Their expressions were a mix of awe and fear. They knew what Kidon was, and they knew what Nir and his team did.

Then Neeman added with a big smile, “And they brought lunch.”

That seemed to break the ice, and all 16 techs came forward. It was like they were thinking, How bad could these Kidon guys really be if they came bearing cheeseburgers?

“Good call on the food,” said Nir.

“I’ve learned a few things over the decades. Now, let’s you and I go talk.”

The old man’s mood change didn’t escape Nir. This guy is as Mossad as it gets. You never know what’s real and what’s deception.

He followed Neeman into a side office, where he’d placed two chairs next to a table that held two glasses and one tall blue bottle of El Massaya Arak. The old man motioned for Nir to sit down. “I thought you might want a little taste of home.”

“For a taste of home you serve me Lebanese liquor?”

“To me, anything to the east of the Mediterranean coast tastes like home,” Neeman said as he squatted at a mini-fridge and removed a bottle of water.

“When was the last time you were back?”

“In 2008 for the 60th anniversary of Statehood. I keep telling my wife we’ll go back for the 75th, but I don’t think she’ll be able to. She’s not as mobile as she once was.” He poured two fingers of the arak into each glass, then held up the water bottle. Nir nodded.

“I’m sorry to hear she’s struggling.” Nir watched the water turn the liquor a cloudy white.

Neeman lifted his glass. “To our comrades we carried home.”

Nir clinked the glass with his own, then swallowed the liquid. It tasted like licorice, anise, and fire.

“I heard you were retired,” Nir said.

“I heard you were dead.”

“Sounds like we were both wrong. But seriously, I was surprised when I was told I’d be working with you.”

“Don’t start again with that gushing about me being a legend. The ramsad called me and asked if I would do him a favor. How do you say no to that? Besides, I live in a condo in a planned community in Florida filled with old people. The most exciting thing I do these days is chase the ducks with my golf cart. Not quite the same as a high-speed pursuit through Berlin.”

“I’m sure there’s a story behind that reference.”

“Not as exciting as the story of a high-speed chase through rural Iran,” Neeman said with a longing look, as if he’d go back to the front lines of the espionage war if only his aging body would let him.

“For a man chasing ducks in Florida, you seem to be incredibly well-informed about current operations.”