by C. X. Moreau
The Marines themselves he could see quite plainly, and it was obvious to him that they were well-trained and disciplined soldiers. The battle for the house atop the hill had proven to him that they were capable and able to maximize the situation at hand. They had fought well despite their youth and lack of experience.
He had great respect for them as soldiers, just as he had great respect for their Israeli allies. And yet, he was confident on the day he chose to attack them, all their training, experience, and firepower would count for nothing. He had not wasted his time in idle observation. He knew that the Marines would withstand any attack the Brotherhood or any other militia could mount against them. Just as he had counseled Ahmud not to attack them directly he would not attack them in such a manner. The result would be obvious.
To harass them by sniper fire and the killing of the occasional sentry would not accomplish his objective. Neither would random ambushes of the patrols the Marines ran through the villages adjacent to the airport. They would simply tighten their security and thereby reduce his possibilities to hit at them effectively. He also reasoned that the American government would not be convinced to leave Lebanon unless it was confronted by a really dramatic event.
He was certain that a bomber could reach the compound used by the Marines for their headquarters. Initially, he had planned to attack them at the building he reasoned to be the barracks housing their officers. Not only would this have provided a target offering the maximum number of casualties, the men who would die as a result of the attack would be the sons of middle-class American families. They would not be the lower-class men who served in the ranks and had no family and no real choice as to whether or not to enter the military.
After observing the compound every morning for a week he was able to begin the detailed planning for his attack. He had drawn a small map of the compound in his notebook, carefully recording each building used by the Marines and the various routes that gave access to these structures. At the approximate position of each barrier he drew in an “X,” noting the number of men posted there and any weapons they might routinely have with them. To his consternation he noted that the men manning the key posts all had small antitank rockets. A carefully aimed LAAW would end his attack before it had any chance of success. He therefore resolved to avoid entering the compound through one of its fixed entrance points if at all possible.
To each building he assigned a numeric value between one and five, with the higher number representing the maximum level of difficulty for an attack. He also assigned a second value to each building, this time using the first five characters of the alphabet, and corresponding to the desirability of the structure as a target, with the latter characters denoting the least desirable targets. Using this system a building having a value of 1 -A would be the most desirable target, being rated the lowest defensive posture and the highest desirability as a target. He assigned similar values to all three entrances to the compound, but erased them as he decided the boulevard offered the best means of entrance for the type of attack he planned.
By week’s end he had decided that the four-story structure that served as the headquarters and operations center of the Marine battalion was to be his target. He was reasonably certain that a large number of troops were housed there, and virtually positive that the Marines’ command center was located somewhere in its interior.
He had been puzzled by the constant foot traffic between this building and the two buildings to its immediate north. Both buildings had all the hallmarks of a military headquarters, the constant arrival and departure of officers, antennae arrays, communication gear, troops moving about, and around-the-clock activity. His detailed knowledge of the structure of a U.S. Marine infantry battalion was not sufficient to explain why, or if, the battalion would have two separate command posts. And he was unable to find a logical reason why two such redundant command centers would be placed side by side. As he had no desire to contact Damascus for any reason, and by asking questions about the organization of Marine Corps units he might give away his intended target, he was left to his own devices to solve the mystery.
It did not take him long to hit upon a solution. He became an avid reader of the daily papers and weekly news magazines that had reappeared in the Lebanese capital as soon as the situation began stabilizing. He was particularly interested in acquiring and reading the Christian papers. As the Christians perceived themselves as the natural allies of the French and American forces in the city, their papers wrote constantly of the multinational force. Judging from the articles that he read, their journalists had frequent contact with the military commanders of the multinational force units.
By reading these articles and studying the photos that accompanied them he was able not only to learn the names of the individual men who commanded the various multinational force units, but which buildings they used as their headquarters. In one week he had collected the photographs of the commanders of the American, French, and Italian battalions deployed in Beirut. He had also begun a collection of published photos of these men and their subordinates standing in front of various structures in and around Beirut and the airport. By carefully studying these and comparing them with the facades of the buildings he observed through his binoculars he was able to determine the purpose of most of the buildings in the Marine compound. He considered the possibility that the journalists were being fed false information, but the activity around the buildings in question did much to allay his suspicions.
After he was certain of the purpose of the target buildings he began a careful, close-in surveillance of the Marine compound. To his surprise it was accomplished with much less risk than he had anticipated. He began by taking a taxi to the airport terminal in order to purchase a ticket to Athens. Actually, the destination had been unimportant, he was merely using the purchase as a ruse to enter the terminal area.
He had dressed neatly and brought with him a small briefcase containing documentation that identified him as a resident of one of the Sunni districts of Beirut. After taking a taxi from his residence in another part of the city he left his cab in the busy Hamra district and melted into the throng on the street. He walked his habitual route to determine if he was being followed or surveilled, then stopped in a café where he had never before been and ordered breakfast. A young boy selling newspapers stopped at his table and he caught himself with a smile about to order one of the French-language dailies. Without giving any indication of changing his preference he took one of the Arabic papers, noticing it had a large article and photograph of the Marines on the front page.
After a leisurely breakfast during which he was careful to scan the sidewalks and other diners for anyone who might be following him, or whom he had seen before, he left the café and resumed his walk through the busy shopping district. Following half an hour of brisk walking, he crossed a wide boulevard then reversed himself in the middle of the intersection, as though he had mistakenly gone in the wrong direction. Although he was careful to look he did not notice anyone adjusting to his sudden change of direction in order to maintain surveillance.
Within another few blocks, the time now being almost noon, he hailed a taxi and told the driver to take him to the airport. With a flourish the driver pulled into traffic and began a leisurely drive west toward the wide boulevard that paralleled the coast and ran almost directly to the terminal at the airport. The Syrian feigned only occasional interest as the driver pointed out former tourist attractions or spots where the fighting had been particularly intense.
The driver pulled into the line of cars waiting to be cleared at the checkpoint in front of the airport while the Syrian sat calmly in the rear of the taxi. His demeanor gave no indication of nervousness or apprehension. As he exchanged the occasional comment with the driver he made mental notes of the Marine compound, the northern extremities of which were just to his left. He noted that most of the Marine positions were sandbagged in place, the sentries warily eyeing the passing vehicles.
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p; The entrances to the compound continued to intrigue him. They lacked any heavy barricades, and the soldiers standing in front of them were not supported by armor of any kind. As the driver was waved forward into the inspection area of the checkpoint the Syrian nonchalantly removed his Lebanese passport from his vest pocket and handed it to the young Lebanese soldier who took it politely and stared at him as he sat in the rear seat of the taxi. He was not worried about his documentation, as the passport was an original he had taken from the offices of the Lebanese government some months before with the help of his friends in the PLO.
He suppressed a smile as he noted the young Lebanese was holding the passport upside down. As the boy flipped through the small book he found the page with the Syrian’s photograph and, with an embarrassed look, turned the book right side up in order to examine the photo. The driver had dropped the car into gear and was about to leave as an older man in uniform exited the small guard shack and held up his hand, indicating the car should pull into a small area reserved for more detailed searches.
The Syrian replaced his passport in his pocket and quickly examined his memory for any reason why the guard might detain him. He could think of nothing in his documentation that might alert them other than the fact that it was stolen. He dismissed this as the Lebanese government was in far too much disorder to possibly have disseminated a list of stolen passports to its army. Besides, he reasoned, any such list would contain thousands of numbers, and the sergeant who had waved them over hadn’t even seen his passport.
As the sergeant approached he again withdrew his documents and handed them through the window without saying anything. The sergeant, he noted, spun the passport right side up and thumbed quickly through to the page displaying his photo. He thought of the worst that might happen under the circumstances. If the sergeant questioned him as to why he was going to the airport he could supply a perfectly adequate reason. All of his documentation would support the fact that he was a Lebanese businessman, and that he had legitimate reasons to travel outside of the country.
If his person were searched the situation might become more complicated, but not impossible. The small pistol tucked into his belt would be awkward to explain, but even that was not unusual in Beirut these days. He would simply tell the man that he often carried cash and the pistol was for his own protection. He could feel himself beginning to tense as the man continued to look at his paperwork, glancing at him over the edge of the small passport booklet.
Trying to seem adequately concerned he glanced at the driver, catching his eye in the car’s rearview mirror. The middle-aged man shook his head slightly from side to side, then raising his hand almost imperceptibly so that the Syrian could see it above the seat, he rubbed two fingers against his thumb. The driver then adjusted his hat without ever making an unnatural motion.
The Syrian understood immediately that the man was indicating he should bribe the sergeant. Bribery. It was the pension plan of every policeman and customs official in the Arab world. He had been so thoroughly absorbed by his study of the Marine compound that he had forgotten. The only problem was that now the sergeant had his paperwork and he had no way of gracefully giving the man the money.
He cursed himself under his breath and peeled two large bills from the roll in his pocket. When he had handed the guard his passport lacking any money, he had signaled his sergeant who stepped out of the guardhouse and waved their car over. The sergeant had quickly sized him up, noting the Western style business suit and the small attaché on the seat beside him. The man had given him every opportunity to correct the situation, even now he was standing expectantly by the door of the taxi. He had no desire to search the cab, but neither could the Syrian simply hand him the money in full view of the boy or anyone else who might happen to see. He looked again toward the driver, who understood and reached over the seat and quickly took the two bills.
The driver exited the cab and opened the trunk as the Syrian sat tensely looking straight ahead. It was just such ignorance of small details that resulted in the failure of whole missions. He cursed again. If it hadn’t been for Ahmud he would have had Farouck to attend to details such as this, while he did the planning and coordinated other arrangements.
The driver got heavily into the cab and the car pulled away, the man looking discreetly ahead. The Syrian concluded that the driver must be puzzled as to how he could be so stupid as to not know enough to give the guard something with his passport.
As the cab pulled into the semicircular drive in front of the terminal and stopped the man fairly leapt from the car and opened the rear door before the Syrian could do it for himself. Feeling like a schoolboy he deftly took the man’s hand, careful to place the bill in his palm. Without glancing back he strode past the guards and into the terminal not allowing the man a chance to ask if he should wait for him to return. He fumed for a quarter of an hour at his oversight at the checkpoint before he was able to regain his concentration.
He approached the counter of the Mediterranean Eastern Airlines and spoke with one of the ticketing agents regarding a flight to Athens. As the man juggled the dates and times the Syrian had given him, he decided that he would not purchase a ticket. It had originally been his plan to take a flight to Athens and return in a day or two. By doing so it would facilitate his return to the airport on legitimate business and perhaps give him the opportunity to view the Marine compound from the air.
The events of the morning had convinced him that this precaution was unnecessary. He was certain that he had not been followed. In fact, he was certain that the Lebanese were incapable of fielding a viable police force, and certainly not a competent intelligence service. The Israelis did not appear to be aware of his operation, and since he had not specifically targeted them, and Damascus was unaware of his location or intentions, he had no reason to think he might be known to them. The Americans appeared unconcerned as to most of the activity around them, which left him with the French. He was cautious where the French were concerned, but he believed his cover was intact and that they knew nothing of his operations with the Brotherhood. He had been wise to confine himself to the Shiite sections of the city. The accommodations had not been as comfortable, but he had enjoyed a greater level of security.
For the past months, since returning from Damascus with his general orders outlining how he was to proceed and whom he was to target, he had ignored the biweekly radio contacts with headquarters in Damascus. The radio receiver and transmitter were buried in the garden of one of his rented villas. He smiled at the thought of his superiors in Damascus trying to explain why they could not make radio contact with him nor could they send a messenger to him in Beirut.
He bought another newspaper and took a seat in the small café in a corner of the terminal building. An ancient waiter brought him scalding coffee and shuffled off without speaking. As he read the paper he glanced out the window to the boulevard that led into the terminal drive. To the casual observer he appeared to be no more than a middle-class businessman waiting for the arrival of a flight. Through the window he was able to see that an access road led east from the boulevard and into the hangar and runway area. This was the same road he had observed the Oger Liban construction vehicles using the week before from his perch in the foothills. The entrance to the road was guarded by a couple of Lebanese soldiers who stood by a simple weighted lever gate that had been painted red and white and topped by a stop sign.
Traffic on the boulevard moved past the road after discharging or picking up passengers at the terminal. No one seemed to pay much attention to the terminal area although a few Lebanese soldiers in the khaki uniforms and red berets of the Internal Security Forces stood on the sidewalk in front of the building. As he sipped his coffee a jeep flying the American flag pulled into the drive in front of the terminal and two Marines carrying their M-16 rifles jumped from the rear of the vehicle and entered the lobby. He watched as they crossed the floor and knocked on a gray door at the far end of the terminal. An older
Lebanese opened the door from the inside and the Syrian had a brief glimpse of a tiled stairway that he surmised must lead to the tower. The two Marines entered and disappeared from his sight as the old man drew the door closed.
Not five minutes later two different Marines exited the door and walked across the lobby and got into the waiting jeep. The driver and guard exchanged greetings with them as they jumped into the rear seats and the jeep headed north toward the entrance to the Marine compound. The Syrian reasoned that he had just witnessed some sort of changing of a guard mount. He looked nonchalantly at his watch. The time was ten minutes after two o’clock. From his detailed observation of the Marines the week before he knew they changed guard shifts at eight o’clock, four in the afternoon, and midnight. Why two o’clock for these men in the tower?
He quickly decided that they must be the air traffic controllers for the Marine aircraft that constantly circled the airport. That would explain the odd shift hours. He knew that air traffic controllers often worked short or odd shifts to compensate for the stress of their occupations. He made a mental note to add the tower to his map of the airport as an area that would almost certainly have some sort of guard post.
Returning his gaze to the building that he had judged to be the Marine headquarters, he saw that his memory had indeed been correct. The building was the same four-story structure that he remembered. A broad paved parking lot was between the terminal and the building, which sat squarely in its own yard just east of the boulevard leading to the terminal.
He began to mentally map the details of the approach to the building. By entering the terminal area and taking a left-hand turn onto the access road the driver would be directly south of the headquarters building at a distance of approximately three hundred meters. Another left-hand turn would bring him north across the lot in front of the building. The first obstacle he would encounter would be a thin strand of concertina wire placed across the parking lot.