THE MASADA ZEALOTS' VICTORY, 73AD

The first glimmer from the sun disc spread across the Dead Sea's dark blue water, filtered by the dust motes in the dry desert air until it glistened like a golden sword.  Perched on the flat topped mountain, Jonathan studied the hordes of Roman soldiers clambering into battle gear, weapons glinting obscenely in the early sun.  He grinned wryly, knowing his plan would frustrate those swordsmen thirsting for battle.  All the previous Roman attempts to reach the top of Masada along the Snake Trail had been pushed back by a hail of rocks flung by the Israeli Zealots.  Jonathan strode over to the west wall and examined the ramp of death - that ugly pile of rock and rubble the Roman General Flavors Silva had ordered constructed three years earlier - built by Jewish slave-prisoners.  The Masada hold-outs could do nothing to stop the slow, steady, stepping of the ramp toward the western ramparts of their once-secure citadel.

The dawning light intensified.  Jonathan picked out, some 1500 feet below, the tall, imperious General Silva surrounded by servants polishing his boots, brushing his colorful uniform.  Another servant was carefully strapping on Silva's slim sword.  Raucous shouts blared from the Roman camps circling the cliffs of Masada - the soldiers' vicious voices venting their enthusiasm for battle.

A score of soldiers climbed into the monstrous, mobile, armored contraption - repugnant and frightening - shaped like a fierce ram's head.  The slave driver cracked his whip above the heads of his prisoners.  Scrawny Jewish slaves slowly inched toward the west tugging on hemp ropes wrapped about two huge wooden capstan-winches nudging the monster up the ramp.  A laborer straining on the left rope stumbled, a soldier rushed up, flogged him unmercifully.  The old man's life oozed out on the yellow sand while the soldier herded another drudge into the dead man's place.

In less than an hour the armored monster would creep close enough to the wall to begin the daily harassment - the cruel soldiers inside protected from the onslaught of rock-missiles the Zealots daily launched against them.  Today would be the closest approach.  Up to now the daily battle had been a stand-off.  Psychological warfare, constant pressure, tension.  Today Jonathan had a surprise for the Romans - a new, secret weapon.  He had been working on it for over a month.  A show of strength to use on this final day.

Jonathan paced across the wind flattened top of Masada, passing the tiled baths festooned with vivid mosaic scenes of King Herod's court life, now used by the Zealots to refresh themselves after their daily work under the desert sun.  The aroma of baking bread from Herod's ovens wafted by.  Overwhelmed with hunger, Jonathan hurried toward home and breakfast, past the huge grain storage bins and the cavernous water storage tanks carved out of the interior of the rock mountain, more of Herod's legacy.  The Romans would be surprised to find how well fed the little band had been - a thousand Jews holding out against ten thousand of the Roman Empire's best.

A sharp pain seared his chest when he realized he had seen his last sunrise - less than a day left to love his darling wife and his son and daughter - only six and eight years old, grown accustomed to the Roman threat below.  In about an hour the Romans would be close enough.  Time for a last breakfast with his family.  He and his wife tried hard to appear normal, cheerful - the children didn't seem to notice anything unusual.

Back at the western wall, Jonathan scrutinized the Roman monster inching up the ramp.  The sweat glistened on the bare backs of the slaves struggling under the hot sun against the force of the capstan-aided tow lines.  Noting two more slave bodies had fallen under the beatings of the soldiers, Jonathan turned to his two helpers standing on each side of the container of oil hanging over the night watchman's fire.  They silently nodded their readiness as Jonathan placed a few more pieces of wood on the flames.

Finally the armored monster crept within range of Jonathan's new weapon.  In a few more feet the Roman soldiers would begin their daily lobbing of rock-missiles onto Masada-top.  Jonathan gave thumbs-up to his helpers.  They moved back slowly, the compliant strands of the slingshot stretched and tightened, storing enough energy for Jonathan's surprise.  He torched the surface of the oil-filled container and gave the release signal to his two assistants.  The pot sailed through the air - splattered against the armored ram's head - the blazing oil gushed into the peep-hole eyes of the monster - screaming soldiers shot out of their flaming shelter like exploding, burning chestnuts.  General Silva flailed his arms furiously and helplessly at the smoking catastrophe on the ramp, ended the day's assault.  The next day's attack would be a vicious revenge against Jonathan's trick, but the Zealots had planned a last special secret, a final act of defiance, their own way of winning.

The next morning the Roman soldiers poured over the western rampart of Masada, adrenaline pumping furiously, anxiously anticipating some new Jewish trick.  An eerie silence greeted them.,  Food stuffs and shards of money were scattered about on the flat, stony surface.  No sign of life.  Confused, the soldiers stealthily entered the Zealots' homes.  Lifeless bodies - men, women, and children strewn about like rag dolls - mass suicide.  The final affront to the Romans.  The Zealots' horrendous way of snatching victory from the Roman teeth.

CHAPTER 1 SPECIAL ASSIGNMENT 1975

TEL AVIV

Dani Sharon careened into the jammed parking lot behind his office, I shouldn't have stayed so long.  In Jaffa, the Old Town section of Tel Aviv, he'd been watching an Israeli movie company shooting scenes for a story of the rivalries and undreamed-of tensions between the Ashkenazis and the Sephardis who had come in the early days of modern Israel expecting to "live happily ever after in their Promised Land" - sort of a combination West Side Story and Romeo and Juliet.  Wheeling into his reserved space, Dani tried to look into the future, Wish I could shoot my own films - maybe someday my company'll make enough money�

He turned off the smoothly purring motor and slid across the leather seat of the red, open topped sports car.  Hurrying around to the front of the nondescript building, the same tan, beige, dirty brown color as almost all the other office buildings in Tel Aviv, he yanked out his key and opened the door, kept locked for security.

The new brushed aluminum panels of the entrance foyer caught his eye and he smiled with pride.  His receptionist greeted him with the respect and deference usually awarded a much older man as he continued on into his private office, decorated with modern art and abstract mobiles, expensive artifacts he avidly collected.  He settled back into the white leather, streamlined armchair behind the matching white desk, gazed at the electrically powered mobile on the opposite wall as it slowly picked up bits of iron filings with a hidden rotating magnet producing a hypnotizing scene of changing shapes. My appointment with Benni Yamin.  What will he want?  The income from Rehovat Trading, Ltd. - a company he inherited from his father - gave him lots of cash and freedom - but he wanted more.  Only 23 years old, he was already a millionaire, but he had his sights on something bigger - less constraining than running his dad's company.  Maybe Benni is the key.

The chaotic, smoky, noisy traffic of Tel Aviv blaring in his ears, Benni Yamin trotted from the nondescript, multistory LEKEM headquarters building on Ibn Givrol Street around the corner to his meeting on Carlebach Street.  His face was red, not from his rushing, but from the Prime Minister's tongue lashing.  He knew keeping his job depended on getting help from a young man he'd never met - the owner of Rehovat Trading.  Benni was going to set an almost impossible task.  Could Dani do it?  Would he do it?

A secretary escorted the breathless visitor into the spacious front office.  Dani folded up the white book-like phone on his modernistic desk and motioned Benni to the sleek, white leather couch at the opposite end of the room where vertical strips of butter-smooth leather controlled the flood of bright sunlight bursting through the picture window.  Dani pulled up a swivel chair as his secretary served the two men Turkish coffee and an array of chocolate petit fours.

Before Benni took even one sip, the words came rushing out, "Yanni said you could get me some material we need badly."  He leaned forward, held out a list, "Israel's survival depends on getting these things."

Dani scanned the paper, knew the items were special - not the farm chemicals his company distributed in Israel, "What're these things for?" 

Benni shifted uncomfortably, a scowl crawled over his face.  "Look, can you get 'em or not?"

Dani strode to the window and glared through the leather strips at the noisy traffic clamoring along the street outside.  "Sure, I can get them, but they'll cost a lot."

"So - will you or not?"

Dani turned to face the older man, "There's a lot of risk.  I'll take the risk for enough money."

"I'll have to think..."

Dani pointed his finger testily, "Look, Benni, just transfer a million dollars to my Swiss bank account - tomorrow - then I'll get to work."  Dani stalked to his desk, scribbled his banker's name and telex number and thrust the paper into Benni's hand.

Benni looked at it, then up into Dani's blazing eyes and tightly clamped jaw.  He knew he had more than enough funds to cover Dani's demand, "OK, you'll get the megabuck - get started!"

Dani's face broke into a broad smile.  He stuck out his hand, "It's a deal!  You'll get 'em."

Benni grinned as he shook Dani's hand, "Get these and you'll get lots of follow-on!"  Benni relaxed knowing this brash young man would save his job as head of the clandestine LEKEM, a secret group that shows on no organization chart.

All the time Benni was mouthing the innocuous phrases of a polite good-bye and nearly bowing as he backed out the door, Dani's mind raced along, These things must be pretty damn important for Benni to give in so quickly.  I've got to find out what it's all about.  Grabbing his telephone, he dialed Yanni Amit's private number.  When he answered, Dani said simply, "I need to talk to you about Benni's things.  How about dinner tonight?"

"Where?"

"The Casbah at 10.  I'll reserve Moshe Dyan's table."

"Fine.  See you then."

Helping Benni was a golden opportunity for Dani.  He remembered vividly the phone call two years ago with the tragic news of his father's death during the 1973 Yom Kippur War - how it had wrenched him away from his studies at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts, forced him to return from London to Tel Aviv to take over his father's company.  How could a fifth generation Sabra, with 4 more locally-born generations behind him, do otherwise?  Highly intelligent, creative and not afraid of hard work, Dani at first had found it a struggle to keep the business going - almost slipped into bankruptcy.  A loan from his American supplier, the huge Universal Chemicals, saved his company, pulled it back to profitability.  Maybe this new business from Benni would make his wealth blossom - let him expand his scope.  Farm chemicals were too dull.  His first love was the movie business and not just local stuff with home-grown talent - that was strictly small potatoes.  He knew the big time took lots of capital - more capital than he had right now.

The impatient honking sounds on Dr. Haas Street enveloped Dani as he slipped out of his sports car and strode through the white plaster and colored glass entrance of the Casbah - meeting place for the rich and powerful.  The smiling tuxedoed maitre d' led Dani to Moshe Dyan's table - often used by the charismatic leader before his death.  Dani found his dinner partner in the corner, hidden from the entrance door and shielded from the gazes of the other diners.  Yanni Amit, the chief of Mossad, Israel's equivalent to the US's CIA, greeted Dani with a warm Shalom and matching smile.  The waiter swooped in with Dani's usual plain tonic.  Their words masked by the rumble of surrounding conversation spiced with sharp feminine laughter, Dani handed Benni's slip of paper to Yanni and asked, "What's this all about?"

As Yanni scanned the list, Dani vividly remembered the first time he had met this tall, athletic-looking man.  Standing under a gray overcast, Dani had sadly tossed a final handful of earth into his father's grave.  A stranger had leaned over and whispered in Dani's ear, "Your father was a great man - helped Israel in many special ways.  Now I need you to fill his shoes.  Call me tomorrow," and slipped Dani a piece of paper with a hand-written message: the single word Yanni and a Tel Aviv telephone number.  The next day Dani was surprised to learn his father had been a secret Mossad agent for many years, using his company, Rehovat Trading, as a cover for discreet intelligence activities.  Yanni asked Dani to follow in his father's footsteps.  Dani eagerly accepted - excited by the challenge of clandestine activities - making money while helping Israel.  But so far he had never received an assignment - this list from Benni would be the first.

Yanni's voice stirred Dani from his recall, exclaiming, "Good old Benni!  He's in trouble with the Prime Minister because his LEKEM operatives can't get the things Masada needs.  I told him you could get 'em."

"You can't be talking about the flat topped mountain near the Dead Sea!"

Yanni's smile faded as he moved his lips close to Dani's ear, "Masada's our nuclear weapons program.  Ben Gurion started us off and the program really took off after the Yom Kippur War.

The atomic bomb!  Amazed, Dani broke in, "I knew we had an atomic power plant but I thought Israel wasn't allowed to make nuclear weapons, - the nuclear proliferation rules..."

"We don't officially -that's why Benni needs you to get the things on his list.  We can't go through the usual government-to-government channels.

  Now Dani was sure he had a gold mine at his finger tips - bigger than expected, lots of cash and big profits, maybe enough to expand into his dream of movie making, "I've got to learn more about this Masada program."

Yanni agreed, "The best way's a visit to Dimona - I'll set it up."

Dani bored in, "Where can I get Benni's things?"

"The US for plutonium and krytrons; spent uranium rods from Belgium; heavy water from Norway; South Africa is loaded with yellowcake."

Dani thought for a moment and mused out-loud, "I've got the right contacts everywhere except in the US.  My contact there's the chairman of Universal Chemicals - I need someone with a lower profile."

"I've got a good US candidate for you, a young aerospace executive from World International in Florida - name's Johnson - he's got hopes of starting his own company..."

Dani picked up on this idea immediately.  "I can help him so he'll help me get what I need."

"You've got it!  Johnson'll be flying in tomorrow.  My assistant, Yuli Lahat'll help Johnson get new business - to make him a hero at World International."

"When can I meet him?"

"Yuli'll arrange to have you meet him at dinner on his first night here."

"Fine!"

"By the way, Johnson's assistant, Irv Weinberg, is my agent."

"You don't miss a bet!"

Yanni smiled broadly, "Can't afford to in this business."

DIMONA, NEGEV DESERT

The flaming red open sports car rushed along the desert highway toward the gleaming white dome of the nuclear reactor looming in the distance.  Dani's passenger, Benni Yamin, babbled along about the ancient history of the project as they approached Dimona, recounting how Israel's first Prime Minister David Ben Gurion had authorized project Masada in the early 1950's, bragging how one of his LEKEM agents had used her bedroom skills to get the director of the French nuclear power agency to approve the sale of a 26 megawatt reactor to Israel.  Droning on and on - how the Frenchman had certified the reactor could be used only for peaceful nuclear research - too small to make enough plutonium for weapons development, how they had learned to increase the reactor's capacity to 150 megawatts, definitely big enough to make the plutonium they needed.  Dani knew Benni's reputation glided on his long-past nuclear reactor purchase.

Passing through the multiple guard posts ringing Dimona, they drove directly inside a warehouse adjacent to the white domed reactor.  The innocuous building hid the entrance of the super secret underground nuclear weapons factory from the prying eyes of the superpowers' spy satellites.

The director of the bomb plant, Yossi Yafo, a balding, bespectacled man in his early forties, led the pair to Golda Meir's Balcony - where the late Prime Minister had received briefings on the nuclear weapon's progress.  Dani was dazzled by the multilevel cavernous laboratory filled with white coated technicians, assembling complex mechanical and electronic devices, peering through microscopes, gazing at flashing electronic displays, toiling over bubbling chemical vats.  The few Israeli leaders privy to the secret considered the bomb a deterrent against their numerous enemies who threatened Israel's existence.

Yossi pointed to an unassembled atomic bomb, its parts spread out on a table at the level just below the balcony, "We have twenty nuclear weapons ready to go, except for plutonium for the warhead and krytrons for the triggers."

Dani recalled these items on his shopping list, "How much plutonium do you need?"

"Our new shaped charge design needs only 2 kilos per bomb, so we need at least 40 kilos - more would be better "

"What about the krytron triggers?"

"We  need  20 now, one per bomb, but more later."

"And the heavy water?"

Yossi answered, "We need 200 metric tons to add to the 20 tons we got from the Americans - so we can operate at 150 megawatts."

"What is it?"

"It's deuterium oxide - used to cool the nuclear reactor, keep it from going supercritical."

"Supercritical?  What's that?"

"Out-of-control - meltdown!"

"And the 200 tons of spent uranium rods, what're they for?"

"After uranium fuel rods are burned in a reactor, they're called spent rods.  Burning them makes a small amount of plutonium which can then be extracted."

"How do you do that?"

"We're trying to develop the process, but the American's already know how.  If we could get our hands on their secret report we could save a lot of time."

"And how about the yellowcake?"

"That's uranium oxide - looks like cornmeal.  We need 1000 metric tons per year.  We'll convert it into uranium fuel rods for burning in our reactor."

"Then you can make your own spent rods..."

"Right, but that takes time," Yossi peered through his wire rimmed glasses and added in a serious tone, "Look, we can't buy these things openly because Israel won't sign the nuclear non-proliferation treaty.  Can you really get 'em?"

"Sure!"  Dani now understood the importance of his task.  His creativity was in high gear.  He'd get them somehow.

TEL AVIV

Ernest Johnson and Irv Weinberg poured out of the jammed passenger transporter bus and joined the long passport control queue at Ben Gurion Airport.  Ernest commented, "Boy, talk about tight security!  That was really scary - all those soldiers swarming all over the plane with their Uzis.  What's all the fuss about anyway?"

Irv laughed, "It's simple.  The Israelis think it's their country and the Arabs think it's theirs..."

"So?"

"Well, all this security is to make sure the Israelis keep it."

"Sounds paranoiac."

"Maybe it is, but that's why the Israelis need what we're going to sell 'em."

"What a madhouse!  We'll be in this line for hours."

Suddenly Ernest felt a tap on his shoulder.  A tall, authoritative man in an Israeli lieutenant colonel's uniform smiled and said, "Shalom.  You two follow me - I'll simplify the airport formalities."

"Hey, good to see you, Yuli.  We'd like help after that long flight."  Irv introduced Ernest to Colonel Yuli Lahat, saying he was from the Israeli Ministry of Defense.

Zipping past the long line of travelers, the trio stepped up to the airline crew passport control officer who spotted Yuli and waived them through the gate into the baggage claim area.  They wove their way outside through the hectic crowd where hordes of noisy Israelis welcomed relatives, friends and business associates from the Diaspora to the Holy Land.

The three climbed into the waiting military staff car and headed out through the orange grove lined exit highway.  The perfume of orange blossoms was periodically interrupted by the stench of burning garbage until they turned north on the sea breeze cleansed Haifa Road.  About ten kilometers north of Tel Aviv they pulled into the entrance of the white, high-rise Herzylia Hotel on the golden strand of beach bordering the sparkling, azure Mediterranean Sea.  Yuli handed them their room keys, "I'll be escorting you around Israel this week.  First on your schedule we'll have dinner with Dani Sharon - after you've had time for a nap to shake off jet lag.  I'll pick you up at 9, Shalom."

Ernest watched with fascination the rhythmic motions of the mobile's magnetic balls attached to long stainless steel wires as he recalled his first night dinner with Yuli and Dani: Yuli had explained, To get business here you've got to work with a local.  Dani Sharon's the best.  All week long - Sunday through Wednesday - Yuli had led Ernest to meeting after meeting - each one leading to the promise of business for World International.  After each meeting, Dani's efficient and businesslike young assistant, Ester, with the flashing green eyes, had explained what code name to use for each project to communicate securely by telex.  She drummed in how to hide secrets from their Arab enemies - who surrounded their tiny country with 100 times as many Moslems as Jews.

Dani jolted Ernest back into reality with a question, closing his telephone with a clunk, "Can you supply the things we need?"

"Sure, no problem.  Your people seemed to know as much about WI's products as I do."

A slight smile passed over Irv's face, That's because I sent secret data about WI's products to Yanni Amit over three months ago.

Dani sat down facing Ernest, lounging in the white leather couch, "How much will it cost?"

Ernest and Irv had spent half the night before pricing the items, phoning their home office when necessary, "Our budgetary price for the whole lot - $190 million."

"Better make it $200 million."

"Ernest looked surprised, "Why?"

"Ten million for me - to my Zürich account."

"But that's a bribe..."

Irv interjected, "Excuse me, Boss, but that's not a bribe - it's an agent's fee.  We'll give Dani a standard agent's agreement with a 5% fee - perfectly legal."

Dani stood up and grinned broadly, "Ernest, you've got a smart assistant."

"Yeah, I couldn't do without him!"  Climbing to his feet, Ernest stuck out his hand, "OK, it's a deal - we'll have firm prices for you when you come to Orlando next month."

As Irv headed out the door, Dani said quietly to Ernest, "I want to see you for a moment - privately."  Curious, Ernest stayed.  Dani motioned him to a chair and refilled his coffee mug, "I need some personal help - buying special things."

"What do you mean?"

Dani moved closer and answered, "You can make some extra money..."

"But that'd be a conflict of interest with World International!"

"It's nothing WI makes - there'd be no conflict.  Just get what I need - I'll pay you cash."

"Well, I'd have to declare it on the WI annual conflict of interest statement..."

"Why bother, who'd know?  Look, there's something I need right away."

"What is it?"

"Some little electronic tubes called krytrons.  I need 20 now, lots more later."  Dani handed Ernest a slip of paper."

Ernest read the note carefully.  "I see they're gas tetrodes and you list a Boston supplier.  Looks easy."

"When can you get 'em?"

"I'll call the supplier as soon as I get home and find out."

"Good, whatever they cost, mark 'em up by 100%.  We'll split the profit, 40% for you and 60% for me."

An idea glowed in Ernest's mind, Maybe I can start my own business sooner than I thought. "OK, I oughta have 'em for you when you come to Orlando next month - unless I have some problem."

Dani spent a few minutes explaining how Ester would send inquiries to Ernest by letter to his home giving a code name for each project - to be used in all telecoms and telexes.  Dani ended, "The code for these little tubes is gastet for gas tetrode."

"Let's use gasket - it sounds more ordinary."

"Good - gasket it'll be.  I'll tell Ester.  Now there's another thing - I need some plutonium.  Can you help?"

A frown lowered over Ernest's brow, he shook his head vigorously, "No way - you're talking about something used in the bomb."

"Well, I don't know about the use - I just need to get it."

" I wouldn't touch that with a ten foot pole!"

That evening at midnight Dani phoned Irv Weinberg's private hotel room, asked to come up.

The minute the door closed, Dani broached the subject, "Yanni suggested you might know where I can get 40 kilos of plutonium - quickly."

"Well, I've got a friend, Paul Rosen - works in the plutonium plant in Apollo, Pennsylvania.  I'll call him when I get back..."

"Call him now, it's only 5pm on the East Coast.  I'd like to meet him tomorrow - for dinner."

"You don't waste time!"

Irv dialed Rosen at his office and caught him before he left for the evening.  He chatted a moment, hung up, then handed Dani a slip of paper with Rosen's phone number, "All set for dinner tomorrow, Friday.  Call him as soon as you get there."

Dani smiled, "Good work, see you in Orlando next month.  And thanks."

Dani stopped in the lobby, called El Al, made reservations for the New York flight the next morning, arriving at 2pm eastern time, Friday, with connections on the shuttle to Philadelphia - arriving there at 4pm.

Then he called Yanni Amit's private number with a special request.  Yanni responded, "Yuli'll hand you the information in the El Al checkout line tomorrow morning.  Good luck."

"I hope I won't need any luck, just brains."

CHAPTER 2 NUCLEAR PROLIFERATION

PHILADELPHIA

On the long flight from Tel Aviv to New York, Dani studied the dossier Yuli had handed him:

Paul Rosen, a nuclear physicist at the nuclear plant in Apollo, Pennsylvania, had helped set up the processing of spent nuclear rods to extract weapons grade plutonium and now was the technical brains for the factory director with free access to the plutonium.  He told a LEKEM operative at the Israeli consulate the controls on the plutonium stock-pile were so sloppy he could walk out with enough plutonium to build an atomic bomb and nobody would know it.  He also said he would like to immigrate to Israel someday.

Dani's airline connections had worked smooth as butter.  Checking into the Holiday Inn near the Philadelphia airport shortly after 4pm, he immediately phoned Rosen at his office, mentioning their mutual friend, Irv Weinberg.  Rosen agreed to come to Dani's hotel for their 7pm dinner meeting.

Tired from the long flight, Dani laid down for a nap but his mind continued trying to figure out how to get Rosen to help steal 40 kilograms of plutonium and the secret information about transforming the used rods into useable plutonium.  When he came up with the right method of persuasion, he snuggled up to Brigitte, his traveling companion, stroking her body as his mind turned to other matters.

The hotel operator's cheerful It's 7pm startled Dani awake.  He rolled from the bed as Brigitte stirred, moaned softly and fell back asleep.  Splashing water on his face to overcome jet lag, he jumped into his clothes, rushed to the rooftop restaurant and was escorted to his wide-angle-view table.  A multicolored mosaic - a cross-hatch of blue lighted taxiways and white lighted runways filled his field of vision.  The flashing red beacons on the planes scurrying about looked like a Pacman video game.  A jumbo jet hurtled down the string of diamonds and leapt into the darkening sky as the airport beacon's white ribbon swept across its path like an avenging sword.

Rosen's dossier invaded Dani's mind, pushing aside the airport panorama: I could carry out enough plutonium to make an atomic bomb and nobody would know it.  His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of his guest.  Several years older than Dani, medium height, brown hair and eyes, and wearing rimless glasses, he looked like a scientist.  Dani rose, smiled, "You must be Paul Rosen.  I'm Dani Sharon."

The two men shook hands and slid into the leather booth behind the table spread with linen, silver, crystal, plus two lighted white candles flanking a tall, slender, glass vase holding a single red rose: Holiday Inn elegant Americana.

Dani had decided on the open, straight-forward approach with Rosen, "Paul, Israel is in desperate need of plutonium."

"Yeah, I know you need the bomb for survival."

"You said it, not me - can you get us 40 kilograms.?"

"You mean steal it..."

"We need it badly."

"Well, a few kilos maybe, but not that much!"

Dani offered his bait, "Help us and I'll fix it so you can retire to Israel - now."

"I'd need a lot of dough - and a new passport - to immigrate."

"I'll transfer 250 thousand dollars to a new Swiss bank account in your name - and get you an Israeli passport with your new Hebrew name."

Rosen dropped into deep thought for several moments.

Dani kept his face blank.  The silence is a good sign.  He didn't refuse outright, so he must be hooked - the money and passport were the right bait.

Finally Rosen spoke, slowly but surely, "I'm responsible for waste disposal this month.  I could slip the plutonium in the waste barrels and get it out that way."

"But, how can we get the waste?"

"Maybe hi-jack the truck... "

Dani laughed, "That only works in the movies.  Can you think of something else?"

A smile rippled over Rosen's face, "My boss said just today, 'I sure wish we could get a disposal company to get rid of this radioactive stuff.  Our dump site is almost full - and the environmentalists are screaming'."

Dani tried an idea, "What if my company, Great Salt Lake Disposal, should offer to move the waste?"

"You mean a sham company?"

"Exactly, will it work?"

Rosen laughed, "I'll push for GSLD to get the business.  I think my boss will take any reasonable offer"

"OK, I'll get GSLD's president here next week, but don't mention my name."

"What day?"

Dani put down his glass of tonic, "Well, this is Friday evening - how about late Monday afternoon?"

"OK, call me about 10am Monday.  I'll confirm a meeting time."

Dani ordered the dinner and the two enjoyed a relaxed friendly meal, chatting about places Rosen had visited in Israel.

As the waiter served the fresh strawberries, Dani smiled, "There's one more thing I need."

"What?"

"A copy of that top secret report about extracting plutonium from spent uranium rods."

"That's pretty tough," Rosen frowned.  "We've got tighter controls on secret documents than plutonium."

"How about copying it and slipping the copy in one of the disposal barrels?"

"Well I couldn't get the copying department to do it..., but..., sure!  I'll use the copying machine in the disposal room.  Then nobody'll know."

"Good thinking!  Now to get Great Salt Lake Disposal the job."

Everything settled, the two men finished their dinner and parted with Shaloms.

Dani could see the treasure at the bottom of the disposal well: 40 kilos of plutonium and the secret uranium processing report - but, first, right now, he needed some relaxation.  A smile of anticipation indented the vertical dimples in his handsome face as he unlocked the door to his room.  Brigitte Fauconnier, his personal assistant, lounged nude on the bed, watching a television movie.  She grinned lasciviously, grabbed the remote controller, switched off the TV, and patted the bed beside her.  Dani flew out of his clothes, clambered into bed and started arousing Brigitte's warm body with his caresses and kisses.

Dani awoke from a satisfied sleep at 3am - 10am Tel Aviv time.  He phoned Yanni Amit on his private line, "I need some special assistance - professionals - Rafi and Avraham.  Can you get them here Sunday?"

"They'll be there.  Same flight you took.  Having any luck?"

"The fish took my bait - I'm going to reel him in."

Rafi Barlev and Avraham Israel were the legendary Israeli operatives who kidnapped Adolph Eichmann in Buenos Aires, delivering that infamous Nazi war criminal to Israel for trial where he was found guilty and executed for his role in the genocide of Jews during World War II.  Now both men were secret agents on the staff of Yanni Amit - handling tough clandestine operations, their special skill.  Both were good actors and con men.  Dani knew he could depend on them.

Dani's voice had awakened Brigitte.  Smiling, she reached out.  Dani understood the message.  The two made the best possible use of their precious private time.

Rafi and Avraham, toting small carryon bags, had barely stepped into the hotel lobby late Sunday afternoon when Dani had winked a follow me signal, guided them directly to the rooms he'd registered in his own name.  Both in their mid fifties, the pair contrasted like Abbott and Costello - Rafi short and plump, Avraham tall and thin.  Rafi's impish smile and balding head were accented by his thick glasses that made his eyes bulge owlishly.  Avraham had a full head of black hair streaked with gray, a gaunt, tight smile and sparkling blue eyes.  They'd flown in under false names - now there'd be no trace of their checking into the hotel.  When Dani sketched in the game plan, Rafi took the leadership role, doing all the questioning while Avraham merely nodded understanding.

Rafi had rolled his wine glass between his pudgy hands, "The key is to convince Rosen's boss that Great Salt Lake Disposal, Inc., will do his dirty work - get rid of the radioactive wastes."

"That'll be easy - just be authoritative - and sympathetic to his problems."

"I'll explain about the seismically stable salt dome Great Salt Lake Disposal has in Utah for dumping the wastes - no environmentalists to worry about."

Dani added, "Here're your business cards.  We've already rented a nearby warehouse to unload the stuff after you get it."

 Dani phoned Rosen Monday morning as scheduled and asked, "Is the meeting all set for this afternoon?"

"Yes, at 4pm today.  My boss's very interested,  I think GSLD'll get the business - but it's got to be less than $500 per barrel."

"Don't worry GSLD will make an offer your boss can't refuse."

"I've got a bonus for you - 250 kilos and the report are already in the barrels."

"Great work!  How'd you do it so quickly?"

"I worked over the weekend, easier that way."

Dani hung up and yelled to Brigitte, putting on her make-up in the bathroom, "I've got some important errands - this morning."  She rushed into the bedroom, Dani thrust a list of the items he wanted in her hand.

As Brigitte read it, Dani explained, "I need everything before 1pm.  Use a small, local company for the truck - not Avis or Hertz.  Pay for everything in cash.  Put the truck in the warehouse we rented.  Hurry!"

"OK.  I know I can find everything except the lead bags and radiation suits.  Where can I get those?"

"Universal Chemicals has them in their local office - they're already waiting for you.  Here's the address. "

Brigitte nodded, "OK, I'll get going."

"Use your false identification."

"Of course!"

Brigitte was the perfect companion for Dani - willing to help - intelligent, cooperative, gorgeous - and good in bed, without whining for a permanent commitment.

Rafi and Avraham checked into the Apollo plant Monday afternoon as scheduled after passing through an elaborate security check.  Their bogus identification worked. perfectly.  The security guard led them to the factory director's office where they were greeted by Paul Rosen and his boss.  Handing him their official looking business cards, Rafi outlined their company's capabilities and emphasized the waste would be buried in a seismically stable salt dome in Utah, safely away from population centers.  Rafi proposed, "We'll make this first pick-up at half our regular price - $225 per barrel.  We hope you'll like our service."

The director smiled broadly, "You've got the job.  Have your truck here tomorrow, Tuesday at noon."  He rose, shook hands with his two visitors and added, "Dr. Rosen'll supervise the loading - disposal's his duty this month."

Rosen smiled, "What a relief to have someone else get rid of this crap for us."

"Sure is!", the boss exclaimed. "I'll personally advise security to let your truck through - Let's see," he looked at their business card, 'Great Salt Lake Disposal' - good to have you aboard."

WASHINGTON, DC

The vault door closed with a loud click, as the five members of the Anti Nuclear Proliferation Task Force (ANPTF) seated themselves around the mahogany veneer table in the basement of the Pentagon, black name plates with white letters announcing their titles and names.  Colonel Jack Frost, chairman of the ANPTF, looked at his watch, 7pm Monday, and announced, "Lady and Gentlemen, sorry to call such a late meeting but we have a crisis.  I've asked Joe Brown, CIA, to tell us first hand about a crucial fact he uncovered down in Florida this morning.  This information fits into the pattern.  Joe, tell us about it."

Joe Brown strode to the speaker's podium, sipped from a glass of water, cleared his throat, "This morning, I got a debriefing from a marketing VP of World International, that big aerospace company down in Orlando.  He'd just got back from Tel Aviv last Friday, with a shopping list of munitions and electronics the Israelis want to buy."

Col. Frost interrupted, "You each have a copy of the shopping list in your folders."

The lady member of the task force complained, "I've scanned the list - nothing nuclear here."

Joe Brown continued, "I know, Dr. Singer, but when he told me his Israeli agent asked him to get 40 kilos of plutonium. - that's not on the list - I caught the first plane back to Washington.

Jane Singer complained, "But it wasn't an official request."

"I thought you'd want to know about it - right away."

Col. Frost rose, removed his cigar, puffed out a blue cloud, "We do, Joe.  Jane, this request means the Israelis are close to assembling a bomb.  It fits in with everything we know about their Dimona plant.  We figured all they needed was plutonium and the krytron triggers to build their first bombs."

Frost turned back to the CIA agent, "Did this VP - what's his name?"

"Johnson, Ernest Johnson."

"Did he say anything about krytrons?"

"No, I didn't ask him, he didn't mention anything  He was worried about the plutonium."

"Who asked about the plutonium?"

"A man named Dani Sharon, president of a farm chemical company in Israel."

Frost added knowingly, "He's obviously after the plutonium for Dimona - not his own company.  We've got a serious threat to nuclear proliferation.  If we let the Israelis get the bomb, next thing you know they'll nuke the Arabs.  Could lead to World War III.  We've got to stop them."

As the vault door clunked shut behind Joe Brown, Frost addressed the group in a firm, commanding tone, "We've got to combat this threat.  They're four places they might try to get the plutonium: the nuclear weapons plant in Amarillo, the Rocky Mountain plant near Denver, the Savanna River plant in South Carolina, and the Apollo plant in Philadelphia."

The lady member of the committee interrupted, "How about the trucks that carry the plutonium around the country by highway?"

"That's a possibility, but they're protected by a shoot-to-kill security force.  Now here's what I think we've got to do."

Frost outlined his plan and added, "The National Security Council chairman has given us a carte blanche budget to snip this threat in the bud.  We'll stop them with a red alert.  If this Dani Sharon fellow comes over here, the FBI'll track him like a leach.  Remember, these plans are top secret - nuclear sensitive."

Twenty minutes after the meeting closed, Dr. Jane Singer called Yanni Amit at home using a public phone in the Pentagon concourse, "Black knight is after the white bishop.  Need counter strategy."  Yanni knew he had to warn Dani.

PHILADELPHIA

Lightning from a nearby thunderstorm flashed across the night sky, made the lights dim, the accompanying low rumble vibrated the wide glass doors to the balcony.  Dani and Brigitte, the fruits of her day's activities filling several large shopping bags, joined Rafi and Avraham in their connecting suite.  Dani patted her behind, "Honey, show the boys what you got today."

Brigitte exchanged cheek kisses with Rafi and Avraham, then dug into the first bag.  "Here are the car papers and keys for the van.  It's got old license plates I bought from a junk yard."

She grabbed into the other bag.  "Here're the magnetic signs to go on the sides of the van - Great Salt Lake Disposal, Inc.  These're your radiation suits."

Rafi grinned as he tried on the clumsy white suit and helmet, "Looks official.  I already feel like a disposal type."  The others guffawed.

Dani strode to the ice box, took out a bottle of champagne, and poured four glasses.  Raising his glass he toasted happily, "Here's to the success of Great Salt Lake Disposal!"

A telephone jangle interrupted him.

Dani barely had time to say hello before he recognized Yanni Amit's voice, "White Bishop, the black knights're in pursuit.  Suggest change to a new castle.  They're alerted to the black metal."  The phone clicked as Yanni hung up.

Dani wheeled to face the others, a grim expression on his face, "That was Yanni - the FBI's searching for me.  We've got to clear out of the hotel quick!"

Brigitte suggested quickly, "We can stay in the warehouse - they'll never find you there."

Dani commanded, "Let's meet at the van - take separate elevators.  I'll check-out, then we'll just disappear."

"How'll we get the plutonium out of the country with the FBI alerted?" grimaced Brigitte.

Rafi smiled impishly, his eyes magnified behind his thick lenses, "That's the easy part.  We'll use an Israeli consulate van with diplomatic plates, it's already in the warehouse.  We'll load the plutonium and head straight for the embassy's 707 at Dulles.  The stuff'll be in a diplomatic pouch - no messy customs search."

Dani added, "Yossi'll have the plutonium and secret report Wednesday afternoon."

PHILADELPHIA

Brigitte stood back, admiring her art work.  She was proud of the blue paint job she had sprayed on the rental van Sunday - looked almost professional. Thanks to her shopping forays to buy food and other necessities, their campsite was quite comfortable.  She and Dani slept last night in the rental van while Rafi and Avraham made their home in the consulate van.  Everything was ready.  At noon today, Tuesday, the plutonium theft would be pulled off.

At 10am Tuesday, just after receiving Frost's red alert, the FBI agent responsible for nuclear security at the Apollo plant visited the factory director and advised him to be alert for a possible theft of plutonium.,  The agent added, "Your plant is a prime target because of the large quantity here."

"I'll alert our security director immediately."

"I've already done that, Sir.  Be on the look-out."

"Any clues?"

"Only that an Israeli citizen may be involved."

The factory director spread his hands expansively, "We don't allow foreign nationals into the plant."

"Good rule," answered the FBI agent.

WASHINGTON, DC

Colonel Frost, looked at his watch - 11am Tuesday, another emergency meeting of the ANPTF.  The other three men and Jane Singer settled themselves around the table in the Pentagon vault, sipping their coffee and reading the agenda laid out in front of their name plates.

Frost turned to a thin, pale man with gray eyes and thick glasses, his bald pate shone under the fluorescent lights, his name plate read, Dr. James Owens, National Security Agency.  "Tell us how the supercomputers over at Fort Mead are doing, Jim."

"We've really had 'em crunchin' out the gigabytes since our meeting yesterday - scanning all the airline reservations and hotel registrations - vast amount of data."

Impatiently, Frost interrupted, "OK, OK, what's the bottom line?"

"We found a man named Dani Sharon traveling on an Israeli passport flew into New York last Friday from Tel Aviv by El Al..."

"Good, where'd he go?"

"He took a flight to Philadelphia, checked into the Airport Holiday Inn and now he's lost."

"What do you mean - lost?"

"He just disappeared, checked out of his room Monday night, - just disappeared!  No airline flights nor hotel registrations."

Frost spluttered, "Can't just disappear! .That probably means Apollo's the target."

"That's what I think.  My FBI agent has already warned the factory director, but I'll get him back over there, pronto."

Frost turned to the other items on the agenda.

Will this meeting never end? Jane fretted, clasping her hands together tightly to keep from fidgeting.

Finally, Frost rose and announced, "OK, Folks, that's all for today.  We'll meet here again Wednesday morning to review progress. - usual time, 11am."

Jane wove her way through the crowded Pentagon concourse, found an empty pay phone booth, "They've found White Bishop was in Philadelphia, have a big look-out for him."

"Thanks," the phone clicked dead as Yanni hung up.

A few minutes later Yanni's warning to Dani came in on the crypto radio phone in the Consulate van.

PHILADELPHIA

Surreptitiously, starting Saturday, Paul had carried a few kilos of plutonium at a time and hid them in the partially filled lead-lined barrels in the waste room.  No one thought it strange he spent so much time in there - it was his month's disposal duty.  Late Tuesday morning, Rosen made circles with his shoulders, trying to relax the tight knot at the base of his neck, as he carried the last ingot of plutonium into the waste room.  His knees turned to jelly as a guard, warned of the potential theft of plutonium, roared, "Where the devil are you going with that ingot?"

Paul swallowed hard, trying to get rid of the lump in his throat, thinking of all the plutonium stashed in the barrels.  He struggled for a rational explanation, "Guard, this ingot was badly processed - too radioactive - goes to disposal."

"Where's the paperwork?"

"The disposal slip's on my desk - want it now?"

"No, get rid of that thing.  Make sure you show me the paperwork later."

Rosen breathed a sigh of relief.  He'd fake a disposal slip for the ingot as soon as he could - maybe even before the disposal pickup.  Maybe the guard would forget the incident - not report it.

Sharply at 12 noon the Great Salt Lake Disposal company truck pulled up to the gate.  The gate guard read the sign on the side and waived it in, pointing to the loading ramp some 100 yards inside.  His instructions for the day said Great Salt Lake Disposal would be making a pickup today of 20 barrels of waste.  He liked to steer clear of those things.  No telling how much radiation he might get.  He peered anxiously at his radiation indicator badge.  OK, still in the green.  He turned back to the little TV screen.  He always watched TV when on duty.  Otherwise he had trouble staying awake.

Rafi was driving the blue panel truck, with Avraham sitting next to him, both dressed in the white rubber radiation suits Brigitte had bought.  They followed the yellow line directing them between the gray, flat roofed buildings on either side of the drive to the loading ramp, its sign announcing: Apollo Nuclear Processing Plant Loading Dock in luminous orange-red letters.  Rafi spotted Paul Rosen standing on the slightly raised platform next to an armed guard and a fork lift with operator, these three looking like aliens from outer space in their white radiation suits.  The twenty lead lined barrels were sitting on the ramp with their red glowing Radiation Warning labels grinning their dangerous contents.  Rafi backed the truck to the loading platform and Avraham opened the rear doors.

The fork lift operator yelled to Avraham, "Hey, fellow, it's going to be tight getting all 20 drums in there."

"Well, go ahead, squeeze 'em in.  We've already made a dry run - they'll fit."

The guard stalked over to Avraham and growled, "Let me see your ID, Buddy," nodding to Rafi, "You, too."

Avraham and Rafi pulled out their fake driver's licenses and official looking business cards.  The guard studied these, then, impressed with Rafi's business card announcing President, explained deferentially, "Sorry, Sir, security, you know."

"You're doing a good job, can't be too careful in our nuclear plants," Rafi complimented as he took back his papers.

"With the FBI on our backs this week, we've got to be extra careful.  They're worried about someone stealing plutonium," the guard explained as he stuck out a clipboard, pointing where they should sign.

Rafi laughed, "Well, you don't have to worry about us.  Our company wouldn't touch the stuff - too dangerous."

As the fork lift operator methodically loaded the waste drums into the truck with Avraham's help and directions, Rosen ceremoniously carried the loading papers over to Rafi.  Rafi signed with an unreadable flourish.  Rosen signed.  The guard countersigned without looking and took the papers, folded them and stuck them in a black purse dangling from a strap around his neck.

Rafi thought it seemed like an eternity before Avraham and the fork lift operator squeezed in the last barrel.  What if something goes wrong?  He sighed with relief when Avraham shut and locked the door.

The guard officiously thrust two copies of the paperwork at Rafi, "Give the pink copy to the gate guard as you go out.  Other copy's for you.  Hope you don't get poisoned from this radioactive crap."

"Don't worry, we're experts at handling this stuff."

Rosen watched warily, trying to keep the tension out of his eyes, as the heavily laden truck drove slowly toward the gate.  Rafi handed the pink slip to the gate guard through the slot in his window.  The guard checked the license plate number, looked at the paper, and started to open the guard shack door to inspect the truck.

Rafi yelled, "Hey, don't get too close.  You're not wearing a radiation suit.  Too dangerous."

The guard quickly slammed his door, pressed the switch controlling the gate.  It slid open and Rafi slowly drove out.  He grinned as he turned onto the street in front and headed back to the warehouse where Dani and Brigitte waited.  "Well, Avraham, we've got enough plutonium for 125 nuclear warheads.  Some caper!"

A few minutes later, Rafi pulled up in a deserted street.  While Avraham replaced the junk license plates with the rental truck plates, Rafi removed the magnetic signs.  They stashed the discarded items deep in the debris of a nearby trash dumpster and drove on toward the warehouse.

Brigitte and Dani, in their white radiation suits, anxiously waited for the van and its deadly cargo.  A few minutes after 1pm, at the coded knock, Brigitte flew to open the overhead door.  Rafi drove the big blue van to the inside loading dock, backed up near the parked fork lift.

Avraham hopped out and immediately started unloading the barrels full of plutonium, working as quickly as he could.  Dani and Rafi pried open each barrel as Avraham placed them one by one on the platform.  The men stuffed the plutonium ingots into special lead lined bags Brigitte brought from the van.  In the third barrel Dani found the top secret document, Process for Extracting Plutonium from Used Uranium Fuel Rods.  He quickly jammed the thick report into a double wrapped enveloped addressed to Benni Yamin, via Diplomatic Pouch, and handed it to Rafi who stuffed it in his tote bag.  Forty-five minutes later, the lead bags were safely loaded in the consulate van.

"Look at this," Brigitte held out a piece of paper where she had been counting the ingots.

"Wow!  We got 266 kilograms, 16 more than Paul promised!"

Rafi grinned, "Enough for 133 bombs!"

Avraham and Rafi popped the lead lids back on the barrels while Brigitte and Dani spray-painted over the tell-tale radiation marks.  Dani laughed as they finished, "A gift for the warehouse owner - along with the blue van."

Rafi giggled, "Here in a seismically stable salt dome near the Great Salt Lake!"

Again Brigitte opened the warehouse door.  Again Rafi drove out while Avraham sat beside him, but this time both men were dressed in dark blue business suits - proper members of the consulate staff.  Brigitte closed and locked the door, slipped into the back of the waiting, curtained van beside Dani, who had also changed clothes to match the respectability of the diplomatic vehicle.  Rafi headed out at high speed toward Washington, DC.

Brigitte had dumped her radiation suit, revealing a too-tight, too-short, flashily trimmed fuschia cocktail dress.  Dani objected when she plastered on the make-up with a heavy hand, "What's the big idea?"

"In case we get stopped, I want it to look like you guys don't want to get caught with a naughty lady - if you have to make a fuss about not being searched."

At the same time the consulate van was pulling out of the rented warehouse, the special FBI agent sent to Apollo by Frost's task force rushed breathlessly into the security office and declared, "It's your plant that's the target.  Any plutonium missing?"

"There was one ingot of plutonium put in the disposal barrels.  Here's the paper work - I was just reviewing it."

"I want to talk to this Paul Rosen fellow who signed the slip.  Where is he?

"I don't know.  He got an emergency call - sick mother or something - left a few minutes ago."

The FBI man jumped up excitedly, "Quick, take me to the waste room.  I want to see the ingot myself."

"Sorry, Sir, all the disposal barrels were removed about half an hour ago."  He reached into his IN basket, "Here's the disposal authorization paper."

"Oh, hell, I've got to get a search out for that disposal truck.  What was the license number?"

"Here's the paper work right here.  I just finished reviewing it.  All in order."

The FBI man read the papers carefully, "This could be it.  Better check to see if any plutonium is missing."

Thirty minutes later, a special spot-check inventory confirmed that over 200 kilograms of plutonium had vanished.  The FBI agent phoned Colonel Frost, "Sir, over 200 kilos of plutonium are missing from Apollo."

"How'd it happen?"

"Looks like a new disposal company carried it out in waste barrels."

"Set up road blocks ringing the plant.  Pull out all the stops."

"OK, Sir, I'll get right on it."

EN ROUTE TO WASHINGTON, DC

Rafi concentrated on his driving, steering the van at breakneck speed along the freeway from Philadelphia to Washington, DC.  He was distracted by a wailing siren, glanced at the rear view mirror, caught sight of a policeman rapidly catching up.  The motorcyclist suddenly noticed the diplomatic plates and disgustedly motioned Rafi to slow down, but didn't stop the van, knowing it was exempt from following traffic laws.

A few miles farther along at a road block, Rafi obediently slowed to a stop.  One of the two police officers swaggered over and growled, "I'll have to search your van, Buddy."

Forcing his face into a calm smile, Rafi showed the officer his diplomatic passport and pointed to the license plates, "Sorry, can't search us, immunity, you know."

The other officer interrupted, "Yeah, he's right, Jim."

The first officer scowled, caught a glimpse of blonde hair and sparkling sequins in the back seat.  He mumbled to the other officer, "They've even got a whore in there."

"Nothing we can do about that either!"  With an impatient gesture, he waived them on.

Forty-five minutes later they pulled into the flight ramp at Dulles Airport where two Israeli embassy planes were parked - a 707 and a Westwind executive jet.  While Rafi and Avraham supervised the loading of the lead lined Diplomatic Pouches full of plutonium into the 707, Dani and Brigitte headed for the embassy lounge.  Brigitte cleaned up and changed clothes while Dani dialed Ernest Johnson's home number in Orlando.

Ernest recognized Dani's voice right away, "Surprised to hear from you, didn't expect you for another 3 weeks."

"Just wondered how you were coming with gasket."

"Oh, you mean the tubes.  I've got good news, I found some in the surplus sales shop out at the plant.  I've got 20 for you here at the house, cost almost nothing."

Dani glanced at his watch, a few minutes before 7pm  "Could you meet me at the Orlando Airport, about 9pm?"

"Sure, what's the flight number?"

"I'll be coming into the Executive Terminal by Westwind - number 72 Delta.  Be sure and bring the tubes.  'Bye."

Dani strode to the embassy flight duty officer and showed his ID, "I need a quick round trip to Orlando and back in time to catch the 707 to Tel Aviv."

"Sorry, Sir, that's impossible.  You don't have the priority needed..."

Dani's eyes flashed.  He grabbed the phone on the desk, dialed Amit, "Yanni, tell this embassy flight duty officer my priority!"  Dani handed the phone to the duty officer, who got a surprised look on his face, snapped to attention as though the voice on the phone could see him, said, "Yes, Sir!" and hung up.  He turned to Dani, somehow managing a slight bow, a salute, and a broad grin simultaneously, "Climb right aboard the Westwind, Sir.  The 707'll await your return.  No problem."

ORLANDO, FLORIDA

Dani and Brigitte landed at the Orlando McCoy Airport just after 9pm, almost immediately spotted Ernest waving at the Executive Arrival Gate.  After greetings, Ernest handed Dani a business size envelope containing the 20 krytron electronic tubes.

Dani's eyebrows flew up, "These are really tiny - what're they for?"

"We used them for high power switching in one of our missile's electronics, but I understand their biggest use is in copiers.  Really ancient technology, designed about 1930."

Dani handed Ernest an envelope, "Good work, here's $5000 for your trouble."

Ernest looked at the stack of $100 bills, "Thanks, thanks a lot!  That'll come in handy getting my new company started-up.  Want to hear about the big job?"

"Sorry, haven't time, leaving for Tel Aviv tonight."

"You really move about, don't you?"

"Have to in this business.  See you in three weeks."

TEL AVIV

Dani arrived in his office early Thursday morning and reached Benni Yamin on his personal LEKEM number.  "Did you get the pouch with the metal and the report?"

"I sure did.  Great work.  Now all we need are the electronic tubes to make Dimona happy for awhile."

"Come over to my office.  I've got 20 of 'em sitting right here on my desk."

"Great news!  I'll be right over!"

Dani's acquisitions raised Benni's professional standing immensely.  Dani earned his place in the inner sanctum of the Masada team and the Dimona plant was able to finish their first 20 nuclear bombs.

Copyright (c) 2000 Jon Schiller. All rights reserved.