The chief of Mossad stood, which brought immediate quiet to the room. “Timing is key. By the time an Egyptian soldier notices a couple of planes pass overhead and makes the decision to bother his direct commander, our pilots will be close to their targets. The hierarchical nature of the Egyptian army means that a warning from a junior officer in the front would have to climb up rung by rung all the way up to headquarters. And it won’t make an impression unless many other such sightings are reported simultaneously. By then, even if the Egyptian generals realize what’s happening and send orders down to each airfield, they’ll be too late. Our pilots will have already hit their respective targets.”
“But there’s a weakness,” Weitzman said.
“Correct.” The chief of Mossad glanced at Rabin. “The new radar system at the UN Middle East headquarters at the Government House is the most powerful ground-based radar America makes. It sits on the highest piece of land in the region and is powerful enough to track our jets from the moment of takeoff and all the way over Sinai and the Mediterranean. They’ll see our pilots take off, and General Bull could call President Nasser directly and tell him the radar is tracking two hundred and thirty Israeli jets heading south. Nasser would shoot orders down to the bases, and all their planes will take off just in time to give our boys a deadly welcome.”
Arik Sharon said, “What about cutting off the electrical power to Government House?”
“The UN has its own generators and gasoline depot behind the radar station.” The Mossad chief must have anticipated Sharon’s next question, adding, “And no, Arik, you may not attack the UN Mideast headquarters.”
Sharon grinned. “You have a better option?”
“Our technical experts are looking into jamming as an option, but it doesn’t look promising.”
O n the drive back, they stopped at a payphone and Dor gave Sanani a fistful of tokens to call home. Lemmy watched his animated face as he happily spoke to each of his many family members and blew loud kisses. When Sanani was done, Dor beckoned Lemmy, who shook his head. He would have liked to call Tanya, but what could he say to her? I still love you even though you used me.
A gray-haired woman with a husky voice and a beautiful British accent came in the afternoon, carrying a cardboard model of Government House, where she had worked before 1948 for the British High Commissioner. She pointed out to Lemmy and Sanani the gate, the front courtyard, Antenna Hill in the rear, and the building itself, where a side entrance led into a stairwell made of matches and pieces of fabric. She explained the internal setup of the building, especially the three alternative stairways up to the roof, where a storage shed served as a base for the massive flag mast. When she left, the model stayed behind.
Yosh and Dor showed up a while later with cans of paint and brushes and a photo of a UN Jeep Wagoneer. “Have fun,” Yosh said. “Try to make it look professional.”
Sanani walked around the green Jeep, cradling his cheeks in mock grief. “It’s a crime against humanity!”
After taping over the glass and chrome, as well as the headlights and turn signals, they stripped down to their boxer shorts and began painting.
Lemmy was working on the bottom of a door when he felt a wet brush travel down his spine. “No!” He turned and smacked Sanani on his head with his brush, turning the black curls into white hair that was pasted down Sanani’s forehead.
The brushes became swords, marking their naked chests and backs. Sanani was quick, feigning, thrusting, and hooting at the top of his voice. His back against the Jeep, Lemmy suddenly tossed his brush at Sanani, and while his friend was busy trying to catch it with slippery hands, Lemmy ran for the rear-patio shower.
“T here’s another issue,” the Mossad chief said. “We have evidence that the Egyptians have transported into Sinai their whole poison gas stockpile. We’ve obtained the original shipping documents from the German manufacturer. Chemical analysis shows they have enough to eliminate approximately ten million humans, theoretically speaking. In reality, efficacy depends on accurate delivery, topography, population density, wind conditions, and humidity. Our sources report that the Egyptians have rigged up some of their artillery pieces to launch the canisters at our army units. They’ll use planes to drop the rest on our cities.”
He passed around photos of poison gas victims in Yemen, where the Egyptian army had eliminated whole villages. The photos travelled around the large table in complete silence. Elie passed them on without looking. He had seen the real thing in Nazi Germany and had no need to refresh his memory.
Amit said, “I showed these to Eshkol this morning. He is sending me to Washington to show them to President Johnson.” The Mossad chief chuckled. “The way Eshkol put it: Tell that big Texan goy that we’re dealing with chayes! Vildeh chayes! ”
Wild animals, Elie thought, was exactly what the Arabs were. And the Germans too. And the Austrians, Polacks, Ukrainians, Romanians, Hungarians, and Russians. In fact, all Christians and Muslims were vildeh chayes when it came to killing Jews. Even Johnson wasn’t much better, refusing to stand by Israel as its enemies were gathering to destroy it with full Soviet support.
Rabin announced a break and beckoned Elie to accompany him outside the room. They stood in a concrete hallway near the restrooms, where a large vent was sucking air into the underground purification system.
“You heard it, Weiss,” the chief of staff said. “It’s not just Jerusalem. The whole success of Mokked depends on your radar operation. If Bull warns them before we reach Egyptian air fields, we’ll lose our entire air force. And once they control the air, our ground forces have no chance against their massive numbers and equipment. We’ll all be dead within a week.”
“I’ll disable that UN radar for you,” Elie said. “Even if I have to do it myself.”
“Tappuzi has doubts about your plan. What are the chances of success?”
“One hundred percent.”
“That’s never the case,” Rabin said. “And what can you do about Eshkol and his geriatric ministers?”
Elie knew what he was asking. “Going to war is a political decision.”
“They’re fearful old men. They’ll wring their hands and pontificate in clever Yiddish while I carry the burden alone. But I’m a soldier! I need orders! Dayan is the only-”
“I have a file full of dirt on Dayan.”
Rabin grabbed Elie’s arm. “Burn it! Just burn it!”
“Eshkol promised to appoint me to run Mossad.”
The chief of staff turned away, and Elie was afraid he would bang his head on the concrete wall. This was a crucial moment. The bargaining would be short and decisive. “But I’d rather deal with a sabra.”
Rabin turned back, and a boyish smile cracked his face. “Weiss, you’re a mamzer! Wicked!”
“My price is the same. Give me your word, and I’ll burn Dayan’s file.”
“But I don’t appoint Mossad chiefs.”
“Not yet. But you will when you become prime minister.”
“Me?” Rabin laughed. “You are meshuggah. I’m a hundred years too young for that job.”
“I’m a patient man.”
“Sure. I give you my word. When I’m prime minister, I’ll appoint you to run Mossad.” Yitzhak Rabin patted his shirt pockets. “Damn, I’m out. Give me a cigarette, will you?”
Chapter 42
On Saturday morning, June 3, Lemmy went outside to check if the paint on the Jeep had dried. He passed his hand on the hood, feeling no stickiness, only tiny specs of dust embedded in the paint.
He woke Sanani up, and they cut molds for the letters U and N out of cardboard pieces. The car doors were open, and the Voice of Israel played Hebrew ballads on the radio.
At ten a.m. the radio uttered the familiar series of beeps preceding the news, and they stopped to listen. The lead item was that King Hussein had piloted his own plane from Amman to Cairo to sign a treaty with Nasser, submitting the Jordanian army to Egyptian command. The second item was an announcement from Prime Minister Eshkol, welcoming Moshe Dayan as defense minister in a unity government that also included opposition leader Menachem Begin.