“Tell Motta we know about it,” I said. “We’ve planned for it. It’s not a

“Tell Motta we know about it,” I said. “We’ve planned for it. It’s not a problem.” I figured there were at most four or five Lebanese soldiers manning the checkpoint. The last thing they’d want to do is get involved in a firefight between us and the Syrians. But Motta’s reply was unequivocal. The mission was off. When we’d climbed through a bramble-filled ravine back into Israel, I left a message for Motta. I found it hard to disguise my frustration, and my anger, at being ordered to abort the attack, especially after my assurances that the Lebanese roadblock was not a problem. Yet when we got back to the sayeret base, I realized there was more to his veto than I’d thought. He and Dado had received intelligence saying the Syrians were likely to make a series of further inspection tours of the border area, so this would not be our last chance. The next day, we received word they’d be touring the western part of the border on June 13. On the Lebanese side, it was known as Ras Naqoura, on ours as Rosh Hanirkra, where the Mediterranean coastline rose dramatically to a ridge and, once into Israel, sloped steeply down again toward Haifa. I took in two main assault teams, one led by Mookie, the other by Uzi Dayan. We hid in a tangle of bushes about halfway along the road which climbed up toward the border ridge. I stationed Bibi and his team at the bottom of the road, equipped with Uzis and rocket-propelled grenade launchers. We waited, knowing that we’d be able to see the convoy as it twisted its way up toward us. Again, I had no direct link to Motta. Yet both he and Dado were following the mission from a command post in northern Israel. We were in nearly real-time contact through a sayeret officer, named Amit Ben-Horn, right across the border. A first vehicle appeared at around 10:30 in the morning. Bibi radioed us. It was a Lebanese army armored car with a single machine-gun. It drove past and halted 150 feet on, at the point where the road began to climb. The two guys inside took out a small table and a couple of chairs and began brewing up coffee on the side of the road. “All OK,” I said when I radioed Amit to tell him. “Pre- deployment.” The convoy arrived two hours later and began to climb. “We’re taking it,” I radioed Amit. “Wait,” he replied. And as I kept pressing him for the final go-ahead, another 30 seconds passed. “Not approved,” he finally barked back at me, clearly wanting to make sure I got the message. 129 HOUSE_OVERSIGHT_011600