“Right now? Let’s deal with the Egyptians first!”
“A deal is a deal.”
“The country is on the ropes, and you worry about a deal? Mossad isn’t running away. Once the crisis is over, we’ll see what can be done, okay?”
“I’d rather not wait.” Elie pointed to a newspaper on the table. “Meir Amit screwed up. He estimated there was no risk of war until 1970 at the earliest. I heard him say that. His mistake gives you a perfect excuse to dismiss him and appoint me.”
Prime Minister Eshkol sat back, shaking his head. “I can’t do that. Not now.”
“But you promised.”
“Yes, but I didn’t promise to keep my promise!”
“Not funny.”
“Come on, Weiss, how can you expect me to dismiss the chief of Mossad at a time like this? And appoint someone like you, with limited experience-”
“My experience, Prime Minster, has been more diversified than you can imagine.”
Eshkol gave him a wary look. “Let’s first get rid of Dayan,” he said, almost pleading. “Those sabra boys are daredevils. The good of the country demands it.”
“The good of the country,” Elie said, turning to leave, “demands that Dayan take over the defense portfolio. That seems to be the consensus.”
E ven though it wasn’t cold, the summer evening was cool enough to give Lemmy the idea of starting a fire in the brick stove that had once been the center of the house. They found a broken chair in one of the rooms and smashed it into small pieces that fit into the stove. Sanani used yesterday’s newspapers as kindling.
The fire spread quickly to the dry wood, but the smoke drifted out the front of the stove and began to fill up the room. Sanani tried to close the steel door of the stove, but the smoke kept coming around the ill-fitting door.
“The chimney’s blocked!” Lemmy ran to the rear patio to bring water in the two empty tin cans they used as drinking cups. He heard a hissing sound from the living room and found Sanani urinating into the stove. He joined him, and the fire died down. They laughed until their eyes ran with tears.
The house stunk of smoke. They went to the rear patio and sat against the wall, reading the newspapers under two candles.
Going through Ma’ariv, Lemmy saw a photo of black-garbed men leaning on their shovels and picks, smiling at the camera. The caption read: Neturay Karta Members Complete Trench from Meah Shearim to Musrara Neighborhood. He examined the tiny, familiar faces in the photo. Benjamin wasn’t there. Lemmy folded the newspaper and put it away. He had nothing in common with the men in the photo, as if the years at Neturay Karta and his friendship with Benjamin had been experienced by someone else.
Sanani showed him the report in Ha’aretz that Egyptian submarines had reached the Straits of Tiran, while heavy guns were deployed at Sharem Al-Sheikh. UN General Rikhye predicted a major Middle East war, declaring: “ I think we will be sorting it out 50 years from now. ” Meanwhile, in Jerusalem, Citizens for Eshkol, an organization that had helped Eshkol win the 1965 elections, turned against him: Give Dayan the defense portfolio before it’s too late!
That night, Lemmy and Sanani decided that, in the morning, they would demand a brief furlough from their confinement. They crawled into their sleeping bags determined to see the outside world tomorrow, or to hear a good explanation as to why they were wasting time on learning to speak English with funny accents while their friends were preparing to fight the real enemies of Israel.
A fter the initial rage had subsided and murderous images receded from his mind, Elie decided that Prime Minister Eshkol’s broken promise was a good omen. Assuming the top Mossad position would be better after acquiring Klaus von Koenig’s vast fortune. And without the account number and password, he would have to plant a mole inside the Hoffgeitz Bank, which hired only graduates of Lyceum Alpin St. Nicholas-a long-term operation that would require careful planning and execution.
He arrived at the IDF Jerusalem command to find everyone huddled around the radio in anticipation of Eshkol’s speech. By that night, May 28, every Israeli citizen was on edge, desperate for reassurance that the Arab posturing did not pose existential danger to the Jewish state. The prime minister had to convince the people that his diplomatic overtures would avert war.
At first, Levi Eshkol sounded confident. He greeted the nation and read verbatim the text of the government’s decision to send Abba Eban to America yet again. But when he turned to speak about the IDF’s readiness to defend the country, Eshkol stuttered and became incoherent. The broadcast continued while the prime minister whispered to an assistant, mumbled in confusion, and attempted to read on, his voice breaking into incessant coughing.
The crowded room uttered a collective groan. Brigadier General Tappuzi turned off the radio.
Elie saw some of the men wiping their eyes. A young officer said, “Eshkol is leading us to another Holocaust.” Some nodded in agreement.
As the men ambled out of the office, Elie stayed behind.
“Can you believe it?” Tappuzi’s voice shook. “If our leader is afraid, what are we supposed to do?”
“He’s not afraid. He’s got a bad cold, bad eyes, and a bad copy of a poorly typed speech that even Ben Gurion would have a hard time reading.”
“Ben Gurion spoke without notes, from the heart.”
“Nostalgia is a waste of time,” Elie said. “Have you seen the Mossad report on the UN radar?”
“Worse than we expected.” The gray-haired officer dropped into his chair. “It’s an American-made system, built under contract for the UN.” He pulled the papers from a pile on his desk. “Semi Automatic Ground Environment radar, model AN/SPS-35, shipped directly from Alabama to Amman on a UN cargo plane. It operates at 420 to 450 megahertz, capable of tracking planes up to two hundred miles away, which means they see all of Israel and well into the Sinai and the Mediterranean.”
“That far?” Elie lit a cigarette.
“The antenna reflector is over eighty feet wide!”
“If that’s true, defending Jerusalem is the least of it.” He drew deeply, and the smoke petered out as he spoke. “The UN boys won’t miss more than two hundred planes taking off from every airfield in Israel and heading for Egypt. They’ll report to the Arabs within minutes, every Egyptian plane will take off, and our first strike will turn into a one-way trip.”
“You don’t say.” Tappuzi tossed the Mossad report back on his desk. “If your plan fails, this radar will cost us the war, possibly our very survival!”
“It’s a good plan.” Elie stubbed his cigarette in an ashtray that resembled a step-triggered landmine. “But it’s going to rest on very young shoulders.”
Chapter 41
Lemmy woke up at sunrise and sat on the patio to read a travel book about Munich. He had been ordered to memorize a second cover story as a backup in case his first cover, as a UN observer, was blown. His name was Wilhelm Horch, born and raised near Munich. He had been recruited into the youth training program at the BND, the West German secret service, which had sent him on a practice drill to infiltrate the UN Mideast Command and obtain details of the American-made radar system, which was far more advanced than anything Germany was making.
When the two civilians showed up later that morning, Lemmy and Sanani were ready with a speech demanding a day off. Yosh carried a cardboard box with pastries, still warm from the oven. Dor brought a thermos of coffee and the morning newspapers. “Let’s eat,” he said, “then go for a drive.”
Lemmy looked at Sanani, who shrugged and reached into the box of pastries.
Outside they found a dark-green Jeep Wagoneer, an expensive vehicle that few Israelis could afford. Dor tossed the keys to Sanani, who cheered and broke into a little dance.
New-car smell welcomed them like perfume. The dashboard, doors, and seats were smooth and shining. Sanani had a wide grin on his face as he turned the key. He floored the gas pedal, causing the engine to roar. “Mama, I’m in love!”