Ken Follett: Triple (1991)

'The airlift turned the tide of the war, and later a similar crisis meeting took place in Cairo. Once again, nobody was in favor of nuclear war in the Middle East; once again, the politicians gathered around the table began to persuade one another that therr, was no alternative; and once again, the proposal was stopped by an unexpected contribution. This time it was the military that stepped in. Knowing of the proposal that would be before the assembled presidents, they had run checks on their nuclear strike force in readiness for a positive decision; and they had found that all the plutonimn in the bombs had been taken out and replaced with iron filings. It was assumed that the Russians had done this, as they had mysteriously rendered unworkable the nuclear reactor in Qattara, before being expelled from Egypt in 1972. That night, one of the presidents talked to his wife for five minutes before falling asleep in his chair. "It!s an over," he told her. "Israel has won-permanently. They have the bomb, and we do not, and that single fact will determine the course of history in our region for the rest of the century." 'Vhat about the Palestine refugees?" his wife said. The president shrugged and began to light his last pipe of the day. "I remember reading a story in the London Times ... this must be five years ago, I suppose. It said that the Free Wales Army had put a bomb in the police station in Cardiff." "Wales?" said his wife. "Where is Wales?" "It is a part of England, more or less." "I remember," she said. "They have coal mines and choirs!, "Mars right. Have you any-idea how long ago the AngloSaxons conquered the Welsh?" "'None at all. "Nor have I, but it must be more than a thousand years ago, because the Norman French conquered the Anglo-Saxons nine hundred years ago. You see? A thousand years, and they are still bombing police stationsl The Palestinians will be like the Welsh ... They can bomb Israel for a thousand years, but they will always be the losers." His wife looked up at him. All these years they had been together, and still he was capable of surprising her. She.had thought she would never hear words like this from him. "I will tell you something else," he went on. 'Mere will have to be peace. We cannot possibly win, now, so we will have to make peace. Not now; perhaps not for five or ten years. But the time will come, and then I will have to go to Jenisalem and say, 'No more war.' I may even get some credit for it, when the dust settles. It is not how I planned to go down in history, but it's not such a bad way, for all that. 'Me man who brought peace to the Middle East.' What would you say to that?" His wife got up from her chair and came across to hold his bands. There were tears in her eyes. "I would give thanks to God,- she said.

Franz Albrecht Pedler died in 1974. He died content. ITh life had seen some ups and downs-he had, after all, lived through the most ignominious period in the history of his nation--but he had survived and ended his days happily. He had guessed what had happened to the uranium. One day early in 1969 his company had received a check for two million dollars, signed by A. Papagopolous, with a statement from Savile Shipping which read: 'To lost cargo." The next day a representative of the Israeli Army had called, bringing the payment for the first shipment of cleaning materials. As he left, the army man had said, "on the matter of your lost cargo, we would be happy if you were not to pursue any further Inquiries!' Pedler began to understand then. "But what if Euratom asks me questionsT' 'Tell them the truth," the man said. "Me cargo was lost, and when you tried to discover what had ha~pened to it, you found that Savile Shipping had gone out of business." "Have they?" They have." And that was what Pedler told Euratom. They sent an investigator to see him, and he repeated his story, which was completely true if not truly complete. He said to the investigator, "I suppose there will be publicity about all this soon." "I doubt it," the investigator told him. "It reflects badly on UL I don't suppose we'll broadcast the story unless we get more information." They did not get more information, of course; at least, not in Pedlees lifetime.

On Yom Kippur in 1974 Suza Dickstein went into labor. In accordance with the custom of this particular kibbutz, the baby was delivered by its father, with a midwife standing by to give advice and encouragement. The baby was small, like both parents. As soon as its head emerged it opened its mouth and cried. Dickstein's vision became watery and blurred. He held the baby's head, checked that the cord was not around its neck, and said, "Almost there, Suza." Suza gave one more heave, and the baby's shoulders were born, and after that it was all downhill. Dickstein tied the cord in two places and cut it, then-again in accordance with the local custom-he put the baby in the mother's arms. "Is it all rightr' she said. "Perfect," said the midwife, "What is itT' Dickstein said, "Oh, God, I didift even look . . . Ws a boy." A little later Suza said, "What shall we call him? Nathaniel?" "rd like to call him Towfik," Dickstein said. "Towfik? Isn't that an Arab name?" 'Yes. "Why? Why Towfik?" "Well," he said, "thatts a long story."

Postscript

From the London Daily Telegraph of May 7, 1977:

ISRAEL SUSPECTED OF HIJACKING SHIP WITH URANIUM by Henry Miller in New York

Israel is believed to have been behind the disappearance from the high seas nine years ago of a uranium shipment large enough to build 30 nuclear weapons, it was disclosed yesterday. Officials say that the incident was "a real James Bond affair" and that although intelligence agencies in four countries investigated the mystery, it was never determined what had actually happened to the 200 tons of uranium ore that vanished . . . -Quoted by permission of The Daily Telegraph, Ltd.