To The Stars

The painter stepped back and admired his work. On both swelling sides, and the wings, of the Anan-13 heavy transport the six-pointed star of Israel had been painted over. In its place was a starkly black cross.

“Symbolic, and not too nice,” the painter said. “If you read history, which you don’t, because you’re a yould, you would recognize that cross. Do you?”

Heimyonkel shrugged and poured silver paint carefully into the spray gun.

“It’s the cross of Germany, that’s what it is, obliterating the Mogen David of Israel. Which is not nice and also, I wonder what the hell it is supposed to mean. Does the government know what it’s doing? I ask you but you don’t know and, P.S., I don’t know either.”

Large sheets of paper were fastened into place with tape to cover the new insignia. After this had been painted silver there was nothing visible at a distance to indicate that the work had been done.

Amri Ben-Haim was very worried. He sat slumped in his favorite chair, staring at nothing, while the glass of lemon tea grew cold before him. Only when the sound of an approaching copter drew his attention did he sit up alertly and look toward the door. He sipped some of the tea and wrinkled his lips with displeasure. As he put it down Dvora came through the door with a package.

“Another one, and delivered by a Security policeman as well. Made my flesh crawl. He just smiled when he handed it over and wouldn’t say a word.”

“Reflex sadism,” Ben-Haim said, taking the thick envelope from her. “He can have no idea of its contents. Those kind of people just enjoy making others suffer.” He shook out the familiar sealed metal box and tapped out the combination. When it snapped open he took the disc it contained and put it into the computer. Thurgood-Smythe’s unsmiling features appeared in the screen.

“This is our final communication, Ben-Haim,” he said. “By now your troops and planes will be ready to begin the operation as instructed. The exact date will be given to you later this month, and you have your departure and flight plan. You will be flying in darkness all the way, so that will take care of visual and satellite observation. You have your instructions about the radar nets. Never forget that this is a coordinated attack and exact timing is the only way to prevent disaster.”

Thurgood-Smythe glanced down out of sight of the camera and smiled very slightly.

“I have a number of reports here that inform me that you seem to be moving a great deal of your population out of the country at night. Very wise. There is always the chance of a nuke or two, even if things go perfectly. Out of spite you might say. Or perhaps it is that you don’t trust me? Nor should you have reason to. Nevertheless you are taking the correct course of action and victory is its own reward.

“I hope to be at Spaceconcent in Mojave when you arrive. Do arrange with your troops not to have me shot, if you don’t mind. Good-bye then, Amri Ben-Haim. Pray for success in our ventures.”

The image vanished. Ben-Haim turned away from the screen shaking his head. “Don’t shoot him! I’ll flay him alive if anything goes wrong with this plan!”

Fryer panted heavily as he dragged his bad leg up the stairs, climbing a single step at a time. He carried the gun over his shoulder in order to leave one hand free to clutch onto the banister. It was a hot, close day, and sweat cut runnels through the dust on his face. The boy struggled along behind him with the heavy case of grenades.

“In here,” Fryer said, opening the door carefully and looking in first to be sure that the curtains were still closed. “All in order, my lad. Put them there under the window and go on about your business. I’ll give you ten minutes to get clear. Go slow and don’t get stopped at any checkpoints. If you do it will get into the London computer that you were in this area, and that will be the end of you.

“Can’t I stay, Fryer? I could help, help you get away too with that bum leg.”

“Don’t worry, lad, they won’t get the old Fryer. They got me once, right and proper, give me this leg and a tour of the camps in the Highlands. Once was more than enough of that, let me tell you. I’m not going back. But you’re getting out, now, and that’s an order.”

Fryer sat down on the case with a wheeze of relief and listened to the footsteps retreating back down the stairs.