Free By the Rivers of Babylon by Nelson DeMille

want to go back into the military, anyway. He just wanted to fly. Eventually, he landed a job flying El Al DC-4 cargo planes.
    In the U.S. Air Force, he had logged thousands of hours of heavy jet flying. He had also been checked out on the American FB-111 supersonic bomber and thus was one of the few men in Israel who knew how to fly big planes at supersonic speeds. When El Al bought the Concordes, Becker went to Toulouse for training. Now he was going to fly the single most important
flight in his career, and he meant to make certain that it went well.
    Becker glanced into the Dispatch Room as the door from the corridor swung open. He could see Generals Talman and Laskov enter. They spoke with the personnel for a few minutes, then came through the connecting door.
    Everyone in the Operations Room, all reserve officers in the Hel Avir, stood.
    Talman and Laskov smiled and motioned for everyone to be seated. Talman spoke. “Good afternoon. Well, we have just come from a security meeting and I want to tell you all that everything looks fine. But for added security, we are going to advance your takeoff time to three-thirty. In addition, you are not flying over the Med to Madrid, but instead you will go up the Italian boot and head for Orly to refuel. We have permission to fly supersonic over Italy and France. Everything, including new flight plans, maps, and weather charts, is taken care of. No one will deplane at Orly. Same procedure as the Madrid plan.” He looked at each man. “Gentlemen,” he paused, looking for the right words as he stroked his clipped mustache, then said only, “have a good flight.
Shalom.
” He turned and walked back to the Dispatch Room.
    Teddy Laskov sat on the table. “All right. We have a minute for a last bit of coordinating
.
I’ll monitor you on Air Traffic Control and on the company frequency the whole time I’m with you. But if we want to speak to each other, we must do so on my tactical frequency, channel 31. That is your 134.725. If, for some reason, I believe that the frequency is no longer secure—of if you do—say the words, ‘My number three fuel tank indicator has become inop,’ and we will all meet on the alternate tactical which will be channel 27, your 129.475. Clear? All right. I’ll stay with you until you get to 19,000 meters and Mach 2.2. Maybe I’ll hang around if my fuel is good. You’ll be all right after that. Are there any questions?”
    Avidar stood up. “Let me lay it on the line, General. Who’s got tactical control of this flight? I mean, I’m the flight leader of these two Concordes and you’re in charge of your people and you outrank me in the Hel Avir—but this is a civilian flight. Let’s say we’re attacked. Let’s say I want to take evasive action, but you want us to hold a steady course so you know where we are. Who’s the boss?”
    Laskov regarded Avidar for a long time. Whatever else people thought of the young pilot, at least he didn’t waste time beating around the bush. Also, he had no qualms about verbalizing the unthinkable. Laskov nodded. “All right. Fair question, Asher. Let me repeat what you’ve already been told. We foresee no trouble. But if . . . if we are attacked, you will follow the rules for heavy bomber missions. Since Israel has no heavy bombers, let me acquaint you with those rules. They are simple. The first rule is you hold course until you get instructions from the fighter escort leader—me—to take individual evasive action or for everyone to change course, speed, or altitude. For rule number two, see rule number one. Does that answer your question?”
    “No.” He sat down and looked away.
    Laskov tried a conciliatory tone. “Look, Asher, flying escort is always a pain in the ass for everyone. We don’t have these long-range escort situations in Israel, so it’s new to you—but in a war I was in a thousand years ago, it was proved time and again that the sheep have to stay with the flock and listen to the