by C. X. Moreau
“I see,” said the Syrian. “Perhaps you could be of assistance to me in this area. That is, if it isn’t asking too much of you.”
Mohammed shook his head and continued, “I am an old man. Soon I will be eligible for my pension. Life seems quite different from the perspective of old age. I would prefer to live to play with my grandchildren.” He sighed and looked at the Syrian, then added, “I no longer have the energy or the inclination to hate my enemies. Perhaps it is my age, or just a lack of a certain indefinable passion for one’s work. I am no longer as certain of things as I once was in my youth.” Mohammed cast another furtive glance at the Syrian then continued, “You are a very good officer. Perhaps the best I have seen. Certainly the best that is currently in the field for us. It would be a shame for you to end your career so soon.”
The Syrian was puzzled. Obviously the old man knew more than he was saying, and more than the Syrian had initially thought. The problem now was to extract the information in such a way as to not frighten him into silence. “Perhaps, my friend, you could help me to ensure that my career is not unexpectedly interrupted.”
For a few minutes the two continued in silence. They walked together down the street dodging groups of men in their expensive foreign clothing and Western-style shoes. Without looking at the Syrian, Mohammed began, “You should be aware that the size of your request has created, speculation, shall we say, as to the nature of your next target?” The Syrian cocked an eyebrow as the old man continued, “This speculation has at times been somewhat less than friendly in its nature. It has not fallen on deaf ears at certain higher levels than you and I might normally be privileged to have access to. I believe you understand my meaning?”
The Syrian nodded. “Certainly,” he said. “And am I to believe that this might create a problem in one or more aspects of the operation I have planned?”
“I wouldn’t know any details. But certainly a man such as yourself, with the background and experience you have, would have an idea of the type of problems this might cause.” Mohammed paused. “The possibilities, it would seem, are limitless given the current conditions in your area of operations. We have many enemies, and their vigilance is unwavering. You, too, should remain vigilant. It is the prudent course.”
The Syrian nodded his head indicating that he understood. As he slowed his pace he turned toward a small souk where a number of taxi drivers waited for the young men who would exit the club district after a night of entertaining themselves. “I believe we will be able to find taxis for ourselves nearby,” he said. As he walked the older man to a waiting taxi he kissed him on both cheeks in the Gallic manner and said, “Thank you, you have been very kind.”
Mohammed shrugged and said, “It is as nothing, I am afraid. You have served well. Better than those who would not have you serve longer. I should be careful if I were you.” As he entered the taxi Mohammed handed the Syrian a slip of paper and added, “The things you have asked for are located at that address. Others, who may not wish you to be successful, know of its location and are watching for you to retrieve it. An identical shipment is located at the address on the reverse side, and if you act quickly no one will know of its existence. I hope that you will need only one of the shipments to complete your mission. Good luck, my friend.”
The Syrian stood impassively as the taxi pulled away from the curb with Mohammed inside. It was now quite obvious to him that his request for the extraordinary amount of explosives had attracted unwelcome attention. If Mohammed could be trusted, and the Syrian had no reason not to trust him, then his mission might indeed be in jeopardy. The problem now would be to get the bales of explosive safely from Damascus to his staging area in Beirut. Once in Beirut he was confident that he could move it to another area and construct the device that he would use against the Americans. The key would be to act quickly, Mohammed had made that plain enough.
CHAPTER
25
The Syrian had spent the early morning refining his mental image of the plan. Despite the warning given to him the previous evening by Mohammed he was determined to go ahead. He reasoned that his plan was sound, if anything it was so ambitious that no one would believe him even if he were to reveal the details of it.
He had decided, after much thought and his reconnaissance of the Marine compound, to load a large truck painted with the color scheme of the Oger Liban construction vehicles with bales of plastic explosive. The charges, each weighing some 250 kilos, would be individually wired with its own detonator. The detonators would be cylinders of explosive gas under maximum compression. By utilizing this scheme he reasoned that he could effect a virtual simultaneous detonation of the numerous individual bales of explosive, thereby taking full advantage of their destructive potential. His scheme called for the truck to arrive at the airport construction site early on a Sunday morning, a time when he knew the Marines to be least vigilant. As a further means of camouflaging the purpose of the truck he would cover the gas cylinders and bales of explosive with a layer of dirt. The truck would appear as no more than a delivery of fill dirt being brought into the construction site.
Although he had never before detonated such a large charge he could find no reason why it might not succeed. His real concern was the amount of explosive necessary to bring down the entire building used by the Marines as their headquarters. He had determined the amount to be used by extrapolating the amount used for the bombing of the American Embassy. After recalling his failure to destroy the entire embassy building, he had added another six bales of explosives as a safety measure.
He had decided to spend his day acquiring transport for the explosives to Beirut. After a light lunch he returned to his room and dressed in his uniform, smiling as he fastened the shoulder boards of a lieutenant colonel onto his uniform jacket. He also carefully pinned on the insignia that marked him as a member of one of the elite commando battalions of the Syrian Army. He was confident that with his rank, his commando insignia, and a little judicious bluffing he would acquire the necessary vehicles and personnel to transport his explosives without a great deal of inquiry.
By late afternoon the city was oppressively hot and most of its inhabitants were relaxing in the cool interiors of their homes or shops. Very little traffic crowded the normally busy street in front of the district headquarters of the army transportation corps. The Syrian walked toward the front gate and approached the sentry with a meaningful stride. The man stood to attention outside the small guard booth as the Syrian touched the brim of his uniform cap in salute. He paused briefly in front of the open door of the guardhouse and glared at the sergeant inside. The man was fast asleep, his feet propped on the small desk in front of an even smaller electric fan that buzzed noisily. Without waiting for the man to awaken he stepped inside the walled courtyard of the building and proceeded toward the front door.
He instantly decided he had been wise to change into his uniform. All soldiers respect rank, and that would serve him well with any luck. He approached the front desk in the lobby where three enlisted men sat behind a low wooden table. Returning their salutes he asked for the commanding officer. The senior sergeant present stiffened and asked if he could assist the Syrian. The Syrian froze his face in a mask of indignation and repeated his question. The sergeant held his gaze briefly then indicated a hallway leading off to the Syrian’s left. He then asked if the Syrian would wait while he telephoned the office of his commanding officer. While the sergeant dialed the number the Syrian strode off in the direction indicated by the sergeant.
By the time he reached the office of the commander, whom he noted was a full colonel, a second sergeant stood in front of the door leading to the commander’s office. The Syrian locked his gaze on the man and asked sarcastically, “Sergeant, do you know how to greet a senior officer?”
“Yes, Excellency,” said the sergeant as he locked his body in a position of rigid attention. As the Syrian started to move past the man he saw the sergeant’s eyes shift warily to the doorway a
nd the man hesitatingly move toward it. He looked again at the sergeant and raised an eyebrow. Obviously the man had been told to prevent him from barging in on the commanding officer. The Syrian glanced into the small anteroom before him and noted that it was empty. Only a small desk with a telephone and typewriter was in the room.
In the same instant that he began to move past the sergeant and walk into the office of the commander the Syrian understood why the man had risked challenging a senior officer. He nodded at the sergeant with the slightest hint of a knowing smile and said, “Very well, Sergeant.” The man nodded in return and a look of relief spread over his face. The Syrian stepped quietly into the small anteroom and studied the equipment on the desk momentarily. He pressed the button on the intercom system and immediately the room was filled with the sounds of lovemaking from the interior of the colonel’s office.
The Syrian held the button down and listened as he again looked at the sergeant. The man stood impassively near the outer door. He released the button and approached the sergeant. “Sergeant, you will remove yourself to the nearest guard post. Am I understood?”
“Yes, sir. Sir, if I may …”
“I am aware that this is your post, and I am sure that your commander appreciates your discretion. However, I am a senior officer and I have just given you an order. Do you need to be further instructed?”
“No, Excellency. It is just that …”
“Sergeant, I have given you an order. Are you questioning my authority?”
“No, Excellency.”
“Then go. I will explain to your commanding officer.”
The Syrian watched as the sergeant walked down the hallway and waited at a discreet distance. He glanced around the small office, noting the stacks of paperwork and the bulging file cabinets. The Syrian knew that any man who daily worked in such an office was more a bureaucrat than a soldier. That would make his task easier, he reasoned.
The colonel’s office door opened and a young woman stepped into the foyer, straightening her hair and smoothing her skirt. The Syrian ignored her as she walked past. He walked directly into the colonel’s office. As he closed the door behind him he glared at the colonel who attempted to act as though nothing had happened.
“Who are you?” demanded the colonel. “And what is the meaning of this intrusion into my office?”
The Syrian hesitated only briefly before throwing his commando identification card onto the man’s desk followed by the set of orders he had created the night before. As he glared at the colonel, the man picked up his identification and studied the photograph of the Syrian. “The telephone number of the authorizing unit is on the last page of my orders, Colonel. Since I have been delayed somewhat by your activities this morning, I suggest you be prompt in securing whatever authorization you think is necessary before detailing the men and equipment specified by my orders. I do not have unlimited patience.”
“How dare you address a superior in such a manner! Who is your commanding officer?” demanded the colonel.
The Syrian leaned across the colonel’s desk, placing both palms on the man’s papers and said in a menacing tone, “If you really want to know, Colonel, I suggest you telephone the number on my orders and ask to speak with Colonel Hasni. He will be more than happy to explain to you the necessity of my battalion borrowing one of your trucks for a few days. While you have him on the line, you might also explain why you have delayed one of his officers who has been sent to you to accomplish what would appear to be a task easily handled by a junior sergeant. Perhaps while you are dialing the number you can think about these things, and with any luck the colonel won’t be too busy to take your call. I am sure he thinks highly of our comrades in the transportation corps.”
He straightened up and backed away from the man, opening his palm and slowly indicating the telephone with his left hand. When the colonel made no move to pick the instrument up the Syrian added, “A judicious decision on your part, Colonel. After all, you have many trucks in your command, but only one career to think of. Am I right?”
The colonel said nothing but angrily picked up the orders and began flipping through them. The Syrian nodded as the man initialed in the proper spaces and signed his name to the last page, tearing away and keeping the correct copies for himself. As he finished, the Syrian said, “Good. Now there is one further matter. I will require your discretion regarding my request for one of your vehicles. You will personally see to it that the men and vehicles are available promptly and that they are competent. No one is to know of my request,” said the Syrian with obvious contempt on his face.
“Take whatever you need, Lieutenant Colonel. Then get out of my command. Don’t think that every man in the Syrian Army lives in fear of the almighty commando battalions.”
The Syrian smiled and said, “That is precisely what I intend to do. And let me assure you of one thing, my amorous little Colonel. If you so much as think about denying me the men or equipment I have requested for this mission, I can assure you that Colonel Hasni will be the least of your worries. Am I understood?”
The Syrian watched as the man slowly nodded. He didn’t want to push him too far. For his plan to succeed, it would be necessary for this colonel to grant his request with as few delays as possible. While the authority to take the men and vehicle would be granted, if it were too slow in coming it might create problems. Problems he wished to avoid.
He checked the paperwork one last time to see that there were no errors that might prohibit the issuing of the men or equipment. Satisfied that everything was indeed in good order, he smiled at the colonel who sat behind his desk and said, “Very good, my Colonel. You have served the army well today.” The Syrian spun on one heel and left the room, careful to close the door behind him.
He noticed the absence of the secretary in the small anteroom and passed quickly through to the corridor, noting the sergeant had returned to his post. He nodded and strode off down the corridor without further speaking to the man. As he gained the outer courtyard, he noted that the sergeant was still asleep in the guard post by the gate. He casually saluted the other guard, stepped through the gate, and flagged a taxi, confident that his plan would go forward.
CHAPTER
26
He stood on the elevated walkway and surveyed the bundles of explosives. On each wooden packing sled a set of four crates filled with plastic explosive had been placed around a cylinder of compressed gas. Each cylinder was fitted with an internal detonator that could be electrically fired by a single switch.
Later today the technicians from Damascus would load the pallets of explosives and their detonators into the trailer using one of the small forklifts left in the abandoned warehouse by its previous owners. Once the trailer was loaded with its deadly cargo he would have it moved into the large dock area just outside the warehouse. There he planned on covering the explosives with a layer of earth, filling the trailer just enough so that the detonators remained exposed, enabling him to complete the wiring. He would do this under the cover of darkness lest the Americans and their satellites detected him during the operation.
After the cylinders had all been wired and the circuits checked he would cover everything with a few inches of soil. Although an observant sentry would question why earth was being hauled into the site, the driver could explain that it was needed to fill a portion of the excavation underway at the airport. The Syrian was betting that the vehicle would not be given more than a casual glance as it crossed the checkpoints and entered the airport terminal area.
If for some unforeseen reason he was forced to abandon the vehicle with its cargo of explosives, with the dirt acting as camouflage he at least had a chance of avoiding detection and recovering it intact. It would appear to the casual observer as nothing more than another vehicle left by its owner until it was needed. He was planning on acting quickly. The only delay had been training the boy to drive the large truck.
On the actual day of the mission he planned on entering the
terminal area dressed as a maintenance worker. His plan called for an attack early on Sunday morning, a time when there would be few, if any, passengers in the terminal. No one would question an unkempt man in a dirty green smock carrying a broom and dustbin. After the detonation he could escape in the general confusion.
He had initially been concerned about entering the terminal area as the only road leading away from it ran immediately west of the Marine headquarters. He preferred to leave the area by walking away from the target, but in this instance that would not be possible. He would have to be in the terminal during the operation. It was the only public access building close enough to the target to ensure that the wireless detonator would not fail.
He had also been concerned about the effect of the blast. The amount of explosive was huge. Much larger than anything he had previously used, even on a test range. It would be difficult to place himself close enough to the bomb to ensure detonation without running the risk of injury. He would have to find some sort of shelter to use when the bomb was detonated. It would also be necessary to pack his ears with wadding to protect them against the concussion and noise.
He had reviewed the plan for the past week, looking for the faults. As always the weak point was the driver. There was always a measure of chance where a human being was concerned. He had toyed with the idea of detonating the truck as it passed near the Marine headquarters on its way south to the terminal entrance. He was sure that the explosion would greatly harm the building occupied by the Marines. There was little doubt that it would kill any Marines who happened to be exposed on the western side of the building, but he needed a larger victory. And he sensed that he could have it.
This must be his master stroke. If he succeeded in destroying the headquarters of the Marines and killing many of their officers then the political leaders would have to withdraw the rest of the Marines from Lebanon. The French and the Italians would follow.