Then, from directly behind me, came another sound: the hiss of Avi’s bulky two-way radio. I was worried we’d end up waking the Syrians. But just as I was figuring out how to make sure we got past them before that happened, Avi drew up beside me.
“Ehud,” he whispered. “It’s 1:15. The command post ordered us to turn back.”
“Turn off the radio,” I said, my hand on his elbow, reassuringly I hoped, as I led him and the others back a full 100 feet from the Syrians. We took a wider route around the camp. We moved much more quickly on the final mile to the road that led toward Quneitra. We were now well clear of the camp, and I felt it was unlikely we’d run into a patrol. I was also confident we’d have an easier return trip. I knew what had held us up on the way in: finding a path on the plateau clear of mines, figuring out how to cross the river, and the general unfamiliarity of the terrain. None of those applied now. I felt we could get the bugging job done and still be back before dawn. As we got nearer the road, Avi asked me a couple of more times whether he should turn the radio back on. “No,” I kept telling him. “It’s OK. Pl tell you when.”
It was about two in the morning when we reached the road. We found a telephone pole set back on the edge of a field. Moshiko hoisted himself onto Kuti Sharabi’s shoulders, clambered up the pole and installed the bugging device. The entire operation took him less than 10 minutes. We moved more quickly on the way back. By around 3:30, we had crossed the river. “You can turn on the radio now,” I told Avi, who was obviously relieved. He handed it to me. Using our agreed code words, I reported our location, and added the phrase for “mission accomplished.”
When we began our final descent, it was starting to get light. I assumed we were near enough to the border to make it unlikely we’d be shot at. Still, there was a danger we’d be spotted by a patrol, so I was relieved when we reached the mound of boulders, more than ten feet high, that served as a tank barrier outside Kibbutz Dan. When we stepped behind it, I saw that not only Avraham, but Meir Amit as well, were waiting. The Head of Military Intelligence said nothing. He didn’t have to. He just shook my hand, beaming. Avraham grabbed each of us, one by one, in a bear hug.
Then, drawing me aside, Avraham said that I had only narrowly missed landing in deep trouble. I assumed my transgression was shutting off the radio and disobeying the order to return. That was just part of the problem, however.
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