“Even the job the guys and I just did with Fakhrizadeh, what did it really accomplish? Rather than racing at 100 kilometers an hour, their nuclear program slows to 60 an hour. Even with Operation Bezalel, it feels like we’re in a vast wheat field pulling up weeds one at a time. But the bottom line is if we don’t find a way to shut down Iran’s nuclear program, by one means or another, by one group or another, at one time or another, we’ll lose tens of thousands if not millions of people. Guaranteed.”

Nicole slid her hand under his arm. “Different subject, same subject. When is the last time you took a vacation?”

Nir laughed quietly. “Maybe back when I was 13.”

“Maybe you need to think about one. In fact, I’d even say you need to consider taking a hiatus.”

“Come on, Nicole. How do I take a hiatus when there’s so much to do?”

“First, you’re not Superman. And, second, you just got through saying what you’re doing isn’t making that much of a difference anyway.”

Nir halted and looked at her. “As you’re so fond of saying, I get to say that. You don’t.”

Nicole stood on her toes and kissed him on the cheek. “I’m the girl. I get to say whatever I want.” Then she walked on, leaving him standing there.

After a moment, Nir hustled to catch up. When he had, he raised his eyebrows and grinned. “Okay, reverse psychology duly noted. Well played, Jedi Master. Listen, I know I’m making a difference. It’s just discouraging to see less progress than I believe we need to make.”

She took his hand again. “I get it.”

“I wish our government would decide to shut down the Iranian nuclear program once and for all, while we still can.”

She swung his hand and sung, “If wishes and dreams were candies and creams, we’d all have a merry Christmas.”

Once again, Nir stopped to look at her. But this time the expression on her face made it clear she was teasing him.

“You’re lucky you’re pretty,” he said, looping his arm around her shoulders as they started strolling again.

“You’re lucky I’m pretty too,” she said, then bumped him with her hip.

Chapter 36

CHAPTER 36

MOSSAD HEADQUARTERS, TEL AVIV, ISRAEL—17:10 / 5:10 P.M. IST

Nir took a seat at the head of his team’s conference table. This afternoon a snack bowl held miniature chocolate candy bars, and he grabbed a handful. He was five minutes late for his own meeting, but he’d been on the phone with Efraim Cohen passing on Nicole’s news that the Mossad would soon be two million dollars richer. It was one of his rare happy calls with superiors.