by Jack Leman
21-Thursday 11:45 am
Mossad HQ
Tel Aviv
Tamir Cohen was at his desk. A cigarette smoked in the ashtray. Ever since his mother had died from lung cancer two years ago, he had tried to stop smoking, but he couldn’t recall how many times he had tried to quit. Now he had found a compromise in that he would smoke half a pack a day and let the other half go up in smoke in the ashtray. His window was always cracked open, but he still lived in a cloud of smoke. However, besides preventing him from smoking, there was another good side to the fetid smell and the foggy air: people coming into his office wanted to get away as quickly as possible.
He was a round man. His fitness of the army years had left their place to a belly which now strained his shirts. He wore only blue shirts, and when asked, he said he couldn’t remember the last time he wore a tie. His black-rimmed glasses contrasted sharply with his bald head. They always needed to be cleaned and left people wondering how he saw through them. In contrast with his external appearance, his dark black eyes were always alive with intelligence and disturbed the people he talked to, because he had the habit of looking into their eyes without blinking.
He helped himself to yet another sweet Turkish pistachio delight from the plate Clarit made sure was always full. He favored a special brand that sold in the duty-free shops of the Istanbul Airport, and since they had learned about his preference, his colleagues in the office made it a task of bringing him a box when coming from abroad.
He looked at the two television screens on the wall across from his desk. One was always on CNN and the other on Sky Channel from the UK. He used to watch BBC news until he found out they were biased against Israel and switched to Sky Channel, which he found more neutral.
His hand trembled as he sipped his tea. The discovery that an enemy missile was unaccounted for and was out of the control of the Syrian Government was a serious threat to the security of Israel.
He had reported the incident immediately to his superior, the Prime Minister, by sending him an urgent memo. He then called the Chief of Staff, who called for an urgent meeting with the Minister of Defense. The MoD had gone to talk to the Prime Minister.
The PM had listened to him but had seemed distracted. The inconclusive elections had pushed him into a coalition with parties he otherwise would not have talked to, and was now in the process of negotiating the appointment of the new ministers. There were ministerial posts claimed simultaneously by all the members of the coalition. He was walking on a tightrope and was conscious he was gambling on his career, and that mattered a lot to him.
He half-heartedly ordered a meeting of the National Security Council for late Thursday night in Mossad’s offices.
Tamir dreaded these meetings. He was a man of action and not of meetings. But even in the army, while he climbed the promotion ladder of the organization, the number of meetings he had to attend increased. Now he had the impression that most of his time was spent in meeting rooms, having to listen to people talk.
The NSC meetings were unique. They were power shows. Every Director tried to play to the advantage of his ministry or department. The soldiers were brutally straightforward, but the politicians had a different, sneaky way of thinking. If the PM allowed it, the meetings stretched for a long time. This time the PM had other business to attend, so with some luck it would be short.
Though, it would have been a surprise if they held the meeting at the time initially announced. The PM had the unpleasant habit of being late to all his meetings. Despite all the efforts made by his staff to keep the daily schedule, the PM kept people waiting and turned his staff crazy.
Tamir had learned his lesson. He went to all meetings with the PM with a few current files and two aides, and continued his work until the PM arrived.
22- Thursday 2:00 pm
Knesset Building
Jerusalem
The coordination meeting had already passed the time limit they had fixed at the start of the session.
Although most of the participants were accomplished in Byzantine issues of protocol and ceremonies in the Knesset, today the protocol team found it difficult to agree with the security team who requested tightening measures. The Shin Bet - the Israeli FBI - agent insisted that all the participants submit to frisking at the gate of the compound. The protocol guys were refusing, claiming immunity of the Members of the Knesset (MK) and the various ministers, but at the same time, acknowledged that the Shin Bet would not insist without having some serious information they could not share.
The electoral system in Israel is a nationwide proportional system. Any political party who gets over the 3.25% threshold will have a number of seats proportional to the number of votes they receive. The low threshold allows small parties to be represented in the Knesset, but the downside was that the leading party must get into a negotiated coalition with several small parties to build a majority in the Parliament. The President asks the leader of the party who gets the most votes to build a majority coalition, and only after he succeeds, he may form a government. The advantages of having to deal with small parties with one or two seats and some radical requirements could be discussed, but all things considered, the Israelis were proud of their electoral system, which allowed even marginal parties to be represented in the parliament.
So, after going through three elections without a clear-cut majority in the Knesset, the President of the State had appointed the leader of the center-right opposition party to form a government. Surprisingly, two weeks ago, he had succeeded in forming a coalition with the support of the real winner of these elections, the Joint List of the Arab parties. The entire country had taken a deep breath, and even those who thought such a government would never hold were ready to give it a chance. After all, a fourth election would be disastrous for the economy and the country.
Ilanah Chadad listened with patience to the demands of each member of the commission. The security, the administrator of the Knesset, the secret services and different protocol chiefs were attending the meeting. After the meeting it was the senior protocol chief’s job to meet with the envoys of various ambassadors and sell them the packet they would agree upon. In Israel, even the foreigners took security issues seriously.
Ilanah knew that if she agreed to all their requirements, the Assembly could not convene at all. Her job was to find a middle way acceptable by a majority of the members. She knocked her gavel to call the meeting to order. She had to raise her voice before getting silence in the room. Finally, when all the eyes were on her, she read the notes she had jotted down for the security measures to be implemented at the Knesset assembly meeting.
“The new Members of the Knesset would park their cars in the parking lot at basement one, in places reserved for them. The others will use the open parking lot at the west side of the Knesset.”
Before she could continue, hands rose in protest. What about the families? What about the VIPs? The security team talked about closing the underground parking and use only the parking lot of the Supreme Court. From there they would go in the Knesset compound by shuttle services or through the little bridge that linked the parking lot to the main entrance of the building. Ilanah knew that the newly elected parliamentarian’s ego was the major hurdle that would make them veto this proposal instantly. The protocol man’s hand shot up immediately, and she allowed him to speak.
She had many more points to go through, and she was getting impatient with the endless squabbling going back and forth.
She knocked her gavel again, and this time without waiting for complete silence, she continued.
“All the cars without exceptions will be searched for explosives.”
The protocol man’s hand shot up again.
“This is unacceptable…”
The security guys looked at him as if they would hit him.
Ilanah was determined to finish her announcement.
“The MK’s families and people invited for the ceremony will go through metal detectors and
the security detail will frisk them if they deem necessary.”
Again, hands shot up. It was always the same circus.
She knew they would end up on a compromise, but it would take time to get there.
Ilanah closed her eyes and waited for the tempest to subside… at least now they were arguing on a specific text. She knew there would be significant changes. A compromise was not far.
23-Thursday 3:00 pm
Al-Kisweh Industrial Zone
20km South of Damascus
Abu Amr was getting worried. They had to get operational quickly. He had received his orders, and he had to make sure the system worked perfectly. He looked at Karim, the electrician, and the approaching major, together with the sergeant. They had an uneasy look on their faces.
“We have to get a new motherboard to repair the alternator and get the generator running. The other solution would be to rig the system to the electrical grid. Do we have electricity in the warehouse?” Mused Karim.
“Where is the electrical switch-box?” asked Ghassan.
“On the west wall of the warehouse, but I am not sure if it works. I couldn’t get the lights on. Even if it worked, I wouldn’t trust it to hold for long. The cables of the building are probably damaged.” Said Karim.
“So what do we do?” asked Abu Amr anxiously. “We cannot move to another warehouse. What are our options?”
Ghassan looked at Abu Amr and hesitated before saying,
“We could try to get a replacement board. I know the agent for KIA generators in Damascus. We could send someone to see if they have a spare. Otherwise, we need to connect the truck to the electrical grid. If we cannot trust the power supply of the building, we need to find if there is a power transformer in the surrounding area, maybe an electric pylon that survived the bombing.”
Abu Amr looked at his watch.
“We still have time to go to Damascus and return before the curfew. Major Ghassan, call them and check if they have a spare. Karim, take two guards with you and see if you can find someplace we can get electricity around the warehouse.”
Ghassan made his phone call and returned to Abu Amr.
“I talked to the agent. They have many integrated circuits available, but since our generator is of a rare type, we need to bring the original motherboard and check what they have available in the store. I think you should send someone quickly to Damascus.”
“Good,” said Abu Amr, “Let’s wait a moment and see what Karim says about the electricity.”
Abu Amr offered a cigarette to Ghassan, who was waiting to have a private moment with the leader of the group.
“What are your plans with the missile? The moment you launch it, it will be picked up immediately by the Israelis, the Americans, the Russians, you name it. So, what’s the point?”
Abu Amr thought before answering.
“I have no idea what they are planning. God willing, when we receive the orders, we will execute them flawlessly. Until then, your orders are to make the preparations to get operational as quickly as possible.”
“But we will have to move in the open if we need to launch the missile.” said Ghassan.
“Yes, I know,” answered Abu Amr, “you will get the truck out on the access ramp, raise the missile, do your tests, or whatever you need to do, and then drive back inside.”
Clever, thought Ghassan. If they launched from the ramp, the exhaust fumes would go into the basement and diminish the chances of being detected.
Karim returned with the two soldiers on his heel.
“There is a transformer on a pylon which is still functioning. We could get electricity from there, but we need at least 100 meters of cable to rig it to the truck when it will be on the ramp.”
He turned to Ghassan and asked, “Do you have such a cable in the truck or the van?”
“No.” responded Ghassan.
“Let’s do it like this,” intervened Abu Amr. “Karim, you go with the van to Damascus to look for a replacement for the integrated circuit; and while you are in Damascus, get the cable you need. Call the KIA agent and see if he can arrange the cable for you, so you don’t have to look around for it. Take Sergeant Fuad and two guards with you. If you want to be back here before curfew you should hurry and leave immediately.”
24- Thursday 7:50 pm
On the way back from Damascus
Karim drove the van at a reckless speed, with all the windows down to let some fresh air in and get the cigarette smoke out. They were all puffing on their Camel’s from a pack bought in Damascus, as if it was a fumigating experience. The Camels tasted much better than the locally made Alhamraas, and it made them happy to smoke American cigarettes for once. Hezbollah smuggled these cigarettes from Lebanon and distributed them in Syria through a semi-official network. It was one of the most lucrative business ventures of Hezbollah in Syria.
Once in Damascus, they drove to the Al-Qussour neighborhood and searched for the KIA distributor. They found his store in a street lined on one side with food stalls and across the street by hardware stores. The crowd in the street looked at them nervously when they got out of the van. They all crowded into the distributor’s store and found an adolescent boy in charge of the shop. He quickly disappeared behind a backdoor to call the shop owner and probably warn him that some armed militiamen were looking for him. A sweaty fat man wearing a dirty jellabiya came into the shop and looked nervously at the PIJ uniforms and then at their rifles. The PIJ uniform was not a common sight here, but the shop owner preferred not to question the men. After all, business was business.
He offered the team the customary cup of tea, which was accepted with pleasure. After the tea and the usual small talk, the shop-owner said in a small voice.
“I checked among the motherboards I have in stock to see if any of them fit the generator type you are looking for. Unfortunately, I found none which is a hundred percent compatible. I wouldn’t take the risk of trying a motherboard that looks similar but not specifically made for your type of generator.” The sweat stains on the shop owner’s stretched belly grew larger. Karim’s shoulders sag.
“… but I searched for you. I phoned my wife’s nephew in the city’s north. He also supplies KIA spare parts. Unfortunately, he does not carry spares for your type of generator. He told me it would be very difficult to find the part you are looking for. Sorry… but I located the cable you asked for.” he added nervously. “You will find it in the electrical supply store, which is two streets away.” At least they could rig the truck to the electrical grid. It looked like the only remaining option left. They found the store easily and bought the cable and loaded the van.
On the way back, Sergeant Fuad felt left out. The Palestinians in the van knew each other well and shared many common things. He had difficulties following their banter. They seemed to enjoy the ride and told jokes which made them laugh, but not him. He couldn’t see what was so funny. Despite their relaxed appearance, the militiamen had guarded him effectively during their visit to Damascus. They didn’t let him out of their eye-sight, even when he had to use the bathroom. The Palestinians were probably afraid he would try to escape. He wasn’t sure how much they needed his presence to launch the missile, but he wasn’t keen on taking unnecessary risks. If he tried to run away, he was sure that they would not hesitate to shoot him.
It was already dark, and few vehicles were on the road. If all went well, they would be back in the warehouse before the curfew. On the outskirts of Damascus, they were stopped at a Syrian Army roadblock and later at a roadblock manned by a local militia. The soldiers that were manning them just took a cursory look at the electrical material in the van and let them go.
Fuad was thoughtful; he tried to make sense of what the major had whispered to him just before boarding the van. Do nothing foolish! Not that he could do anything foolish with two armed guards facing him. He could have shouted for help at a roadblock, but he knew that would be suicide. No, the major wanted him alive for some reason. He understood t
hat with his family being in the hands of the PIJ, Ghassan felt helpless and hoped he had a plan to get them out of this situation and save his family. He had served long years with Major Ghassan and he knew him as a devout patriot, and he knew the last thing he wanted was to launch the missile on an Israeli city and kill innocent people. Maybe he was angry with him because he had let the PIJ take over the truck, but on the other hand he had the feeling he owed his life to the major because he was the one who probably told the PIJ to spare him. In any case, he had no choice but to trust Ghassan, and he decided to make sure he understood this.
They were now driving on the National Road in the southern neighborhoods of Damascus. In one or two kilometers, Karim would take the exit for the Al-Kisweh Industrial Zone. Suddenly, about 200 meters away, some militiaman waved them to the side of the road. Karim slowed down and came to a stop by a squad of Hezbollah soldiers. The officer came to the left side and asked Karim to hand over his papers. Another was looking at the inside of the van through the open window. In front of the car, on each side of the road, a soldier had his gun trained on the van. On the right side of the road, three soldiers were sitting around a kettle, drinking tea. Besides their guns, two RPGs were laying on the ground. The tension rose in the van. Karim, calmly and with a smile on his face, handed his identity card together with the van’s license. The soldier took his time to examine the papers and then looked inside.
“Let me see your identity cards.” He said to Fuad and the other Palestinians.
“What are you carrying?”
“Just electrical material for our headquarters. We are on maneuvers, close to this area.” Said Karim.
The Hezbollah militiaman looked at each of the passengers with suspicion for a moment, then slowly handed back the documents.