“Just keep on with it … and drive. Traffic’s moving again.”
A new symphony of horns behind them punctuated McCracken’s impatient suggestion. Isaac eased the car forward. “Stop distracting me, all right? Where was I? Oh yes. Hassani had to be stopped before he could bring the radicals of the Arab world together. We came up with a plan called Operation Firestorm. It’s complicated, but let me summarize it for you this way. We sent several hundred Israeli agents into Tehran to organize the discontented masses and students into a counterrevolutionary force prepared to strike at a predetermined time. Every phase was thought out, every detail accounted for.”
“A classic strategem.”
“Especially in the case of Iran. Hassani took over a nation bankrupt in spirit as well as pocketbook. But instead of rebuilding from the bottom up, he chose to do so from the top down, wooing the wealthy and ignoring the poor. The voice of the poor grew louder, but Hassani’s revamped Revolutionary Guard has been able to quell all the disturbances thus far. But with Firestorm, barricades were to be erected throughout the city of Tehran, fires started everywhere as a sign to the people to rise against Hassani and his oppressive, backward regime.”
“Toppling him before he could accomplish his goal of unifying the militant Arab world,” Blaine completed. “All well and good until you figure Hassani’s got the power to quell this revolution as well.”
“Don’t worry. We thought of that. At the height of the fighting and confusion, fifteen American Comanche helicopters from Israel were to join the fighting on the rebels’ side.”
“You mean Apache. Built by McDonnell Douglas. Maybe the finest attack helicopter in the world.”
“You figure. To me it’s all steel and bullets,” Isaac said, steering the big car farther into the Jerusalem traffic. “The Apaches would strike at the positions of the Revolutionary Guard to keep them at bay long enough for the new revolution to take hold and spread beyond the guards’ ability to control it. The manpower’s there, believe me, and so is the desire. Everything was set, confirmed. And then complications sprang up.”
“Don’t they always?”
“Not like this. One after the other, I tell you,” Isaac continued, with his hands digging into the leather of the steering wheel. “It started with a woman who calls herself Evira….”
“What?”
“Yes, we know of your connection to her. Just listen. We got word she was headed to Tehran to kill Hassani. One of our people was part of the counterrevolutionary cell that had agreed to help her.”
“So she was going to do your work for you.”
“No! Think, Mr. Blaine McCracken! Hassani was the symbol we needed to destroy with Firestorm. The people had to have something to rise against. Allowing him to be killed would have ruined everything. The revolutionary cells would have splintered and gone their own way. Anarchy would have resulted and the military would have taken over again. Firestorm would’ve died before it even got started. We did what we had to do.”
“You killed her?” Blaine screeched angrily.
“We tried, yes, but failed. Of what happened to her in the days after we do not know, only that she is now a prisoner in the basement of the royal palace. What’s important is what brought her to Tehran in the first place.”
“The same thing that brought you there. The desire to stop a madman from unifying a bunch of madmen against Israel.”
“But we didn’t know about the imminent invasion plans or about Hassani’s insistence that he had some secret weapon to render Israel defenseless against his attack.”
“Neither did she. Neither did I, damn it!”
Now it was Isaac’s turn to look puzzled. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“Maybe it does. Don’t tell me, let me guess. Somehow the Israeli government learned the specifics of Hassani’s plan.”
“The existence and timing of it anyway, yes. But how did you know?”
“Just a lucky guess.”
“Not so lucky.” Isaac sighed. “See, Hassani plans to meet next with his people on our Independence Day to provide details of his secret weapon and its employment. From what we can gather, the actual invasion will occur several days later, after his weapon has somehow paralyzed us. Our problem is that Independence Day also marked the start of Firestorm, which is very likely too late to stop Hassani from making use of his weapon. Our cells are not in communication with one another so moving the timetable up was not an option. The government said fine. They didn’t need us anymore anyway, because they had found something better.”
McCracken didn’t grasp the old man’s meaning until he saw his eyes. “My God, they’re going to use Rasin’s weapon! And I gave it to them. Told them what it was, how it worked. No wonder they had to turn the Indian and me into prisoners. We were the only ones who knew.”
“Not quite the only ones.”
“The damn fools! They didn’t listen to me! The Americans had the weapon and didn’t use it. Something happened at the last minute in 1945. Something changed, and they’re going into this without realizing what it was.”
“But there’s someone else who does, isn’t there?”
“Yes, a scientist named—”
“Martin Eisenstadt,” Isaac finished. “We found him.”
“We got lucky,” the old man continued. “We arrived just as Rasin’s people were carting him off toward an obvious fate after your work in America rendered him a liability. We had some younger people with us. It ended pleasantly. Not only is Eisenstadt alive, he’s also willing to talk. We’ve got him stashed.”
They drove through the Arab towns of Azaria and Abudise well into Seadaya, where the Judean Desert began to dominate the landscape. Isaac pulled the Mercedes off the road after a few more miles and they all transferred into a jeep that was waiting for them. Three miles of desert followed before they came to a valley housing a large Bedouin encampment. The Bedouins’ nomadic tendencies were now restrained by the government, which restricted them to settlements. Despite this government ruling, though, the Bedouins retained many features of their old lifestyle. McCracken could see the makeshift tents and tin houses in which they slept on simple blankets over the dirt. Goats and sheep were penned up together on one side of the compound, and chickens walked freely about on the other. Mules and horses drank from a huge trough and a rooster crowed incessantly.
Getting out of the jeep, Blaine felt he was stepping back in time to a life unchanged for centuries. The Bedouins were a people who respected strength. They had chosen to settle in Israel. The country accepted them and encouraged their men to join the army, where a number excelled as trackers.
The settlement leader, an old man in white robes and keffiya, greeted Isaac with a hug. Isaac spoke to him in Arabic and the man laughed, then pointed to the largest of the tin houses, which was his home. His eyes fell on McCracken and Wareagle, and Isaac offered some words of explanation. The man nodded approvingly and spoke softly to Isaac.
“He says you and the large one are the kind of men who are welcome in his village anytime,” the old Haganah fighter related.
“Tell him many thanks.”
En route to the tin house where Eisenstadt was waiting for them, Blaine passed a number of women washing clothes by hand in large bowls. Children sneaked peeks at them from hiding places behind adults. The only hint of modernity was a pair of tractors Isaac had presented the settlement as a gift some months ago, perhaps sensing he might need the favor returned soon after.