Zach saw the man quickly check a photograph he held in his hand as if to validate he had the right person.

‘Shalom,’ Zachariah said and tentatively held out his hand for the other man to shake.

Instead, the man pressed a letter into Zach’s hand. It had a distinctive stamp on the front – a blue, seven-candled menorah, the seal of Mossad. There was also an inscription in Hebrew: ‘Where there is no guidance the people fall, but with an abundance of counsellors there is victory’. Good advice about ‘good advice’, Zach thought.

The man spoke as if reading from a script: ‘Zachariah Shomron, you are aware that national military service is mandatory for all Jewish men and women. You have the thanks of the State of Israel for completing your assigned service. Though you elected to resume a normal working life, you remain an inactive reservist until you are forty years of age. At the discretion of the State of Israel, in the event of war or extreme national risk you may be reactivated.’ He paused and stared into Zach’s eyes. ‘That risk now exists and you have been reactivated. Sir, your instructions are all in the letter.’

Zach looked quickly at the envelope and furrowed his brow. ‘What? I’ve been reactivated? No, I can’t fight –’

The man cut him off. ‘Your assistant will meet you at the airport. Elokim Yerachem Eretz Yisrael.’ He saluted and turned to leave.

‘Er, yes,’ Zach replied, confused by why the man should salute him. ‘God bless Israel . . . Wait, wait – I have an assistant?’

‘It’s all in the letter, sir.’

Zach stood with his mouth open, watching the man disappear down the corridor. Why now? he thought, then, oh God, no, as he remembered the short article he’d written years ago for the university newspaper complaining about the restrictions Israel placed on Palestinian scientists. He’d known at the time it was going too far, but hadn’t expected anyone important to read a university publication. Seems he’d been wrong. Mossad, he thought, and pushed his glasses back up his nose. And an assistant . . .

Major Hammerson pushed his chair back and walked towards the large windows. He stood at ease with his hands clasped behind his back and watched Captain Alex Hunter walk across the clipped grass of the parade grounds. Hammerson had just spent an hour with his HAWC team leader, primarily bringing him up to speed on the new Middle Eastern project. His brief to Alex was simple: negate Iran’s ability to organise and deliver a nuclear weapon of mass destruction. He had explained to Alex about the size of the gamma pulse and its unnatural characteristics. It meant the Iranians had either developed an enormous nuclear capability, or something else just as lethal. Either way, America had to act.