by Antony Trew
‘Mr Brezhnev said it was the intention of the Soviet Government to issue a communiqué deploring the methods used by the SAS but offering financial, logistical and technological support for the immediate establishment of a Palestine State. To placate Israel, the Soviet Chairman said the communiqué would contain firm guarantees by the Soviet Union for the continuance of Israel as an independent State.
‘In conclusion Mr Brezhnev told the President that the Soviet Union was motivated solely by a desire to see peace in the Middle East. Peace on a basis which would do justice to the conflicting interests of Israel, the Arab States and the Palestinians, and in this way neutralize the most dangerous area of confrontation between the super-powers. This, said Brezhnev, would strengthen USSR-USA détente.
‘The President has no doubt that the Soviet Union’s real motives are to strengthen its ties with the Arab States, and to be seen to play a central rôle in achieving a Middle East settlement where the United States has failed. As to the West, the President said he believed that if we follow the policies he advocates the OPEC countries will adopt a more conciliatory attitude towards the supply and pricing of oil to consuming countries, thus contributing to a solution of the energy crisis and to correcting the disastrous imbalance of western economies.
‘The President said that with these considerations in mind the United States and West Germany would be prepared to put up six billion dollars of the ten billion required. There would in addition be the Soviet contribution, and he felt sure the Arab States, overburdened with petro-dollars, would want to help. Finance, he emphasized, would not be an obstacle.
‘He conceded that the main stumbling block to making rapid progress along these lines was the question of the return by Israel of the conquered territories, but he thought ways and means of imposing the necessary decisions upon Israel could be found, particularly in view of the attitude of the Soviet Union. I found the President philosophic on the morality of this issue. “The Israelis,” he said, “cannot expect the United Kingdom to accept mass destruction of a substantial part of London and the killing and maiming of tens of thousands of its citizens to resist what at the end of the day the world will regard as a morally justifiable claim, notwithstanding the barbaric manner in which it has been preferred.”
‘The President ended with remarkable frankness. “It’s going to be tough for the Israelis”, he said, “but their military and economic viability is heavily dependent on the United States. They’ll have no option if we squeeze. And we will – as hard and fast as the situation demands. Time is the essence of the situation. If we don’t move quickly, London may be filed away along with Pompeii and Hiroshima.”
‘Needless to say I told the President that, while his views would receive the most careful consideration, I felt certain Her Majesty’s Government would not wish to appear to be yielding to the demands of the ultimatum with indecent haste. I added that, while I could give no firm undertaking, it was probable we would pursue the policy he advised, but nearer the time the ultimatum was due to expire.’
‘It is fortunate,’ concluded the Prime Minister, ‘That the media are revealing a concensus for settlement in the general direction suggested by the President, though they can have no knowledge yet of his views.
‘I would like now to throw this matter open for discussion and suggest that before we adjourn this evening we agree on a form of words for a resolution to be submitted to the Cabinet at its meeting tonight.’
There were murmurs of approval. The Prime Minister sat down and with frowning concentration lit his pipe.
19
Up on the lay-by underneath the pines at Baabda the man in the telephone department van was listening by earphone to transmissions from the Busch-mikes in the Miramar apartment. With the telephone handsets on their cradles the microphones transmitted conversation and other sounds in the hall and master bedroom. Once a handset was lifted to make or receive a call the bug on that phone transmitted the subsequent conversation. Though he was now listening to the receiver directly, this in no way interfered with the recorder in the dash-recess which taped everything transmitted by the Busch-mikes.
Soon after she’d parked the Alfa he heard the sound of a door opening, followed by a conversation in the hall. It was the Arab servant telling her of the visit of the man from the telephone department.
‘That’s good, Fouad,’ she said and sounded pleased. She gave instructions about the evening meal, he heard footsteps, then the working of a door lock and the mike in the master bedroom took over. After that sounds of movement about the room, the slamming and banging of cupboard doors and drawers. Later she must have switched on the radio and tuned to a pop programme from Paris. The guitars and pop stars were still throbbing and sobbing when just before six the phone rang in the bedroom. She gave her number and a man’s voice answered, ‘Hullo, Georgie.’
She said, ‘Oh, Mahmoud. How marvellous. I prayed it was you.’
‘Can I come at ten tonight?’
‘Of course, darling. Can’t you make it earlier?’
‘Impossible,’ he said.
‘You’ll have dinner with me?’
‘No. There won’t be time. I’ll have something before I come. Listen. I’m expecting a call at ten-thirty.’
‘That’s okay, Mahmoud.’
‘Will anyone else be there?’
‘No.’ She laughed. ‘Do you think I have another lover?’
‘I mean friends – not that.’ He was brusque.
‘No one, darling. Just me and you. How are you?’
‘No time now. We’ll talk tonight. ’Bye.’
The man in the van heard the click of the handset returning to its cradle. Once again the sounds of movement in the bedroom came through on the earphone. ‘Ten o’clock,’ he said to himself. ‘Another three and a half hours.’ He started the engine, switched on the lights, backed out of the lay-by and drove down the hill towards Beirut. He’d had no difficulty in recognizing Ka’ed’s voice. He’d taped it once before and played it back several times.
At a quarter-to-ten he drove the van up the hill to Baabda for the third time that day. It was a night of no moon, the sky bright with stars. He turned into the lay-by under the pines. Three cars were already there. It was, he knew, a favourite place for lovers. He parked well clear of the other cars, turned off the lights, switched on the radio and recorder and connected the earphone. He heard her voice in the hall. She was saying goodnight to Fouad.
At ten o’clock he saw the lights of a car coming up the hill to Baabda. It swung left into the Miramar driveway, disappearing into the parking space below the building. Not long afterwards the ring of a doorbell, the sound of footsteps, a door opening and shutting, came through on the earphone. Then her voice, low, emotional. ‘This is lovely, Mahmoud. The last two days have gone so slowly. Why did you not come?’
‘You know why. It’s not easy for me, Georgie.’
There was a long silence. He imagined them embracing.
‘Where is Fouad?’
‘Gone already,’ she said.
Silence. Then his voice again. ‘There’s half an hour before the call.’
‘What do you want to do?’
‘You know.’
‘Mahmoud, darling.’ She laughed. ‘Is there time before the call?’
He said, ‘At least we can wait in comfort.’
He heard their footsteps along the marble floor of the hall, then silence. Next the sound of the master bedroom door shutting.
For the next twenty minutes the mixture of sound and speech which came to him left no doubt what was happening and he felt curiously uncomfortable listening to something so intimate. He was no stranger to bugging but he was not a voyeur and this man and woman were in love.
Later he knew they must be lying in each other’s arms for they were talking in low voices as lovers do of their thoughts and hopes for each other and a shared future.
For him all sentiment went with the sharp ring of the telephone.
He jerked forward, hand cupped over the earphone, listening intently.
It was the call from Damascus.
There were no formal greetings, no names mentioned. They exchanged numbers. He knew that the number Ka’ed had given was not the number of the Miramar apartment. Then, after a moment of bewilderment, he realized it was, but in reverse. Presumably the caller had done the same thing with the Damascus number. This, then, was their security check. Simple enough, he thought, if only done once.
DAMASCUS VOICE: I’ve just had a report about the consignment. Market reaction seems good on the whole. Moving towards acceptance in spite of some criticism of prices, particularly from our competitors.
KA’ED: We get the same impression here. I am very pleased.
DAMASCUS VOICE: The premises were inspected this afternoon. They had a quick look round. Quite thorough, I believe. All was well.
KA’ED: That’s interesting. In fact it’s excellent. Very good indeed.
(There was a longish pause).
DAMASCUS VOICE: Are you still there?
KA’ED: Yes. I must think about this. Just a moment.
(Another pause, longer this time).
KA’ED: Listen. We can bring forward the delivery now. Tell him to make it noon tomorrow. During normal working hours. Got that?
DAMASCUS VOICE: Yes. I will let him know. Noon tomorrow.
KA’ED: Yes. Twenty-four hours before the sale.
DAMASCUS VOICE: Is that all?
KA’ED: Yes. That’s all.
DAMASCUS VOICE: Okay then.
The man in the van heard the receiver being replaced, then her anxious voice. ‘Is everything all right, Mahmoud?’
‘Yes. It goes well. You know what?’
‘What’s that?’
‘The premises were searched this afternoon. There was no trouble.’
‘Isn’t that marvellous. Did you expect that?’
‘No. I didn’t. Not at all. But it’s marvellous. We can bring forward the delivery now. It was to be four hours before the sale. This is much safer. Gives us a margin in case of snags. But imagine that. It must be a thorough search. It’s a huge city.’
‘I know. But it’s the sort of area on which they’d concentrate.’
‘Yes. In the centre, more or less.’
‘So it’s noon tomorrow?’
‘Yes. Twenty-four hours before the sale.’
‘I heard you say that. Was the line from Damascus good?’
‘Of course. Why not? It’s not far.’
‘I know. But there was a man from the telephone department here today fixing it.’
There was a long pause, sounds of movement on the bed, a muffled cry or laughter, he didn’t know which, before Ka’ed said, ‘Is that so. Had it been giving trouble?’
‘No. The telephone man said it was at the exchange end. Relays sticking or something. Apparently a number of people in the Baabda area are affected …’
‘Oh, I see,’ Ka’ed interrupted. ‘Hope he’s fixed it.’
The bed creaked, he heard the pad of bare feet, a door handle turning, a lavatory cistern gushing, door movement again. Then a scraping followed by a long silence. Seven minutes went by and he assumed they were in the bathroom. The mike in the hall took over. They were coming down the stairs talking and laughing, but they were too far from the mike for him to hear what they said.
They reached the hall and Ka’ed said, ‘Play it now, Georgie. We’ve another hour to go.’
Shortly afterwards came the opening movement of Dvorak’s Serenade for Strings. A minute or so passed then, against the background of cellos and violins, came the distant hum of voices. He realized they were from the living room, too far away for him to hear what they were saying.
But he’d got what he wanted. Methodically he wound the earphone lead round his fingers, pulled it from the socket, slipped it into his overalls. He opened the dash-recess, switched off the recorder, removed the cassette, put it in another pocket. He turned off the radio, started the engine, switched on the lights and backed out of the lay-by. A couple in a car caught in his headlights ducked suddenly. He turned the van and drove down the road. As he passed the Miramar, a car came down the driveway. It stopped to let him pass, its headlights full on, then turned into the roadway and followed. It hung on to the van so he increased speed. The car behind did so too, and he slowed down to let it overtake. As it passed a man in the front passenger seat leant out, shouted, and waved him to stop. He braked hard as if obeying the signal, then, as the car pulled in ahead of him, swung the van clear and banged down the accelerator.
There was a side road a few hundred metres ahead. He skidded into it, accelerating out of the turn. In the rear-view mirror he saw the lights of the pursuing car come round the corner.
In the master bedroom in the Miramar things had happened which the Busch-mikes couldn’t transmit.
After the Damascus call, when Georgette told Ka’ed ‘There was a man from the telephone department here today fixing it’, he’d rolled sideways towards the phone, a hand over her mouth, his free hand signalling silence. He leant over, took the message pad and pencil from the bedside table, and wrote: probably bugged. He showed the pad to her, pointing to the phone.
Then in a normal voice he said, ‘Is that so. Had it been giving trouble?’
She began to explain, but before she could finish Ka’ed interrupted with, ‘Oh, I see.’ As he said it he took her by the hand, pulled her off the bed, led her into the bathroom. He shut the door and they stood there naked, looking at each other – she puzzled and frightened, Ka’ed still holding a finger to his lips for silence. He pushed the cistern knob and while it was flushing whispered, ‘Probably bugs in the phones.’ She saw from the wild look in his eyes that he sensed danger. ‘I’ll go and check. You stay here.’
He went to the bedroom and, keeping the telephone cradle depressed, gently unscrewed the Bakelite cover of the mouthpiece. For a moment he stared at the tiny Busch-mike then, without disturbing it, screwed back the cover, replacing the handset on its cradle.
Back in the bathroom he whispered, ‘It is bugged. Phone in the hall too, I expect.’ He thought of the Damascus call. ‘The bastard,’ he muttered. ‘The cunning bastard.’ He took her arm. ‘Listen. We’ve got to be quick.’ He was pulling on socks, trousers and shirt. ‘In a moment we’ll go downstairs. Don’t talk as we pass through the bedroom. He’ll hear the doors and know we’ve gone. As we reach the bottom of the stairs you tell me you bought a marvellous LP today. I’ll say, “Play it now, Georgie. We’ve another hour to go”. You go into the lounge and put on any good LP. I’ll go out at the back, down the fire escape to the garage. Hussein is waiting for me in the Mercedes. If those bugs are being listened to it’ll be by someone in a car a couple of hundred metres from here. The only safe place for that is the lay-by immediately above us. I’ll take the Mercedes up there right away. Hussein with me.’ He slipped on his shoes. ‘Come on. Quick. You don’t need clothes.’ They went back to the bedroom, opened the door and made their way down the stairs, talking and laughing as they went.
The road he’d taken wound through an area of private houses and occasional apartment blocks spread about the slopes of the hill. It led eventually to Khaldeh Airport and the sea. He drove furiously, tyres screaming, the small van leaping and bouncing over undulations. But it was no match for the car behind. Slowly but surely the headlights came closer and he knew that short of an accident it would not be long before he was overtaken.
With one hand he felt under the driving seat for the Sony. His fingers touched the shoulder-strap and he pulled the small two-way radio clear and laid it on the seat.
The lights of the pursuing car were no more than a hundred metres behind as he slowed for a bend, took it fast, the van lurching on to the offside wheels, bumping back on to all four as he corrected the skid and accelerated away.
The two cars roared down the slope of the hill, the road levelling off and turning to the west. They were clear of t
he houses now. He could see the lights of Khaldeh Airport ahead.
There was a sharp noise like dry wood breaking. Fragments of glass struck the back of his neck and road noises suddenly increased. In the driving-mirror he saw the starred holes in the small rear window and hunched lower in the seat. The other car was closing rapidly, now no more than thirty metres behind. Watching the driving-mirror he saw the big car pull out and overtake. There was the slap of more bullets striking the van and he braked violently. The pursuing car shot past and he heard the screech of tyres as it braked.
He stopped the van, leapt out, clutching the Sony, and ran down the road away from the car ahead. It was backing down the road now, faster than he could run. Before the backing lights came close enough to illuminate him he dropped into a roadside ditch. As he pulled out the Sony’s telescopic aerial, he heard the slamming of car doors and the sound of men running. He took the cassette from his pocket and hurled it into the darkness, into a field away from the road. Holding the transmitter close to his mouth he called ‘Juri – Juri – Juri,’ and waited desperately for a reply.
The sound of pounding feet came closer, stopped and he could hear men breathing in the darkness. He took the Beretta from the shoulder-holster. If they used a torch he’d have a target. They must have known that, too, for they were searching in darkness, moving slowly, quietly, taking no chances. He turned down the volume control on the Sony, held the set close to his ear. But there was nothing. He pressed the speak-button again, held the mike close. ‘Juri – Juri – Juri.’ It was almost a whisper, hoarse with anxiety.
As the sound of the footsteps came closer there was an answering, ‘Go ahead, Sally. I read you.’ The pursuer was moving deliberately, one careful step after another, the sound of his approach just audible. The man in the ditch raised the Beretta, held the Sony to his lips. A dark shape loomed above him. The telephone man fired three shots at it, heard a sharp cry. A torch flashed from somewhere behind him. He turned to fire but was too late. A bullet struck him in the back, a heavy blow that threw him against the side of the ditch. ‘Sheep … sheep-wresh,’ he burbled into the Sony. Blood was streaming from his mouth. ‘Durl … durlurv … ford … noo … un …’ He choked on the blood, spat it out. ‘Too … mor …’ he gasped. Another bullet hit him with a club-like blow. Bright lights shone in his eyes, a bullet smashed into his face and he lost consciousness.