"General, Colonel," he said, "From today, the water of Lake Tiberias is neither Israel's nor Syria's. It's everyone's."
That night, Jerusalem, Prime Minister's office.
Shamir looked at the text of the agreement that had just been faxed back from the Golan Heights, glancing at it for a long time.
Fifty million cubic meters. Three years. International observers. Mexican technicians.
He put the agreement down. Moses stood in front of him.
"Prime Minister, there are some within the Cabinet opposed. They say letting Mexicans manage the water access point is handing our lifeline over to outsiders."
Shamir raised his head. "Outsiders? Who are insiders? Americans? Americans come and go. Europeans? Europeans only speak sweet words. Russians? Russians stand on Syria's side. Who else is willing to come to the Golan Heights, under the Syrian artillery, and help us guard that water access point?"
Moses remained silent.
