we'd left the hangar. “If they realize we’re there, we get into the cabin as quickly as possible, any way we can. The first five seconds will ne critical. Act decisively,” I told the men. “Assume that everyone else will be doing the same. Trust your instincts. You are trained for this.” But more than an hour passed as we waited for the green light to storm the plane. My main concern wasn’t that the hijackers would see us. There seemed little reason to believe one of them would suddenly decide to take a walk in the middle of the night. But sunrise was around five in the morning, and there was no way I could see mounting our assault in broad daylight. If we didn’t get the go-ahead soon, the chance would be lost. I called Talik several times, making the point that if we were going to do it, we needed to use darkness as an ally. The sayeret was a breed of night animals. Other people, even terrorists, would be less alert and effective at night. But he kept saying he needed more time. Finally, an hour before sunrise, he called back. “The big boss is on his way,” he said. I left the others and crept back to meet the Defense Minister, a good eighty yards from the plane. Dayan greeted me with a whispered hello. Ina way, his arrival reminded me of my first operation in the sayeret when, before heading north to the Golan, I'd been summoned to brief Tzvi Tzur, the chief of staff. Tzur had seemed less interested in the details than in confirming that / was confident the mission would work. Dayan, of course, had as much operational knowledge and experience as anyone in Israel. Yet it seemed to me that he, too, wanted to satisfy himself that I honestly felt we were in a position to succeed. Especially, though he never so much as hinted at this, because two of the officers I would be taking in with me, Uzi and Mookie Betzer, were members of his family. “How do you plan to do it?” he asked. I explained how we would get into the plane simultaneously, in four teams, and confront th