The Sword of Moses by Dominic Selwood

the most satisfaction in solo physical activities—cross-country running, skiing, diving. Ultimately, anything where he only had to rely on himself. The work of the
Metsada
section allowed him a lot of leeway to be his own man. He liked that. They gave him jobs. He had to deliver. How he did it was up to him.
    Of course, he did not agree with everything. And he had no appetite for the politics, which he was happy to leave to men like Moshe. But the cold act of killing did not bother him. He had long found that people were hypocritical on the subject. Hundreds of thousands of men and women had killed in wartime, including many world leaders. As he saw it, Israel was at war, and he was a soldier. What he did was always sanctioned by the president. What more justification could there be?
    Now, after a string of successful operations, he could not think of anything else he was better qualified to do.
    “I’m putting you on a flight to Astana in Kazakhstan.” Moshe interrupted his thoughts. “There’s an African militia holed up there, playing a dangerous game with the Americans and British. I need you to go and make an assessment of how to gain possession of an asset they’re holding, then physically take it from them. You’re required to bring the asset back here.”
    Moshe looked at him sternly. “Usual rules apply. If you’re caught, you’re on your own. If you’re not, you will inflict on anything or anyone whatever level of damage you feel is necessary to get the job done. Clear?”
    Uri nodded.
    Moshe paused. “Exactly how religious are you, Uri?” The old man looked at him sharply over the top of the folder.
    Uri was unprepared for the question. He dealt with those sorts of inquiries every year in his annual performance appraisal, when the Institute tried to gain an insight into whether he was still a reliable member of the silent army. But he had not been expecting this sort of question today. It took him a second to get his thoughts together.
    “Never mind,” the older man continued. “Religion is for the young and the old. Not you.”
    “Sir?” Uri raised an eyebrow.
    “Shut up and listen.” Moshe closed the folder on his desk and leaned back in his chair. “How well do you know the old stories? Moses, the Exodus, wandering in the desert? Do they still teach it all properly in school?” Moshe peered at him closely. “What do you know of the Ark of the Covenant?”
    “
The
Ark of the Covenant?” Uri asked quietly. “That’s what we’re talking about here?” He was sitting still and paying attention now. This just got interesting.
    “The old rabbis say it went missing when the First Temple was destroyed.” Moshe paused, drumming his fingers on the table. “But they also say that back in the dawn of time, Solomon and the Queen of Sheba were lovers.”
    Uri had not heard that before. “King Solomon, as in David’s son, the builder of the Temple?”
    “Read the prophets, Uri. The book of Kings says King Solomon had seven hundred wives and three hundred concubines. We can safely conclude that the pleasures of the bed were not unknown to him.”
    Moshe took his glasses off and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his large hands. “The story goes that the illegitimate son of Solomon and Sheba took the Ark with him to Ethiopia.”
    Uri was listening carefully now.
    “The Ethiopians have always maintained they have the real Ark,” he paused. “And maybe they’re right. Have you ever wondered about Beta Israel?”
    Uri nodded. “The Jews from Africa.”
    “Ethiopia, Uri,” Moshe scowled. “Details matter.” He flicked the corner of the brown folder with his thumb. “They have full rights of
aliyah
under the Right of Return. They’re as Jewish as you or me. We even sent the military in to airlift them here in ’84, ’85, and ’91.”
    “Aren’t they supposed to be the lost tribe of Dan?” Uri asked.
    The veteran gazed into the middle distance before turning back to Uri. “It’s