Mossad

by Michael Bar-Zohar

  It was Zalman again.

  “Why do you refuse to work for us?” he asked Elie. “We shall pay you 350 pounds ($195) a month. You’ll train for six months. Then, if you like it, you’ll stay. If not—you’ll be free to go.”

  This time, Elie didn’t say no. And he became a secret agent.

  Some of the Aman veterans tell a different version. They maintain that when he arrived in Israel, Elie didn’t get a job at Aman, because the psychological tests he underwent showed him to be overconfident. He was gifted, courageous, and had an excellent memory, but had the tendency to overestimate himself and take unnecessary risks. These character traits, combined, made him unsuitable for Aman.

  But in the early sixties, things changed. Aman’s Unit 131, the special operations unit of the IDF intelligence branch, urgently started looking for a highly qualified agent in Damascus, the capital of Syria. In the last few years, Syria had become the most aggressive Arab country, and the sworn enemy of Israel. It never missed a chance to attack. Syria confronted Israel in bloody battles at the Golan Heights and on the shores of the Lake of Galilee; it dispatched squads of terrorists across the Israeli border. And now, it planned to carry out a grandiose engineering project, intended to divert the waters of the Jordan River tributaries and deprive Israel of water.

  In the late fifties, Israel had launched a project of huge pipelines and canals that would carry a part of the Jordan water to the arid Negev region. The water was taken from the part of the river that passed through Israel’s territory. The water project triggered a series of Arab summit conferences. The Arab nations solemnly decided to divert the Jordan tributaries and kill the Israeli project; the job itself fell to Syria.

  Israel could not survive without Jordan’s water. It could not let Syria succeed, and started planning a response. It needed an agent in Damascus, somebody trustworthy, confident, and daring. The same characteristics that had forced Aman to reject Elie before made him perfect now for Unit 131. (Fifty years later, it was revealed that Aman had tried to recruit somebody else for that job—Sami Michael, Nadia Cohen’s brother! Michael refused, stayed in Israel, and became one of its great poets.)

  Cohen’s training was long and exhausting. Every morning, under some pretext, Elie would leave home and head for the Aman training center. For several weeks, he had only one instructor, a man named Yitzhak. First, he learned how to memorize things. Yitzhak would throw a dozen objects on the table—a pencil, a bunch of keys, a cigarette, an eraser, a few pins. Elie glanced at them for a second or two. Then he had to close his eyes and describe what they looked like. He also learned to identify the type and make of tanks, aircrafts, and cannons. “Let’s go for a walk,” Yitzhak would say. The two of them would stroll in the crowded Tel Aviv streets. “Do you see the newspaper stand over there?” Yitzhak would whisper. “Now, go there and pretend to be looking at the papers, but at the same time try to find out who is following you.” When they returned to the center, Yitzhak would listen to Elie’s report and then throw a batch of photos on the table. “You were right about this one; he followed you indeed, but what about that one, by the tree? He was also shadowing you.”

  One morning, Zalman introduced him to another instructor, Yehuda, who taught him how to use a small, sophisticated radio transmitter. He then sent Elie to undergo physical exams and psychological tests. After the tests were over, Zalman introduced Elie to a young woman, Marcelle Cousin.

  “It’s time for the decisive test, Elie,” he said. “Marcelle will give you a French passport in the name of an Egyptian Jew who has immigrated to Africa and now has come to Israel as a tourist. With this passport you’ll go to Jerusalem and stay there ten days. Marcelle will give you full details about your cover—your past in Egypt, your family, your work in Africa. In Jerusalem you’ll only speak French and Arabic. You have to meet people, make friends, and establish new contacts without revealing your real identity. You must also make sure that you’re not followed.”

  Elie spent ten days in Jerusalem. On his return he got a few days of leave. Nadia had just given birth to a daughter, Sophie. After Rosh Hashana—the Jewish New Year—Zalman introduced him to two other men, who didn’t identify themselves. “You’ve passed your test in Jerusalem, Elie,” one of them said with a smile. “It’s time to get to more serious matters.”

  In a bare room at the Aman facility, Elie met a Muslim sheikh who patiently taught him the Koran and the Muslim prayers. Elie tried to concentrate, but kept making mistakes. “Don’t worry,” his instructors told him. “If somebody starts asking you questions, tell them that you’re not a devout Muslim, and you only have vague religious memories from your days at school.”

  Now Elie was given a foretaste of his mission: he would soon be sent to a neutral country abroad, and after additional training he would proceed to an Arab capital.

  “Which one?” he asked.

  “You’ll be told in due time.”

  Zalman went on. “You’ll pose as an Arab, create local contacts, and establish an Israeli espionage network.”

  Elie agreed without hesitating. He felt confident that he could carry out the mission.

  “You’ll get papers of a Syrian or an Iraqi,” his handlers told him.

  “Why? I don’t know anything about Iraq. Get me Egyptian papers.”

  “That’s impossible,” Zalman said. “The Egyptians have updated records of their population and of all the passports they have issued. That’s too dangerous. Iraq and Syria don’t have such records. They can’t track you down.”

  Two days later, Zalman and his colleagues revealed to Elie his new identity. “Your name is Kamal. Your father’s name is Amin Tabet, so your full name will be Kamal Amin Tabet.”

  Elie’s case officers had prepared a detailed legend—a cover story—for their new agent. “You’re the son of Syrian parents. Your mother’s name is Saida Ibrahim. You had a sister. You were born in Beirut, in Lebanon. When you were three, your family left Lebanon and moved to Egypt, to Alexandria. Don’t forget, your family is Syrian. A year later your sister died. Your father was a textile merchant. In 1946 your uncle emigrated to Argentina. Shortly after, he wrote to your father and invited your family to join him in Buenos Aires. In 1947 all of you arrived in Argentina. Your father and your uncle established a partnership with a third person, and opened a textile store, but it went bankrupt. Your father died in 1956 and six months later your mother died, too. You lived with your uncle and worked at a travel agency. You later went into business and were very successful.”

  Elie now needed a cover story for his family as well. “I got a job with a company that works with the Defense and Foreign Ministries,” Elie told Nadia when he came back home. “They need somebody to travel in Europe, buy tools, equipment, and materials for Ta’as (Israel’s military industry) and find markets for its products. I’ll come home often, for long leaves. I know that the separation will be hard—for both of us—but you’ll get my full salary here, and in a few years we’ll buy furniture in Europe and set up the apartment.”

  In early February 1961 an unmarked car brought Elie to Lod Airport. A young man who identified himself as Gideon handed him an Israeli passport in his real name, $500, and a plane ticket to Zurich.

  On his arrival in Zurich, Elie was met by a white-haired man, who took his passport and gave him a passport from a European country, in another name. That passport carried an entry visa to Chile and a transit visa to Argentina. “In Buenos Aires our people will extend your transit visa,” the man said, slipping into Elie’s hand a plane ticket to Santiago, with a stopover in Buenos Aires. “Tomorrow you’ll arrive in Buenos Aires. The day after, at eleven A.M., you should come to Café Corrientes. Our people will meet you there.”

  Elie arrived in Argentina’s capital and checked into a hotel. The following morning, at eleven o’clock on the dot, an elderly man came to his table at Café Corrientes, and introduced himself as Abraham. Cohen was instructed to settle in a furnished apartment, already rented
for him. A local teacher would get in touch with him and teach him the Spanish language. “You’ll have no other concerns,” Abraham said. “I’ll take care of your finances.”

  Three months later, Elie was ready for the next stage. He spoke passable Spanish, knew Buenos Aires well, dressed and behaved like thousands of Arab immigrants living in Argentina’s capital. Another tutor trained him to speak Arabic with a Syrian accent.

  Abraham met him again in a café, and handed him a Syrian passport in the name of Kamal Amin Tabet. “You must change your address by the end of the week,” Abraham said. “Open a bank account in that name. Start visiting the Arab restaurants, the cinemas where Arab movies are shown, and the Arab cultural and political clubs. Try to make as many friends as possible, and establish contacts with the Arab community leaders. You are a man of means, a merchant and a brilliant businessman. You are in the import-export business, but you also are involved in transports and investments. Make generous contributions to the charity funds of the Arab community. Good luck!”

  The Israeli spy, indeed, had plenty of good luck. In a few months, Elie Cohen successfully penetrated the core of the Arab-Syrian community in Buenos Aires. His personal charm, confidence, common sense, and fortune attracted quite a few Arabs, among the most important in Argentina. He soon became a well-known figure in Arab circles. His breakthrough came in the Muslim club one evening when he met a dignified gentleman, well dressed, balding, his face adorned with a bushy mustache. He introduced himself as Abdel Latif Hassan, editor in chief of the Arab World magazine published in Argentina. Hassan was deeply impressed with the serious personality of “the Syrian immigrant,” and the two of them became close friends.

  The cultural events at the clubs were followed by more intimate gatherings in the company of the Arab community leaders. Elie made it to the Syrian embassy guest list, and was invited to posh parties and receptions. At an official reception at the embassy, Hassan steered his friend Tabet to an imposing-looking officer, dressed in the uniform of a Syrian general. “Allow me to introduce a real and devoted Syrian patriot,” Hassan said to the general. And then, turning to Elie, he added: “Meet General Amin El-Hafez, the military attaché at the embassy.”

  Elie seemed to have completed the final stage in establishing his legend. Time had come for the real espionage mission. Elie was briefed in a short, surreptitious meeting with Abraham in July 1961. The next day he came to Hassan’s office. “I am sick and tired of living in Argentina,” he admitted. He loved Syria more than anything, and wanted to go back. Could Hassan help him with some letters of recommendation? The editor immediately wrote four letters: one to his brother-in-law in Alexandria, two to friends in Beirut (one of them a highly influential banker), and the fourth to his son in Damascus. Elie visited his other Arab friends, and his briefcase was soon full of enthusiastic letters of recommendation, written by the leaders of the Buenos Aires community.

  At the end of July 1961, Kamal Amin Tabet flew to Zurich, changed planes, and proceeded to Munich. At the airport of the Bavarian capital, an Israeli agent approached him. His name was Zelinger. He handed Elie his Israeli passport and a plane ticket to Tel Aviv. In early August, Elie came home. “I’ll spend some months at home,” he said to Nadia.

  The following months passed in intensive training. Elie’s cover was perfect and he completely identified with his new character. His radio instructor, Yehuda, was back, and trained him in radio transmission in code. After a few weeks he was able to receive and transmit between twelve and sixteen words a minute. He compulsively read books and documents on Syria, its army, weapons, and strategy. After myriad briefings by specialists, he himself became an expert on Syrian internal politics.

  In December 1961, Elie flew to Zurich again; but his final destination was Damascus, the lion’s den.

  The tension on the Syrian-Israeli border had grown as the Syrian regime had weakened. Since 1948, a long series of military coups had shaken the country. Very rarely did a Syrian dictator die a natural death anymore—they died on the gallows, in front of a firing squad, or by the good services of an assassin. The unstable country was in constant turmoil. Quite often, eager to distract the public’s attention from inner problems, the Syrian leaders deliberately caused border incidents. Public executions were a common sight in Damascus’s squares. One after the other, the hangmen put to death people labeled as conspirators, spies, enemies of the state, and supporters of the former regime. Not long before Elie arrived, there had been yet another coup, on September 28, 1961; it had put an end to the short-lived Syrian-Egyptian union, pompously named the United Arab Republic.

  Before setting out on his mission, Elie met the ubiquitous Zalman, who gave him detailed instructions: “You’ll get your radio transmitter from Zelinger, our man in Munich. After you arrive in Damascus, you’ll be contacted by an employee of the Syrian broadcasting corporation. He, too, is an ‘immigrant’ like you, who has settled in Syria not long ago. He doesn’t know your real identity. Don’t try to find him! He’ll find the right moment to establish contact with you.”

  In Munich, Zelinger had for him an impressive package of spying equipment: sheets of paper, on which the key to the transmission code was written with invisible ink; books serving as transmission codes; a special typewriter; a transistor radio, in which a transmitter had been inserted; an electric razor whose cord served as an antenna for the transmitter; dynamite sticks hidden in Yardley soap and cigars; and some cyanide pills for suicide, just in case . . .

  Elie wondered how he would introduce all this equipment to Syria, where customs and immigration controls were thorough and severe.

  Zelinger had the answer. “You’ll buy a passage on the SS Astoria that sails from Genoa to Beirut in early January. Somebody will get in touch with you on the boat. He’ll help you pass the border controls in Syria.”

  Elie set sail aboard the Astoria. One morning, when he was sitting close to a group of Egyptian passengers, a man approached him and whispered: “Follow me.” Elie got up and strolled away from the group. The man told him: “My name is Majeed Sheikh El-Ard. I’ve got a car.” That was a hint that he would drive Elie to Damascus.

  El-Ard, a short, mousy man, was an international entrepreneur and a well-known—and shady—businessman in Damascus. He was married to an Egyptian Jewess, and yet he had chosen to pass the World War II years in Nazi Germany. His fickle and greedy character made him seem an unsavory partner, which attracted the Israeli services’ attention; they soon made him their agent, even though he didn’t realize it. He believed he was working for right-wing Syrian extremists who were acting undercover. He truly believed in Kamal Amin Tabet’s legend, and in the coming years was to be of great help to the Israeli spy.

  His first task was to make sure that Tabet’s baggage would safely go through Syrian controls.

  January 10, 1962. El-Ard’s car, coming from Beirut, was stopped at the Syrian border. In the trunk were Elie Cohen’s bags, full of transmission equipment and other incriminating items. Elie was sitting in the passenger seat, beside Sheikh El-Ard.

  “We are going to meet my friend Abu Khaldun,” El-Ard told Elie when they approached the border. “He happens to be in financial trouble. Five hundred dollars would certainly improve his situation.”

  And so, $500 quickly made their way from the Israeli agent’s wallet to the pocket of Abu Khaldun, the Syrian customs inspector. The barrier was raised and the car sailed into the desert. Elie Cohen was in Syria.

  In bustling Damascus, strewn with crowded mosques and colorful souks, it was not difficult to melt into the crowd. But Elie wanted the exact opposite. He wanted to be noticed, and fast. He rented a luxurious villa in the classy Abu Ramen neighborhood, close to Syrian Army Headquarters. From the villa’s balcony, Elie could watch the entrance to the Syrian government’s official guesthouse. His house stood among foreign embassies, rich businessmen’s homes, and the official residences of the nation’s leaders. Elie immediately concealed his secret equipment i
n various hiding places throughout the house. In order to avoid the risk of informers or traitors in his own household, he decided to refrain from hiring servants, and lived alone.

  He was lucky again. He had arrived in Damascus at the right moment. The United Arab Republic collapse was regarded by President Nasser in Cairo as a personal affront and a humiliation to Egypt. The Syrian leaders, both politicians and military, were obsessed with the possibility of an Egyptian-inspired coup, and Israeli espionage was not on their agenda. On the other hand, they badly needed new allies, supporters, and sources of funding, both in Syria and among the Syrian émigrés overseas. Kamal Amin Tabet, the staunchly nationalist millionaire, armed with excellent letters of recommendation, was the right man at the right time.

  Cohen established his contacts quickly and effectively. His letters of recommendation opened the gates to the high society, the banks, and the commercial circles that had inspired the coup of September 28. His new friends introduced Elie to top government officials, senior army officers, and leaders of the ruling party. Two rich businessmen courted the young and handsome millionaire, hoping he would marry one of their daughters. In a display of generosity, Tabet contributed a substantial sum of money to the building of a public kitchen for the poor of Damascus. His new popularity paved his way to the governing circles; yet he refrained from identifying with Syria’s new rulers, because he intuitively felt that this was only temporary. Syria was still to go through major internal aftershocks following the separation from Egypt.

  A month after his arrival in Damascus, Elie was visited by George Salem Seif, a radio-show host in charge of Radio Damascus broadcasts for Syrians abroad. He was the man whom Zalman had mentioned at Elie’s last briefing in Israel. Seif had “returned” to Syria a while before Tabet. Because of his position, he could supply Elie with inside information about the political and military situation. Seif also showed Elie the secret guidelines by the Ministry of Propaganda, outlining what he could broadcast and what he had to conceal from his audiences. At the parties held in Seif’s house, Elie met several senior officials and well-known politicians.