Upfall

Brom picked up the handset and mostly listened for the next minute, occasionally nodding or signaling to his aides. Finally, he replaced the phone.

"Nu" said Feldhandler in Yiddish. "Care to let us in?"

"Radio traffic intercepted from Iran indicates that several minutes ago there was a large explosion at the Natanz separation facility" said

Brom laconically. "The Iranians are confused, uncertain of the cause, and concerned that there will be radiation leakage into the city. That's all we know right now, but it would appear that our boys pulled in off."

Brom allowed himself a smile and added "Congratulations to you and your team Dr. Feldhandler. I'm going to debrief the raiders, and then I expect they will want us all in Tel Aviv. Probably by yesterday..."

After Brom exited the control booth Feldhandler turned to Mina, and ignoring the continuing fuss and glad-handing, smiled wanly and told her "You go up and brief them. Please."

"Why? Benny, this is your accomplishment, not mine. They will want you."

"Screw them" said Feldhandler nastily. "You go. You know everything; and what to say and what not. I'm tired of it."

"But."

Just go.

A series of small briefing rooms adjoined the decontamination suite. Brom entered the first one with his military secretary and an aide. The secretary carried a digital video recorder and a tripod; the aide a laptop. Minutes later a female soldier carried in a tray containing bottled water, several thermoses of coffee, and assorted cakes and fruit.

Brom planned to interview Lieutenant Colonel Yatom first and then Major Mofaz. Other debriefing officers would talk to the lower ranking commandos, and when they were all done the entire team would be brought together for a general bull session over beers, fried schnitzels and pizza. All of which would be carefully recorded.

Yatom arrived, clad in a fresh olive drab uniform, devoid of insignia. Instead, a radiation warning card hung from his neck, like a conferee's nametag. An IDF doctor accompanied the colonel, and pronounced him healthy, having suffered just a minor radiation dose.

"About like getting a dozen X-rays" the doctor said matter-of-factly. "Not good for you, but not likely to kill this fellow any time soon."

And Yatom didn't look easy to kill. A little under six feet he was only slightly taller than the doctor but considerably broader. Yatom had been a champion wrestler in his youth and had a grappler‘s thick neck and shoulders. He moved easily despite his bulk. At thirty-five his hair was mostly gray, but cropped so short it was hard to tell. He wore no jewelry, but had a typically wide IDF officer watchband strapped across a thick left wrist. Yatom was a hairy Ashkenazi who, his ex-wife used to say, looked like the shtetl strong man in Polish circus sideshow.

Yatom neither saluted nor acknowledged General Brom other than to tell him that "The rest of the sayeret is fine too— except for Yoram, of course."

"Tov!" said Brom with a smile.

"It's one way to get out of the army" said Yatom ghoulishly.

"Obviously I need a replacement."

"You have other qualified men" said Brom‘s aide, Captain Zeev, a young handsome man with a paratroopers red beret in his shoulder epaulette. He ignored Yatom's superior rank just as Yatom had ignored Brom's.

"That's not the issue" Yatom noted irritably. "It's the security clearances."

"We'll take care of it Danny" said Brom, with a note of sympathy in his voice. "Now let's go through the mission." The sympathetic note fled.

Yatom looked at the tray of refreshments. Room service in a second rate hotel, he thought—not bad at all. He reached for the coffee with one hand and Danish with the other.

Brom spent an hour with Yatom. There would be further interviews, but the truth was that there wasn't much to tell. The raid has gone mostly as planned, the loss unfortunate, but to be expected.

Brom wasn't one to cry over the loss of every soldier, although that seemed to be the mood of the nation, and had been for some time. He dismissed Yatom and called in Major Mofaz.

Unlike Yatom, Mofaz was an observant Jew and had donned a small yarmulke after his decontamination. Like Yatom he wore a fresh uniform unadorned with rank, but he wore a thick wedding band on his left hand to go with the standard bulky watch on his wrist. Slightly smaller but just as thickly muscled, Mofaz shared Yatom's love of fighting. Not a wrestler, Mofaz was an expert at krav maga, the brutal, no holds barred brand of Israeli martial art. A couple of years younger than Yatom, he was a less flexible more ideological officer—whether that was good or bad depended on the superior.