"Wait! What's your name?"

He kept walking, his pace fast but not rushed. Lemmy kept up. They turned a street corner, the soldiers' excited voices fading behind.

An aid came up to the roof to summon General Rabin and Elie Weiss downstairs. Prime Minister Eshkol was sitting alone at the kitchen table, sifting through a pile of newspapers. A black-and-white television set was tuned to the BBC without sound.

"Look at this!" The prime minister threw a copy of the daily Ha'aretz across the conference table.

Elie read the front-page headline: New Delhi Summit: t.i.to, Na.s.ser, and Mrs. Gandhi Express Support for the Legitimate Rights of the Palestinian Arabs.

"Look at the rest," Eshkol said impatiently, "look!"

Elie scanned the front page.

Anti-American riots in Manila.

Was.h.i.+ngton to cease bombing N. Vietnam if political solution is found.

Syrian deputy prime minister accuses Israel of preparing to attack Egypt and Syria.

British spy George Blake escaped London prison via ladder of knitting needles.

"Look here!" The prime minister flipped the pages. "Only here, in the corner of page three, they finally mention it: Eshkol Appoints Galilee as Information Minister. A charade, that's what it is!"

Rabin and Elie read the piece, which quoted Prime Minister Levi Eshkol's speech before the Knesset a.s.sembly: The new Information Ministry will direct the provision of information to the public. While information is not a subst.i.tute for policy, the government must communicate clearly its sound policy to the Israeli citizenry.

"Can you believe this?" Eshkol shook the newspaper. "A knitting English spy belongs on the first page, but the prime minister of Israel is dumped in the corner of the third page, next to wedding announcements."

"After this morning's operation," Elie said, "every word you utter will make the front page, and you'll have public support to make difficult decisions."

"That would help." The chief of staff s.h.i.+fted uncomfortably. "The army needs permission to call up the reserves. At least forty thousand troops."

"Not so simple," the prime minister said. "It could signal aggressiveness, make us look bad. Our best defense is an American guarantee. And a UN declaration."

"Those won't protect us from a joint Arab attack, which would be deadly without our reserves stationed along the borders. In fact," Rabin said, "it would be deadly even if our troops are fully engaged, but we'll have a better chance of survival."

"That's my point! We can't win!"

"I didn't say that."

"I won't authorize anything that would give the Americans an excuse not to help us." Prime Minister Eshkol gestured at the window. "Weiss, I feel like a sitting duck here."

"We have men on the roofs," Elie said, "and along Ben Maimon Avenue. As soon as the attackers throw the grenades, we'll finish them off."

"The operation," Rabin said in his slow, contemplative tone, "required a few adjustments. When they approach, an officer will shout a warning. If they don't lie down and surrender, they'll be shot in the leg."

"That's not the plan," Elie protested. "Where's the deterrence if you don't kill them?"

"We don't kill Jews."

"They're criminals. a.s.sa.s.sins. And where's this sudden righteousness coming from? You shot Menachem Begin's s.h.i.+p in 'forty-eight. Jews died on the Altalena."

General Rabin's face turned red. "That was a tragedy I won't repeat. There will be no killing unless it's unavoidable."

Prime Minister Levi Eshkol stood up, signaling the meeting was over. "Good luck. I'll see you when it's all over."

Elie was seething. The two Neturay Karta men had seen him, and even with the fake beard, they might be able to recognize him later. They had to die! He touched the bulge on his hip, where the long blade was sheathed.

In the large foyer of the residence, Elie stood aside as the newsmen arrived. He knew them from the extensive files SOD maintained. All the major news outlets were represented, including the evening papers, Yediot and Ma'ariv, the laborite daily Al-Ha'mishmar, the English-language Jerusalem Post, and the national radio Kol Israel, as well as a cameraman from the nascent Israeli Television. Yaakov Even-Khen, a poet and the Jerusalem reporter for the National Religious Party's daily Hatzofeh, entered the foyer breathlessly, having walked from his home in observance of the Sabbath. The bureau chiefs for Time, Newsweek, and the a.s.sociated Press arrived together from Tel Aviv, followed by a woman who wrote for Le Monde. Eshkol's press secretary accompanied them up to the rooftop for refreshments, followed by Rabin's presentation and Eshkol's Q&A session.

Elie went to his car, put on the black coat, and stuck on the fake beard. The wide-brimmed black hat completed the picture. It was time to rendezvous with the two Neturay Karta men.

The synagogue was full. Cantor Toiterlich led the Sabbath prayers. Lemmy thought of Redhead Dan and his impending exile. Would the sect's firebrand have cried so badly if his wife and child were allowed to join him? And would he, Lemmy, also cry if exiled from his parents and Benjamin? He glanced at his study-companion, whose melodic voice p.r.o.nounced the verses.

Suddenly a hand came between them and tapped Benjamin's shoulder.

Lemmy looked up. It was Nachum Learner, a frail scholar whose thin beard had started to turn gray. He rarely left his seat in the first row, praying and studying from dawn to midnight every day. His wife and seven children lived on the weekly allowance from Rabbi Gerster. "Benjamin Mashash," he said, "the rabbi wishes to see you."

Lemmy watched Benjamin follow Nachum Learner down the center aisle. Rabbi Gerster huddled with them for a moment.

When Benjamin returned to their bench, Lemmy asked, "What does he want from you?"

Benjamin collected his books from the table.

"What are you doing?"

He piled his books one on top of the other. "I'll be sitting next to Nachum."

"What?"

The men around them raised their eyes from the prayer books.

Lemmy grabbed Benjamin's forearm. "You can't sit with Nachum! You study with me!"

"Not anymore." Benjamin finished collecting all his books and hugged them to his chest. "Your father decided that I'll be studying with Nachum from now on."

"But-"

"Someone saw you with a Zionist woman in uniform." The tears welled up in Benjamin's dark eyes. He tried to say more, but couldn't. He turned and walked away from the bench they had shared since they were young boys, where they had studied daily for twelve, fourteen, even fifteen hours, arguing complex Talmudic theories, pounding each other with words and sometimes fists.

His father was standing at the front, near the ark, and their eyes met. They stared at each other over the rows of men, who swayed and chanted the prayers, oblivious to what had just happened. Rabbi Gerster put a finger to his lips.

The prayer book was still in Lemmy's hand. He dumped it on the bench, grabbed his black hat, and made his way to the exit in the rear of the hall. Tears blurred his vision as he ran through the foyer to the forecourt. A cold breeze slapped his burning face.

Elie Weiss waited at the intersection of King George and Ramban streets. He watched the bend in the road where the two Neturay Karta men would appear. They were late, and he began to worry that the media briefing would end before the attack.

"Weiss!" Major Buskilah beckoned him from the street corner.

Elie walked over.

"We received a call," the major said. "Two black hats dropped off a box with hand grenades at a bunker near Meah Shearim."

"When?"

"An hour or two ago. The description fits Rabbi Gerster and his son."

"And how did this particular bit of information find its way to you so quickly?"

"Impressive, isn't it?" Major Buskilah grinned. "General Rabin issued an all-units order last night to report immediately any unusual incident involving black hats."

"I see." Elie realized he had underestimated the young chief of staff.

Rabin was waiting outside the prime minister's residence. He conferred with Major Buskilah about relieving most of the Special Forces. "Keep two on the roof across the street, two in a car, and two on patrol." He looked at the house and shrugged.

"I'll tell the prime minister it's a no-show."

Elie headed for his car. Had Abraham's son told him about the grenades? That boy had spirit, which could be harnessed for useful purposes. A plan began to form in Elie's mind.

"Weiss!" Rabin caught up with him.

"I didn't take you for a backstabber."

The chief of staff smiled. "These things happen."

"Not to me." Elie realized he should have lined up a backup team of attackers to ensure redundancy.

Rabin tilted his head toward the residence. "Eshkol is a good prime minister. He's a capable mediator between the coalition parties. But he must give up the defense ministry. We need a decisive man to order a draft and authorize a preemptive strike against the Arabs before they hit us."

"You support Dayan?"

"He's popular. He knows the IDF. And he's got b.a.l.l.s."

"What do you want from me?"

"I'm a soldier. But you could pull a few levers behind the curtain."

"We're not in Kansas anymore," Elie said.

"Excuse me?"

"What do you read to your kids at bedtime? Carl von Clausewitz?"

Lemmy ran home. He wanted to get into his room, shut the door, and bury his face in his pillow. How could he live without Benjamin? For the first time, he understood the phrase he had read in one of Tanya's books: A broken heart.

"Jerusalem?" His mother appeared from the kitchen, "What's wrong?"

The way to his room blocked, Lemmy turned to the wall. He was still panting from the run home. He hid his face in the crook of his arm and burst out crying.

When he calmed down, his mother took him into the kitchen and made him sit down. She sat next to him and held his hand. Her hand was cold and moist, and an odor of dish-was.h.i.+ng soap came from it. He looked away and saw the adjoining dining room, the Sabbath table ready for lunch, a white cloth, s.h.i.+ning silverware, braided challah bread, and a bottle of sweet red wine. He thought about Redhead Dan's young wife and the baby, waiting at the Sabbath table in the bas.e.m.e.nt apartment, their year-long separation imminent.

"What happened?"

"Father took Benjamin away from me."

"I'm sorry."

"He hates me!"

Temimah sighed. "He doesn't hate you. He is your father. It's his duty to raise you to as a faithful, G.o.d-fearing Jew."

"Then he's doing a lousy job!"

"Oy vey." Temimah took a deep breath. "Your father is a strict man. I know my husband. But he is also strict with himself. And he means well."

"No, he doesn't!" Lemmy pushed her hand away.

"With time, you will understand the reasons-"

"He hates me, and the sooner I accept it the better!" Determined not to cry again in front of his mother, Lemmy rushed to his father's study.

"Jerusalem!" She hurried after him. "Don't!"

He shut the door in her face.

"Master of the Universe!" She sighed behind the closed door. "What am I to do?"

Sitting in his father's chair, he grasped the carved lion heads. He looked for The Zohar, but couldn't find it on the desk. He opened the first and second drawers, which contained pens, blank papers, and other office supplies. The bottom drawer refused to open. He searched for a key in the other drawers, taking out each bundle of papers and shaking it. Kneeling, he searched underneath the desktop. At the far corner, in the back, on the rail that supported the drawers, he felt the shape of a key. His pinkie edged it out.

It fit into the lock.

There were no papers in the bottom drawer, only a small case made of dark wood, about the size of a book. He took it out, placed it on the desk, and removed the top.

A handgun.

He took it out of the case and examined it closely, moving a finger along the barrel, which was cold and oily. The magazine bay seemed large enough to hold a pack of cigarettes. Between the trigger and the barrel, the model name was etched in the steel: Mauser Bolo 96 He aimed the gun. The tiny b.u.mp at the end of the muzzle moved along the shelved books across the room. The handle was warmer than steel, plated with a smooth, off-white material.

Along the steel barrel, tiny letters were engraved: K.v.K. 1943 Deutschland uber Alles He turned it. Along the other side of the barrel, a rougher carving had been forced into the steel. He rubbed it on his sleeve a few times until the Hebrew letters surfaced: Nekamah. Revenge.

"Jerusalem!" His mother knocked on the door. "Your father is coming!"

Lemmy replaced the box in the drawer and slammed the drawer shut. He knelt and stuck the key under the desktop.

Standing up, he realized he had forgotten to put the handgun back in the box. He shoved it under his belt in the back, the cold steel against his left b.u.t.tock. He pulled his coat over it and slipped out of the study.

Rabbi Gerster entered the apartment. "Good Sabbath, Jerusalem."

"Good Sabbath, Father." Lemmy tried to keep his voice even. He felt the Mauser as big as a tree under his coat. The open window let in the neighbors' singing of the Sabbath's Zemiros.

The rabbi tugged at his long beard. "Your mother and I feel that we have done you wrong." He glanced at Temimah. "When we married, two Holocaust survivors, alone in this world from large families, we didn't expect much from life. Definitely not a child. You were a miracle-"