north and south in the center of the earth’s navigational grid. This was the zero-degree line that slices in, off the Atlantic and through Brazil, a few miles north of the Amazon Delta.
Ahead of the Hamas warship was another 1,000 miles through which they made good speed, covering the distance in a little under three days. By midday on Monday, September 21, they were at their rendezvous point, running slowly at periscope depth, eight miles off the port of Dakar in the former French colony of Senegal, right on the outermost seaward bulge of northern Africa.
Arnold Morgan was entertaining an old friend, the new Israeli Ambassador to Washington, sixty-two-year-old General David Gavron, former head of the most feared international Intelligence agency in the world, the Mossad.
The two men had met and cooperated at the time David Gavron had served as military attache at the Israeli Embassy seven years previously. They had, by necessity, stayed in touch during Admiral Morgan’s tenure in the White House, when the General had headed up the Mossad.
Today’s was an unorthodox meeting. David Gavron, like every other high-ranking military Intelligence officer in the world, knew the Admiral was no longer on the White House staff. But this certainly had not diminished his towering reputation, nor his encyclopedic knowledge of the ebb and flow of the world’s power struggles.
General Gavron guessed, correctly, that the U.S.A. had a serious problem. He had for years been a close friend and confidant not only of Ariel Sharon but also of the former Yom Kippur War tank-division commander Maj. Gen. Avraham “Bren” Adan. General Gavron was possibly the most trusted man in Israel.
He was a pure Israeli of the blood, a true Sabra, born a few miles southwest of the Sea of Galilee near Nazareth. On October 6, 1973, the first day of the Yom Kippur War, as a battalion tank commander, he had driven out into the Sinai right alongside “Bren” Adan himself. On that most terrible day, hundreds of young Israelis, stunned by the suddenness of the onslaught by Egypt’s Second Army, fought and died in the desert.
For two days and nights, David Gavron had served in the front line of the battlefield, as one of Bren Adan’s bloodstained young commanders who flung back wave after wave of the Egyptian tank division. Twice wounded, shot in the arm and then blown into the desert sand while trying to save a burning tank crew, David Gavron’s personal battle honor was presented to him by Mrs. Meir herself. It was inscribed with the same words as Great Britain’s coveted Victoria Cross…FOR VALOR.
This was precisely the kind of man Admiral Morgan now needed urgently because only someone like David Gavron, a man who had faced the onslaught of a merciless invading army, could ultimately decide whether his beleaguered little country could comply with America’s request to vacate the West Bank of the Jordan River.
So far, in unofficial but probing talks, the signs had not been good. From Tel Aviv, there had been zero enthusiasm. The big hitters in the Israeli military had almost shuddered at the prospect of a Palestinian State. Hard-eyed men from the Knesset, the Mossad, Shin Bet, the interior secret service, had intimated this was too big a favor to ask.
Arnold Morgan stared at the jagged scar on the left side of the Israeli’s face. He knew it was a legacy from a far-distant tank battle in the desert. And that scar ran deep. David Gavron’s reaction to a polite request for an end to hostilities with the Palestinians would have a major bearing on the next approach by the Americans.
Admiral Morgan did not know precisely how much General Gavron knew, but he suspected Hamas may have informed the Mossad directly of their threat to the United States, and their demand that Israel back up and give their Arabian enemy some living space.
It was a warm autumn day, and they sat outside on the patio surrounding the pool area. Arnold sipped his coffee and gazed into the cool blue eyes of the tall, fit-looking Israeli diplomat, with his close-cropped hair and tanned skin.
“David,” he said. “I want you to level with me.”
“As always,” smiled the General.
“Are you aware of the threat made upon my nation by the high command of Hamas?”
“We are.”
“Do you know of the twofold nature of the demands that we vacate the Middle East in its entirety, and that we compel you to agree to the formation of a Palestinian State inside the present borders of Israel?”
“Yes, we are aware of precisely what they threaten.”
“Okay. Now, you also know we have begun to make troop and armament movements in our Middle East bases.”
“We do.”
“And do you think Hamas now believes we intend to comply with their demands?”
“I doubt it.”
“Why not?”
“Because you are probably not doing nearly enough. Just playing for time, while you get ready to obliterate your enemy, in the time-honored American way.”
“It’s damn difficult to obliterate Hamas. Since we can’t see them.”
“I assure you, there is no need to tell us that. We can see them a lot better than you. And we can’t get rid of them either.”
“Well, David. We can certainly step up our evacuation plans sufficiently to make us look real. But we plainly need your cooperation, just to demonstrate we have persuaded you to make a lasting peace, with redrawn borders for the West Bank and the Gaza Strip.”
David Gavron, somewhat ominously, did not answer.
“So I have two questions to ask you,” said the Admiral. “The first because of your known expertise dealing with terrorist enemies of your nation…Do you think we should take the Hamas threat seriously?”
“You mean, their assurance that they will cause this giant landslide and then a tidal wave to flood your East Coast?”
“That’s the one, David.”
“My answer is yes. Because the Hamas have become very dangerous in the past two or three years. You will have noticed several of their spectacular successes — some at our expense, others at yours…?”
“Of course. We have. And now they are threatening again. Goddamnit, David, they never used to be
“Not until they found a new Sandhurst-trained military assault leader.”
“You mean the SAS officer who absconded from the Brits?”
“That’s the man, Arnold. And I’ve no doubt you realize he went over the wall in my own country during the battle of the Jerusalem Road in our holy city of Hebron.”
“Actually, David, my information was that he went around the wall, not over it.”
“Very precise of you,” replied General Gavron, smiling. “We do, of course, have the same sources. Anyway, he’s never been seen since, and Hamas has never been the same since.”
“Don’t I know that. But now we’re stuck with this volcano bullshit.”
“I wonder if you also heard,” replied the Israeli, “that he undoubtedly kidnapped and murdered that Professor in London earlier this year, the world authority on volcanoes and earthquakes?”
“We only surmised that very recently.”
“We were perhaps quicker in Tel Aviv. But we knew there was an active cell of the Hamas high command in London. Matter of fact, we just missed them. One day earlier might have saved everyone a lot of trouble.”
“Or, on the other hand, left you on the short side of a half-dozen assassins…”
“Yes, we are always aware of that possibility when dealing with such a man,” said General Gavron. “Nonetheless, I should definitely take his threats seriously if I were you…We can surmise by his London activities that he is now an expert on volcanoes. And I’m told by our Field Chief in Damascus that they definitely planned to erupt Mount St. Helens. We’ve never had confirmation of that, but the coincidence is a little fierce.”
“Which leaves our East Coast on the verge of extinction,” said Arnold. “I’ve read up on the subject, and the truth is obvious. He hits the Cumbre Vieja volcano, that mega-tsunami will happen. And that’s likely to be
“Of course I see your problem. You are obliged to buy a little time by making moves in the Middle East to look
