by Ehud Diskin
On our way home after the meeting, Shimon broke his usual silence. “What’s happening with Stanley and his crew?” he asked. “I’m tired of sitting around twiddling my thumbs, waiting for them to make a move.”
“Don’t worry,” I replied. “Stanley told me they’d be carrying out their operation this month.”
Ten days after the Acre Prison break, the UN General Assembly convened to discuss the question of Israel and decided to establish UNSCOP, the United Nations Special Committee on Palestine, tasked with submitting recommendations on the matter.
Stanley showed up at Café Pinsk during the fourth week of May and motioned for me to join him outside again. “I’ll meet you at Café Wien tomorrow morning at ten o’clock,” he said.
“Fine,” I said. “Is the operation ready to move forward?”
“You’ll find out tomorrow,” he said.
The next morning, I found Stanley in civilian clothes at Café Wien, and he didn’t waste any time with niceties. “We’ve managed to collect the explosives, and we have a plan in place,” he said.
“What’s the target?” I asked.
“I understand your curiosity,” Stanley responded, flashing me a wry smile, “but I’m not going to divulge that just now. If you had my experience with commando operations, you’d know that secrecy is critical. You may have proven your loyalty in the past, but you won’t learn the target until we’re on our way there.”
I was disappointed, but I knew there was no way he was going to change his mind.
“The attack will take place in two days, at 11:30 a.m. Make sure you have the day off work. I’ll pick you up outside your apartment at a quarter to eleven.”
He retrieved another wad of bills from his pocket and handed it to me. “Here’s another cut of the money from al-Husseini. I mentioned to him that we have a Jew in our group, and he said I was making a mistake, even suggested that I kill you. I told him how you warned us about the King David bombing. He simply said, ‘The only good Jew is a dead Jew.’ But don’t worry, just as Inspector Jeffries trusted you, so do I.” With that, he called the waiter, paid the bill, and left.
I hurried to Café Pinsk and asked Max to arrange an urgent meeting with Zvi and Shimon at the restaurant that same evening. Then I notified Alec, Avrum, and Misha.
“I met with Stanley today,” I began when we were all seated at one of the tables after closing time. “He told me the truck bomb is scheduled for the day after tomorrow. Operation Blood and Sword is now in motion. Stanley refused to divulge their target, which is a problem. Nevertheless, I’ve given it a lot of thought, and I think I have a plan.”
“Tell me, David,” Alec interjected, “wouldn’t it be easier to simply kill this Stanley bastard and stop his operation?”
“I considered that,” I replied. “But Stanley is only one man out of a group, and killing him won’t stop the operation. Furthermore, it’s safe to assume that some of the members of his team are aware of my existence, and if Stanley is killed, I’ll be the first person they point a finger at.”
“David is right. Let’s hear him out,” Zvi said.
“Before I get in the car with Stanley, I’ll tell him I need to know the target before I risk my life. If he tells me, I’ll say it out loud, acting surprised. Alec, you’ll be hiding behind the pine tree in the yard. Meanwhile, Shimon, Avrum, and Misha will be waiting in a car nearby, out of sight. When Stanley and I leave, Alec will join you three, and you’ll all drive to the target.”
“What if Stanley refuses to tell you?” Avrum asked.
“If Stanley refuses to tell me or if Alec doesn’t overhear, you will all follow us at a safe distance. Once we arrive, Avrum will quickly get into position with his sniper rifle. When I raise both my arms, that will be the signal for Shimon, Alec, and Misha to storm the British commandos. That’s the best I can come up with. Does anyone have any thoughts?”
Zvi was the only one who commented. “In general, the plan sounds good. But I’d like to suggest some changes. Instead of one car, we should use two—one for Shimon and Alec, the other for Avrum, Misha, and Shoshana. That way, if one car runs into trouble, the second can continue on to the target. Let Shoshana hide behind the tree and listen for the location.”
“Shoshana?” I said, startled.
He nodded. “I would like her to be involved in this operation. I hear she is good with guns and has become a competent sniper. She can take cover behind the pine tree in the yard and, later, be there to back up Avrum.”
I was both surprised and unsettled upon hearing about such a role for Shoshana. My hope had been to keep her out of harm’s way. Still, I had promised to support her desire to be part of an operation, so I didn’t offer any objection.
“You’re right,” I said. “Shoshana will be a strong addition to our unit. I have a personal request. My Webley revolver isn’t ideal. The reloading mechanism is clumsy. Can you get me a German-made Walther P38 with three fully loaded magazines? I used one as a partisan, and it’s an excellent weapon. If something goes wrong and I end up having to take them all on myself, the extra firepower might give me a chance.”
“I’ll do my best,” Zvi said.
The others were silent, but Avrum suddenly came to life. “I’m going to show those bastards what a good sniper I am,” he said. Everyone laughed, and the tension was broken for a few seconds. Then I spoke up.
“Let’s meet tomorrow morning in Tel Arza for some last-minute training exercises.” I thought it was important to practice and to brush up on our weapons skills before the operation, especially for Misha and Shoshana. My time with Shoshana’s training had been limited, but she was truly a natural at self-defense. I was more concerned about her proficiency with a pistol in close quarters, and I wanted to work with her one more time on that.
When I got home, Shoshana greeted me with a kiss but no welcoming smile. She seemed agitated. I asked her what was wrong.
“Max told me there was going to be a meeting tonight.”
“Yes,” I said.
“But I wasn’t included. I thought since I had begun my training, I was considered part of your team now? I know a new operation is being planned.”
I smiled and cupped her face between my hands. “I have a surprise for you, my love. You are going to be part of this operation.” Her face lit up, and I kissed her lightly. “And tomorrow morning, we will all be meeting for extra training, including you.”
Almost bouncing up and down, she led me to the couch, and we sat together, discussing what was to come. I briefed her about the operation, and she asked many questions, some of which I couldn’t answer.
“Are you nervous, love?” I asked.
“A little nervous,” she admitted, “but mostly excited!”
The next morning in Tel Arza, Shimon showed up with the Walther P38 I had requested. Having this desirable pistol helped boost my confidence in our ability to thwart Stanley’s evil scheme. Avrum arrived with two human-shaped targets and found a suitable area where he and Shoshana could practice with sniper rifles from a distance of about three hundred yards. When he was done, he proudly showed us a tight cluster of bullet holes in his target’s head, as well as the impressive results from Shoshana’s rounds.
“Shoshana is a great sniper, almost as good as I am,” he said.
Dressed in her gray khakis, her blond hair a mess, glowing with pride, Shoshana had never looked so beautiful to me.
“My turn,” I told her, grinning. “And I won’t be as easy as Avrum.”
She gave me a challenging smile in return. “Last time you were way too easy,” she said, scoffing.
For the next hour, I instructed Shoshana on how to shoot with a Webley that I provided. In the last few weeks, I had taught her how to take the Webley apart, assemble it, and also how to aim and handle it. Now it was time to train her on how to actually shoot, using real bullets. Watching Shoshana practice assured me that she could hold her own.
Alec, as usual, showed himself to be
highly proficient with his weapons. Shimon was a little rusty but improved measurably during our training session. Only Misha still seemed slow when we finished. Shoshana’s face was flushed with her accomplishments, and we walked home hand in hand.
ON THURSDAY MORNING, THE TEAM arrived at our home in two cars. Shoshana hid behind the pine tree in the courtyard while Shimon kept the car running nearby. Avrum and Misha parked down the street.
As arranged, Stanley showed up in a military jeep at a quarter to eleven, along with two of his men. I recognized one as a member of Inspector Jeffries’s team.
Dressed in baggy trousers with large pockets, in which the P38 and magazines were hidden, I approached their vehicle and ducked my head to look into the open window.
“You don’t have to worry about me telling anyone now,” I said to Stanley, “so I think it’s only fair you tell me the target before I get in.”
After a slight hesitation, Stanley uttered just four words, but they were enough to send chills down my spine. “The Jewish Agency building.”
“The Jewish Agency building?” I said in practically a shout. “You said we were hitting the Irgun.” A noisy motorcycle was speeding by at that moment, and I prayed that Shoshana had managed to hear me.
“Get into the jeep, and I’ll explain on the way,” Stanley growled.
“Why the Jewish Agency and not the Irgun as originally planned?” I asked as I climbed in. “The Jewish Agency works with the British.”
“You’re right,” Stanley said with a shrug. “But the Irgun is always changing locations, so we couldn’t find a reliable target. Anyway, the Jewish Agency is the government of the Jews of Palestine, and they have always been an option, so far as I was concerned. It will be fitting retribution for the attack on the King David, our HQ. When we get there, you will convince the agency officials that everything is fine, or I’ll put a bullet between your eyes. Understood?”
“Yes,” I said. “I’ll do it.”
Stanley seemed satisfied and continued with his explanation. “The truck with the explosives is coming from the Arab village of Bir Zeit, near Ramallah. We’ll rendezvous at the intersection of King George and Mamilla, and from there we’ll head to the agency and park outside the entrance. The cover story is that we’ve come to collect documents—just like during Operation Broadside. Your job is to explain that we’re only there to collect documents and no harm will come to them if they cooperate.
“Once the truck is in place, we’ll tell them we’re leaving to get a second truck, because we’re collecting a ton of documents. The truck’s five hundred pounds of explosives will be hidden under a tarpaulin. One of our people will wait there until five minutes before the blast to make sure no one looks inside. The timer is set to detonate thirty minutes after we arrive. Our demolitions expert has also booby-trapped the timer, so if anyone tries to disarm it, the bomb will go off.”
“Sounds like you’ve thought of everything,” I said. In truth, I had already noticed a few weaknesses, but the driver—one of Stanley’s commando friends—wasn’t one of them. I was alarmed to notice that he kept a loaded machine gun at his side. This guy could really hurt us badly, I thought.
For the next few minutes, we drove through the streets of Jerusalem in silence, and when we reached the King George–Mamilla intersection, Stanley pulled over to the side of the road and waited. About twenty minutes later, we saw the truck approaching. Stanley signaled to the driver to follow us, and we made our way up King George Street to the gate at the entrance of the Jewish Agency building. The guard on duty looked us over and inquired suspiciously as to our business there.
“We’re British soldiers, and we’ve been ordered to collect documents,” Stanley said, drawing his revolver and pointing it at the guard.
He signaled me to play my part, and I repeated the sentence he had instructed me to say. “We’re only here to collect documents, and no harm will come to you if you cooperate.”
“I need to check with my supervisor,” the guard replied.
Stanley jumped out of the jeep and slammed the butt of his revolver against the side of the guard’s head. The man collapsed to the ground, unconscious. The Brit dragged him into the guard hut and opened the gate, and the jeep and truck drove through. Stanley stayed with the truck and jeep, sending me and two of his men into the building to tell the workers about our supposed task.
“If anyone resists, don’t hesitate to kill them,” he instructed his men.
As we were making our way along the corridor, a guard approached and ordered us to stop.
“Who gave you permission to come in here?” he shouted.
One of the commandos drew his weapon and shot him in the head. I realized it was time to act before they killed anyone else. I pulled the cocked and loaded Walther P38 out and shot both of Stanley’s men. They fell to the floor.
Returning the gun to my pocket, I turned around and ran outside. Just as I was approaching Stanley, I heard a weak cry from behind me, “The Jewish bastard’s a traitor! He shot us!” I glanced over to see one of Stanley’s men standing at the doorway, his face covered in blood. He immediately fell to the ground.
Stanley drew his weapon and turned on me. “You Jewish son of a bitch,” he hissed. “Rot in hell.”
I raised my hands in surrender—coincidentally, it was also the signal to my comrades to move into action. Thinking these were likely my last seconds on earth, my breathing quickened as I thought about Shoshana and what would happen to her. My life flashed before my eyes—Minsk, fighting the Nazis, Shoshana. I had failed to keep my promise to take care of myself, but I hoped she’d stay strong.
I heard two shots but didn’t feel a thing. Confused, I looked at Stanley and saw blood trickling from a hole in his forehead. The gun in his hand dropped to the ground, and a second later his body collapsed. A blood stain quickly spread across his chest.
Shimon, Alec, Shoshana, and Misha raced forward, and Stanley’s driver managed to fire a burst from his machine gun in their direction before Alec killed him. Misha cried out, and I couldn’t believe what I was seeing—my friend was doubled over, clutching his stomach, his shirt turning red. Alec ripped off his own shirt and pressed it against the wound to stem the flow of blood.
Shoshana rushed to his side, and she and Alec dragged him behind Stanley’s jeep. Kneeling beside him, she pulled a first aid kit out of the knapsack she carried and went to work. It was then that I noticed Shimon lying on the ground, clutching his right arm.
I ran to Shimon. Blood stained his right sleeve, and I ripped the cloth away to examine his injury. “It’s a flesh wound,” I told him. “You’ll be all right.”
“Something is wrong,” he said through clenched teeth. “I can’t move my hand.”
“Let’s get out of the open.” I put my arm around his waist and hauled him to his feet. We stumbled behind the jeep as well, and I leaned him against the back tire. Shoshana was giving Alec instructions on keeping pressure on a large square of gauze across Misha’s abdomen.
“Is he all right?” I asked.
She bit her lip and shook her head. “We need to get him to a doctor.”
“Can you take a look at Shimon? His arm has been hit. It looks to be minor, but he can’t move his hand.”
She moved to Shimon’s side, bringing the first aid kit, and quickly sterilized the wound and bandaged it. She gave him a pill and a cup of water to wash it down. Shimon took both gratefully. “It’s more than a flesh wound,” she said. “The bullet is still inside and may be pressing on a nerve. It needs to come out. I gave him a strong painkiller.”
Shimon was shivering in his own sweat, obviously suffering.
My mind raced. Shimon was our only hope to deactivate the explosive material. Only he had the skills. I tried not to think about what would happen if we failed to do so.
I looked at my watch. “Shimon, I know that you’re in pain and you feel terrible, but the truck has five hundred pounds of explosives set to go off in fou
rteen minutes. The timer is rigged. Zvi says you’re the best sapper in the business. I know nothing about it. Can you make it to the back cargo area in the truck if I help you?”
“I can’t move my hand, David,” he said and then groaned.
“Can you use your left hand?”
He shook his head and grimaced. “It’s a delicate procedure. You’ll have to do it. I’ll tell you how.”
I swallowed hard. “All right. What have we got to lose?”
Shoshana jerked her head toward me, her eyes widening in alarm.
“Get my backpack and bring it,” he said. “Then help me to my feet.”
Shoshana ran to get his pack while I put my arm around his waist and got him upright. It was quiet around us now, but I was concerned someone had informed the British police about the shooting and a patrol would come to check.
Shimon made it to the window of the truck’s front cabin and peered inside. “See the two black electrical wires going from the truck’s battery to the back cargo area? This is the power source of the activating system of the bomb. I am sure that there is a backup power system in the cargo area. If we just disconnect these two wires, the explosion will occur.” He nodded toward his backpack slung over my shoulder. “Get out the big knife I have in there, the pliers, the wire cutter, the utility knife, and the small flashlight. Hurry up and cut the tarpaulin cover, and then we can analyze what kind of a situation we are in.”
Shimon swayed, and I put a hand on his back to steady him, then helped him walk back to the cargo bay covered with the thick tarpaulin. He leaned against the truck while I took the needed tools out of his backpack and put them in my pockets, except for the huge knife. I used it to split open the tarpaulin cover. I helped him as we climbed into the vehicle’s cargo bay.
Ten round metal containers, about fifteen inches wide and thirty inches high, sat in the front of the cargo bay, attached with metal wire to the trunk frame. No doubt these contained the explosive material. We moved closer, and Shimon pointed at a small black box with wires sticking out of it, some leading into the metal containers.