Description: 1 Island of Jaros, Aegean Sea January 1968 David Ben-Avi walked along a trail on the rocky, windswept island of Jaros. The barren clump of land was just three miles in length and no more than half a mile wide at its broadest point. It sat in an isolated spot of the Mediterranean, a hundred miles northwest of Crete. Though it was officially uninhabited, Ben-Avi and a dozen others had called it home for nearly two years. With hands shoved in his pockets, Ben-Avi kept his face to the wind, walking briskly. The Mediterranean air had a bite to it in January. Fresh and pure in comparison to the stuffy laboratory and cramped barracks they lived in. The solitude wasn''t bad either . . . while it lasted. "David," a voice called from behind him. "Where are you going?" The words came in English with a distinct French accent. Ben-Avi stopped in his tracks. Mother Hen had found him. He turned to see AndrZ Cheval, rushing after him. Cheval was leader of the French contingent on the island but also acted as overall commander for the entire group. He was always after them about something. Trash in the correct receptacle, no outside lights after sundown, be careful near the cliffs. He was dressed in outdoor gear and carrying a wool peacoat, which he handed to Ben-Avi. "Put this on. It''s freezing out here." Freezing was an exaggeration, but Ben-Avi took the coat without objection, he knew better than to argue. "Where are you going?" Cheval asked. "You know where I''m going," Ben-Avi said. "Out on the bluff, to watch the sunset and think." "I''ll walk with you," Cheval said. "Can''t I go anywhere without a chaperone?" "Of course," Cheval said. "You''re not a prisoner." That was true. Ben-Avi and the others were here as part of a joint Franco-Israeli research project. They had all volunteered, but after so long on the barren island, with only the monthly arrival of a supply ship to break the monotony, it felt like they were marking time and waiting to be paroled. "I have a feeling," Ben-Avi said, "that all who come to Jaros must be prisoners in one sense or another. The Greeks kept captured communist insurgents here after World War Two, the Turks used it five centuries before that and the Romans picked this desolate spot to exile a troublesome daughter of the Emperor Octavian." "Really?" Cheval said. Ben-Avi nodded. At the same time, he wondered how the Frenchman could live on the tiny island so long and not know a thing about it. "At least the Romans put some thought into the place," Ben-Avi said. "All the Greeks did was put up those terrible rock huts we''re living in. The Romans carved the harbor out of solid rock. They set up catchment basins, dug a series of tunnels and underground cisterns to hold the rainwater, even found a way of using limestone to purify it and keep it from becoming stagnant. You should really have a look at them, they''re quite remarkable." Cheval nodded but seemed unimpressed. "It seems Octavian''s daughter commanded a nicer prison than communist rebels." The two men continued walking, though because the path was narrow in places Cheval was half a step behind. "So, what do you think about when you''re out here?" Cheval asked. "Getting back to Israel?" "That and the implications of our work," Ben-Avi said. "Don''t tell me you''re having second thoughts? It''s a little late now. The project is all but finished." Ben-Avi stopped and glanced sideways at the Frenchman. The project, as he called it, was a giant step forward in an entirely new branch of science called genetics. It involved manipulation of cellular codes, tampering with the instructions of living things. The field had been talked about in theoretical terms for years, but like many scientific endeavors-everything from atomic energy to spaceflight-once the military became interested, progress had accelerated dramatically. "We''re changing living things," Ben-Avi said. "Distorting life, creating new life. That''s an awesome responsibility." "Yes," Cheval said. "Some of the others have suggested that we''re tampering with the designs of God. Do you feel this way?" "Which god?" Ben-Avi replied briskly. "Any god," Cheval said. "Yours, mine . . . the universe at large. Take your pick. Is that what you''re worried about? Divine retribution?" Ben-Avi resumed his walk, continuing along the path, angry now. "If God chose this moment to get into the retribution business, I would find that a very funny thing indeed. I would ask Him where He was when the Nazis came to power and Kristallnacht occurred. Ask Him where He was when the fires burned in the camps, incinerating the bodies of murdered Jews, day and night." "So, the Holocaust shook your faith?" "Not just the Holocaust," Ben-Avi said. "The entire war. I was an engineering student before it started. Because of my skills, the German Army dragged me into Russia with them. Whoever the Germans didn''t kill on the way in, the Russians killed on the way out. After that, I was in Berlin when the Allies bombed it to rubble. Buildings shattered to bricks, bricks pounded to dust. Day and night the raids came until the air was black and we choked with every breath. And that was nothing compared to the firebombing of Dresden. It''s a wonder that anyone survived." Ben-Avi focused his attention back on the path, they''d come to the steepest section. When they reached the top, he would be able to see the ocean. "If there is a God, then either He doesn''t care what we do or He''s grown so disgusted with us that He''s given up on His creation. And who could really blame Him?" Cheval nodded. "You are troubled, my friend. If it''s not God you''re worried about, then what?" "I''m concerned with the power we''ve unleashed," Ben-Avi said. "Every invention of man, every discovery ever made, has ultimately been used in war. This will be no different. Mark my words." "Then why continue the work?" Cheval asked, suddenly sharper in his tone. "Why wait until we''ve finally succeeded to question our acts?" Ben-Avi had asked himself that question a hundred times. He had a pat answer waiting. "Because the world is a harsh and unforgiving place and Israel must do what it needs to survive. With or without God''s help." "So, it''s every country for itself," Cheval said. "Is that what you''re telling me?" "It has to be," Ben-Avi said. Ben-Avi was breathing hard as he climbed the last section, too hard to keep pontificating. He made it to the top of the bluff and looked out over a sheltered bay. The sea was calm, the sunset glinting upon it, the long arm of the breakwater protecting the small harbor as it had since the Romans built it. But the harbor was not empty as it should have been. A long, thin, sinister-looking vessel lay at anchor inside the bay, a surfaced submarine. Its bow pointed to the heart of the island like a dagger. Ben-Avi turned around and saw that Cheval was holding a pistol on him. "I''m afraid you''re right," Cheval explained. "It is every nation for itself. If we didn''t act, your government would. And that we cannot allow." The sound of muted gunfire reached them from farther back down the hill. A fight had broken out-not a battle-on war, but a burst here and a burst there. Ben-Avi took a step toward the camp. "Don''t," Cheval warned. The Frenchman''s face was grim as if performing a task he would have rather avoided. "I''m sorry. But if we had not acted, your country would have. The power you''ve unleashed with your genetics can reshape the world we live in more easily than a dozen armies. It''s a weapon already. And it''s a threat to France in particular. We cannot allow it to end up in foreign hands." "No," Ben-Avi said. "It''s a deterrent. No different from your atomic bombs. It would never be used." "I''m afraid my country cannot take that chance," Cheval said. The sound of additional gunfire reached them from the camp. "So, you''re killing us?" Ben-Avi said. "No one was supposed to be hurt," Cheval replied. "Someone must have resisted." Ben-Avi didn''t doubt that. Though he suspected the French commandos might have hoped to encounter resistance. "And what about me?" he asked, his voice filled with disgust for his former friend. "Do I suddenly fall off the edge or are you going to shoot me first and then throw me in?" "Don''t be ridiculous," Cheval said. He nodded toward the submarine. "You''ll be coming with us." 2 French submarine Minerve, approximately twenty-five miles from Toulon Eight days after leaving the island of Jaros, the French submarine Minerve was nearing her home port of Toulon. It was operating forty feet below the surface, running at eight knots and using the diesel engines, which gulped air through a long metal tube known as a snorkel. They''d been running in this configuration almost continuously since leavi

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