“Yair will see you now,” the secretary said. The atmosphere in the office reflected the traditional, egalitarian ways of Israel and every one was on a first-name basis. Tamir wasn’t taken in for a moment; he knew who was in charge.
Ben David met him at the door and shook his hand, “Avi, glad you could make it on such short notice. I know you’re anxious to get home.”
The scientist wondered how the prime minister knew that.
“Please sit down.” Ben David waved Tamir to a comfortable chair, sat down himself, and lit a pipe. The old, massive briar pipe was his political trademark. He puffed for a few moments, not inhaling. “Avi, I was talking to Benjamin Yuriden today.” Ben David did not have to mention that Yuriden was the minister of defense and Tamir’s boss. “We were wondering what progress you have made.” Tamir was not surprised that the prime minister would talk to him directly about his work — things were kept informal in the Israeli government.
Tamir tried to make himself comfortable, but the subject Ben David wanted to discuss did not allow comfort. “There is progress. We should have a working model ready within the next three months.”
“The triggering mechanism?”
“No,” Tamir explained. “The entire system. My people have taken shortcuts using the information provided by Mossad.”
“Ah yes,” Ben David interrupted. He did not correct Tamir. The job of stealing defense technology from the United States was not done by Mossad but by another branch of Intelligence: the Scientific Liaison Bureau. Their agents operating in the United States had penetrated a lab at Sandia Corporation and “borrowed” classified nuclear weapons design information. The “borrowed” information had saved the Israelis years of research and led Tamir and his staff directly to the development of a thermonuclear, or hydrogen, bomb. “Time,” the prime minister said, “time. We need more of it but the Arabs are denying us that luxury.” Tamir waited, knowing there was more to come. “I need a fully operational weapon as soon as possible.”
“But for what use?” Tamir protested. “Why would we need such a terrible weapon?” The closer he came to perfecting a thermonuclear bomb for his country, the more his conscience demanded to know why. “We have more than enough atomic weapons to destroy our enemies.”
Ben David laid down his pipe, folded his hands, and looked directly at Tamir, drawing Mm in. “We live in a trouble world filled with hard choices. One of our agents has learned that the Iraqis are now producing a new binary nerve gas that can penetrate the protective clothing we use.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” Tamir protested. “Producing a binary nerve gas is very difficult. Why would the Iraqis go to all that trouble when a more conventional method of production is all they need? And the claim that a nerve gas can penetrate protective clothing? Well, I’m more than a bit skeptical.”
“Believe me, enough is going on around Kirkuk that we cannot ignore it. Two facts. We know they are using canisters that are made of a polymeric material that is difficult to manufacture — but extremely resistant to corrosion. Also”—Ben David was spitting out words like a machine gun—“they are producing a new antidote. Our agent brought out an injector needle that looks exactly like the combo pens we use. We are analyzing it now.” Ben David paused for effect. “Our scientists cannot break down the antidote. We don’t know what it is.”
“But in time we will,” Tamir said. “Then we can manufacture it for our own protection.”
“True … In time. But time is the one thing we don’t have. Arab radicals have made Saddam Hussein a martyr to Western imperialism and are using him as a symbol to force cooperation between all the Arab states. In defeat, Saddam has brought Egypt, Syria, and Iraq together in defiance of the West’s “new order.” So much so that we now have evidence of a renewed military alignment between Syria and Egypt. Also we are seeing signs of much more cordial relations between Syria and Iraq. If that happens …”
“Yes, I see. That means the Iraqis’ nerve gas can be used against us. But they wouldn’t do that. Surely, they must suspect we have the bomb and would retaliate. It would be Armageddon …”
“They do. But it hasn’t stopped them from developing their version of ‘the poor man’s bomb.’ The Arabs will be made to understand that using a nerve gas, any nerve gas, on us is unthinkable. The consequences would be too great. That’s why we need a thermonuclear weapon.”
The moral dilemma that had deviled Tamir since the first nuclear test in 1979 was back to torment him. Am I to be a destroyer of nations? he thought.
“I know you are anxious to get home,” Ben David said. He rose from his seat and walked Tamir to the door. “Avi, each of us must do what he or she can to protect our people and our land.” He clasped the scientist’s hand tightly. “Go. See your daughter. And be proud of her.”
The train ride to Haifa gave Tamir time to mull over what Ben David had said. He cursed his probing, analytical mind that refused to rest. “Damn,” he muttered to himself, not wanting to think about the pieces that were fitting together. His daughter worked for Mossad and had been the agent who had brought out the latest intelligence from Iraq. It was just like the prime minister to give him enough clues to figure it out. But why? Ben David always had an ulterior motive. Was it to spur him on? Or did the prime minister have something else in store for the Tamir family?
Rather than walk from the train station in Haifa, Tamir caught a taxi to the family’s apartment. From the moment he let himself in, he could sense Shoshana’s presence. “Shoshe?” he called.
“Here, Father.” She stepped through the French doors opening onto the balcony and stopped. The room separated them. She was wearing a simple dress, sandals, and no makeup. He hair was pulled back into a single, thickly plaited braid. Then she was in his arms and he could only smell the soft fragrance of soap, no perfume.
“I’m glad you finally decided to come back and see your old dad,” he told her. There was no rebuke in his voice, only the old banter.
“I’m so glad to be home,” she said and drew back to look at him. He wanted to hear her say, “Oh, Faah-ther,” but it was gone forever. Even her voice was different and the last traces of the girl he had so loved were gone. This was a mature woman. His daughter had changed and he would never call her Shoshe again.
Shoshana insisted on cooking dinner for them that night and not going out to a restaurant. “I did enjoy going shopping this afternoon,” she told him as they sat down.
“Did you see Yoel?” he asked. He knew her old boyfriend would be anxious to see her.
She shook her head no. “I don’t think there’s anything there. Not now.”
“Well, tell me about Spain.” He promised himself to keep up the charade. For the next few minutes, Shoshana told him a very convincing story about her trip. She’s been debriefed well, he thought. I wonder how long she’s been back?
Later that evening, Shoshana announced that she had quit her job with the fruit export company. Tamir only raised an eyebrow, not sure of what to say. “I’m going to enlist in the sherut miluim and train as a medic,” she told him. Sherut miluim was the reserve component of Israel’s defense forces. “After I finish training, I’m thinking of becoming a nurse.”
Tamir said nothing, thankful that his daughter was home.
“Now what’s happened?” Melissa said to herself as she hurried to the waiting car that had been dispatched from the White House garage to pick her up. It had to be important for the duty officer to call her at four in the morning and tell her that Fraser had ordered her to work and that a car would be in front of her condominium within minutes.