“Yes!” Sanani lifted the paint brush, which he had just dipped in black.
“Don’t start!” Lemmy grabbed his hand.
“Why?” Sanani was laughing as he tried to free his hand and splatter Lemmy with paint.
“Because I think today is our day.”
E lie Weiss was not surprised to see the prime minister deflated, barely bothering to look up as government ministers and IDF generals filed into the conference room. The new defense minister, Moshe Dayan, appeared in khaki uniform that carried no rank or insignia, placing him in a gray area between the civilian and military leaders. He took a seat next to Yitzhak Rabin, who raised his glass of water in a symbolic toast. Dayan grinned and patted the chief of staff on the shoulder.
Abba Eban spoke first. “I must report with indelible regrets that our repeated excursions across the oceans have come to diplomatic naught. This is the last word from President Lyndon Johnson.” The foreign minister read from a piece of paper. “ I’d love to see that little blue and white flag sailing down the Straits of Tiran, but I can’t do anything at this time. ”
Eshkol sighed.
“The American president’s final decision,” Eban continued, “must be analyzed prudently. For example, embodied in the latter part of his message is an expression of absolute negation- anything — regarding American intervention. However, he left a door poignantly open by utilizing words of friendly intonation, such as the emotional love and the endearing little in reference to our national flag.”
OC operations, Ezer Weitzman, sneered and tossed a pencil on the large table.
“In diplomatic terms,” Abba Eban said, “the phraseology is carefully chosen to deliver a secondary message. I believe Johnson intended to give us a non-explicit permission to engage in active self-defense. I submit to you therefore that the United States has assented implicitly to our pending engagement in a unilateral military endeavor.”
No one responded to Abba Eban’s short dissertation which, Elie suspected, was due to the attendees’ difficulty in comprehending it.
“I agree.” Chief of Mossad, Meir Amit, was disheveled after a long flight from Washington via Paris. “The Americans blew us off. We’re on our own. But they won’t punish us for taking action. Our CIA liaison, Jim Angleton, is a good friend, and he told me as much. He took me to meet McNamara, and we showed him the evidence of Egyptian poison gas stockpiles. They agree we must act, but they’ll stay out for fear of instigating World War Three.”
“Exactly,” Moshe Dayan said. “And the Soviets are afraid of the same thing, so they won’t step in to fight for the Arabs.”
“Unfortunately,” Amit said, “the Soviets are better at saying one thing and doing another.”
Eshkol perked up. “What do you mean?”
“Our analysis shows that these reconnaissance flights over Dimona went to fifty-thousand feet. Only MiG twenty-fives can go that high, and only Russian pilots fly them. I believe Moscow is determined to stop our nuclear enterprise, even at the risk of a limited American intervention.”
“God help us,” Eshkol said. “We’re starting a nuclear war between the superpowers!”
“Not likely,” Abba Eban said. “Despite a level of unpredictability, Moscow and Washington are disinterested in a major conflagration. It would counteract their strategic game plans, which are founded on gradual expansionism of their respective ideologically favorable hemispheres.”
“I don’t need the Americans to fight for us,” Rabin said. “But will they send us supplies and replacement parts for the weapons we’ve bought from them?”
Amit shook his head. “The only thing Johnson approved was a plane full of gas masks and nerve-gas antidote. I caught a ride on that plane-a strange flight, let me tell you.”
There were a few chuckles in the room, fading quickly.
“Our team in France had better success,” the Mossad chief continued. “The new Mirages are already in the air, somewhere over Greece.” He glanced at his watch. “They’ll start landing at Ramat David in two hours. Also, three cargo ships left Marseilles last night with artillery pieces, half-tracks, light guns, ammunition, and replacement parts.”
The dozen or so elderly ministers seemed lost for words. They looked expectantly at the new defense minister.
Moshe Dayan asked, “What’s the bottom-line recommendation of Mossad?”
Amit didn’t hesitate. “The Egyptian forces are poised to attack. We are facing an existential threat. I recommend a preemptive strike against Egypt, while keeping Jordan and Syria out of the fighting, if possible.”
Dayan turned to Rabin. “Yitzhak?”
“I concur.”
His single eye focused on Prime Minister Eshkol. “I request,” Dayan said, “a cabinet vote authorizing me to determine the exact timing and scope of the war.”
Elie sat and listened as the elderly ministers tried to probe for renewal of diplomatic efforts. Dayan seemed almost petulant, dismissing their concerns with laconic responses. Eventually, Eshkol called for a vote, which Dayan won. He now had full and autonomous authority over Israel’s armed forces. No one in the room doubted his inclination to launch an attack as soon as possible.
Before the meeting formally adjourned, Elie left and drove to see Brigadier General Tappuzi. As they had planned in advance, Tappuzi called UN General Odd Bull, asking him for an urgent meeting to discuss Israel’s protest over the entry of Jordanian armored units into East Jerusalem in violation of the Armistice Agreements.
Tappuzi put down the receiver. “He’ll be here in about an hour.”
“Good,” Elie said. He felt the handle of his father’s shoykhet knife against his hip. “Make sure someone distracts his driver while I deflate his tires.”
“How long do you want me to keep Bull here?”
“An hour or so. Tell your mechanics to take their time.”
L emmy and Sanani showered and shaved in the rear patio, shivering under the freezing water. The plan had been made clear to them, and the time for jokes was over. They folded their olive-green uniforms and put on UN khakis and blue caps. Sanani wore large sunglasses, which apparently were an exact copy of the shades worn by Bull’s driver.
Lemmy stuck the Mauser in his belt in the back. “Better keep this place tidy while I’m away. And no peeing in the oven!”
“Maybe I’ll stay at Government House with you,” Sanani said.
“Next time,” Lemmy said, and they laughed.
The Jeep was clean and fueled up. It smelled of fresh paint but otherwise looked like a real UN vehicle. Lemmy loaded a khaki duffel bag marked with a UN insignia on both sides, which contained explosives and detonators. A backpack held a jar of water and two loaves of bread.
The two civilians showed up. “It’s time, boys.” Dor held out his hand, and they gave him their military ID tags and personal identification papers.
Meanwhile, Yosh fixed a new license plate to the rear of the Jeep: UN — 1
Lemmy got in the rear, and Sanani covered him with blue tarp. General Bulls’ Jeep was supposedly protected from Jordanian inspections, but this one was a fake. In the event of exposure, their orders were to speed up and reach Government House. A capture by the UN would be preferable to falling into the hands of the Jordanians, whose likely response upon catching an Israeli spy behind the lines would be a bullet to the head.
The Jeep shook over bumps in the road. The hard floor of the trunk provided Lemmy with no cushion.
“Approaching Mandelbaum Gate,” Sanani announced. Lemmy had asked him to describe what he was seeing, especially once they entered the eastern part of Jerusalem, which he had longed to visit since childhood.
Sanani downshifted, and the Jeep slowed down. Lemmy held his breath.