A jeep came for them at the next morning. Driven by a reckless Israeli airman, Feldhandler and Mina wound their way around the airbase to a bunker near a hangar complex for a squadron of F-16s.
Feldhandler had felt safer in the helicopter and was happy to arrive in one piece. The Defense Minister met them outside the bunker, pleasant and friendly, dressed in a pair of casual slacks and an open necked short sleeved shirt. They talked together on the tarmac, alone except for Arbel’s ever present security detail. It was hot under the late spring sun and the open tarmac didn’t help.
Arbel didn’t share the Prime Minister’s enthusiasm for giving the Americans whatever they wanted, but he understood the pressures that made successive Israeli governments do just that. Besides, he saw some benefits in unveiling the country’s—or Feldhandler’s—great discoveries. Wouldn’t that earn them at least a little international appreciation?
“No” answered Feldhandler. “Not for more than a day or two; before we’re castigated for one thing or another. Creating doomsday weapons, wrecking the environment, rending the very fabric of space/time… I’m more likely to be indicted as a war criminal than win the Nobel Prize.”
“But the fusion reactor has civilian applications,” Arbel offered.
“Not as presently configured, and not as a practical matter for many years to come” answered Feldhandler quickly. “In the meantime, we my find ourselves without a nation to power.”
Arbel didn’t fully share Feldhandler’s gloom as to Israel’s future prospects, but then again, he was a politician. He was paid to remain optimistic. But occasionally, Arbel had to admit, men like Feldhandler had a point. Israel had conceded land, legitimacy, and wealth to Arabs over recent decades, and had only become weaker for it. No matter what Israel did to curry favor in the world, the country’s efforts were deliberately misinterpreted. It seemed as if the Arabs, and even the Europeans, had caught a whiff of the death scent, and were circling for the kill. Divestiture movements against Israel in Scandinavia, boycotts of Israeli academics and scientists in Britain, embargoes on weapons from Germany—it all seemed of a piece. And plenty of leftist Israelis reveled in their own version of self-hate, joining the Arabs and Europeans in bashing their own country, not unlike the Judenrat officials that helped the Nazis round up victims for the death trains. Indeed, for much of Europe, and especially the elites, the consensus best way to cleanse the stain of the Holocaust was to erase Israel, the entity that made Europe feel guilty.
“America is not Europe.” said Arbel evenly. “It is our friend. Not an unconditional friend to be sure, but our only friend, and the only military, intelligence and technical advisors hashed out a protocol for use with the Americans the next day. There were multiple options and tracks available. Much depended on what the Americans already knew or had figured out, and that was something the Israelis did not know. Both countries actively spied on each other, but contrary to popular belief, it was the Americans that had a leg up in that area. They had advantages in resources, technical wizardry and most importantly, money, that Israel just could not match.
In the end it was agreed that Mina would remain at Ramat David and to act as Arbel’s advisor, and Feldhandler would be permitted to return to Dimona. That way, Feldhandler could continue to work on Slingshot, if and when it was authorized.
Feldhandler and Mina returned to the barrack at midnight and talked long into the morning. Feldhandler went to his room and dozed off for about an hour. At 4:00 he left the barrack and requisitioned a car from the motor pool, then set off straight for Dimona.
Mina slept well into the morning and breakfasted in the dull dining hall. A smart looking young air force officer intercepted her on the way back to her barrack room and told her to return to the secure bunker where they had met with Arbel the day before.
She noticed a difference at the bunker immediately in the form of several heavily armed American guards at the entrance. Although dressed in quasi-civilian garb they were clearly military men, probably Department of Defense security personnel. They mixed cautiously with a like amount of Israelis, who were less heavily armed, younger and somewhat smaller. As was the fashion, all of the men from both nations bore shaved heads or closely cropped crew cuts. Mina had noticed that both American and Israeli security personnel allowed the other to bear weapons on each other’s soil, which was either a sign of trust or a reflection of deep misgivings.
Arbel, Brom and several lesser aides and officers, including a couple of translators were already in the conference room when Mina arrived. Brom indicated that the American team occupied a couple of adjacent anterooms, evidently comparing last minute notes. Finally, at about half-past eleven the Americans emerged led by the dapper but sallow Argus Crowley. The Deputy Secretary of Defense sported a well fitted gray pinstripe, expensive tie and French cuffs. Arbel was in shirtsleeves, and Mina guessed a clip-on. Crowley’s civilian aides were similarly decked out, but an American general and a pair of American colonels were in plain old digital camouflage.
The Israeli officers present wore the same olive drab fatigues the IDF had been using for a half-century.
Crowley came right to the point in English. “The President asked me to come here because he wants you to level with us.”
Arbel feigned a bit of confusion over the idiom and turned to his translator. He smiled and asked Crowley in English what he wanted to know exactly.
Crowley said “First, we want you to acknowledge that you are responsible for the Iranian raid. If you do not, eventually international opinion may assume that the United States was behind it. That is unacceptable.”
Arbel tried to respond to this, but Crowley put up his hand, and frowned.
“Second, we want to know what is going on at Dimona. That’s it. You can end this meeting in a matter of minutes if you answer those two questions.”
Arbel again used the translator, to Crowley’s obvious annoyance. He’d spoken with Arbel many times and knew that the Israeli Minister’s English was top notch. But diplomatic protocol meant putting up with the charade. Finally, Arbel spoke.
“Let me say Mr. Crowley, first, how appreciative we are of America’s moral, military and economic support.”
“Cut the crap” Crowley broke in, very undiplomatically now. “I don’t think you need that translated, do you? I want answers, or I want to know that you will not provide answers, in which case I will report the same to the President.”
Arbel looked at Brom and then Mina. Crowley was no friend of Israel, had never been, and was living up to his reputation. That didn’t really bother Arbel. What did concern him was that an American President, generally held to be pro-Israel, would send in such a hostile interlocutor at this time.
“First” Arbel said in clear, only slightly accented English and deliberately using Crowley’s phrasing “Iran has not claimed that its facility was raided, by Israel, the United States or anybody else. So I’m not sure what international censure you are concerned about.”
Crowley flushed and his skin looked like it might begin to molt, but before he could reply, Arbel continued.
“Yes, obviously we did raid the facility, but that is a state secret, and while we share it with you now, we expect this information to remain confidential. As to what is going on at Dimona, we engage in peaceful nuclear research. As I tried to state before, we value America’s support and friendship, and so in that spirit have I answered.”