“Just forget the whole thing, that’s all you have to do. You have never heard of Professor Klein and to your knowledge he did not enter the country. That is what you will say no matter who asks you.”

Who indeed? What was all the excitement about?

“I really don’t want to see them,” Arnie said. He stood by the high window looking out at the park next to the university. The oak trees were beginning to change color already; fall came early to Denmark. Still, there was an excitement to the scene with the gold leaves and dark trunks against the pale northern sky. Small puffs of white clouds moved with stately grace over the red-tiled roofs of the city; students hurried along the paths to classes.

“It would make things easier for everyone if you would,” Ove Rasmussen said. He sat behind his big professor’s desk in his book-lined professor’s office, his framed degrees and awards like heraldic flags on the wall behind him. Now he leaned back in his deep leather chair, turned sideways to watch his friend by the window.

“Is it that important?” Arnie asked, turning about, hands jammed deep into the pockets of the white laboratory coat. There were smears of grease on the sleeve and a brown-rimmed hole in the cuff where a soldering iron had burned through.

“I’m afraid it is. Your Israeli associates are very anxious to find out what happened to you. I understand they traced your movements through a cab driver. They have discovered that you flew by SAS to Belfast—but that you never arrived there. Since the only stopover was here in Copenhagen it was rather hard to conceal your whereabouts. Though I hear that the airport people did give them a very hard time for a while.”

“That Lieutenant Jorgensen must have earned his salary.”

“He did indeed. He was so bullheaded that there was almost an international incident before the Minister of State admitted that you were here. Now they insist upon talking to you.”

“Why? I am a free man. I can go where I please.”

“Tell them that. Dark hints about kidnapping have been dropped…”

“What! Do they think that the Danes are Arabs or something like that?”

Ove laughed and twisted about in his chair as Arnie stamped over and stood before the desk.

“No, nothing like that,” he said. “They know—unofficially of course—that you came here voluntarily and that you are unharmed. But they are very curious as to why you have come here, and they are not going to go away until they have some answers. There is an official commission right now in the Royal Hotel. They say they will make a statement to the press if they don’t see you.”

“I do not want that to happen,” Arnie said, worried now.

“None of us does. Which is why they want you to meet the Israelis and tell them that you are doing fine and they can take the next flight out. You don’t have to tell them any more than that.”

“I do not want to tell them any more than that. Who have they sent?”

“Four people, but I think three of them are just yes men. I was with them most of the morning, and the only one who really mattered was a General Gev…”

“Good God! Not him.”

“You know him?”

“Entirely too well. And he knows me. I would rather talk to anyone else.”

“I’m afraid you’re not getting that chance. Gev is outside right now waiting to see you. If he doesn’t talk to you he says he is going straight to the press.”

“You can believe him. He learned his fighting in the desert. The best defense is a good offense. You had better show him in here and get it over with. But don’t leave me alone with him for more than fifteen minutes. Any more than that and you may find that he has talked me into going back with him.”

“I doubt that.” Ove stood and pointed to his chair. “Sit here and keep the desk between you. It gives one a feeling of power. Then he’ll have to sit on my student-chair there, which is hard as flint.”

“If it were a cactus he would not mind,” Arnie said, depressed. “You do not know him the way I do.”

There was silence after the door closed. An occasional shout from the students outside penetrated the double glass window, but only faintly. Inside the room the ticking of the tall Bornholm clock could be clearly heard. Arnie stared, unseeing, at. his folded hands on the desk before him and wondered what to do about Gev. He had to tell him as little as possible.

“It’s a long distance to Tel-Aviv,” a voice said in guttural Hebrew and Arnie looked up, blinking, to see that Gev was already inside the room and had closed the door behind him. He was in civilian clothes but wore them, straight-backed, like a uniform. His face was tanned, lined, dark as walnut: the long scar that cut down his cheek from his forehead pulled the corner of his mouth into a perpetual half-grin.

“Come in, Avri, come in. Sit down.”

Gev ignored the invitation, stamping across the room, on parade, to stand over Arnie, scowling down at him as though he had been inspected and found wanting.

“I’ve come to take you home, Arnie. You are one of our leading scientists and your country needs you.”

There was no vacillation, no appeal to Arnie’s emotions, to his friends or relations. General Gev had issued an order, in the same voice that had commanded the tanks, the jets, the soldiers into combat. He was to be obeyed. Arnie almost rose from his chair and followed him out, so positive was the command. Yet he only stirred uncomfortably in the chair. His decision had been made and nothing could be done about it.

“I am sorry, Avri. I am here and I am going to stay here.”

Gev stood, glowering down on him, his arms at his sides but his fingers curved, as though ready to reach out and grasp and pull Arnie bodily to his feet. Then, in instant decision, he turned and sat down in the waiting chair and crossed his legs. His frontal assault had been repulsed; he turned the flank and prepared to attack in a more vulnerable area. Never taking his eyes from Arnie he took a vulgarly large gold cigarette case from his pocket and snapped it open. The flag of the United Arab Republic was set into the case in enamel, the two green stars picked out with emeralds. A bullet hole punched neatly through the case.

“There was an explosion in your laboratory,” Gev said. “We were concerned. At first we thought you were dead, then injured—then kidnapped. Your friends have been very concerned…”

“I did not mean them to be.”

“…and not only your friends, your government. You are an Israeli, and the work you do is for Israel. A file is missing. Your work has been stolen from your country.”

Gev lighted a cigarette and drew deeply on it, cupping the burning end in his hand, automatically, the way a soldier does. His eyes never left Arnie’s face and his own face was as expressionless as a mask, with only those accusing eyes peering through. Arnie opened his hands wide in a futile gesture, then clasped them before him once again.

“The work has not been stolen. It is my work and I took it with me when I left. When I left voluntarily, to come here. I am sorry that you… think ill of me. But I did what I had to do.”

“What was this work?” The question was cold and sharp, and cut deep.

“It was… my work.” Arnie felt outmaneuvered, outfought, and could only retreat into silence.

“Come now, Arnie. That’s not quite good enough. You are a physicist and your work has to do with physics. You had no explosives, yet you managed to blow up some thousands of pounds worth of equipment. What have you invented?”

The silence lengthened, and Arnie could only stare miserably at his clenched hands, his knuckles whitening with the pressure. Gev’s words pulled at him, relentlessly.

“What is this silence? You can’t be afraid? You have nothing to fear from Eretz Israel, your homeland. Your friends, your work, your very life is there. You buried your wife there. Tell us what is wrong and we will help you. Come to us and we will aid you.”