Ultimatum

by Antony Trew

  8. When the necessary undertakings have been given jointly by the goverments of the United Kingdom and the United States the nuclear device will remain in position in London under the control of the Soukour-al-Sahra’ until such time as the undertakings have been fulfilled in all respects.

  9. The demands in this ultimatum are not negotiable by the Soukour-al-Sahra’ nor the PLO nor any other authority or group or agency or persons and for that reason no means of communication has been suggested or given and all undertakings in regard to the fulfilment must be made by the United Kingdom and United States by publication in The Times and the Daily Express and by announcement at pre-advertised times over the BBC’s home and overseas radio services.

  10. In order to establish the authenticity of this document, photographs of the nuclear device and its detonating component are attached and attention is drawn to the series numbers stamped upon each by those responsible for their manufacture.

  11. Copies of this ultimatum have been dispatched by the same post to the US Ambassador to the United Kingdom, to the Director-General of the BBC, and to the editors of The Times and the Daily Express.

  Signed: Mahmoud el Ka’ed,

  Soukour-al-Sahra’

  The Prime Minister noted that, but for the ink-written date in the first paragraph, the document was undated. He put it down, leant back in his chair. ‘Now, let me see those photographs, Lanyard.’

  Lanyard, tight-lipped, visibly shaken, handed them over. The Prime Minister shuffled through the photos, puffed at his pipe, then sat deep in thought for some time. ‘Think it’s a hoax?’

  ‘Emphatically not, Prime Minister. DGSS was on the phone ten minutes ago. He’s already checked with the CRS and the Direction de la Surveillance du Territoire in Paris – also with the French Ministry of Defence. Lassagne, the Ministry’s nuclear weapons boss, has checked with Aerospatiale. The device in these photos is the Pluton warhead missing after the alleged Israeli commando raid on Beirut Port on October fifth/sixth.’

  ‘So the Israeli denial was genuine.’

  ‘It seems so, Prime Minister. DGSS believes the raid was carried out by Ka’ed’s SAS. So does Anton Girard of the DST.’

  ‘Is that belief well-founded?’

  ‘Yes. McGann goes along with it too.’

  ‘Couldn’t the photos have been taken while the warhead and detonator were in the hands of Aerospatiale?’

  Lanyard shook his head, playing his trump card with a certain boyish satisfaction, just as McGann had to him not long before. ‘I think this answers your question, Prime Minister.’ He handed over the last photograph. It showed the Pluton lying on a trestle in what looked like a crude workshop. At the top of the photograph, hands held an open newspaper, the tip of the warhead’s nose-cone piercing it. The name of the paper and date of publication could be seen quite clearly: Al Hayat, October 7th, 1975.

  ‘That’s the Arabic language daily published in Beirut,’ explained Lanyard.

  ‘I know.’ The Prime Minister continued to examine the photograph. ‘Let us say it provides fairly conclusive evidence that these people had the warhead in Beirut the day after the raid on the Port. But what evidence is there that it is now in London? Presumably it’s fairly large and heavy. How did they transport it from Beirut to an ‘important area of London’? It may still be in Beirut.’

  Lanyard nodded. ‘DGSS and McGann thought of that as soon as they’d read the ultimatum.’

  ‘What conclusions did they reach?’

  ‘None in the short time they were here, Prime Minister. Except to say …’ Lanyard hesitated.

  ‘To say what?’ prompted the Prime Minister.

  ‘That it could be a bluff but somebody had better decide bloody quick. No use passing the buck. Those were, I think, the exact words used.’

  ‘Sounds like McGann. Did he say who that somebody was?’

  ‘Yes, Prime Minister. He seemed to think it was you.’

  There was a meaningful silence before the Prime Minister said, ‘Generous of him.’ He laid down the empty pipe. ‘Not an easy decision, Lanyard.’

  That, thought his principal private secretary, is likely to be the understatement of the year.

  ‘Have you checked with the other addressees?’

  ‘Yes, I have. They all confirm having received copies. The United States Ambassador is in Scotland … or rather was. He’s flying south. Due at Grosvenor Square at eleven-forty-five. But it’s been read to him. He told his secretary he’d phone you as soon as he reaches the Embassy. They’ve already spoken to Washington. The Director-General of the BBC has it. So have the editors of The Times and the Daily Express. They’ve undertaken not to publish for the time being. But they expect to be taken into your confidence within the day.’

  The Prime Minister frowned. ‘Do they really?’ The media were not his favourite people. He got up from the chair and stood looking at the photos. ‘And the D-notice?’

  ‘DGSS had one slapped on it as soon as I phoned him, Prime Minister.’

  ‘Good. I want a meeting of the Cabinet at two-thirty this afternoon. By then DGSS’s people and McGann will have put in five hours on this – the US Ambassador will have spoken to Washington and come back to me. By two-thirty we should have something to bite on.’ He hesitated. ‘Tell Cabinet Ministers that a national emergency of … of what? …’ He looked at the ceiling hoping to find some helpful answer there.

  ‘Cataclysmic proportions,’ suggested Lanyard.

  ‘Rather too much, don’t you think?’ The Prime Minister smiled at his private secretary. ‘I daresay you used that in an OU debate.’

  Lanyard grinned guiltily. ‘Actually I did.’

  ‘So did I once. I was younger then.’ The Prime Minister became suddenly serious. ‘This is no light matter, Lanyard. These people have a cause and they’re prepared to die for it. That always inhibits political solutions. Like the wretched mess in Northern Ireland. Only a damned sight worse.’

  ‘Indescribably worse, I should have thought, Prime Minister. There are eight million innocent people in London. Why should they be put at risk? It’s monstrous.’

  ‘We won’t discuss the why of it now, Lanyard. That’s become irrelevant. The fact is they are at risk.’

  The private secretary went towards the door. ‘One moment,’ said the Prime Minister. ‘I want to see the Leader of the Opposition and the Leader of the house of Lords between one and two this afternoon. In making the appointments, stress that I wish to discuss privately a national matter of the utmost urgency and importance.’

  ‘Yes, Prime Minister.’ Lanyard was making notes.

  ‘And I would like the Permanent Secretaries for Home, Foreign Affairs and Defence, the Chief of the General Staff, the Chairman of the Combined Intelligence Committee, the Commissioner of Police and the Head of Special Branch from Scotland Yard, the Chairman of the GLC and his Chief executive, and of course DGSS and George Isaacson – plus two leading nuclear physicists and nuclear weapons experts nominated by him – to be on call here during the Cabinet Meeting.’

  George Isaacson was the Prime Minister’s principal scientific adviser.

  Lanyard went on scribbling. ‘May I read that back?’

  ‘Yes. Please.’

  Lanyard read back. When he’d finished the Prime Minister said, ‘Good. But I want Isaacson to bring two nuclear physicists and two nuclear arms experts. That’s four in all. Is that clear?’

  ‘Yes. I have that.’

  The Prime Minister crossed to the far corner of the room. ‘One more thing, Lanyard.’ He smiled reassuringly. ‘Keep cool. We’re going to get over this somehow.’ He didn’t add that he hadn’t the slightest idea how.

  The principal private secretary nodded forlornly and left the room. When he’d gone the Prime Minister sat at his desk, head in hands, ‘God help us,’ he muttered. ‘What an appalling situation. What impossible demands. They must know we can’t meet them. The Israelis will never agree.’

  Minutes later he lo
oked at the carriage clock on his desk. There would be just time to get to the Palace, tell her, and be back at Number Ten before the US Ambassador reached his Embassy in Grosvenor Square.

  Seventy-two Hours To Go

  13

  Shalom Ascher went slowly up the stairs of 56 Spender Street, the speed of his ascent reflecting his disenchantment with his task. On reaching the first-floor landing, he turned left and knocked on the door of the office on the right. While he waited he looked at his watch. Three minutes to two. At least he was not late. He heard footsteps in the office and knew that Zol Levi was coming to the door and would be examining him through the spy-hole. He heard the key in the lock turn. The door opened. Levi nodded. ‘’Kay. Come in.’ Ascher went in. Levi shut and locked the door behind him. Ascher put the wet umbrella in the metal wastepaper basket, brushed rainwater from his shaggy head. ‘Anything new, Zol?’

  Levi smiled knowingly, made a circle with his thumb and forefinger. ‘Listen to this. Recorded about eleven this morning. I’ve just played it through.’ He went to the small table where the Grundigs stood. On one of them the wheels were still turning. He switched on the other, adjusting the volume until it was audible though muted.

  The two men pulled chairs close to the recorder and near the window so that they could watch Mocal’s premises while they listened. From the Grundig’s speaker came the sound of voices speaking Arabic. The Israelis had no difficulty in identifying them. They had listened to many tapes in recent weeks.

  HANNA NASOUR: How can we be sure all the cards were delivered this morning?

  ZEID: They were posted Saturday about five-thirty. The letter-boxes were cleared at seven. They should all be delivered by now.

  IBRAHIM SOUREF: The addressees must have had a nasty shock.

  NAJIB HAMADEH: You’re telling me.

  HANNA: Well. We’ll soon know. Everything okay with Ahmad and Rudi?

  ZEID: Yes. Ahmad phoned at eight this morning. From a call-box.

  HANNA: This waiting kills me. I churn and churn inside. A high-jay’s chicken feed compared with this.

  ZEID: Watch it, Hanna.

  HANNA: Sorry.

  SOUREF: Who doesn’t churn inside? But think of Rudi and Ahmad. At least we don’t have to deliver the goods. Have you spoken to Brussels again, Zeid?

  ZEID: Yes. Last night.

  SOUREF: Anything new?

  ZEID: How could there be? The action’s here not there. We have to make the sale. We’re committed to the contract. All Brussels wants to know is market reaction once the terms are known.

  HAMADEH: When will that be?

  ZEID: Tonight, I imagine. It’s not a thing to be delayed.

  HANNA: The sooner the better. Ibby! Your hair. Put it straight.

  SOUREF: Satisfied?

  (Sounds of a scuffle, laughter).

  HANNA: Whoops! Don’t you dare. That’s better. Coffee anyone?

  ZEID: Not for me, Hanna. I must be going.’

  SOUREF: Yes. Please. With sugar. Lots of it.

  HAMADEH: Please. No sugar.

  (Sounds of a chair scraping, a deep sigh and footsteps.)

  HANNA: It’s a man’s world.

  (Light laughter, a door opening and shutting.)

  SOUREF: Super girl.

  HAMADEH: You should know.

  SOUREF: Jealousy will get you nowhere.

  ZEID: You must all get as much sleep as you can while you can.

  HAMADEH: Easily said. It’s impossible, Zeid. Too much to think about. Difficult to sleep on the edge of a volcano.

  ZEID: Discipline yourself, man. It’s not such a problem. It’s going to be more difficult for others. How would you like to be sleeping in Palace Green tonight?

  SOUREF: Thanks to Allah, I won’t be. It could be a two-way blast for them. Market reaction and the contract.

  ZEID: It’s good that its terms are not negotiable. Especially by them.

  HAMADEH: I wonder what the decision would be if it were?

  ZEID: No point in speculating on what might have been. Let’s deal with what is. That’s enough for any man.

  HAMADEH: When do we see you next?

  ZEID: Tonight. After the late editions have come on the streets. You listening to that radio, Ibrahim? I must go now.

  SOUREF: Sure. It’s turned right down but I can hear. It’s just behind my ear.

  ZEID: ’Bye now.

  HAMADEH: Allah be with you, Zeid.

  (Sounds of chairs scraping, footsteps, a door opening and shutting.)

  Levi switched off the Grundig. ‘That’s all that’s worth hearing. The rest’s just chat.’

  ‘That was interesting,’ said Ascher. ‘Very interesting.’

  ‘What do you make of it? I have my own ideas.’

  Ascher was watching the premises opposite. It was some time before he spoke. ‘Most of it figures,’ he said, ‘but not all. They were playing the shorthand game. Amateurish but effective if you don’t get careless. Hanna got careless. Know why? She was excited. They were all excited. Did you get that?’

  ‘Yes, I did. And she let out high-jay.’

  Ascher nodded. ‘Yeah. Zeid didn’t like that. So she’s been on a high-jack. It’s the first time since we’ve been listening that any of them have admitted to being what we know they are.’

  ‘So what d’you think?’ Levi frowned, watching the other man.

  ‘Certain things stand out like a sore thumb. “The cards”– must be the Christmas cards we’ve heard about. Letter bombs, probably. Hence the addressees’ nasty shock. And the addressees? Probably prominent Zionists in the City. Okay?’

  ‘So far I’m with you,’ said Levi.

  Ascher stood up, moved closer to the window. ‘Rudi and Ahmad – whoever they are – are to deliver “the goods”.’

  ‘Explosives,’ suggested Levi.

  ‘Sounds like it.’ Ascher scratched his ear. ‘To be delivered where? The only reference to a place in that tape is Palace Green. And that’s tied to to-night.’

  ‘The Embassy’s address is Palace Green.’

  ‘You’re highly perceptive, Zol.’

  ‘I do my best.’

  Ascher’s shaggy head nodded in slow affirmation. ‘Right. So it fits.’

  Levi said, ‘I’d say it does. What was all that stuff about “Brussels”, “the contract” and “market reaction” once the terms are known?’

  Ascher thought about that. ‘Brussels? Probably a communications link. They’ve mentioned it before you know. The contract could be some sort of ultimatum, couldn’t it?’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Market reaction? Well. They said that twice. The second time in relation to Palace Green. In both contexts it could have meant ‘public opinion’. But where I come unstuck is where Zeid says, “its terms” are not for “their decision”. He was referring to those at Palace Green. In other words the Israeli Embassy.’

  ‘So?’ said Levi doggedly.

  ‘There’s some sort of ultimatum associated with an attack on the Israeli Embassy. But it’s not for the Israelis to decide the response. Okay?’

  ‘It makes sense. But it’s not conclusive. And who will decide?’

  ‘Who knows. And of course it isn’t conclusive. Nothing is in this game.’

  Ascher looked at his watch, got up with sudden urgency.

  Levi was puzzled. ‘And now?’

  ‘I’ll do what I should have done ten minutes ago. Alert the Embassy. Then go up there with the tape. You stay here. Ruth should be along shortly. I’ll use a call-box for this one.’

  Ascher was about to go when they heard a knock on the door. Levi went to it, looked through the spy-hole. ‘She’s come.’ He unlocked the door. Ascher thought she looked very desirable, cheeks and raincoat glistening with moisture, dark eyes and white teeth combining in a vivid smile.

  ‘Hi,’ she said.

  Levi shut and locked the door. She put down the shopping bag and umbrella, took off the raincoat, and hung it on a peg near the door. ‘It’s miserable outside,�
� she said, ‘but I’ve news for you.’

  ‘What news?’ Levi watched her closely.

  ‘I’ve seen him at close range.’

  ‘Who?’ It came from the two men simultaneously.

  ‘Zeid. I almost bumped into him. In a stationery shop in the Strand. Near the Aldwych.’

  ‘Big deal,’ said Levi.

  ‘Quite a dish at close range. He was buying a pocket-size notebook. Now I know why he wears that silk scarf round his neck.’

  ‘Difficult to wear it anywhere else,’ suggested Ascher. ‘But tell us.’

  ‘There’s a scar running down the left side of his neck. One of those red wrinkled ones. Starts from behind the ear and goes down into the collar.’

  ‘You didn’t follow it below that?’ Levi cocked his head on one side.

  Ascher was serious. ‘How could you see it, if he was wearing a scarf?’

  ‘He wasn’t at that moment. He’d gone round the corner behind a display stand and was re-tying the scarf. I could see his reflection in a mirror. The whole left side of the face. When he came round the corner he saw me and smiled. I think he’d seen me watching him in the mirror and felt embarrassed. But it was a nice smile.’

  ‘The rotter,’ said Levi. ‘Trying to turn you on like that. Anyway, when contemplating his noble features in future just remember he’s a bloody assassin.’

  ‘How d’you know?’ She frowned absentmindedly. ‘But don’t you see the importance? He hides that scar. He knows it identifies him.’

  ‘Keep calm, Ruth.’ Ascher smiled at her as if she were a naughty child. ‘We’ve got the message.’

  She liked Ascher’s face when he smiled, when moist lips and shining teeth softened the severity of the beard. ‘What’s more,’ she said, ‘I photographed him.’

  She held up the lighter which was also a Minolta spy-camera.

  Ascher put a beefy arm round her shoulders, held her tight, kissed her cheek. ‘Great, my little secret agent.’

  She looked at him with disbelief. It was the first time he’d done that. She liked it, but instinctively pulled away hoping that wouldn’t stop him doing it again some other time. ‘And I’ve more news for you,’ she said. ‘I phoned the Embassy. On the way here. They’ve checked the Volvo. It was hired from Avis at Heathrow by a Frenchman, Simon Charrier, a few days ago. He still has it. After some argument they gave the Embassy his London address. Forty-three, St Peter’s Road, Fulham.’