Ultimatum

by Antony Trew

  The Ambassador hunched his shoulders, sighed apologetically. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know. Only our deep-cover agents do. May I make it clear that I am acting under the instructions of my Prime Minister.’

  ‘What are those instructions?’

  ‘I was told to report the finding to you in these terms, personally and without delay. That was why I asked for an immediate audience. I was also to inform you that our intelligence service has prepared an operational plan to deal effectively with the terrorists guarding the warhead and to prevent its detonation. It is the earnest desire of my Prime Minister and his Cabinet that we should execute the plan in close co-operation with your authorities. If, on the other hand,’ the Israeli Ambassador’s eyes never left the Prime Minister’s, ‘that co-operation is not possible, we shall have no alternative but to carry out the operation on our own. This we will do with extreme reluctance because its execution will then be so much more difficult.’

  The Prime Minister pulled himself up in his chair, took the pipe out of his mouth and stared at the Ambassador. ‘Are you suggesting that your Government contemplates carrying out an operation of this sort on British soil? On the territory of the country to which you are accredited?’

  ‘I am afraid, Prime Minister, our Cabinet took the view that if the nuclear warhead were not found the measures your Government might take, encouraged by the United States, the Soviet Union and the Arab States, would threaten the security of Israel. To return to the warhead, our intelligence agents have found it and they have the capability to deal with it. Immediately and effectively. Israel appreciates that since it is your territory you would want to be fully involved. Indeed, if as we hope British co-operation is forthcoming, the entire operation will be regarded as a British one. Israel will claim no credit either for finding the warhead or assisting in dealing with it.’

  The Prime Minister stood up, put his pipe on the mantelpiece. Andrew Lanyard recognized the signal. The PM felt cornered, was thinking hard, playing for time. The Israeli Ambassador and Ezra Barlov watched in silence. Eventually the Prime Minister turned to them. ‘I find your proposal quite extraordinary, Ambassador. I am not sure that its flavour of blackmail is any less distasteful than the ultimatum itself.’

  The Israeli Ambassador shook his head in disagreement. ‘Blackmail is a harsh word, Prime Minister – quite inappropriate to Israel’s attitude. The terrorists’ ultimatum threatens to destroy London. My Government’s proposal is an explicit undertaking to remove that threat. In return we ask for nothing but your co-operation in saving your capital from destruction, its people from death and injury and your country from humiliation and disaster. We do not think world opinion would consider that an unreasonable offer.’

  The Prime Minister’s mouth closed in a tight line. ‘Your words are shrewdly chosen Ambassador, but they do not alter the facts. I will discuss the matter with my Cabinet I must warn you, however, that it is highly unlikely they will agree to such a proposal. It is, I repeat, a quite extraordinary one.’

  The Israeli Ambassador looked at his watch. ‘The situation is quite extraordinary, is it not, Prime Minister? May I ask for a written reply by nine o’clock tonight. I understand you are to address the Nation at ten.’

  The Prime Minister stood, chin in hand, deep in thought, before answering. At last he said, ‘Please outline the operational plan, Ambassador. I shall have to explain it to the Cabinet.’

  ‘I am afraid I cannot do that. It is an intelligence service document, not in my possession. If, as we profoundly hope, there is to be co-operation, it will of course be disclosed to those concerned by our agents.’

  ‘I see. What will Israel do if we reject the proposal?’

  The Ambassador nodded towards Ezra Barlov. ‘I would like Colonel Barlov to answer that question.’

  The Prime Minister’s ‘Certainly’ was like an icy bullet.

  Barlov said, ‘Our men have the nuclear warhead and those with it under continuous surveillance. They also have the operational plan. Their orders are to execute it at midnight unless they receive instructions to the contrary.’

  ‘Who would give those instructions?’

  Barlov spread his hands apologetically. ‘All I can tell you, Prime Minister, is that deep-cover agents work directly under the authority of their headquarters in Israel. We do not control them.’

  Shortly before nine o’clock that night, Dugald McGann, Head of the Special Branch, and Andrew Lanyard, were driven to the Israeli Embassy where Ezra Barlov, forewarned of their coming, at once showed them in to the Ambassador. Lanyard introduced McGann, and passed the Ambassador a letter. ‘I was instructed by the Prime Minister to hand this to you personally,’ he said.

  The Ambassador took the letter. ‘Please sit down, gentlemen.’ They sat down and were silent while he opened and read it:

  My Dear Ambassador,

  I have come from meetings of the Cabinet and the ad hoc Committee at which I reported on our discussions this evening. The Cabinet decided that the British Government has no alternative in the circumstances but to accept your Government’s proposals, subject to the following conditions: One – the operation to be under British control and without reference at any stage, officially or otherwise, to Israeli participation. Two – the warhead to be neutralized by eight o’clock tomorrow morning, failing which my Government will take such action as it considers necessary.

  I must add that an Operations Sub-Committee has been appointed to conduct the operation in co-operation with your representatives. Its members are:

  General Sir Dyhart Tanner, Chief of the General Staff, (Chairman).

  Sir Brian Parkes, Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police.

  Assistant-Commissioner Dugald McGann, Head of the Special Branch.

  Sir George Isaacson, my Principal Scientific Adviser.

  Mr Alexander Watt, Director-General of the Greater London Council.

  General Tanner will be in charge of the operation, with power to act and authority to draw on all branches of central and local government for such personnel, material and other assistance as may be needed.

  In my address to the Nation tonight I shall make no mention of these developments, nor say anything which might compromise them.

  The operations Sub-Committee is ready to meet your representatives immediately. The bearers of this letter will inform you of the venue and provide any other information you may require.

  Beneath the ‘Yours sincerely’, the Prime Minister had signed his name with what those who knew him well would have described as his angry flourish.

  23

  Within twenty minutes of Lanyard and McGann’s departure from the Israeli Embassy a meeting of the Operations Sub-Committee was taking place in a conference room at the Ministry of Defence in Whitehall.

  The Chairman, Sir Dyhart Tanner, sat at the head of the table, to his right the members of the Committee, to his left the Israelis: Barlov, Ascher, and Ruth Meyer.

  The Chairman opened the proceedings by formally introducing the British and Israeli representatives. He stressed the urgency of the situation and expressed the hope that differences of opinion, if any, would be speedily resolved. Looking at the wall clock, he said, ‘It is now nine-forty-seven. We have to complete the operation by eight o’clock tomorrow morning. The Israeli Government has requested our co-operation, so I will ask their representatives to open the discussion.’

  At Barlov’s request Ascher outlined the operational plan. He did this succinctly, wasting neither words nor time, and soon gained the respect of his British listeners who earlier had looked askance at the shaggy-headed, bearded man in blue denims and plimsolls, who’d sat hunched in a chair doodling on a scribbling block, apparently not listening.

  ‘Thank you,’ said the Chairman. ‘The plan is, I would say, ingenious and tactically sound. You have told us the warhead is in Central London – in a position which could cause devastation of possibly the most important area of the Metropolis.’ He paused. ‘Where in fac
t is it?’

  There was a stir of interest. An expectant hush. A leaning forward to look at the man who knew. The question had been in all minds as Ascher unfolded the plan. He looked up from the scribbling block. ‘As soon as we’ve agreed the plan in principle I’ll give the location.’ With that he resumed work on a complex doodle.

  The Chairman said, ‘I hope this doesn’t suggest mistrust of the undertaking given by our Prime Minister.’

  ‘No,’ said Barlov quickly. It is simply our belief that the operational plan must be considered objectively. This is best done if we agree on the general outline now and thereafter discuss the detail.’

  ‘Very well,’ said the Chairman. ‘I think we can accept that. Now let’s get on with the discussion. We haven’t much time.’ He didn’t add that he thought the Israelis were a cunning lot; holding back the prime secret until they were satisfied the operation was to be conducted in the way they wanted.

  In the lengthy discussion which followed members of the Sub-Committee proposed a number of amendments to the plan. Most of these were accepted. As the meeting progressed it became apparent that confidence between the British and Israeli representatives was growing, the mutual suspicion which characterized the earlier stages having largely disappeared.

  When the outline had been agreed, the Chairman said, ‘I think we have a pretty thorough grasp of what has to be done. There are, of course, a number of imponderables. These will have to be dealt with as they arise.’ He turned to Barlov. ‘Can you now tell us where the warhead is?’

  Barlov said, ‘I’ll ask Shalom Ascher to answer that.’

  The Chairman said, ‘Mr Ascher?’

  The Israeli put down his pencil, leant back in his chair. ‘Number Thirty-Nine Spender Street,’ he said. ‘Not far from Covent Garden. On the ground floor. We have two offices in the building across the road, Number Fifty-Six – on the first floor.’

  ‘Thank you.’ For some moments the Chairman considered the wall-map of London. ‘It’s certainly well sited. Let’s get on with the detail. Please be as brief as possible.’

  They were, and when the clock over the mantelpiece showed twenty past ten the Chairman was able to say, ‘Now, gentlemen’ – he saw Ruth Meyer’s grimace, thought what an attractive girl she was, and added – ‘and lady.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘I’m used to it.’

  The Chairman smiled an apology. ‘I think it might be helpful if I were to recap the allocation of responsibility before closing the meeting.’

  There were murmurs of ‘Agreed.’

  He looked at his notes. ‘Mr Watt will make the necessary arrangements with the local authorities – the water, gas, fire brigade and ambulance people.’

  The Director-General of the GLG nodded. ‘That is correct, Chairman.’

  ‘Mr McGann will provide the Special Branch men.’ The Chairman fixed Dugald McGann with a parade-ground stare.

  ‘Yes,’ said the Head of Special Branch. He was a man of few words.

  ‘Sir George Isaacson will be responsible for the scientists, technicians and their equipment.’

  The Principal Scientific Adviser looked up from the pad on which he was making notes. ‘Yes, indeed, Chairman.’

  ‘Sir Brian Parkes will see to our uniformed police requirements, the communications system and the mobile command vehicle.’

  The Commissioner signified his assent, looked at his watch and frowned from long habit. There never seemed enough time to do the things which had to be done.

  ‘Colonel Barlov will be with us in the command vehicle.’

  Barlov said, ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘The Israeli Intelligence agents – that is, Mr Ascher and his colleagues – will be at Fifty-Six Spender Street with the Special Branch people detailed for duty there, plus a Porton Down boffin and a Water Authority man. Final point – most important – we must begin the operation not later than three o’clock tomorrow morning. All personnel and equipment to be in position by two o’clock. Now … any questions? If so, please keep them brief. We have very little time.’

  ‘Helicopters, Chairman.’ The Principal Scientific Adviser pushed heavy horn-rimmed glasses back on to the bridge of his nose. ‘Some of the men and equipment we need can’t get here by two o’clock without them.’

  ‘RAF,’ said the Chairman. ‘I’ll arrange it with the duty staff at MOD as soon as this meeting ends.’

  ‘If fast cars with fast drivers are needed, I’ll supply them,’ said the Commissioner.

  ‘Good.’ The Chairman looked round the table. ‘You all know where to apply. Any more questions?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Ruth Meyer. ‘Where will the Aldermaston and other scientific and technical people and their equipment be – and the additional Special Branch men – during the run-up period? There won’t be room for them in our office in Spender Street.’

  The Chairman aimed his pencil at the Principal Scientific Adviser. ‘Sir George?’

  ‘They’ll all be in the Water Authority vehicles. I thought I’d made that clear.’

  ‘Not quite,’ said the Chairman, gallantly covering for Miss Meyer. ‘Any more? No. Then the meeting is closed.’

  He gathered his papers, stood up, stretched and yawned. ‘Now let’s get on with it and – by the way – good luck to you all.’ His eyes were on Ruth Meyer as he said it.

  The Prime Minister’s address to the Nation that night was brief and unilluminating. Prefacing what he had to say with a further call for calm, order and confidence in the authorities, he announced that the search for the nuclear warhead had been called off as from ten o’clock that night. Further consideration was, he said, being given to the terms of the ultimatum, and he would speak to the Nation again at ten on the following morning.

  ‘I hope then,’ he said, ‘to have news which, while possibly unpalatable in certain aspects, will remove altogether the intolerable and barbaric threat to which Londoners have been submitted during these difficult days. Finally, I give you once more my assurance that the Government is both determined and obliged to preclude by all and every means within its power the detonation of the warhead. On that score you may rest assured.’

  Later the Prime Minister’s critics were to say that this was an ambiguous and misleading statement. It may have been, but every word of it happened to be true. To the great majority of those many millions who heard it, what he said amounted to an admission that the Government was about to capitulate – that he would at ten o’clock the next morning announce acceptance of the ultimatum – the course of action the US President and the Chairman of the Soviet Union had by implication advised in their communiqués broadcast an hour before the Prime Minister spoke.

  It was, too, precisely what he wanted his listeners to think – particularly those in 39 Spender Street.

  Twelve Hours To Go

  24

  At midnight the offices of Ascher & Levi, music agents of 56 Spender Street, were unusually crowded. In addition to the four Israeli agents, there were two Special Branch men – Chief Superintendent McFagan and Inspector Moynihan, the latter a fluent Arab speaker – a scientist from Porton Down, Herbert Joliffe, a small man with steel-rimmed glasses, watery eyes and a head as bald as polished marble, and a technician from the Thames Water Authority.

  The Special Branch men had been the first to join the Israelis. They’d come in through the back having forced the lock of the door which gave on to Tanswill Lane. Those who came after them used this route. It was to serve for all concerned with the operation that night, both for entering and leaving. A Special Branch man was on duty on the ground floor inside the entrance.

  A black-out curtain had been hung over the Venetian blinds in Ascher & Levi’s main office so that the lights there could not be seen from the street. Levi and Kagan were watching the Mocal premises from the window of the adjoining storeroom which was in darkness.

  A good deal of additional equipment had been installed in Number 56 including three VHF two-way radio sets: one
for communication with the mobile command vehicle – with which a landline telephone link had also been established – another on the same frequency for communication with what had been designated the Ground Force; a third on the frequency of the Metropolitan Water Authority.

  The Special Branch men and the Israelis wore shoulder-holsters with hand-guns. In a corner there were two snipers’ rifles with silencers and telescopic sights, a box of hand grenades and another of tear gas bombs. Nobody was quite sure under what circumstances these were to be used, but the General had felt the operation would be incomplete without them.

  A sheet of white cardboard, headed OPERATION WHISKY BRAVO, was fixed to a wall with Sellotape. It gave the R/T call signs to be used during the operation, commencing with:

  General Call Sign … … … Whisky Bravo

  Command Vehicle … … … Whisky Bravo One

  56 Spender Street … … … Whisky Bravo Two

  Ground Force … … … Whisky Bravo Three

  Listed beneath these were the call signs of the other units involved.

  One of the R/T speakers in Ascher & Levi’s office bleeped: ‘Whisky Bravo Five calling Whisky Bravo One.’

  There was an answering, ‘Go ahead, Whisky Bravo Five.’

  ‘Contact entered Sea-Bee one-seven-three-nine. I repeat one-seven-three-nine. Over.’

  ‘Roger, Whisky Bravo Five.’

  A new voice came on the air: ‘Tango Victor calling Whisky Bravo One.’

  ‘Go ahead, Tango Victor.’

  ‘We have read Whisky Bravo Five. Will do. Over.’

  ‘Roger, Tango Victor.’

  The Chief Superintendent said, ‘That was the tail reporting to command vehicle. He’s just seen Barakat go into call-box one-seven-three-nine. That’s a Police/GPO identity tag. Tango Victor is the GPO tracing section. They’ll put a tap on that call right away, punch-tape it and squirt it back to the command vehicle.’