The Reykjavik Assignment (Yael Azoulay #3)(83)
She shoved him sideways as hard as she could and dived to the ground.
PART TWO
REYKJAVIK
29
Yael watched Magnus Olafsson as he came to the end of his final security briefing. There were a dozen people in the Hotel Borg’s conference room and the air was thick with hostility. Olafsson sat at the head of the long, polished wooden table, his deputy Karin Bjornsdottir on his right. Four men sat on each side of the table. Those on the left all seemed in their forties or early fifties, were pale and clean-shaven. They wore navy two-piece suits, button-down shirts, and plain ties. Their counterparts opposite, mostly of a similar age, had darker complexions. They wore gray or black suits and white collarless shirts. Two had beards, including the obvious leader of the group, who was older and plumper, with silver hair. All eight had cold, wary eyes.
The two sides stared at each other, as though convinced that the other was planning to assassinate their head of state, if not start shooting there and then. A coffee pot, bottles of mineral water, and a teapot sat atop one of the tables together with white china cups and saucers, fruit, cookies, and muffins. None had been touched.
Olafsson, the commander of Iceland’s elite counterterrorist unit, the Vikingasveitin, or Viking Squad, had short blond hair, dark blue eyes, a sharp, almost pointed chin, and a long day’s worth of stubble. He spoke thoughtfully, weighing his words, a sea captain staying unruffled as the waves pound the deck. “Gentlemen. We have been through the plan several times. You have a detailed, minute-by-minute timetable in the folders on the table in front of you. Because there will be overlap between your presidents’ visits to our president at the Bessastadir residence, we need to coordinate and work together.”
A visit from the UN secretary-general, not to mention any president, always entailed extensive cooperation between the accompanying security details and the host country’s police, military, and intelligence services. But Iceland, perched in the freezing waters of the North Atlantic, was different from other countries. Just 332,000 people lived on the volcanic island of 40,000 square miles, about the size of Kentucky, most in and around the capital, Reykjavik. Vast swathes of the landscape were icebound, barren tundra, or lava fields where nothing could grow. Not only did Iceland lack any kind of standing military force, despite being a NATO member, its police were unarmed and guns were rare. It also lacked an intelligence service, but it did have the Vikingasveitin to ensure the security of visiting foreign dignitaries.
Olafsson gestured at Yael and Joe-Don, sitting in two leather armchairs a few feet away. “Yael Azoulay and Joe-Don Pabst are here to coordinate the UN’s involvement and to ensure the safety of Fareed Hussein. So, gentlemen, can I have your assurances that we can all work together?”
“No,” said the American sitting directly to the left of Olafsson.
Every eye in the room turned to stare. Kent Maxwell, a heavyset older man with thinning gray hair and a red face lined with veins, was the US Secret Service’s liaison officer with the Viking Squad.
“Pardon?” said Olafsson.
“No. I said no,” replied Maxwell. “The United States of America does not ‘work together’ with state sponsors of terrorism.”
The Iranians remained impassive. Each looked at the older man. He nodded almost imperceptibly. All four began to gather their folders and made ready to stand up.
Olafsson raised his hands in supplication. “Gentlemen, I understand the difficult history of your countries and the agencies which you represent. But, with respect, that is not my concern here today. In the last few days a senior UN official has been murdered, another shot at. My concern is to ensure a safe and secure environment for your heads of state, especially when they meet our president. And for that to happen, you need to put aside your differences.”
“We will put aside ‘our differences’ when the Iranian government puts aside its suicide bombers and truck bombs,” Maxwell said.
The man with silver hair looked disdainfully at Maxwell. “And when you put aside your drones and torture chambers and summary executions.” He paused and looked at Olafsson. “However, we appreciate that we are guests here. If you apologize, we will overlook your insult.”
“Sure,” said Maxwell. “When you apologize for holding my countrymen hostage for 444 days in our own embassy.”
Olafsson raised his hands, palm out, and glanced at his deputy. “OK. OK. If that’s the way you want it. I hereby announce that the government of Iceland withdraws all security cooperation. We can no longer guarantee the safety of either president and we will make an announcement immediately to that effect. From this moment on, you are on your own. Good luck.” He started to slide his chair back.
“Wait,” said Yael, as she stood up and walked over to the table. “Everyone stay where you are.” She looked at the Americans, then the Iranians. “The United Nations, on whose security council both of your countries sit, requests a couple of minutes for a time out.”
The Americans glanced at Maxwell, the Iranians at the silver-haired man. Both Maxwell and the silver-haired man nodded.
Yael continued talking. “We all know that both of your teams could manage Bessastadir, on your own, without coordinating with your opposite numbers. But there is one thing you all need and that is Magnus, Karin, and the Viking Squad. How do you think your presidents will react when they learn their visit to the presidential residence has been canceled because of their security details’ macho posturing? I doubt very much that any of you will have a job when you return home.” Yael paused to let her words settle. “We need to fix this, and quickly. Please, reach across the table and shake the hand of the person sitting opposite you.”