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By Root 472 0

legations, and consulates was concerned. Yet, when one figured that each country had an ambassador, first secretary, second secretaries, chargé d’affaires, military attachés, cultural attachés, economic attachés, special missions such as the Point Four program, trade missions, purchasing missions, an endless stream of visiting scholars in endless conferences to produce endless wisdom, and Jewish philanthropists, investors, orchestras, dance troupes, and everyone received a welcoming and departing cocktail party, that was a lot of caviar and crackers. Then there was the Fourth of July, Bastille Day, and the Queen’s birthday, and every country had a national holiday, particularly the newly liberated African nations (the Africans really threw bashes), and because every legation bought everything duty-free, livers collapsed like sand castles at high tide. Everyone had a big silver or cut glass bowl or native basketweave in their foyer, and everyone coming for a visit left a petite calling card, in two languages. One could reasonably count on a minimum of twelve hundred and sixty-one cocktail parties a year.

Rich Cromwell looked like a semi-rumpled, silver-haired old Yalie, which he was, who would be far more at home in a blue blazer on Cape Cod. Two-letter man, old Rich, hockey and lacrosse. A middling State Department foreign service employee, who clipped a few coupons from his inheritance, he rose no higher than a consul general post in Peru. He drifted to the CIA for a more fulfilling way of life.

Cromwell knew of Gideon’s lust for prime rib and plumped him up at lunch to a fare-thee-well. When the amenities were done, Rich generally switched on his “sincere” mode. This afternoon he passed right over sincere and went directly to grim. Gideon sipped on his after-lunch Scotch slowly, lest he have a violent reaction to his sudden reexposure to it.

“What happened on the Kalkilia raid?” Rich began.

“Now, how in the hell should I know?”

“Come on, Gideon. This would make you the only one in the country who didn’t know where you were on the night of the tenth. Your buddy Simon Galil got hit by a stray bullet. He was standing right next to you.”

“What are you on my case for, Rich? You’ve been briefed, rebriefed, and debriefed. Christ, a minute-by-minute report has been in all the papers. It was a military operation. Some things went right. Some things went wrong.”

“We all know about your arrangement with the Israelis and we’ve respected it.”

“However,” Gideon said.

“However, it’s getting down to the short strokes.”

“And?”

“You’re a Marine, Gideon.”

Oh balls, he’s going to Semper-Fi me, Gideon thought. Old Cromwell had been a Marine major, not too high a rank, not too low. Just right for a mediocre Yalie.

“Rich,” Gideon said, “I know we shared the big war together, the war to end all wars, you as a major and me as a PFC. So here it is, as one old buck-assed gyrene to another. I don’t know doodly shit.”

Gideon sensed that hardball time was coming up. Rich needed some intelligence, badly.

“Don’t be so modest, Gideon. You’ve got better lines into the Prime Minister’s office than President Eisenhower does. Your pals read like Who’s Who. You chum around with Teddy Kollek, Moshe Pearlman, Beham, Jackie Herzog ...”

“This may be difficult for you to comprehend, but they don’t rush out of cabinet meetings to brief me.”

Cromwell didn’t believe him. He digested his frustration and decided to take a bold step. “I’m going to level with you,” he said. “This place is about to blow up. You may have it within your power to help prevent a catastrophe.”

“I’m listening,” Gideon answered quietly.

“I’m going to give you a scenario, a secret scenario. Maybe you can fill in some of the blank spots.”

Careful, Gideon said to himself, careful.

“Dayan, Golda, Peres, and Moshe Carmel flew to Paris a few weeks back.”

“What’s so earthshaking about that? France is Israel’s major supporter and supplier,” Gideon answered.

“It was a secret mission. They flew via Bizerte in a reconverted French bomber to avoid all civilian airports. Now, I’m talking