Mirage

by James Follett

  The smell of roast chicken persuaded Daniel to join the girls. They looked admiringly at the blond Israeli and giggled when he smiled at them. In answer to his query, one of the more forthcoming girls told him that he would have to go into the town if he wanted a beer. Clutching a chicken sandwich, Daniel sauntered across the road, stepped between two low-loaders, and sat on a wall to eat his sandwich in the sun.

  Luftech’s car park started emptying. Daniel watched the BMWs and Volkswagens speeding off towards the town and guessed that there was the same rush every lunchtime to find parking spaces near the town centre’s bars and restaurants.

  There was something vaguely familiar about the cigar-shaped object under the canvas cover on one of the loaders. It was obviously an aircraft fuselage minus its wings and tailplane. He walked idly over to the vehicle and sat on its overhang, casually swinging his legs while biting into his sandwich. No one appeared to be looking in his direction. He quickly ducked his head under the lashed canvas and peered up. There was no mistaking the trestle-supported graceful curves of the aircraft’s underbelly. Just seeing the gleaming, polished aluminium skin close to - so close that he could actually touch it - made Daniel realize that the impossible dream he had been nursing could become a wonderful reality.

  The aircraft was a Mirage.

  PART THREE

  1

  WINTERTHUR August 1967

  After two hours sitting at her hotel room window, waiting for Daniel to return, Raquel had had enough. There was three hundred pounds of McNaill’s money in her handbag and the shops with their smart clothes were beckoning. She stuck at her window vigil for another thirty minutes and took the lift down to the lobby while nervously rehearsing what she would say to Daniel if she ran into him. She did not run into him but in one of Winterthur’s smartest shops she did run into a smart yellow and black cashmere trouser suit priced at four hundred francs. Tracking down a matching pair of leather shoes and a handbag took another hour. At a department store she shelled out one hundred francs for a pair of sunglasses. What the hell

  - Swiss prices were lunatic but the general quality of their goods was far higher than in London. The only time in her life when she had more than a hundred dollars in her pocket was when she had been given a generous bonus by the owner of the New York bar where she had worked evenings while at college. To be able to go out and buy exactly what she wanted had always been a remote dream.

  She returned to her hotel room and spent an hour shampooing her hair, making herself up, and trying on her trophies. Seeing herself in a full length mirror looking like she had just stepped out of Vogue did wonders for her flagging morale.

  There was a tap on the door. It was the boy who had brought her breakfast. He looked at her in astonishment and double-checked the room number.

  ‘How do I look?’ Raquel asked before he had a chance to open his mouth.

  ‘Magnificent, sir.’

  Raquel sighed. ‘You’ve no idea how that “sir” spoils an otherwise serviceable compliment.’

  The boy’s English was not up to sarcasm. He said: ‘The gentleman you went to school with, sir. He checked out an hour ago.’

  Raquel stared at the boy. ‘Did he say where he was going?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Shit!’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ The boy’s eyes widened in surprise as Raquel’s anger suddenly evaporated and she flopped backwards on the bed laughing.

  ‘I guess it’s time for me to go home. Give me a hand with my bags.’

  Raquel attracted a wolf whistle as she struggled to lower the Zodiac’s roof. A Swiss wolf whistle no less! Two youngsters jumped off a motor scooter and helped her stow the roof and fix the tonneau cover into position by its turn-lock fasteners.

  She threaded the big car through the narrow streets - attracting morale-boosting admiring glances from men and scowls from women. Perhaps Daniel was heading back to London. In which case she would soon be reunited with him. Despite losing the trail, she felt good: the knot of anxiety over the miserable deception she was practising on Daniel was gone; the sun was shining; the hood was down; a warm breeze was plucking at her headscarf while Mick Jagger raved on the radio about his little red rooster. She knew that she cut a glamorous image in the convertible. She reached down and zeroed the trip meter. It would be interesting to see what the return mileage to Cherbourg was. Even more interesting would be McNaill’s face when he saw her expenses - especially if she stopped over in Paris and blew the lot. What the hell....

  2

  TEL AVIV

  Emil braked his Corsair when he spotted the familiar blond hair. The young man was standing outside the Rishon-Letsiyon Milk Bar thumbing him down. Emil wound the window fully open.

  ‘Hallo, Daniel.’

  ‘Hi, dad.’ Daniel reached through the window and shook hands warmly with his father. ‘You don’t look surprised to see me. I tried phoning you at your office but they didn’t know where you were.’ ‘You’re going my way?’ asked Emil innocently.

  Daniel laughed as he tossed his rucksack on the back seat and got into the car. ‘One day, dad, I’m really going to surprise you.’

  ‘I had a feeling you might turn up,’ said Emil, letting in the clutch. ‘How’s London? Don’t tell me El Al have kicked you out?’ ‘London’s great, and no, they haven’t. I’ve got a week’s leave.

  How’s mother?’

  ‘Moaning about your lack of literary talent when it comes to writing letters. Trouble is, she blames me.’

  ‘I can only stay tonight.’

  ‘That will please her,’ Emil remarked drily.

  ‘I’ve left my car at Zurich Airport and I’ve got to be back at my desk by Monday morning.’

  ‘Zurich?’

  ‘It’s a long story.’

  Emil said nothing but drove steadily. Experience had taught him when to question and when to remain silent. Listen first - ask questions later.

  ‘Dad - there’s something I have to discuss with you in private.’

  Emil turned the car into the drive of Moshav Sabra, spinning the wheel quickly to avoid ruts. He said mildly: ‘We’ll stay up for a late drink after Leonora’s gone to bed.’ He stopped the car and applied the handbrake.

  At first Daniel thought that the woman who came around the side of the house was a girl soldier of the Nahal. He stared in astonishment. Leonora was wearing khaki trousers and a shapeless army blouse. A pair of ear defenders were hooked around her neck. But the real cause of Daniel’s surprise was the heavy-barrelled version of an FN/FAL self-loading rifle hanging casually from her left shoulder. The weapon’s stock caught him a sharp crack on the shin as Leonora rushed to him and threw her arms around his neck. He whirled her around, disregarding his foot’s protests and the danger of more bruises from the rifle.

  ‘Daniel! What a lovely surprise! Why didn’t you tell us you were coming?’ She fired a dozen questions at her son - not giving him a chance to answer any of them - before rounding on Emil. ‘Wretched man! You might’ve told me! Look at me!’

  ‘I found him wandering about in the town,’ Emil protested. ‘What’s been going on?’ Daniel asked. ‘Have you joined the army, mother?’

  The laughter faded from Leonora’s eyes. ‘There’s was an attack near the town last week,’ she said seriously. ‘I thought I should keep my hand in.’

  Daniel was puzzled. ‘Keep your hand in? I don’t understand.’ Leonora seemed anxious to change the subject. ‘Emil - fix Daniel with a drink.’ She gave Daniel another hug. ‘I’ll go and change and see if I can persuade the dinner to spread to three.’

  The expert way Leonora held the rifle across her chest as she trotted into the house awoke in Daniel a vivid memory from his childhood when a bad dream had prompted him to creep fearfully into Leonora’s bedroom, hoping not to wake her so that he could crawl into bed beside her. He was halfway across the room when the light suddenly snapped on. Leonora was on her knees beside the bed, elbow resting on the mattress, a Luger clasp
ed in her hand - aimed at a point above Daniel where his head would have been had he been taller. The memory had always been with Daniel; a constant reminder that there was a side to his mother that would be forever closed to him.

  It was 11.00pm when Leonora stepped on to the veranda. She jammed two unopened bottles of Coca-Cola in the ice bucket for Emil and two bottles of lager for Daniel. She kissed them in turn. ‘I’m turning in,’ she announced. ‘I’ve had a long day.’

  Daniel returned his mother’s kiss and gripped her hand tightly. ‘Thanks for everything, mother. I’m sorry it’s such a short visit.’ Leonora jabbed him playfully. ‘Eager to get back to all those mini-skirts I suppose? In the morning you must tell me more about your Raquel. Goodnight, you two. Don’t stay up all night.’

  When they were alone, Daniel and Emil sat in silence for some moments, enjoying the cool of the evening and the heavy scent of jasmine hanging in the still air.

  ‘So what is it you wanted to discuss with me?’ asked Emil at length.

  Daniel was silent for some moments as he searched for the right words. He decided that he might as well get straight to the point. ‘Could you put me in touch with the head of Mossad, dad?’

  Emil opened one of the Coke bottles. ‘I believe his identity is known to very few people,’ he observed in a matter-of-fact tone.

  Daniel grinned. ‘And I’m prepared to bet what’s left of my gratuity that you’re one of them.’

  Emil filled his glass and lit a cigar. ‘What is it you wish to say to him?’

  ‘That I believe Israel could build its own version of the Mirage. In fact, I know we could.’

  Emil inhaled slowly on his cigar. He recalled the cabinet meeting that Carl Gless of Israel Aircraft Industries had attended. He looked keenly at Daniel. ‘You mean that Israel Aircraft Industries should dismantle a Mirage and duplicate all the component parts?’

  Daniel looked contemptuous. ‘No, I don’t mean that. That would be impossible without the production drawings and specifications. Just having a component in your hands gives you no idea how it was made. You don’t know what alloys and heat treatments were used, and when it comes to assembling components you need all the instructions in the assembly and sub-assembly drawings.’

  Emil was impressed by Daniel’s grasp of the problems; Carl Gless had said exactly the same thing at the meeting. But, of course, Daniel had spent several months in Dassault’s design offices and workshops. He knew what he was talking about.

  ‘So what are you suggesting?’ asked Emil guardedly.

  Daniel hesistated, uneasy at Emil’s likely reaction to his outrageous suggestion. ‘I believe that we should obtain all the thousands of drawings of the Mirage by clandestine means and build duplicate aircraft.’

  The tip of Emil’s cigar glowed bright as he inhaled. The silence encouraged Daniel to press on: ‘Except that we’d be able to build our own version of the Mirage better tailored to our operational needs.’

  ‘How many drawings?’

  ‘About two hundred and fifty thousand.’

  ‘In weight?’

  ‘It’s hard to say but about three tons.’

  Emil looked very dubious. ‘It sounds an impossible task.’

  ‘No more so than kidnapping Adolf Eichmann from Argentina.’ ‘Adolf Eichmann didn’t weigh three tons.’

  ‘Dad, will you promise me that what I’m about to say to you will reach the ears of the head of Mossad?’

  ‘You have my word,’ said Emil gravely.

  ‘That you won’t forget anything or change anything?’

  ‘It will be as if you are telling him in person.’

  Daniel’s trust in his stepfather was such that he had no need of further assurance. He quickly outlined the events of the past few days concluding with his moments on the low-loader parked outside Sulzer Brothers’ plant when he could have touched a Mirage.

  ‘I would not have thought it possible,’ said Emil.

  ‘Security’s nothing like as tight as around Dassault’s plant in Paris,’ said Daniel. ‘They’d never dream of leaving an aircraft unattended on a public road. And that’s the crux of the issue, dad. Winterthur is a sleepy little place. Nothing ever happens there - a few tourists but most of them go further south. Somehow, I don’t know how yet, I believe we could penetrate Sulzers or their documentation sub-contractors - a firm called Luftech - and obtain secondary masters of all the drawings. And not just the airframe drawings but the engine as well. I checked with the library in Winterthur: there’s not much I could learn about Luftech from their publicity material, but I was able to glean some information from back issues of the local paper. Not only are they preparing drawings of the Mirage, but also its Atar jet engine which Sulzers are building under licence from SNECMA. I saw very few Atar drawings when I was working at Dassault’s. That means that Luftech could be the only drawing office in the world where all the drawings - airframe and engine - are under one roof.’

  Emil was silent for some seconds while his mind raced ahead, grappling with the sheer breadth and audacity of the stupendous concept that Daniel had suggested. Eventually he asked: ‘Do you seriously think that Israel Aircraft Industries have the ability to build a supersonic fighter?’

  Daniel poured himself another lager. ‘Given government support

  - yes. With proper drawings, most of the very high precision components could be contracted out to specialist engineering firms. As for all the structural parts, Al Schwimmer has always said that he could build aircraft despite the problems he had with the Fouga trainer. He’s got everything at Lod: shaping machines, lathes, mills, jig-borers, gear-cutters. What he hasn’t got is design know-how and government confidence.’ He leaned across the table and grasped his father’s wrist. ‘Listen, dad. Israel can never hope to survive if we’re forever dependent on other countries for our supply of arms. We’re already building our own small arms and artillery and armoured vehicles. Now is the time for us to go the whole hog with a supersonic fighter.’

  Emil stared thoughtfully at Daniel. ‘What time does your flight leave tomorrow?’

  ‘Six o’clock in the evening.’

  ‘Can you type?’

  ‘Sort of. Two fingers. Why?’

  Emil thought for a moment. ‘You could use the typewriter in the office here .... No - you’d have too many people wanting to know what you were doing. There’s a typewriter in my office you can use.’ Emil stubbed out his cigar and stood. ‘Bed, Daniel. We’ve got a busy day tomorrow.’

  3

  Daniel got out of the car and looked up in surprise at the converted hotel that was the Ministry of Defence procurement offices off Hayarkon Street.

  ‘So this is where you work, dad?’

  Emil chuckled. He could hardly take Daniel to the headquarters of the ‘Institute’. ‘It’s where my office is.’

  Daniel followed Emil into the building. They bumped into Jacob Wyel who was on his way out. The big, florid man was wearing an expensive, well-cut suit. He looked surprised to see Emil.

  ‘Hallo, Emil. We’ve been wondering when you’d show up. Mrs Harel’s been complaining that’s she’s going to stop taking your messages unless you show up more often.’ He looked sharply at Daniel. ‘And who’s this?’

  ‘This is my son, Daniel—’

  ‘Daniel!’ Jacob beamed, pumping Daniel’s hand. ‘I’ve heard a lot about you from your father.’

  ‘This is Knessett Member Jacob Wyel. Ministry of Defence,’ said Emil.

  ‘I’ve heard of you, Mr Wyel,’ said Daniel politely. While shaking hands with Jacob he noticed an expensive diamond ring gleaming on the junior minister’s right hand.

  ‘And how’s London, Daniel?’

  ‘Very enjoyable,’ Daniel replied, puzzled that Jacob should know about his job.

  Jacob chuckled. ‘You can thank me for getting you that posting.’ He looked at his Cartier watch. ‘I’ve a meeting with Dayan in thirty minutes. Better rush. Nice to meet you, Daniel.’ With a cheery
wave of a manicured hand, Jacob went down the steps. A girl driver jumped out of a government motor pool Citroen DS19 and held the door open for Jacob. Senior ministers were entitled to a Mercedes although there was one who preferred his own bicycle.

  ‘He looks like a candidate for Israel’s best-dressed man award,’ Daniel commented to Emil as they entered the building. ‘What did he mean about thanking him for my job?’

  ‘Jacob’s an old friend,’ Emil replied, guiding Daniel to the security desk. ‘He’s got a lot of influence and many useful contacts. You’ll need a visitor’s pass.’

  The two men were met on the second floor by Jane Harel, Jacob’s private secretary - a smiling, fashionably-dressed woman close to retirement. ‘Good morning, Mr Kalen,’ she said brightly. ‘I’ve got about a thousand messages for you.’

  ‘Later, please, Jane. I’ve got a busy morning.’

  The woman glanced curiously at Daniel. ‘Not so busy that you wouldn’t like some fresh coffee?’

  Emil grinned. ‘ You spoil me, Jane,’ he said over his shoulder as he ushered Daniel into his ‘cover’ office.

  Daniel looked around in surprise at the spartan interior. He expected his father to have a much more prestigious place.

  ‘It does me,’ said Emil, reading his son’s mind. He delved into a filing cabinet and produced a ream of paper. He sat Daniel at the desk and pulled the dust cover off an Adler electric typewriter. ‘Looks like you’ve got everything you need,’ he said. ‘Right, Daniel, I want you to type out a full report on everything you told me last night. All your movements. The places you stayed at. Who you spoke to. Everything. And at the end I want your conclusions. Make sure everything is typed - don’t add anything in your handwriting; don’t mention your name, and don’t worry about spelling or too many corrections. Just so long as all the facts are there. And type only one copy, Daniel - keep all your wastepaper, and take the report with you when you go to the lavatory. If anyone comes in, don’t let them see what you’re working on. I’ll call for you at one for some lunch and then I’ll run you to the airport. Okay?’