanced at Lime. ‘If they’re in the diamond, they’ll be picked up in the hour.’

* * *

Head of the FBI, Sam McDonald, a big capable looking man, with big capable looking hands, studied a paper he had just been handed, then waved through the door towards his number one, Charles Howe, standing outside in the main office. ‘How long, Chas?’

Howe, small and wiry, looked up. ‘This second - off the wire. I just activated it.’ He knew that, excepting local misdemeanors which were down to the MPD, arrest and detain in DC meant the FBI.

‘So how come the CIA was sending an all points on something like this?’

McDonald shook the paper. ‘I want that these bums are found, like now!’ His voice followed Howe threateningly. ‘By our people, Chas, by our people!’ Howe winced, knowing more was to come. ‘Then I want Tom Merriman at the CIA. I wanna know what gives this guy…’ McDonald glanced at the paper again, ‘J A Metcalfe, the balls to put out an all-points in such a hell-fire hurry without any obvious reason.’ Howe shrugged and smiled to himself. He had absolutely no doubt that they would find out, and soon.

Washington DC - August 19, 2012 - 12.15

Paul Connolly and Peter Elkins synchronized their watches and then slipped on their overalls over their combat clothes. They were armed only with a street map and the car keys supplied; everything else would be laid on at the other end. Elkins studied the map, purchased the previous day. Miandad’s instructions were explicit. Take a cab to 16th and Military. Pick up a marked white transit at Rock Creek car park. Drive to the Jordanian embassy. They needed to leave no later than twelve thirty.

Victor Miles had made it sound simple. Pick up the cash and follow instructions. The money would last a good few years, even if they could probably never return to Monaco. They needed only to keep this troublesome ambassador away for a few days. Miles’s cabin in Chesapeake Bay was close to Annapolis and only 90 minutes from DC. There was plenty available to keep them occupied. Maybe they could use Miles’s boat and do a little more sailing.

At exactly twelve thirty-five, a cab bearing Connolly and Elkins pulled into a stream of lunch time traffic heading uptown. It was just before a dozen men, all formally dressed, carrying handguns and, in one case, a 12-bore shotgun, crashed through the entrance of the Lombardy Hotel, only to discover that their quarries, two young toy soldiers, had just checked out.