“I do think of that,” Nir said, admitting the truth. “But not often. In Israel, when you grow up surrounded by countries filled with people who hate you—even want to kill you—you kind of get used to the feeling. But you’re right. With the nukes, it’s different. We’ve been able to fight off the armies that have attacked us. But there’s not much you can do if a nuclear bomb detonates in Tel Aviv.”

“And you really think it would happen?”

“One hundred percent. Whether by Iran itself or one of their proxy militias. The ayatollahs get the bomb, it’s going to make its way to Israel.”

Mila stood and collected the mugs. “Well, then, that prime minister of yours better get off his backside and do something about it.”

I wish it were that easy, he thought. I’m proud of what we pulled off at that warehouse. But what did we really accomplish? This only proved what everybody already knew. The U.S. president will probably pull out of the JCPOA, but the rest of the West is committed to that terrible Iran nuclear deal. Even the missions the Mossad operates only temporarily slow down Iran’s progress. We’re dealing with symptoms, not the disease. Somehow, we need to do something that will make a real difference.

Nir shuffled some papers around on his desk, trying to focus on his work. Mila walked back in, and, after chastising Nir for working late too often, she said good night and left him alone. Rather than working, though, he sat and brooded—first about Nicole, then about a nuclear Iran, then about Nicole again.

He briefly considered trying to call her, but then he decided taking the train to his neighborhood, strolling to his favorite pub, and spending the next few hours doing his best to forget all about the woman was a much more sensible idea.

Still, as he got up and walked to the door, he knew that there were some things in life that even a pint and a game of darts couldn’t block out of your mind. Nicole was number one on that list.

Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

ONE DAY LATER

CAFALA BAHR, INDIAN OCEAN, OFF VILLINGILI ISLAND, MALDIVES—MAY 1, 2018—08:40 / 8:40 A.M. MVT

Saad Salim dove into the pool, then glided in the cool water. Already it was 30 degrees Celsius with the humidity approaching 90 percent, so any time in the water was better than time spent only lounging beside it. Surfacing after a quarter of the length, he began a long, graceful stroke.

Much of his youth had been spent in a pool, at first just playing but eventually swimming competitively. He’d had hopes of representing his country in the Olympics, but then his family fell out of favor with then-King Fahd. A relocation from Saudi Arabia to Doha, Qatar, had essentially left him without a home country.