Forty-Eight X Read Online Free

a fig leaf and a sword piercing an olive branch. On his sleeve he wore the symbol of the Golani Brigade, a green olive tree on a yellow background. This was the same unit in which Joshua had served, and seeing it always brought back memories of a sense of pride—and loss. As a young soldier he still remembered his indoctrination lectures.
    “Green,” his sergeant had explained, “symbolizes the green hills of Galilee, where our brigade first served when the nation was created. The olive tree is known for its strong roots, roots that penetrate deep and hold firm to the land. It represents how Golani will always hold firm to protect and keep this land. And the yellow background represents how far we have come. Golani took Eilat.”
    The Golani brigade was instrumental in capturing Israel’s southernmost city, Eilat, in 1948. They were also the special forces troops responsible for the rescue of 260 hostages in the Entebbe operation in 1976. They had an unequaled reputation among the Israeli public for esprit de corps and heroism.
    “Colonel—” the general began, nodding a welcome to Krantz.
    Joshua Krantz was quick to interrupt. “Dr. Krantz, please. I’m no longer a soldier.” He was not about to let any cameraderie he was feeling usurp his control of the moment.
    Aluf Daniel “Danny” Echod, vice-commander of Aman, was not upset at being interrupted. While he was a general, he was also an Israeli and a Jew. He was used to a life of insubordination. Privates in the Israeli army had opinions and let them be known. An American general would be court-martialing soldiers right and left for what Danny Echod tolerated on a daily basis. Danny was nearly a decade younger than Krantz but came from the same mold—independent, determined, always ready with “no” as a first response, but then just as ready to accomplish the impossible.
    “Doctor, do not think that your demands are met because you are so mighty. We would not have consented to your lady being here if we did not believe she could be of help in this mission we have for you.”
    “I have no interest in military missions.”
    “We have not called you here to be a soldier—but an archaeologist. You are, it seems, the most scholarly person we have in the field of military archaeology. And”—General Echod smiled toward Fala—“this is something in which I am told you, too, are expert. We want to also hire you.”
    “You want to hire us… both?” Fala responded, somewhat surprised. She was just imagining the string of curses her family would conjure if they knew she’d been offered a job by Israeli military intelligence.
    “Sir, you can’t afford me,” Krantz responded immediately and firmly.
    “Ah, your services are priceless? We are the government. We have plenty of money.”
    “My time is priceless. For my entire life I did what others would have me do. Now, I do only what I want.”
    “Five thousand shekels per day. That is quite more than your usual rate.”
    “As I said, my time is priceless.”
    “So, you want to bargain?” The general smiled toward Fala. “Six thousand.”
    Krantz stood up and walked to the window. It was dusk, and traffic in Tel Aviv was thickening as jobs ended and people headed home. Soon it would slow to the kind of crawl experienced during rush hour in large American cities. He remembered this land in his youth, when the roads were filled with dust and donkey carts, when it was less green but also less paved over with concrete. The skies over Israel were once ethereal blue. Now even the Holy Land had smog.
    “This day is done, General. How much is my time worth, you ask? Is there a price you can pay to give me back my today and my yesterday?”
    “Please. Sit.” The general gestured toward a chair.
    Colonel Krantz instead took Fala by the hand, raised her from her seat, and turned toward the door.
    “I have no desire to sit. I have no desire to listen. I just want to go.”
    “I know you. The hero of the