The Jerusalem Inception (45 page)

A path took Lemmy around the radar station to the rear. Five gasoline tanks were lined up next to a silent generator. In the rear wall of the station, large wooden doors allowed delivery and removal of heavy equipment. The doors were locked, and he was out of sight between the station and the perimeter fence. Above his head, a buzzing sound came from the electric motor that kept the radar reflector turning.

He found the drainage faucet at the bottom of the first gasoline tank and opened it. Fuel began to pour out, flowing toward a depression in the asphalt, where it formed a puddle. From the duffel bag he removed a small device, about the size of a book, and placed it near the growing puddle. The ensuing conflagration was supposed to create the false impression that the destruction of the radar was caused by an accidental ignition of the fuel. It would take time to find traces of explosives, and by then operation
Mokked
would be over, and the UN observers would be too busy monitoring a raging war to investigate the explosion.

He placed a much larger pack of explosives by the electric board next to the loading doors and pulled the fuse on each of the devices.

One minute.

Running around the corner to the front, Lemmy was about to exit the zigzag passage through the sandbag wall when he heard voices through the open door of the radar station. Someone was talking while a second voice hooted.

In a flash, Lemmy realized the UN observers inside were young soldiers not much different than him, having fun just like he, Sanani, and the other guys back in boot camp.

He turned and ran inside.

The large control room was well lit. Bulky sets of electronic equipment occupied most of the walls. Two UN soldiers sat at the tracking monitors. Three others were busy throwing darts at a full-body poster of a naked Marilyn Monroe, fixed to the loading doors behind which the explosives were about to detonate. Several darts were already stuck in Monroe, primarily around her chest.

One of them turned to Lemmy. “
Ya?
”

“Get out,” Lemmy yelled. “Fire!”

The soldiers laughed. One of them, who seemed Indian, plucked a dart from Monroe’s chest and offered it to Lemmy. “Fire! She’s very hot!”

“Get out!” Lemmy tore the headphones off the two soldiers at the monitors. “Now!” But their expressions told him that they still thought it was some kind of a joke. He wasn’t getting through to these men, who were about to be incinerated by his bombs. He grabbed one by the shirt and shoved him toward the door. “
Out!
”

Finally grasping the urgency, the UN soldier sprinted out. The others bolted as well. Lemmy chased them out through the sandbag passage, just as an explosion pounded him square in the back. It threw him face-down to the ground, and a wave of heat washed over him.

E
lie’s hands jerked up instinctively as the fireball leaped into the sky, followed a second later by the sound of the explosion. He stumbled backward, shocked by the size of the eruption. As the initial cloud of smoke and debris began to settle, he looked through his binoculars.

The radar reflector was gone from the skyline. He aimed the binoculars lower and saw the giant steel-mesh reflector in the courtyard of Government House. By now Lemmy must have melted into the hundreds of UN soldiers running around in confusion while flames engulfed the radar station. Lemmy had been instructed to watch for Bull’s Jeep leaving the compound, which would be his signal to wait near the gate for Sanani to pick him up twenty-four minutes later in the fake jeep.

Back at the command center’s front steps, Brigadier General Tappuzi held an upturned thumb.

A group of reservists and staff hurried outside at the sound of the distant explosion and watched the flames across the valley. Someone speculated about a Jordanian attack on the UN compound. Another mentioned old landmines left from the British rule two decades earlier.

At the communications center, Elie phoned Rabin at the Pit. “The sky has just cleared up in Jerusalem,” he said.

“About time.” Rabin hung up.

Replacing the receiver, Elie said, “You’re welcome.”

Tappuzi slapped his back. “You got it done, Weiss! Your crazy plan worked!”

But Elie knew that toppling the UN radar was just the beginning. Everything was still at stake—the aerial attack on Egypt, the subsequent raids on Syria and, if it joined the fighting, on Jordan too, and the ground war on three fronts. Israel’s survival was still at stake, as were his own plans to change the paradigm of Jewish-Gentile relations in a way that would altogether eliminate the risk of future wars against Israel.

Mokked required radio silence while IDF planes took off from every Israeli air base at specific, predetermined times, so that all squadrons reached their various targets deep inside Egypt simultaneously. Because Egyptian airfields were located at different distances from Israel, Mokked had to reach a level of precision never tried before by any air force in history. The plan resembled a three-dimensional jigsaw puzzle, calculating the exact duration of each plane’s expected travel distance from its base to its designated target, factoring in speed, wind conditions, fuel capacity, and type of armament. It was crucial that all the Egyptian targets were hit at the same time, preventing the enemy from raising the alarm before all targets had been destroyed. With the farthest Egyptian target being its airfield in Luxor, the various Israeli squadrons had to fly low over the Mediterranean, the Red Sea, the Negev Desert, or the Sinai Peninsula, enter Egyptian territory at multiple points undetected, and converge simultaneously over eleven disparate targets after flight times varying between twenty and forty-five minutes.

For Elie, chain-smoking in Tappuzi’s office in West Jerusalem, the wait was torturous. If Mokked failed, Israel would lose control of the air, and Egypt could launch its massive arsenal of poison gas and destroy Dimona. After fifty years of losing land and pride to the Zionist enterprise, the Arabs would surpass even the Germans in the enthusiastic killing of Jews.

“Let’s go downstairs,” Tappuzi finally said, having bitten his nails down to the flesh.

An hour passed without news. Another thirty minutes.

That was as much as Tappuzi could wait. “Make the call,” he said, “please!”

Elie dialed the number for the operations center at the Pit. After several more connections, Rabin’s voice came on the line. “Yes?”

“We’re wondering,” Elie said, “how’s the weather in Tel Aviv?”

“Sunny,” the chief of staff said. “Our pigeons are back in the nest for a quick drink before flying south again.”

“Shall we call the big house to extend an invitation?”

“Go ahead. And tell Tappuzi to let us know if his neighbors to the east get rowdy. I’ll send him a few pigeons if that happens.”

Elie put down the receiver. He smiled. “It worked. Our boys are back safely, getting ready for the second raid.”

Tappuzi looked up and yelled, “Thank you, God!”

“Time to sound the alarm. Let’s get the population into bomb shelters and trenches. The Jordanians might start shelling our neighborhoods if they think Egypt is winning. Let Rabin know and he’ll send a few planes.”

Brigadier General Tappuzi ran out. A moment later, the air-raid sirens started whining all over West Jerusalem. As planned, he would call General Bull to complain that Egyptian jets attacked Israeli defenses in the Negev, a lie that was intended to prolong the confusion as much as possible and provide an excuse to demand a meeting with Bull.

Elie went outside to wait for General Bull’s Jeep. He felt the handle of the
shoykhet
blade hidden against his hip. The UN chief would be suspicious when his tires went flat again, especially after his prized radar had been blown up, but what could he do? Call the police?

Across the gulch, other than the fire behind Government House, the Jordanian side of Jerusalem seemed quiet. But for how long? They must be wondering about the sirens on the Jewish side.

“Weiss!” Tappuzi emerged from the building, beckoning him. “Bull is raging crazy. The fire is out of control there, and he heard from his people in Egypt that Israeli planes have attacked. He’s accusing us of destroying the radar. He claims that—”

“Doesn’t matter what he says. He’s got no evidence. And he should not have colluded with the Arabs.”

“He warned me to stay out of the Old City.”

“Fool’s dreams,” Elie said. “Dayan won’t pass up the opportunity to recapture Temple Mount—the mother of all archeological treasure troves.”

“It gets worse. Bull saw our saboteur earlier near the radar. They’re looking for him.”

“That’s bad.” Elie watched the column of smoke rise behind the white mansion with the light-blue flag. If Lemmy broke down and talked, the whole operation would be exposed, causing a diplomatic nightmare for Israel, let alone derailing all of Elie’s well-laid plans.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Call Bull back,” Elie said. “Tell him that if he’s not here in fifteen minutes, you’ll order our artillery to bomb Jordanian positions in East Jerusalem.”

“We don’t have any artillery!”

“Bull doesn’t know that. When he gets here, have someone disable his Jeep. I can’t wait any longer.”

“But what if Bull doesn’t show up? What are you going to do about that kid over there?”

“For all we know, he might already be dead.”

T
he voices were garbled, some shouting, even fearful, others calm and reassuring. Lemmy felt hands lifting him. He opened his eyes and tried to brush off the dirt that stuck to his eyelids. How long had he been lying here? He craned his head and saw the flames rising from the ruined radar station.

Success!

They put him on a stretcher, face down, and carried him across the courtyard toward the building. Someone said, “It’s okay. Stay down.”

Many UN personnel milled about, some pulling water hoses, others removing sandbags to facilitate access to the burning radar station.

The stretcher reached the main building entrance just as the gray-haired officer emerged from it. His face was red. He slammed the blue cap on his head and got into his white Jeep. For a second, Lemmy mistook the Indian driver for Sanani. But it was the real driver. He hit the gas and raced across the courtyard toward the open gate. Lemmy tried to look at his watch, but it was gone. How would he know when to expect Sanani? As they carried him on the stretcher into the building, it dawned on him that he might be too badly injured to make his way to the gate.

The room smelled of antiseptics. They transferred Lemmy onto an examination table, still on his belly, and left him. He tried to rise but was overwhelmed by dizziness.

A woman in a white coat rushed in, a stethoscope around her neck. She spoke to him in a foreign language, which he guessed to be Norwegian. He didn’t answer, but tried to rise. She made him stay down and used scissors to cut his pants, starting from the bottom near his boots. He stopped her by kicking at her hand. She yelled something, pulled off a piece of the shirt from his back and held it in front of his face. It was singed black. Lemmy reached behind and touched his lower back. The skin was raw.

She left the room.

After a while, Lemmy felt strong enough to stand. He rolled off the examination table, legs first, and stood, shaking. The front of his body was unharmed, the UN khakis dirty but otherwise in good shape. Looking over his shoulder at his back side, he saw blackened skin. His head hurt badly, and his right ear was developing a blister along the edge.

He tried the door. It was locked. He went to the sink and put his head under cold water. It hurt, but he was coming back to his senses. He had to get to the front gate to rendezvous with Sanani. How long had it been since General Bull had left? In the small mirror above the sink, his face was bruised, a gash over his left cheekbone trickling blood. He pressed a towel to the wound. His head was pounding, and the room started spinning. He stumbled, held on to the sink, and collapsed.

T
he risk that Lemmy might be caught and interrogated forced Elie to make a swift decision. He drove to the safe house and changed into UN khakis—an extra set he had ordered with the sets made for Lemmy and Sanani. Elie’s shirt was adorned with the insignia of a UN general, copied from a photograph of General Bull.

Sanani was waiting outside by the Jeep.

“Let’s bring your friend home,” Elie said.

They left the safe house and drove to the corner of Nablus Road, where they waited in the shadows until Bull’s car passed by on its way to Tappuzi’s office.

Mandelbaum Gate was a minute away. Sanani drove through the three checkpoints while Elie returned the hesitant salutes of the Israeli, Jordanian, and UN guards, all of whom must have wondered about the unfamiliar UN general being driven in Bull’s Jeep moments after it had gone the other way.

As they approached the Old City walls, Elie saw the Arab merchants pushing their carts away from the market. The wailing sirens on the Jewish side of the city must have freaked them out. Sanani kept pressing the horn, but the road was crowded with slow-moving traffic. Elie put his hand on the soldier’s arm. “Calm down. Your friend can wait another few minutes. He’s in no danger.”

L
emmy regained consciousness just as the door flew open. A dark-skinned UN officer entered, followed by two soldiers. “What’s the meaning of this?”

With difficulty, Lemmy stood up, his legs wobbly.

The officer walked around him, examining his backside.

“Who are you?” His English was spoken with an Indian accent, just like Sanani.

Lemmy didn’t answer.

“We will find out!” The officer beckoned the two soldiers.

“Search him!”

Lemmy clenched his fists, ready for a fight, but a sudden cramp in his lower leg caused him to bend over and grunt in pain. He reached behind his back, feeling for the Mauser.

“Looking for this?” The UN officer held up the Mauser. He put on silver-framed reading glasses and peered at the gun. “
Deutschland Über Alles
.” He looked at Lemmy. “What is this? Are you German?”