they
weigh it very carefully-it's expensive stuff."
"So the problem is to get hold of some uranium."
"Right"
"And the solution?"
"Me solution is, you're going to steal it."
Dickstein looked out of the window. The moon came out, revealing a flock of
sheep huddled in a corner of a field, watched by an Arab shepherd with a
staff: a Biblical scene. So this was the game: stolen uranium for the land
of milk and honey. Last time it had been the murder of a terrorist leader
42
TRIPLE
in Damascus; the time before, blackmailing a wealthy Arab in Monte Carlo to
stop him funding the Fedayeen.
Dickstein's feelings had been pushed into the background while Borg talked
about politics and Schulz and nuclear reactors. Now he was reminded that
this involved him; and the fear came back, and with it a memory. After his
father died the family had been desperately poor, and when creditors
called, Nat had been sent to the door to say mummy was out. At the age of
thirteen, he had found it unbearably humiliating, because the creditors
knew he was lying, and he knew they knew, and they would look at him with
a mixture of contempt and pity which pierced him to the quick. He would
never forget that feeling-and it came back, like a reminder from his
unconscious, when somebody like Borg said something like, "Little
Nathaniel, go steal some uranium for your motherland."
To his mother he had always said, "Do I have to?" And now he said to Pierre
Borg, "If we're going to steal it any~-way, why not buy it and simply
refuse to send it back for reprocessing?"
"Because that way, everyone would know what we're up tO.,V
"SO?"
"Reprocessing takes time-many months. During that time two things could
happen: one, the Egyptians would hurry their program; and two, the
Americans would pressure us not to build the bomb."
"Oh!" It was worse. "So you want me to steal this stuff without anyone
knowing that it's us."
"More than that." Borg's voice was harsh and throaty. "Nobody must even
know it's been stolen. It must look as if the stuff has just been lost. I
want the owners, and the international agencies, to be so embarrassed about
the stuff disappearing that they will hush it up. Then, when they discover
they've been robbed, they will be corhpromised by their own cover-up.90
"It's bound to come out eventually."
"Not before we've got our bomb."
They had reached the coast road from Haifa to Tel Aviv, and as the car
butted through the night Oickstein could see, over to the right, occasional
glimpses of the Mediterranean, glinting like jewelry in the moonlight. When
he spoke he was
43
Ken Falloff
surprised at the note of weary resignation in his voice. "How much uranium
do we need?"
"They want twelve bombs. In the yellowcake form-that's the uranium oro--it
would mean about a hundred tons."
"I won't -be able to slip it into my pocket, then." Dickstein frowned.
'Vhat would all that cost if we bought it2"
"Something over one million U.S. dollars."
"And you think the losers will just hush it up?"
"If it's done right"
"Howr
"That's your job, Pirate."
-rm not so sure its possible," Dickstein said.
"It's got to be. I told the Prime Minister we could pun it off. I laidray
career on the line, Nat."
"Don't talk to me about your bleeding career."
Borg Ht another cigar-a nervous reaction to Dickstein's scorn. Dickstein
opened his window an inch to let the smoke out. His sudden hostility bad
nothing to do with Borg's clumsy personal appeal: that was typical of the
man's inability to understand how people felt toward him What had unnerved
Dickstein was a sudden vision of mushroom clouds over Jerusalem and Cairo,
of cotton fields by the Nile and vineyards beside the Sea of Galilee
blighted by fallout, the Middle East wasted by fire, its children deformed
for generation&
He said, "I still think peace is an alternative."
Borg shrugged. "I wouldn't know. I don't get involved in politics."
"Btillshit."
Borg sighed. "Look,
weigh it very carefully-it's expensive stuff."
"So the problem is to get hold of some uranium."
"Right"
"And the solution?"
"Me solution is, you're going to steal it."
Dickstein looked out of the window. The moon came out, revealing a flock of
sheep huddled in a corner of a field, watched by an Arab shepherd with a
staff: a Biblical scene. So this was the game: stolen uranium for the land
of milk and honey. Last time it had been the murder of a terrorist leader
42
TRIPLE
in Damascus; the time before, blackmailing a wealthy Arab in Monte Carlo to
stop him funding the Fedayeen.
Dickstein's feelings had been pushed into the background while Borg talked
about politics and Schulz and nuclear reactors. Now he was reminded that
this involved him; and the fear came back, and with it a memory. After his
father died the family had been desperately poor, and when creditors
called, Nat had been sent to the door to say mummy was out. At the age of
thirteen, he had found it unbearably humiliating, because the creditors
knew he was lying, and he knew they knew, and they would look at him with
a mixture of contempt and pity which pierced him to the quick. He would
never forget that feeling-and it came back, like a reminder from his
unconscious, when somebody like Borg said something like, "Little
Nathaniel, go steal some uranium for your motherland."
To his mother he had always said, "Do I have to?" And now he said to Pierre
Borg, "If we're going to steal it any~-way, why not buy it and simply
refuse to send it back for reprocessing?"
"Because that way, everyone would know what we're up tO.,V
"SO?"
"Reprocessing takes time-many months. During that time two things could
happen: one, the Egyptians would hurry their program; and two, the
Americans would pressure us not to build the bomb."
"Oh!" It was worse. "So you want me to steal this stuff without anyone
knowing that it's us."
"More than that." Borg's voice was harsh and throaty. "Nobody must even
know it's been stolen. It must look as if the stuff has just been lost. I
want the owners, and the international agencies, to be so embarrassed about
the stuff disappearing that they will hush it up. Then, when they discover
they've been robbed, they will be corhpromised by their own cover-up.90
"It's bound to come out eventually."
"Not before we've got our bomb."
They had reached the coast road from Haifa to Tel Aviv, and as the car
butted through the night Oickstein could see, over to the right, occasional
glimpses of the Mediterranean, glinting like jewelry in the moonlight. When
he spoke he was
43
Ken Falloff
surprised at the note of weary resignation in his voice. "How much uranium
do we need?"
"They want twelve bombs. In the yellowcake form-that's the uranium oro--it
would mean about a hundred tons."
"I won't -be able to slip it into my pocket, then." Dickstein frowned.
'Vhat would all that cost if we bought it2"
"Something over one million U.S. dollars."
"And you think the losers will just hush it up?"
"If it's done right"
"Howr
"That's your job, Pirate."
-rm not so sure its possible," Dickstein said.
"It's got to be. I told the Prime Minister we could pun it off. I laidray
career on the line, Nat."
"Don't talk to me about your bleeding career."
Borg Ht another cigar-a nervous reaction to Dickstein's scorn. Dickstein
opened his window an inch to let the smoke out. His sudden hostility bad
nothing to do with Borg's clumsy personal appeal: that was typical of the
man's inability to understand how people felt toward him What had unnerved
Dickstein was a sudden vision of mushroom clouds over Jerusalem and Cairo,
of cotton fields by the Nile and vineyards beside the Sea of Galilee
blighted by fallout, the Middle East wasted by fire, its children deformed
for generation&
He said, "I still think peace is an alternative."
Borg shrugged. "I wouldn't know. I don't get involved in politics."
"Btillshit."
Borg sighed. "Look,
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