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“How high?”

“I’ll send you the list, but suffice it to say that there were key players from Hamas, the Popular Liberation Committee, Force 17, Islamic Jihad, leaders of the martyr brigades and possibly Mohammed Atwa, the head of Palestinian General Intelligence.”

“You’re serious?” Kennedy acted surprised. “So the story about the bomb-making factory is—”

“True! We did not know it was there. Our rockets set off secondary explosions that were unavoidable.”

Kennedy wondered why it had been such a struggle for Freidman to tell her about the real intent of the operation and why, according to her facts, he was still lying to her about the bomb factory. “When will you have confirmation on who was taken out in the strike?”

“By tomorrow I should have a good idea. I have an asset posing as a cameraman who’s photographing the dead. Those pictures, along with the intercepts we’re picking up, should give us a fairly complete list. Listen now,” said Freidman reasserting control, “I have to go now. If I find anything else out, I’ll let you know.”

“All right.” Before she could say good-bye Freidman was off the line. Kennedy sat there for a moment staring at the handset, trying to separate the fact from the fiction in an effort to discern what the head of Mossad was up to. In the end it could be nothing more than his inability to play things straight. There were plenty of people like him in the business. Never tell the whole story, only parts of it. Or it could be much deeper than that. Kennedy would have to monitor the situation closely.

Turning to her computer she fired off a quick e-mail to Jake Turbes that she wanted him to personally look into the events in Hebron, and do so without the aid of Mossad. She wanted clean untainted facts by which to judge Freidman’s honesty, or more likely lack thereof.

44

Ben Freidman sat on the porch of the house sipping a glass of water and looking out at the rolling terrain under the moonlit evening sky. He desperately wanted a drink, but one had not been offered to him. It had been a very long day trying to manage the situation in Hebron. There were people in his government who didn’t appreciate the victory he had achieved. They were weaklings. Men and women who didn’t have the stomach to fight for the preservation of Israel.

The man he was waiting to see had the determination, though. The ranch in the Jordan Valley belonged to Prime Minister David Goldberg. Goldberg, the head of the conservative Likud Party, had been elected by an overwhelming majority of the Israeli people despite the fact that his party held only a handful of seats in the 120-member Knesset. That had been two years ago, when the people had seen how duplicitous the Palestinians were. The Israelis extended the olive branch and Yasser Arafat took it from them and slapped them in the face. He used the new Palestinian Authority to secure his hold over the Palestinian people and bring in weapons and explosives to help wage an even bloodier war against the Jews, all the while he feigned a lack of control over the so-called martyr brigades.

Goldberg had been swept into office as a hard-liner who would crack down on the Palestinian terror groups and restore some security to the country. Unfortunately things had not gone as planned. They were up against a new form of terror. One that so far they had been unable to stop. The steady stream of homicide bombers had crippled Israel’s fragile economy and frayed the nerves of even some of the stoutest patriots. The martyr brigades needed to be stopped, and Ben Freidman was willing to be every bit as ruthless as the enemy to get the job done.

He was worried about his old friend and current prime minister, though. There had been signs lately that Goldberg was beginning to crack under the pressure. His cabinet was filled with backstabbers and even his own party was asking if the old general had what it took to deal with the crisis. And then on top of that the damn Americans were giving him orders to back down.

Freidman had seen it all before. He understood the visceral hatred the Arabs felt toward him and his country. In Freidman’s mind it was based on jealousy. The Arabs and their closed patriarchal society couldn’t handle being bested by the Jews. The Palestinians had held on to this land for thousands of years and had done nothing to improve it. The Jews came back to their homeland and in one generation turned much of the arid landscape into plentiful farms and orchards. They had tried to negotiate a fair peace, but the Arabs would have none of it. There would always be a large and influential segment of the Palestinian people who would never be satisfied until Israel ceased to exist. It was Freidman’s job to make sure that never happened.

This was the important mission of Freidman’s life. It was his vocation to make sure Israel survived, and he was willing to go to great lengths to ensure success. Doing it alone, though, was not possible. He needed help. He needed allies who would pacify the bleeding hearts in his country, those naive imbeciles who actually believed that peace was worth risking the entire security of a nation, of a people who had narrowly avoided extinction.

He needed lobbyists in America to lean on the right people. People who could get to other people who controlled the lifeblood of politics: money. People who could deliver the three states that every presidential hopeful wanted: New York, Florida and the crown jewel, California. He needed America’s support more than ever and he would work diligently to make sure it was there when the time came.

Right now, though, the thing he needed most was a strong prime minister who would stay the course. He’d seen signs lately that his old friend was losing his stomach for the fight. This could not be allowed to happen. Prime Minister Goldberg needed to hold true to his commitment and stave off another attack from the liberals.

David Goldberg stepped onto the porch holding two bottles of Goldstar beer. He handed one to Freidman and apologized for making him wait. Even though Freidman would have preferred a stiff drink, he took the beer and watched his friend take a seat in the rocking chair next to him.

On the face of it, Goldberg was the most unlikely hawk you would ever meet. His plump fleshy appearance made him appear too soft for a war hero. He had a mane of white hair, which framed a tan face and heavy jowls. He was a large man, but not muscular and it was easy to see him as the grown-up version of the pudgy kid in school who was always picked on. This was a mistake. The man’s temper and valor were legendary. Never one to shy away from a fight, Goldberg had the disposition of a bull. He had distinguished himself many times on the battlefield, and for that at least, he had the respect of his countrymen. Unfortunately, though, his valor did not indefinitely guarantee their support.

Goldberg took a swig of beer and said, “Ben, you have created quite a stir.”

Freidman listened to a dog barking in the distance and said, “Don’t I always?”

“Yes, you do, but these are delicate times.”

Freidman already disliked the tone of their conversation. “When haven’t they been?”

The prime minister disagreed by shaking his head. “We have never seen the international pressure we see now.”

“Forgive me for being so blunt, David, but the international community can kiss my ass.”

“Believe me, I share your feelings, but we cannot ignore them. What you did last night is causing me problems.”

Freidman looked away from his old friend and took a drink from his beer. “David, you asked me to hit back, and did I ever find a way to hit back. It will take them years to recover from this.”

The prime minister wasn’t so sure anymore, not since these she-devils started blowing themselves up. More and more Goldberg was starting to think in terms of withdrawal from the West Bank and the occupied territories. There were only two things that prevented him from doing so. The first was the settlements. Thousands of Jews had moved into the areas and would die rather than leave. The second reason he wouldn’t support the withdrawal and recognition of a Palestinian sta

te was that he feared for his life. The man sitting next to him on the porch, along with many others, would have him killed if he were to gamble so recklessly with Israel’s security.

Knowing he had to be careful with how he dealt with Freidman, he said, “The attack was the crowning achievement of your career, Ben.” Goldberg held out his bottle for a toast.

Source: www.allfreenovel.com
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