Rules of Deception

Palumbo sighed. He knew then how it was going to turn out. “I’m sorry. I just can’t allow it.”

Lafever looked at him like he was a poor, dumb rube just off the farm. “Neither can I.”

When he raised his hand again, he was pointing a compact, nickel-plated revolver at Palumbo’s heart. It was a throwaway piece with its registration filed off, loaded with standard ammo he’d probably gotten from the armory. The old man’s tradecraft was strictly by the book.

The gun fired twice. The bullets struck Palumbo in the chest and knocked him to the ground. He lay there a moment, eyes wide, the wind knocked out of him. Lafever advanced a step and stood over him, shaking his head. Then Palumbo coughed and Lafever realized that he was wearing a vest. Hurriedly, the deputy director of operations of the Central Intelligence Agency brought his gun to bear. This time, he was too slow.

Palumbo’s shot struck him in the forehead.

Admiral James Lafever was dead before he hit the ground.

61

Twenty-four hours had passed since the war council had convened on Balfour Street. In that time, phone calls had shot back and forth across the Atlantic with the savagery of a spring lightning storm. The Foreign Ministry to the U.S. State Department. Iran Command to the Centcom headquarters. The Mossad to the CIA.

At eleven p.m., the prime minister of Israel stood in his office, one hand behind his back, the other clutching the telephone to his ear. Like any other courtier seeking the emperor’s company, he’d been told to wait his turn. The president of the United States would be with him momentarily.

Zvi Hirsch stood at the PM’s side, seething with impatience. “Momentarily” had run out five minutes earlier. Every added second worsened the insult to his congenitally insecure heart.

Suddenly, a woman came on the line. “The President of the United States.”

Before the prime minister could respond, a cold technocrat’s voice filled the earpiece. “Hello, Avi, good to hear from you.”

“Mr. President. I wish it were a happier occasion.”

“I wanted to convey my thanks for consulting with us,” the American president said. “These developments have caught us off guard. We didn’t see this coming so soon.”

“We were both caught off guard. I’m sure you can empathize with our position. We ca

“Statements are one thing. Actions another.”

“Iran’s actions are a matter of record. For years they have been financing the terrorist activity of Hamas, Islamic Jihad, and Al-Aqsa Martyrs Brigade. Their participation isn’t limited to Israel. I don’t need to tell you about the havoc they’ve wreaked in Iraq. They have two goals: to gain de facto control over the Middle East and to destroy my country. They are well on their way to the first. I will not allow them to succeed at the second.”

“The United States has always said that any act of violence against Israel will be viewed as an act of violence against us.”

“This is not a situation where we can wait to be attacked. The first strike will be fatal.”

“I understand, but I think it’s too early to act. We have to take this to the United Nations.”

“If you had known that the nineteen hijackers were pla

“Attacking a nation is different than taking out a band of terrorists,” the president said in a carefully measured tone. Any mention of 9/11 left him wary. The hallowed date, and the immediate call-to-arms it inspired, had become this era’s “Remember the Alamo!”

“And a nuclear weapon is different than an airplane,” retorted the prime minister. “Any bomb will kill millions of Israelis.”

The president drew a breath. “What can I do for you, Avi?”

“We require your permission to fly through Iraqi airspace,” said the Israeli prime minister.

“If and when the State of Israel is attacked, you’ll be granted that permission.”

“With all due respect, Mr. President, by then it will be too late.”

“The Iranians will retaliate.”

“Perhaps. But some fights you ca

There was a pause and the prime minister could hear the U.S. president conferring with his aides. A minute later, the American spoke. “I understand you have a second request.”

“We also require four of your B61-11 EPWs-earth penetrating weapons.”

“That’s a helluva request. We’re talking about nuclear-tipped devices.”

“Yes, it is.”

The American president had been made aware of the request beforehand and had prepared his response with some precision. “Listen carefully to what I have to say. America will under no circumstance initiate the use of nuclear weapons. We do, however, believe in Israel’s right to a strong and overwhelming defense. To this end, and in respect of our many years of friendship, I’ve ordered my men to immediately transfer four B61’s to General Ganz. I will require your word, however, that you will not use these weapons unless you’re directly provoked.”

“I don’t know if I can give you my word on that.”

“This is no

Zvi Hirsch, who was listening on another line, shot the prime minister a shocked glance. Violently, he began to nod his head, indicating that the prime minister was to consent at once. The prime minister complied. “You have my word. On behalf of myself and the people of Israel, I thank you.”

The call was concluded.

Zvi Hirsch set the phone in the cradle. “Did you hear him?”

“Of course,” said the prime minister. “What are you so heated up about?”

“He said we can use the bombs if and when we are directly provoked.”

“And so?”

Zvi Hirsch was so worked up that he had trouble getting the words out. “Don’t you get it?” he asked. “They don’t have to bomb us. It can be anything…any act at all…as long as we can tie it back to Teheran.”

“They only have to lift a finger against us.”

62

The Pilot held the stopwatch in his right hand. “Five minutes. Go.”

The men moved quickly, but never hurriedly, from their positions at the foot of the garage. Breaking themselves up into three two-man teams, each group approached one of three man-sized stainless-steel packing cases called coffins standing against the wall. Two of the cases contained convex aircraft wings, each broken into two four-foot sections. The third case held the fuselage, which housed the aircraft’s operational guts: the inertial navigation system, Ku-band satellite communications processor, fuel tank, primary control module, turbofan engine, and nose camera assembly.

Locking the landing gear into place, the first team set the fuselage on the ground. The men responsible for the wing assembly bolted the sections to one another, and then attached each to the fuselage by means of tungsten pinions. At the same time, the Pilot wheeled a low-slung gurney across the floor. Cradled in the gurney was a tear-shaped metallic nacelle, the size of a large watermelon, weighing thirty kilos, or some sixty-six pounds. The nacelle contained a powerful explosive charge.

The design was similar to the warhead used for Sidewinder missiles. In fact, the blueprint had come from Raytheon, the defense contractor responsible for the air-to-air missiles created over thirty years before. Little had changed in that time. Only the explosives had grown more powerful.