any other pursuing vehicle would be in no shape to follow for very long. But we still had to avoid trouble on our way back out. I knew it would be a risk to go back to the Coral Beach, so we took the shortest route to the sea, straight out to the Corniche, the city’s main avenue along the Mediterranean. As we got closer, we could hear gunfire. Obviously, the police, and the Palestinian militias, realized something was not right. The advantage we had was that they would have no idea what had happened on Rue Verdun, who we were, or where we were going. No sooner had we joined the Corniche than I saw another police Land Rover about 200 yards ahead of us. This one had a spotlight on the roof, panning both sides of the road. I told the driver to slow down. About 100 yards or so later, reaching the place where we’d arranged for the SEALs to meet us, he and the other station wagon pulled over to the side of the road. The Land Rover kept driving. We slid down a steep embankment nearly 30 feet to the sea. Two of the three assault teams had bags full of documents as well. We swam out to the dinghies. When we had hoisted ourselves in, we headed out at first by paddle, then under engine power, to the missile boat. The whole operation had taken about a half an hour, only 10 minutes on Rue Verdun. I radioed Manno on the way to the missile boat. A half-dozen words: the agreed code phrase for “mission accomplished, targets achieved.” I could hear relief in his voice when he replied. At first, | assumed that was because they hadn’t heard from us during the operation. Our radio link to the missile boat had gone down when we entered the built-up area around the apartment blocks. Genuinely, despite Manno’s suspicion that I’d cut the connection. Yet he had other reasons to exhale when he heard we had got out safely. Amnon’s team had had a much tougher time. They met resistance from the moment they arrived at the DFLP building. Two of his men were killed, another wounded. They set off