King Hussein became masterful at playing both sides of the fence, taking money from both his Arab brothers and America. With great care he put his country on a course of neutrality and did not deviate even during the Gulf War. Despite immense pressure from the United States and Saudi Arabia, King Hussein chose not to jump into the fray.

Publicly he proclaimed that he would not take part in the butchering of the Iraqi people, privately he told his keepers that it would serve them better if a channel of communication was kept open with Baghdad.

King Hussein convinced President Bush that the Jordanian General Intelligence Department would provide him with invaluable information about what was going on inside Iraq. The Bush administration agreed and in return for cooperation with the General Intelligence Department the foreign aid spigot of the United States was only reduced instead of completely shut off.

At the time the agreement was reached King Hussein had no idea just how fruitful it would eventually be for his kingdom. During the years of sanctions that followed the Gulf War, Jordan became the lifeline of Iraq. Goods flowed in from Jordan like a river to the sea, and in exchange Jordanian coffers were filled with profits made from selling discounted Iraqi oil. Black market import-export companies sprang up in Jordan like weeds on an unkempt lawn. The French were the first to arrive, and they were quickly followed by many of their European neighbors and then the Chinese and the rest of the Pacific Rim and Asia. Jordan got a cut of everything and the entire racket became a massive boon to the Jordanian economy. All the while, with a wink and a nod, Jordan maintained her position of neutrality.

Amman was the place where Saddam's henchmen came to replenish the ruler's military supplies and shop for his grocery list of weapons of mass destruction. It was also where the CIA and Britain 's MI6 focused an increasing amount of their resources. Amman had become the Middle East's version of Cold War Berlin. Any country that was big enough to care had spies on the ground in Amman, and with so many intelligence agencies operating in the city it was almost impossible to do business without someone noticing.

That was why David had chosen to meet his Iraqi contact in the Jordanian capital. He wanted to settle a score, send a message and muddy the waters in one fell swoop. David's connection to Prince Omar and the Saudi royal family needed to be protected at all costs.

Yes, the Iraqis could provide money to the cause, but nothing compared to the Saudis. If the grand plan did not go as he hoped, David wanted to be able to point the Israelis and the Americans and anyone else who cared in the direction of Saddam Hussein. He did not want them to go looking in the kingdom of Saudi Arabia for him.

The green Range Rover snaked its way up Al Ameer Mohammed Street toward one of Amman 's famous seven hills. Night had fallen on the city and they were headed for the Intercontinental Hotel. It was Amman 's finest hotel, and the arrogant man David was going to meet would stay nowhere else. David sat in the backseat and went over the plan one more time. He had carefully applied a black beard flecked with gray to his face and had added a touch of gray to his eyebrows.

Over his hair he was wearing the black-and-white keffiyeh of a Palestinian.

As they neared the hotel he put on a pair of dark-rimmed glasses and checked his disguise with a small mirror. He looked a good fifteen years older. He had met with the Iraqi on six previous occasions and he had worn the same disguise each time.

David trusted very few people, and none of them were Iraqis. He had caught them in many lies during his business dealings with them, but in truth he had expected nothing less. They were the bullies of the neighborhood, and in the Middle East there was no shortage of bullies.

The Iraqis made up the rules and then changed them again when they didn't like the way things were going. David despised them for the way they feigned concern over the Palestinian plight. The truth was that there wasn't a single Iraqi who truly cared for the Palestinians. To Saddam and his henchmen the Palestinians were nothing more than a lightning rod to attract anti-Semitism and hatred for America.

As the Range Rover pulled up to the front of the hotel, David was focused on the task at hand. Tonight the blood bath would begin. If things went right it would be the first step in a long odyssey that would change the face of Middle East politics. It takes war to make peace and tonight would be the first shot in David's war.

He stepped from the vehicle and buttoned the jacket of his double-breasted blue suit. His posture slouched and his stride shortened, he moved toward the door of the hotel playing the role of an older man. The doors were opened by two bellmen who greeted David warmly. They knew him only as Mohammed Rashid, a Palestinian businessman who had strong ties to the PLO. David continued through the lobby, his Prada loafers clicking on the marble floor. He entered the bar and peered through the smoke-filled haze. The man he was looking for was seated in the far corner, his back to the wall like he was some cowboy in an American film. Two of his bodyguards were seated at the adjacent table and were eyeing the rest of the patrons, their menacing stares reminding everyone to mind their own business.

All three men had bushy black mustaches, a prerequisite for anyone in Saddam's inner circle.

David approached the table with feigned enthusiasm.

"General Hamza, it is so good to see you again."

Hamza did not offer his hand. He simply looked at the chair opposite him and nodded for his guest to sit. The Iraqi general took a drag from his unfiltered cigarette and said, "You are late."

"I am sorry," David lied, "but I had a hard time getting through the checkpoints."

Looking down at the two attachИ cases on the floor next to him, Hamza replied, "You'd better have a better plan for getting back with these. If you lose them, I will have your head."

David nodded effusively.

"General, I will not allow your money to fall into the hands of the Zionist pigs."

The general reached for his drink with the same hand that held the cigarette. Never taking his eyes off the Palestinian he said, "For your own good, you'd better make sure you do not allow that to happen."

David again nodded and eagerly assured the general that no such thing could ever possibly occur. The two attachИ cases contained a million dollars apiece in U.S. hundred-dollar bills. It was money for Hamas and Hezbollah to continue their terrorist insurgency into Israel.

General Hamza was not a man to be taken lightly, but David was far from intimidated. The head of Saddam's Amn al Khas, or Special Security Service, was a brute, and brutes were easy to trick.

Hamza's thuggish behavior was legendary. In Iraq his name was spoken in whispers. He was responsible for entire families disappearing in the middle of the night, never to be seen or heard from again. On his orders, men and women were tortured and beaten for months simply because they knew someone who had been deemed a traitor to Saddam. Often, Hamza allowed those physically and mentally scarred subjects to live so that they could return to their communities and serve as living, walking, horrific, disfigured proof of what happened to people who went against Saddam. In any civilized society Hamza's behavior and tactics would be deemed inhumane at the least, but what made his actions all the more reprehensible was that the overwhelming majority of the people he had tortured and killed had done nothing wrong. In the twisted world Saddam had created for himself, he was convinced there were spies everywhere, traitors lurking in every city and every part of his government. There was a purge at least once a year and if the SSS didn't come up with bodies Saddam would turn his paranoid rage on the SSS instead. To avoid having his own head put on the chopping block, Hamza made sure his people found traitors.