by Nathan Ronen
“How much is this cargo worth on the market?” Cornfield asked. “So that I can convince the prime minister, who will probably be questioned by the minister of finance.”
“As far as I remember, the price per pound of enriched uranium is currently seventy-five dollars, and the price is constantly dropping. Meaning 200 tons is worth about 15 million dollars.”
Cornfield laughed. “A lucrative deal. I actually think the prime minister will be pleased as punch, but I’m afraid he’ll run to the press with it. For quite a while now, he’s been searching for some equivalent to Operation Entebbe9 that will build up his image as ‘Mr. Security.’ You know what these politicians are like…”
“It’s very important that he keep his mouth shut, otherwise this whole business will blow up in our face,” Arik said with suppressed anger.
“Don’t worry. It’s true that I only have one eye and one leg, but I still have two ears, a sharp brain and tongue, and they’re all working just fine. Tzur wouldn’t dare!” Cornfield concluded, hanging up.
* * *
6The Mossad’s operational command center is active 24/7.
7The International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA) was established with the goal of promoting the use of atomic energy for civilian purposes and preventing its use for military purposes.
8The Operations Directorate is a branch of the General Staff of Israel Defense Forces (IDF), established in 1999. It is responsible for commanding the planning and execution of IDFs operational forces via the regional commands, the air force and navy, the ground forces, and the various divisions of the General Staff. The Commando Division is part of the Operations and Special Means Division and is intended to direct warfare beyond enemy lines.
9Operation Entebbe or Operation Thunderbolt was a successful counter-terrorist hostage-rescue mission carried out by IDF commandos in order to save 105 Jewish passengers and the crew members of an Air France plane kidnapped by German and Palestinian terrorists and hijacked to Uganda in order to bargain for the release of imprisoned terrorists.
Chapter 9
The Intensive Care Unit
Arik was granted special permission to spend the night in the private hospital room on a fold-out couch next to Eva, who was still sedated and on life support. He received a disposable sterile gown from polypropylene fabric, a scrub cap, and galoshes. During the night, the door was opened several times. The night shift nurses arrived, changing the IV fluids, cleaning Eva’s wounds, replacing the dressing over her right eye, taking a blood sample and checking her vital signs. Every time anyone even approached Eva’s bed, Arik leapt up instinctively, his hand reaching under the blanket to search for his trusty Glock 19 pistol. He felt like a protective bulldog perched beside its owner, keeping a close eye upon her.
At seven a.m., the dark-skinned food server from the African country of Burkina Faso brought him breakfast, which he ate in the corridor. She had found out that he liked his coffee strong and brewed him Arabica coffee in a kettle in the unit’s kitchenette, instead of the stale tea on the menu. He rewarded her with a big smile and made a mental note to buy her a quality box of chocolates.
At nine a.m., while the doctors were making their rounds in the unit, Arik was asked to leave. He waited outside patiently, gazing through the unit’s giant window at the silhouette of the Eiffel Tower, which loomed a short distance away. The doctors left without talking to him. They merely smiled politely and continued to visit the other rooms on the ward.
Arik was sitting in the corridor when his Chameleon phone rang. It was the head of the Mossad’s Paris bureau.
“Arik, it’s Haya. Cornfield told me he was on his way here. He left on a charter flight early this morning with Alex and someone else from the army. He asked to meet here at the bureau in an hour. I’m sending a vehicle to pick you up.”
Eva was still unconscious and receiving good care, and Arik had no problem with the necessity of going to the embassy.
The conference room in the Mossad’s bureau at the Israeli Embassy in Paris was designed as a special cell intended to prevent surveillance. Anyone who came in had to deposit all cell phones and any other transmitting device with the security officer. A large computer screen hung on the wall, enabling multi-person encrypted video conference calls using a site-to-site intranet VPN connection secured by firewalls and additional protections, in order to prevent hackers from accessing the agency’s confidential data.
Arik was waiting with Haya when the towering figure of Cornfield, along with Alex, head of the Mossad’s Intelligence and Research Division, and Brigadier General Zvi Rouach, head of IDF’s Commando Division, entered the room. The division heads in the Operations Administration were already waiting in their bureaus in Tel Aviv to begin the conference call, their faces visible in small squares on the central screen along with their names.
“Lady and gentlemen,” Cornfield began the meeting, “we’ve got a lot to cover in a short time. Alex, I want you to present the operation’s intelligence summary to the forum.”
Alex projected a map of eastern Africa, aiming a red laser pointer at Chad in central Africa, west of Sudan.
“Chad is a massive country with no access to the sea,” he said, providing the attendees with some general background info. “Iran also has uranium mines in the desert, but they’re inferior in quality and not as cheap as Chad’s.”
“The problem is, we have no presence in Chad,” commented Yoni Soudry, head of Tzomet Division, which handled the Mossad’s global network of intel officers and field agents. “The closest location in which we have an operational interface is South Sudan, which is pretty distant. We have a shell corporation there called ‘The South Sudan Development International Company,’ which we established in collaboration with a German businessman in order to promote the relationship between the two countries. They owe us since we’ve been supporting them with weapons and guidance ever since their revolt in Muslim Sudan in the sixties.”
“The current regime in Chad is highly unstable,” Alex continued. “The rebels have already made it to the capital and made several assaults on the presidential palace, and there are several kinds of rebels there, none of them fans of Israel or of the West.”
“If that’s the case, then we really don’t have much time,” Cornfield said, having already been briefed by Alex on the topic of yellowcakes during the flight. “We need to initiate an expedited battle procedure, a kind of rescue operation, relying on the fact that the field marshal will want cash in order to make his escape from the country if the rebels win. After all, he does know that there’s no House of Lords over there. The moment he falls from grace, his closest allies will abandon him or kill him and his family in order to ingratiate themselves with whoever seizes control next.”
“It’s also clear that we can’t show up there as Israelis,” Arik added. “We have to use a force from the Iranian rebel organization, Mojahedin-e Khalq,10 who can chat in Farsi and create a false presentation that they are, indeed, Revolutionary Guard forces. We’ll impose our command structure over them. We can’t take any chances!”
“Is there a chance you can find time for this operation?” Cornfield asked hesitantly, hoping his most senior man, in whom he had the utmost faith, could serve as his commander on the ground.
“I’m sorry, boss, but my place is by Eva’s side now. She was there for me four and a half years ago when I came down with myeloma. Now she needs me here by her side. I have full confidence that Tal Ronen, head of Caesarea Operations Division, can get along without me.” Arik looked in Ronen’s eyes as the latter flushed with pride. Ronen had recently replaced Yonatan Arieli, who had decided to retire due to differences of opinion with the previous Mossad director.
“Joe,” Arik addressed Joe Amar, head of Tevel Division, which dealt with the Mossad’s professional relationship with intelligence agencies throughout the world, as well
as secret diplomatic relations with countries with whom Israel did not have an official relationship. “I need you to call ‘Georgi,’ office manager for the president of Azerbaijan. They have Soviet cargo planes that can fly long distances and carry plenty of weight. Tell him I asked him to help you.”
“No, no!” Cornfield interjected. “You do it, Arik, directly opposite Georgi. He doesn’t know who Joe Amar is and won’t trust him. And we don’t have time to waste now.”
“Soudry,” Arik addressed the head of Tzomet Division. “We need an alternative backup plan. I need you and your people to prepare an emergency landing strip in South Sudan in case things go wrong, and maybe also a hidden storehouse or an abandoned mine where we can hide the material. Simultaneously, look into who the leaders of the Chad rebels are. If things go off track or if they’re already seizing control of Chad, I want to retrieve the material from the airport warehouses,” he continued issuing orders.
Unlike his previous habit, Cornfield did not interfere, allowing Arik to run the operation. He had felt disconnected from the Office during the period of his absence and was not yet up to speed.
“As an alternative course of action, I want you to activate our German agent in south Sudan, so that he contacts the rebels directly with a business proposition and says it’s his potassium stored there, intended for his agro-technology and fertilizer venture,” Arik continued. “Just make sure he avoids the word ‘uranium’ because then the price jumps up. He should already try to initiate negotiations with them to buy the yellowcakes from them in cash. At the moment, they’re short on money and weapons, and they’ll sell anything to obtain some cash. If it’s more appealing to them, he should offer them Kalashnikovs and ammunition as payment, but if you decide to approach the rebels while impersonating a French shell corporation, it has to be coordinated in advance with Louis-Pierre Dillier, from DGSE’s Operations Division.”
The group of division heads nodded in agreement.
Zvi Rouach, head of the Commando Division in IDF’s Operations Directorate, stepped in.
“Friends,” he began, “seemingly, this is a simple operation, since the regime in Chad is unstable and is wrapped up in a war of survival. But this unease can be as dangerous as quicksand, and therefore, I ask that you come up with a Plan B. South Sudan sounds like a reasonable alternative. But land rescue is a complicated prospect logistically in the absence of a reasonable transportation infrastructure. Take a look at the map. In my humble opinion, we’ll have to head south and west, through the Central African Republic, in order to cut south to southern Sudan, and we’re talking about a cargo of 200 tons, which is either ten heavy trucks or four to five semi-trailer trucks, traveling thousands of miles, with no fueling or supply stops. Not that simple to organize within a short time!” he concluded, looking to Cornfield and Arik for confirmation.
Cornfield nodded in affirmation.
Bar-Nathan looked at the map again. “Alex, who do we have in Cameroon?”
“Seemingly, it’s an ally country, with access to the Atlantic Ocean,” Alex said. “But we have no operational infrastructure there, and in any case, the distance between N’Djamena in Chad and Douala, the port city in southern Cameroon, is slightly over 600 miles. If we have to use the southern ground alternative, it would be better to cut through Nigeria, which has a better transportation infrastructure, as well as fifty active Israeli finance companies, which could help us.”
Arik thought it over for a moment and turned to his good friend Zvi Rouach. “We have to talk to Chief of General Staff Shlomo Tal to provide backup from some members of Sayeret Matkal,11 in case we get into a confrontation with the rebels or the field marshal’s people. We also need a few heavy forklift operators to load the pallets of barrels.”
Zvi nodded, making notes in a small notepad.
Cornfield began to sum up the meeting. “I’ll wrap up my corner with the prime minister. You wrap up your corner with Georgi regarding the transport and with Farsi Maryam Halachi about using her people. They’re people you brought to us and they only trust you.”
“Okay,” Arik said, thinking about the Mojahedin-e Khalq Iranian protest organization, which he had assisted in having its name stricken from the Western countries’ list of terrorist organizations.
“We also need to take advantage of the chaos in Chad. I think we should drive another stake into the flimsy tent that is the current government there,” Arik suggested to Cornfield. “Why don’t we fake a conversation with Iranian President Rahimi, who will offer Field Marshal Idris political asylum in Iran? That will soften him up and make him more willing to supply the material with no problems.”
A giant grin spread across the Mossad director’s face. He always liked Bar-Nathan’s creativity.
“Arik,” he said paternally, placing his hand on his shoulder. “You stay here and take care of Eva. You can’t run Operation Bakery long-distance from here, especially when you’re emotionally distracted.”
“Operation Bakery?” Bar-Nathan laughed.
“Yellowcakes, you know…” Cornfield winked. “Okay, I’ll run this operation from Tel Aviv, after the prime minister green-lights it. I’m sure he’ll be pleased, despite the quick timeline. The person serving as commander on the ground will be Tal Ronen, head of Caesarea.” His tone became tentative as he looked at Arik. “We can rely on him, right? I remember him from when he’d just joined the Mossad.”
“Sure. He did a great job in Operation Dialena in Morocco,” Arik replied decisively, adding, “How committed are you to that name, ‘Bakery’? Why don’t you call it Operation Lemon Meringue?”
Cornfield looked at him, distracted and uncomprehending. He signaled Haya, who brought over a large box of Godiva pralines and a bouquet of flowers.
“This is for Eva, from Amira and me,” he said, handing Arik this personal token of his regard. He then asked Arik to update him on how Eva was doing. Arik briefly summed up her condition, expressing his hope that she would recover soon.
The members of the group shook hands and hugged Arik, then drove directly to Orly Airport in south Paris, where a Gulfstream G280 plane, the executive jet that was always at the Mossad’s disposal for urgent operational needs, was waiting for them.
Arik returned to the hospital. He wanted to catch the head of the unit before he vanished to tend to his private practice. He gratefully handed the bouquet to Prof. Gensburger’s secretary and left the chocolates at the nurses’ station in thanks for their dedication, asking them to leave a little for Aziza, the African aid who pampered him.
Afterwards, he waited at the entrance to Prof. Gensburger’s office. The doctor updated him that Eva’s condition was stable and had not changed.
“I just returned from a consultation that included all the specialists: a neurologist, a gynecologist, a cardiologist and an expert on emergency medicine. We decided to give her another day to recover from the trauma, and then, day after tomorrow, we’ll disconnect your wife from the ventilation and sedation equipment,” he reported to Arik.
Arik thanked him warmly. He wanted to see the baby before he returned to the embassy to continue carrying out the tasks assigned to him as part of Operation Bakery.
The baby was still in intensive care, and so he went up to the NICU. She looked like a little angel, and most of the tubes had been removed. He asked for permission to feed her and was allowed to do so. He was dressed in an outfit of sterilized clothing, and under the nurse’s supervision, held his tiny daughter, who ravenously swallowed the full contents of the bottle. He couldn’t have been happier. Breathing in the scent unique to little babies, he smiled with pure bliss.
Once the baby was done eating, Arik went down to the cafeteria in the hospital’s large lobby, standing in line in order to purchase a nourishing lunch. He then crossed the hospital plaza and flagged a cab that drove him to the Israeli Embassy on Rabelais Street, not far from Élysée Palace, in or
der to perform his relatively small yet critical part in the urgent operation.
A figure in a black raincoat tracked him from afar, entering a black Citroen C5 and following the cab. Arik spotted the figure out of the corner of his eye.
* * *
10Mojahedin-e Khalq is an Iranian organization attempting to overthrow the current mullah regime in Iran, headed by a woman who also fronts the National Council of Resistance of Iran (NCRI), founded in 1993.
11Sayeret Matkal is the General Staff Reconnaissance Unit, a Special Forces unit that is part of IDF’s Intelligence Corps.
Chapter 10
The President’s Bureau in Baku, Azerbaijan
The phone in the Azerbaijani president’s bureau rang for a while. Arik nearly gave up until he heard a familiar female voice reply ‘hello’ in Azerbaijani: “Bali.”
“Esmeralda?”
“Yes, who is this?” she asked in a heavy Azeri accent.
“This is Arik Bar-Nathan. How are you?”
“I’m just fine, thank you.” She recognized his voice. “You’re probably looking for Dato? He’s with the president at an international conference at the Fairmont Hotel. Do you have his cell phone number? He might not answer since they’re in the middle of the conference. I’ll tell him you called. Something urgent, as usual?”
Arik laughed, just as the Chameleon rang. The codename ‘Georgi’ appeared on the screen. It was assigned to a longtime Mossad agent, whose full name was Dato Zerekidze, and who was the Azerbaijani president’s office manager.
“Arik, my friend. What’s up this time? You always call only when you need something urgent from me. Never a bit of small talk, just to ask how an old friend is doing.”