March 24, 1998, 3 a.m., Jerusalem office.
The lights had been on all night.
Shamir stood at the window, looking at the sleeping ancient city outside. Two thousand years of stone, three thousand years of grudges, all silent at this moment.
But his phone had been ringing nonstop.
The third call from the Minister of Defense.
"Shamir, something's happened on the Lebanon Border."
Shamir didn't turn around.
"I know."
The Minister of Defense's voice was pressed very low. "Men from Hezbollah have crossed the Blue Line, at least two battalions. They're advancing in the direction of Shatura."
Shamir's fingers tapped the window frame.
Shatura.
That was the edge of the buffer zone Squid had established on the Lebanon Border. If Hezbollah took Shatura, they could push their rocket launchers to within less than five kilometers of Squid's Northern towns.
"What does Moses say?"
Moshe Ya'alon, commander of the Northern Military Zone.
