Malka took a step closer to them. “It’s so important that you can’t go through protocols and establish a meeting? Three members of the Knesset are scheduled to be here in seven minutes. So if you’ll excuse—”

“Thank you, Malka. Let them through, please.”

To her credit, the woman didn’t argue. Instead, she stepped aside and contented herself with staring daggers at Nir. “Seven minutes,” she hissed.

The men followed the ramsad into his office, and Efraim closed the door. Once their leader sat behind his desk, he motioned for them to sit in the two chairs positioned in front of him.

“Now, Tavor, what is so important that I’m going to have to deal with an angry Malka for the rest of the day?”

“I’m sorry, Ha’mefaked, but this couldn’t wait. I have strong evidence that Iran is training members of their proxy militias in the handling and deployment of suitcase nukes.”

The ramsad sat up straight. Never before had Nir seen this man, who was always so calm and cool, look shocked.

“You what?” asked Efraim.

“Show me your evidence,” the ramsad said—a demand, not a request.

Nir walked the two men through Yossi’s algorithms and the numbers his intel had registered. Neither man responded.

“So?” Nir finally prompted.

The ramsad settled back into his chair. “I’m afraid your definition of strong evidence and mine are quite different. Is there anything else? Do you know what militias are involved? Do you know where they are?”

Nir felt a text vibration from his phone. Looking down, he read, “They’re at 33.092 latitude and 36.361 longitude.”

“Not surprisingly, that helps me not at all.”

The phone buzzed again, and Nir read, “It’s about three kilometers southeast of El Sharayah, Syria, in the Daraa Governorate.”

“Within spitting distance of our border. That’s not ominous at all,” Efraim said.

“Do we know who they are?” asked the ramsad.

Nir’s phone buzzed again, and he hoped for another fortuitous answer. Instead, he got a satellite photo, then another, then another. Soon his phone felt like an electric razor with one photo text after another popping up.

Efraim held up his phone and spoke. “Just got a text from Yossi. He said the ladies are blowing up your phone with satellite pics, so he tried me. He believes the militia is Liwa’ Al-Arin. He sent me some facts. About six hundred members. Leader is an up-and-comer named Waseem al-Masalma. Used to be called Brigade 313.”

“Heard of them,” said the ramsad to himself.

“Tightly allied with Hezbollah. Heavily involved in their drug trafficking. Fights for the regime when called upon.”