brought any special equipment. Unless we could figure out a way to cross — and quickly — we would be putting the timetable for the whole operation at risk. The only remotely useful tool I could find was two 25-foot lengths of parachute wire. We spliced them together. I took the lead end and waded in. I sunk up to above my chest, but managed to get across. With Avi Telem on the other bank holding his end of the wire, the others used it to help them cross, so they stayed a bit drier. They also kept the intercept equipment dry. Finally, Avi followed. But both he and I were now soaking wet. We were also behind schedule. We had covered less than half of the three-mile route to the telephone pole. Even if we did manage to install the bugging device, the delay meant we might be spotted on our way back to Israel. We were under strict orders to turn back by 1:15 in the morning even if that meant not getting the intercept in place. And it was already past midnight. We began climbing into the heart of the Heights, planning to go around the southern edge of the Syrian base at Banias. The vegetation was sparser but we still ran the risk of making noise from the stones and larger shards of rock as we weaved our way up. Within 10 minutes, I could see the vague outline of the army camp: several large buildings for several hundred Syrian troops, ringed by trenches with security outposts and a barbed-wire fence on the perimeter. For a half-hour or so, we moved forward in a kind of rubber-band formation. I would advance as quietly as I could, listen for signs of Syrian troops, scan the area ahead with my binoculars and wave the others to follow. But as I prepared to move forward again, I suddenly felt a tug on my shoulder. It was Moshiko, and the very fact of his speaking was proof of his alarm. “Ehud,’we’ve got to go faster,” he said. “We won’t get there in time.” I said I understood. But I told him to wait for the others to catch up and stay behind with them as I scouted the way