by Nathan Ronen
“No. Apparently, he managed to get away. But this time, he owes a debt of blood to us, as well.”
Arik knew Galili would not like any of this. He had to report to the Mossad director before Galili called him.
Chapter 80
The Israeli Air Force Command and Control Aircraft over Gibraltar
In the Israeli Air Force command plane circling over Gibraltar, camouflaged as a leased civilian cargo plane, Izzo Galili felt right at home. This was the organizational climate in which he had grown and matured. He was sitting with the head of the Army’s Operations Division and the Air Force commander, listening to the progress of the battle on the ground.
Next to two rows of screens sat network intelligence analysts48 from IDF’s 8200 Unit, listening to transmissions from the French and the Israeli force.
“Sir, you’ve got a call,” the young operations officer said.
“Hi, Izzo. I wanted to report the conclusion of the operation. All our forces are returning home unharmed. The fighters did an excellent job. Unfortunately, the king is dead, and at the moment there’s a coup attempt in Morocco headed by the king’s brother, Prince Mansouri. I’m currently flying in a French helicopter to meet Admiral Lacoste on the aircraft carr—”
Galili interrupted Arik savagely. “I’m glad you found the time to talk to me. I thought I’d have to wait till you found the time to send me a postcard in order to read about your fiasco.”
“What fiasco are you talking about?” Arik asked. “What’s going on with you?”
“What’s going on with me? Don’t you have things turned around here? What’s going on with you!” Galili yelled. “Everywhere you go, it’s always like a bull in a china shop. At this very moment, I’m watching the global media coverage. They’re talking on TV about hundreds of people dead and injured, and the destruction of the Grand Mosque. And now you’re reporting a military coup and the death of the king. Did you verify that the king was dead?” Galili asked.
“I saw the body of the man presented as the king. I have no idea what he looks like. I’ve never seen him in person, and so my assumption is that yes… the king is dead.”
“Well, that’s not exactly the desired result you presented to the Security Cabinet.”
“Sir… This has nothing to do with…” Arik tried to explain.
“But within this major mess you created, it’s interesting to note that you’re the only one everyone can see running around with a gun like you’re in a western, the cowboy shooting in all directions. And everyone’s asking who that hero is. Hero?” Galili said mockingly. “To me you’re the screw-up.”
Arik knew that Galili was sensitive about his dignity. “Look, I still don’t have the final details about what went down here. That’s why I’m on my way to meet Lacoste. I promise to send you a full report within twenty-four hours. And if our fate is to part ways, I suggest we do it in an appropriate manner, with no unnecessary drama.”
“I’ve got an idea for you. When you get yourself out of the hole that you’re currently buried in up to your neck, I suggest you take a trip to some tropical island. Go find some nice bar, get good and drunk, and think about all the stupid mistakes you’ve made so far. All the tall tales you fed everyone. My recommendation is that you get out of this life. There are still places in the world where no one asks questions about who you were and what you’ve done. Go to one of those. Maybe you’ll meet a girl there; maybe you’ll live like a proper human being there. I’m entirely serious.”
Arik stayed silent, his rage burning within him. But he held back.
“Listen, boss, I’m not a smooth operator like you. I admit that I’m a guy who’s pretty rough around the edges, who grew up in a poor neighborhood in Haifa. I don’t have a lot of friends in high places, and I only have one goal: when someone at the top pushes the panic button, I’m the one they expect to show up and take care of things for them, not you or your friends.”
Galili paused briefly before saying: “I’m waiting breathlessly to receive your final report.”
“You will. And once you do, I’m taking some time off. At the moment, I have a personal matter I have to take care of, and then we’ll meet up and talk. I might take your recommendation and look for a little island far away from you. I have to think seriously about the future of our working relationship.”
Arik decided that the time had come to share his suspicions about what was going on in the Mossad with someone with whom he had never gotten along, and yet knew to be a true straight-shooter.
* * *
48 Network intelligence analysts analyze SIGINT (Signal Intelligence) data, deciphering the intentions of the targets under surveillance.
Chapter 81
The Aircraft Carrier Charles de Gaulle, Near the Coast of Casablanca
The French Air Force Puma helicopter landed in the airport next to the Ilyushin stationed on Runway 03, its engines blazing. All of the Israeli fighters were sitting on the metal benches with their seatbelts secured, chatting exuberantly. Arik praised the sharpshooters’ professionalism, the fighters’ courage, and mainly their restraint in not getting swept up in a battle that was not their own. He stepped down the Ilyushin’s rear loading ramp and walked toward Commander Lambert, who was waiting for him on the runway. Arik gave Jonathan a thumbs-up to indicate he should take off with the force, heading home.
The Ilyushin raised the rear cargo ramp and took off, heading east on the seven-hour flight back to Israel. Jonathan updated IDF’s aerial control center in the Gibraltar area that the operation was over.
Only after watching the fighters’ plane take off did Arik turn and board the French helicopter. After ten minutes of smooth flying, the Puma landed on board the aircraft carrier Charles de Gaulle.
Admiral Lacoste was waiting for him on the top deck, and they descended immediately for a private conversation in the lounge serving Squadron 367, the combat squadron flying Dassault Rafale aircraft.
“I owe you a lot of explanations.” Lacoste prefaced.
Arik watched him, expectant.
“When you were at my home and we talked about a possible course of action, I presented it to the minister of defense, who approved it in theory, but I found out that behind my back, taking advantage of the fact that I was traveling to South America with the president to tour our distant provinces, Eddy Constantine undermined my plan before the minister of defense, who, in his capacity as stand-in in for the president in his absence, approved an entirely different action plan. Later, from the material you brought me, I found out that the minister of defense’s son was Constantine’s partner in his financial ventures in Africa.
“When I returned, I confronted the minister of defense and handed in my resignation. But the president of the republic instructed me to wait until he returned, and was unwilling to accept my resignation.
“Meanwhile, I invited Kadiri to visit France, intending to have him meet the king at his villa in Nice, at which point the king would suggest that he betray Mansouri and be appointed as minister of the interior in return. To my surprise, someone told Kadiri that we were planning to kill him, and he simply avoided me and never made it to Paris. I assume Mansouri was the one who scared Kadiri into staying away, since he knows who he’s dealing with; or it might have been Eddy Constantine. In any case, I didn’t know if I could trust the commander of the French force, Louis-Pierre, who was subordinate to Eddy Constantine, and so, in coordination with the king of Morocco, the person we sent to Morocco was his lookalike, someone who occasionally stands in for the king in boring but necessary ceremonies where he has to go meet the heads of various tribes.”
“So the king’s alive?” Arik asked.
“He is. We followed your plan. The person killed was the king’s double. The king himself was hiding in Nice, and at the moment, he just concluded a meeting in Paris with the president of the republic, who conveyed
France’s unequivocal support of his regime.”
“But I heard rumors that a coup council is assembling in Rabat, headed by the conspirators…” Arik noted.
“That’s true, because everyone thinks the king is dead, and it would be quite legitimate for his brother to ascend to the throne in the name of order and regime continuity. Especially since the heir to the throne, the king’s son, is only five years old.”
Arik looked at him skeptically.
“The king has already talked on the phone to the chief of staff and the army commanders, and they immediately expressed their loyalty to him. At the moment, they’ve deployed tanks to government centers and seized control of Morocco’s radio and TV station in Rabat. The king is on his way here in a combat plane that will be landing shortly. The moment the airport is secured and the conspirators are arrested, he’ll land in Rabat officially and send a special message on air to his people.
“In the meantime, we’re ensuring no one veers from the plan. French combat planes that took off from this aircraft carrier a short time ago are currently buzzing Casablanca and Rabat. The Moroccan Air Force has been warned not to deploy any planes. I believe the Moroccan chief of staff is going on air live in the next few minutes, pledging his allegiance to the king and announcing that he’s assuming control temporarily until the king is back in the country.”
“And what’s happening with the conspirators, Kadiri and the prince?”
“All of the French forces that participated in the operation to eliminate the terrorist cells in the Grand Mosque, as well as the Moroccan internal security agency, are currently converging on the conspirators’ homes, arresting their families. Other commando forces are surrounding the king’s palace in Rabat where the conspirators have assembled. I’ve instructed the French force to take no prisoners.”
“So my job here is done?” Arik asked.
“Yes, and I thank you on behalf of the president for the extraordinary cooperation and for saving Louis-Pierre,” Lacoste said, extending his hand. “And what are you going to do now?” he asked.
“Can I ask a personal favor from you?” Arik asked.
“Well?”
“Go on air and inform the global media of the identity of the man who showed up with a gun and tried to save the king. Tell them the hero was apparently a French Commando officer who saved the king’s bodyguard. Make up something. Promote him, give him a medal, whatever you want. I really don’t want to be in the spotlight. And I think it’ll work. They can’t know the Israelis were here at all.”
Lacoste smiled, on the verge of saying something, but changed his mind.
“I told you it would all turn out okay,” Lacoste concluded. “I hope you weren’t too worried.”
“The truth is that I was petrified to an extent I can’t even describe,” Arik said. “I was hoping that the young soldiers who are usually eager to engage in battle wouldn’t be tempted to initiate an unnecessary skirmish.”
“I’m hearing from my people that your people were exceptional, and that the lives of many French Commando soldiers were saved thanks to your sharpshooters’ professionalism.”
“Thank you,” Arik said, flustered. “Louis-Pierre and your people also did their jobs with extraordinary professionalism.”
Commander Lambert entered the room and whispered something in the admiral’s ear. A grin spread across Lacoste’s face.
“Before you leave, I want to invite you to a tête-à-tête meeting with someone who wants to meet you in person.”
“Who?”
“Patience, mon ami.” Lacoste led him to an adjacent hall.
Two burly guards were stationed at the door. They shifted aside when Lacoste arrived and one of them opened the door reverently.
The man rising to greet Arik with open arms was familiar both from the global media and from intelligence files.
“Thank you, Monsieur Bar-Nathan,” said King Mohammed the Sixth, kissing Arik on both cheeks, in accordance with Moroccan custom.
Arik was embarrassed. He didn’t know what protocol and manners required of him when meeting a king. He performed an awkward bow of sorts, which made the king laugh and hug him. “Admiral Lacoste told me that you were the one who actually came up with the whole plan of using my double. In fact, I owe you my life.”
Arik responded humbly. “All the work, your majesty, was done by the French.”
“The moment the chaos in my country subsides, and I finish dealing with the traitors, I want you to come see me as my guest. Can you come with your wife? I want us to be friends. I heard you were an expert on restoring Harley-Davidsons. I have quite a motorcycle collection myself.”
“Your Highness, sir, I’m grateful for your generosity and your courage, but I have a request that might sound strange to you…”
“Anything, my friend,” the king said, gesturing broadly.
“My prime minister, Ehud Tzur, is married to a Moroccan Jew from Meknes. I think that if you invite him to visit the synagogue at the new Chabad House in the Mellah, the Jewish Quarter in Meknes, which will be renovated in honor of the visit, it would aid him in the upcoming elections in Israel, and he would greatly appreciate it.”
“I see you know your way around politics as well,” the king smiled. “I’ll definitely do that, but at this stage, any visit by an Israeli dignitary would be unofficial, since we don’t have diplomatic relations with Israel. And I think he’s probably seeking to exploit it on the domestic political level, right?”
Arik smiled in embarrassment.
“Do you think that in return, I could ask your prime minister to name some street or square in your country after my father, the late King Hassan the Second, who had a special relationship with the Jews?”
Arik smiled generously. “There are about half a million Jews living in Israel who were born in Morocco or are children of Moroccan-born parents. The Moroccan community is well represented in the Israeli population. We could always ask a mayor to dedicate a central square to commemorate your father in Netanya or Ashkelon. Your father the king was good to the Jews.”
Lacoste signaled to Arik that the interview was over. The king needed to travel to Rabat and deal with more important things than naming city squares after his father.
Arik emerged satisfied from his meeting with the king. He had managed to bypass Galili and secure his own fortune by bringing the prime minister a much-desired gift. But the question remained, for how long. He felt weary of the internal wars; they were exhausting him.
“Tell me, what happened to Eddy Constantine?” Arik asked Lacoste.
“That guy Constantine was a real piece of work. He’s currently in the custody of our internal security service. He exploited his status in the intelligence community to stick his finger in every pie. He would mediate between the industrial conglomerates with a presence in Africa and the heads of government agencies and policymakers, receiving handsome commissions from them. Simultaneously, to increase his value as a mediator, he also worked with the leaders of the rebels, instructing them where to attack in order to raise the costs of mining uranium in Chad, for example. But the pièce de résistance was when he and a certain official from the Ministry of Defense conducted negotiations on behalf of the government of Chad to sell enriched uranium ‘yellowcakes’ to the Iranians at exorbitant prices, after he himself caused the prices to soar. In short, he was drawing commissions from everyone, on every side. Brilliant, right?”
“And what do you assess will happen to him?” Arik asked.
“We French appoint an investigative judge from the Department of Internal Investigations. He’ll make Eddy Constantine an offer he can’t refuse: write a full confession, specify everything, list the names of your accessories, express your repentance and claim full responsibility.”
“And in return he’ll get a few years less jail time?” Arik asked.
“No. In return, the whole matter will be suppressed. His family will continue to receive a generous pension, and his accessories will be asked by the president to quietly resign.”
“That’s it?” Arik asked, astounded.
“No. After the investigating judge is completely satisfied with the contents of the confession and its veracity, and after he cross-references the information with what’s been extracted from other defendants, Brigadier Constantine will be dressed in his best suit and brought to his office at dawn. The judge will grant Eddy Constantine half an hour to write a letter of farewell to his family. Then they’ll leave his service weapon on his desk, loaded with one bullet.”
“What kind of justice is that?” Arik asked.
“I’m not sure we’re actually in the justice business. This is more about the French code of honor, and preventing a scandal that might harm Élysée Palace or the Ministry of Defense. Eddy Constantine will receive a proper state funeral, and his family’s name will not be tarnished. A win-win for everyone.”
“Say, do you have a file on me, too?” Arik asked Lacoste jokingly.
“Let’s not start airing dirty laundry. After all, you also have files on your friends or foes in which you accumulate intelligence for whenever you might need it,” Lacoste smiled.
“When you’re done here, are you going back to Paris? I need a ride.”
“I think you mean you need a ride to Heidelberg, don’t you? Where I believe your wife and baby are waiting for you?”
“I see you do have a file on me,” Arik laughed.
He called Jonathan Arieli and was happy to hear the force had now exited Morocco’s airspace on its way east.
Chapter 82
The TGV Train from Paris to Heidelberg
The early morning train from Paris to Heidelberg via Reims in northern France departed from Pier 3 of the Gare du Nord Station. Arik boarded the first-class car and found his reserved seat.