"The familial connections are the strongest in the world... They defy rationality, and have historically thwarted many rational plans."
- ha-nasi Aleksandr Levitsky.
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"The long stay in Aswan was exhausting, bitter and practically fruitless. Before the Nahal divisions arrived, we had to keep the city's population in line by ourselves. An order was given to subdue nonviolent resistance with tear gas. As for violent resistance, it was subdued by more simple, old-fashioned means. Things would've been simple enough had the Aswaners rallied in the square, and shouted there loudly, or even fired at us; but instead, ofcourse, they preffered to ambush patrols, snipe officers and set up bombs. "They", in this case, were the various resistance movements, as opposed to all the Aswaners, as most of them, after we dispersed the first riot, sat quietly and watched by with apathy. There weren't all that many resistors there, but enough to give us quite a headache.
We spent 16 days in Aswan. Our unit participated in seven raids on the hiding places of the resistance. Only three of these raids were succesful - that is to say, we never failed in capturing the enemy dens ofcourse, but only in three succesful cases did we actually capture at least some of their leaders and important equipment. In other cases, the resistors evacuated their hiding places just in time; and even in the above three cases, they clearly were trying to do so. I would not say that they did it almost as if they were forwarned, though - I knew that they were being forwarned. I also knew that they knew lots of useful stuff - aside from our counterinsurgency operations, they knew all about our patrols, deployments, schedules and plans. I interrogated one of their captured leaders, Mohammed Idris. Naturally, he never saw the one who supplied the resistors with information. That is to say, he did confess that it was a small boy named Abdul, and later, that Abdul brought information from an old man - Khalid Firstani. Khalid Firstani was a respectable old shop owner, who did not want any trouble and gladly assisted us in tracing the information to a janitor who brought messages given to him by some prostitute in a brothel he frequented...
At this point I lost trace of and interest in the investigation, which, apart from the initial interrogation, was carried out by my numerous Mossad collegues that arrived almost immediately after Aswan was taken anyway. They cracked down on several such communication webs, but it was of minimal assistance. They didn't find the traitor, ofcourse.
Neither did I, but I at least got closer. I quite agreed with my uncle - "Castro" and Shlomo Yaalon were primary candidates now. Yaalon, exactly because of his background (he was the son of the Sayeret Matkal commander Dan Yaalon) and because he joined us already in Egypt, seemed quite suspicious, though it didn't tie in too well with the attack in Asyut. "Castro", aside from his earlier impediments to my investigation, also clearly had the best access to the sort of information that reached the resistors. I still had no proof of either's betrayal, neither did the other Mossad agents with whom I at times communicated. But I was ordered not to act hastily anyway, so I had plenty of time for that.
I quite agreed with my uncle. In mind. But not in heart. In heart I knew that neither "Castro" nor Yaalon were traitors. It was Menakhem Orpaz. Time and again, I involuntarily found something to be wrong in his behaviour, and subconsciously wrote that down as evidence. I also sensed that there was something wrong in my uncle's letter, in the way he practically ordered me to forget about Orpaz. Something was wrong, very wrong. Gradually I admitted to that in my mind as well.
Why did my uncle not suspect Orpaz? Because... because Orpaz said the truth about Jerusalem. Jerusalem..."
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Jerusalem. Purim (14th of Adar). I do remember that day well enough. The best day of every year, usually, but this time, in Jerusalem anyway, it was perhaps the worst, as tension could be felt in the air, tension and uncertainty. Already, the preparations for this war were going on; already, after a bitter struggle, the Knesset agreed to grant the President - ha-nasi, Aleksandr Levitsky, my uncle - unprecedented power, in the form of a simple right to veto all and any Knesset decisions; already, the tide of riots, strikes and petitions was dying down, and it was clear to the opposition that my uncle would not give up just like that. He timed things well, for the knowledget hat a war was about to come united the people around him, while those that opposed him already were seen by many as traitors.
Already, my uncle's most loyal troops were gathering in and around Jerusalem, while the Mossad agents (who were quite used to not having any holidays, but still disgruntled about having to work on Purim, especially work like that), including myself, were on full alarm and in 100% readiness for two hours now.
Already, the Knesset was in session, waiting only for ha-nasi. For some strange reason, though, he still wasn't there. His enemies used it, gradually winning over most of the undecided portions of the Knesset to their side. It was at first planned to present him with a nearly-unanimous demand that his veto power should be taken away, but as his enemies grew bolder they decided to make things "like in 2020" again, making the president a figurehead and restoring all power to the Knesset. Already, they smelled victory. All they needed for it now was my uncle, the hated would-be tyrant Aleksandr Levitsky. And as they begun congratulating each other, he came in. At first he was greeted by boos and hisses, but almost immediately these were replaced by a shocked silence. He was surrounded by commandos from the Sayeret, including the young Menakhem Orpaz, a veteran of the Gaza Conflict of 2054. A tall, well-built man, he was capable of being quite imposing, as no doubt were the other commandos.
The members of the Knesset were stunned. That was the intended effect, ofcourse. None dared speak while Aleksandr Levitsky calmly moved between the seats towards the podium. From there, he announced, plainly, simply and bluntly that the Knesset was suspended. As that sunk in, a few members of the Knesset overcame their fear and begun loudly protesting this and demanding explanations, but, alas, my uncle had no time for them right now - he had a war to plan. So instead of answering to their questions, he told something to the commander of his bodyguards, Dan Schmumrik (or "Schmumrik"? I only heard of him from Menakhem Orpaz, and he didn't bother making it clear whether that was a last name or a nick one), who commuicated an order to the troops and Mossad operatives waiting outside. They burst in, and even the most fierce oppositionaries in the Knesset all of the sudden became quiet and law-abiding...
While my uncle and Menakhem Orpaz were dealing with the Knesset, I and a few others, unlike the rest of the Mossad operatives, were dealing with the rest of the political opposition - owners of radical opposition media and so forth, though I myself, along with Itzhak Barenboim, arrested a notoriously anti-Levitsky Knesset member who didn't come there today, claiming ill health. Now what was his name? Can't remember... Damn. Ofcourse. Avraham. Avraham Orpaz. Should've known it...
To be continued.
