A Trap in Paris

by Uzi Eilam

  “Do you mean to lend support to the Shiites distributed among the countries in the region?” Binyamin asked.

  “Well, that too,” replied Gideon, “but also to cultivate the ability of proxies, such as Hezbollah in Lebanon and Hamas in the Gaza Strip, to carry out terrorist attacks that serve Iranian strategic interests. I also wanted to highlight another issue that seems to me to be important, based on the material. Serious attention needs to be paid to the successes of the Quds Force, the Guardian’s assassination unit, and its commander, General Qasem Soleimani. The man stops at nothing to achieve his goals and enjoys the full support of the Supreme Leader.”

  “That’s an important point,” Binyamin agreed. “How do you think it should be dealt with?”

  “In addition to the primary effort to thwart illegal procurement, we’ll also need to prepare for the possibility of focused terrorist attacks carried out by Quds Force operatives, who can infiltrate almost any country.”

  “That’s another reason for integrating refresher training in pistol use into the mandatory preparations for the project,” Binyamin explained apologetically, though Gideon felt fine about the prospect of a bit of time at the shooting range. It brought to mind a target practice in which he had once taken part under the auspices of the General Security Service. During his military service in Sayeret Tzanhanim, the special commando reconnaissance unit of the IDF’s Paratrooper Brigade, he had been second to none in the speed of his draw and the accuracy of his shot although, out of his general sense of modesty, this was information he tended to keep to himself.

  ***

  Gideon sat before the pile of files, immersed in thought. He knew he needed to review them all and not miss a thing. His thoughts returned to Dr. Gerald Bull, the Canadian engineer and expert in underground arms dealing. What conclusions could be drawn about the Iranian case based on an analysis of Bull’s work with South Africa and Iraq? Had the international sanctions made Iran desperate enough to do anything, even to strike a deal with the devil?

  Gideon was pleased that representatives of “The Great Satan,” as the Iranians often referred to the United States, would also be represented on the task force in France. Dr. Gerald Deutsch and John O’Connor were like family to him. He had been fascinated by Deutsch’s stories about his service as a company commander, and later a battalion commander, with US Special Forces during the Vietnam War. The combination of book and sword that had characterized Gideon’s life until that point had helped him establish a relationship with Deutsch even before he arrived at the Stanford Research Institute and had the privilege of working with him. Deutsch possessed an extremely rare mixture of familiarity with the battlefield and the world of research, on the one hand, and professional experience in the Ballistic Missile Defense Organization in the Pentagon, on the other hand.

  Gideon turned his attention back to the project files, reassured by the knowledge that the task force would be able to rely on the knowledge and experience of these two Americans to help it understand and contend with the challenges with which the Iranians would certainly present them.

  By the end of his busy week, Gideon felt a bit more prepared for the project. Most of it, however, was still shrouded in the unknown.

  Chapter 5

  It was early evening when Haim parked his car in the spot beside his single-family home in the housing complex for IDF officers in Ramat Hasharon. A row of houses had been allocated to officers on terms that did not put excessive strain on the bank account. The project had not only piqued Haim’s interest but also offered a good chance of spending a significant amount of time in Europe.

  “Hi Zehavit, I’m home!” Haim called out as he entered through the front door.

  “What are you in such a good mood about?” Zehavit grumbled.

  “I’ll tell you. But first a scotch on the rocks.” Haim grabbed a glass, dropped a few ice cubes in it, and then filled it halfway from the bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue Label he saved for special occasions.

  “You’re breaking out the good stuff, I see! What are we celebrating? Did you get a promotion?”

  “No, that hasn’t happened yet.” Haim took a seat on the armchair in the living room.

  “So, what is it?” Zehavit asked.

  “The government has loaned me out to a special project that, for the most part, will be based abroad.”

  “What kind of project? Is it something having to with engineering? Or with the military? And what exactly do you mean when you say ‘abroad’?” Zehavit’s questions rained down on him unremittingly.

  “I haven’t been filled in on the details yet, and there some things I can’t talk about,” Haim told her, in an attempt to make the vagueness of his report somewhat more bearable.

  “You and your secrets! I bet you also can’t tell me who will be accompanying you on this secret mission of yours! Does the contingent contain any women?”

  “I’ll fill you in when I know more,” he promised.

  “Is that a real promise,” Zehavit asked, still angry, “or will it be like your other promises?”

  Haim chose not to answer the last question, in hopes that Zehavit would calm down soon, and got up to freshen up his drink. He sank back into the armchair and sipped slowly. When had the gorgeous, gentle, sympathetic soldier with green eyes and copper hair whom he had courted as a young man turned into a bitter woman with nothing but complaints?

  Zehavit had been an operations clerk in the battalion in which he had served as a company commander, and he had waited for her to be discharged before they started dating openly. They had a military wedding and lived in an apartment the army provided its combat officers. And soon they had two children, a boy and a girl. Who grew up without my making the time to watch it happen, he thought with a pinch of regret. Zehavit had managed the household while he climbed the chain of command. Now the kids were in high school and knew how to take care of themselves. Zehavit found time for her friends, but also for grievances and complaints, which were typically directed at him. The clinking of dishes rang out from the kitchen, and Haim—who had been dozing on the sofa, tired from a long day and drowsy from the effects of the alcohol—awoke and, for a moment, could not remember where he was.

  “I’m making us some dinner,” Zehavit called from the kitchen.

  “Aren’t we going to wait for the kids?” Haim asked.

  “Have you forgotten? It’s summer vacation. Who knows when they’ll be home! With all the things you’re involved in, you sometimes forget that you even have a home!”

  “What’s for dinner?” he asked, in an attempt at conciliation.

  “I made baked chicken and spinach, broccoli, and feta cheese frittata. I also made a large chopped tomato and cucumber salad with olive oil, just the way you like it.”

  “Like when I was getting my engineering degree,” Haim said, smiling nostalgically.

  “And how has that helped you? It hasn’t advanced you in the military—that’s for sure. You yourself have even said that the years you spent studying engineering only distanced you from a track that promised promotion.”

  “That’s correct, to a certain extent,” Haim said. “Still, my engineering degree is an asset.”

  “Asset shmasset,” Zehavit snapped. “It hasn’t helped you advance at all, not in any way. Look at your friends, your classmates, who got out of the army and went straight into business. Each one has a success story to envy. I’m embarrassed to go out with my friends, with their designer clothes and the carefree way they spend their money. And you—you’re always finding a new project and disappearing on me.”

  Her criticism of his lack of promotions was justified, Haim thought. It was also true that many of his friends had re-entered civilian life at an opportune time and had secured positions that paid a small fortune, which was indeed enviable. Perhaps this project would be a turning point in that respect.

  “You
haven’t spent a day of your life working in engineering,” Zehavit continued from the kitchen. “In the end, you lost out twice: no engineering experience and no military advancement. And your family has paid the price. You hardly ever even saw the kids when they were growing up—”

  “That’s not true! What about our ski trips?!” Haim shot back, grasping on to one of the few positive memories that vindicated him to some extent.

  “That’s right, Haim. I haven’t forgotten how you dragged the two of them to the snow-covered slopes of Austria and the French Alps,” Zehavit countered, raising her voice. “I said it then, and now I know it’s true—they have no interest in skiing, and they won’t ski in the future. It wasn’t about them—it was all about you and your wild eccentricities.”

  There was no sense in continuing the argument, Haim thought. The subject of skiing always made her say things that defied logic. Haim’s ski trips, in Israel and abroad, had been one of the few rays of light in his life. Skiing was exciting, and he had tried to pass his love of the sport on to his children. As far as he was concerned, the best time he had ever had with his children was their ski vacation at the Courchevel ski resort in the French Alps.

  A French engineer he had met on the slopes had a chalet in Courchevel, which he had let Haim and the kids use for an entire week. The kids already had their technique down, and he was hardly able to keep up with them. The red trails had not been difficult enough for them, so they had dragged him to the more challenging black ones. Particularly memorable had been Saulire Peak and the steep, daunting black trail that descended from it. The narrow, icy track did not faze the children, who descended it quickly with cries of elation, but Haim remembered worrying, the whole way down, that they might make a wrong turn or cause an accident. He may not have spent enough time with them while they were growing up, but when he had spent time with them, he knew he had been all theirs.

  ***

  The following morning, Haim started the day as he always did: first a forty-five-minute jog, and then a half-hour workout in the general staff officers’ gym at the Kirya, the major military base in Tel Aviv, which had served as IDF headquarters since Israel’s establishment in 1948. Haim had begun his morning workouts after transferring from a combat position to an administrative position in the Military Intelligence Directorate. It was his way of keeping healthy and keeping the weight off. Showered, shaved, and dressed in a clean, well-ironed uniform, he made his way to Nahari’s office for the project briefing and preparatory meetings.

  “We’ve prepared three files covering different aspects of the project,” Binyamin explained, leading Haim into a small office near Nahari’s. “It contains up-to-date material on Iranian procurement efforts in France and Germany. It’s the best material we could assemble. There’s also a file on Quds Force terrorist activity in Europe. The third file covers what we and our French and American partners know about the effort to recruit Iranian agents in Europe. It should give you sufficient background on all aspects of the project.”

  “I’ll dive right in and bring myself up to speed,” Haim said eagerly. “But there’s one thing I’m still unclear about. How is the activity of the Guardians of the Revolution in our region connected to the procurement effort and personal terrorism in Europe?”

  “The Guardians are a hydra with a thousand heads—one head is threatening Europe, and another is causing problems here. They’re all linked, and that’s important,” Binyamin explained. “But even if we had joined the task force purely to thwart the illegal Iranian procurement of materials and weapons systems, it would still be a high priority.”

  “I also wouldn’t mind knowing what it is that we have to contribute to this American and European effort. Why have we been invited to take part?” Haim asked, although he certainly had his own view on the matter.

  “The French and the Americans are quite aware of the experience we’ve accumulated. We’ve spent years dealing with the threat of terrorism in its various forms, at home and abroad. They also regard good intelligence as crucial to the project, and that’s where you stand to make the greatest contribution to the work of the task force.”

  “All right, Binyamin…” Haim sat down at the desk, which was piled high with files, somewhat taken aback by the size and overflowing contents of the three files. “You’ve put together a mountain of material here. I suppose I better start climbing.”

  Chapter 6

  After landing at Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris, taking a taxi to their hotel, and checking into their rooms, Gideon and Haim decided to walk to their first meeting at the French Ministry of Interior. They were both happy to have an opportunity to stretch their legs and see a bit of the city before their marathon of meetings got underway.

  The elegant conference room on the fifth floor of the former French royal palace, which housed the main offices of the Ministry of Interior, had paintings on the ceiling that looked down on a long table. A group was already seated, obviously awaiting their arrival, and stood up when they entered.

  “Brigadier General Bar-Oz, Dr. Ben-Ari, welcome to the French Ministry of Interior. Please, have a seat.” The man who greeted them was Professor Eugene Bernard, a bespectacled, muscular, broad-shouldered Frenchman of average height with a tight-lipped smile, a pointy nose, and a stern gaze.

  “Seated beside me is the director of the ministry’s Division for Counterintelligence and the War on Terrorism,” the professor began. “He will place the services and capabilities of his division at the disposal of our task force whenever necessary. Also with us is the director of the Special Gendarmerie Unit for the War on Terrorism. It’s a privilege to have such experienced men of action working with us on this project.”

  “I would also like to introduce General Philippe de Villiers, director of the General Secretariat of Defense and National Security, France’s national security council, which operates under the authority of the president of the Republic and the prime minister.”

  As Gideon’s eyes moved around the table, he stopped suddenly and blinked in disbelief. Seated beside General de Villiers was an attractive woman donning the elegant business attire that French females wear so well. Was it really her? He had not seen her in decades.

  “Beside General de Villiers is Madame Dominique de Saint-Germaine of the prime minister’s office,” continued Professor Bernard, confirming what Gideon had found so difficult to believe. “Dominique is a member of the task force and will be compiling and managing its protocols and decisions. She will also be translating task force proceedings from French into English whenever necessary.”

  Gideon’s expression betrayed his surprise. Dominique had been a student the last time he saw her, and twenty years had passed since then. “Plus tard,” her eyes conveyed silently when they met his. “We’ll talk later.”

  “With your permission, Professor,” General de Villiers interrupted, “I’d like to draw the attention of our Israeli guests to the fact that Professor Bernard is a retired colonel and a former paratrooper. He is currently an advisor to the interior minister and head of the Coordination Unit of the Fight against Terrorism, which is responsible for coordinating the actions of different government ministries. Professor Bernard earned distinction as a Foreign Legion battalion commander in Algeria and later commanded a paratroopers’ brigade in Vietnam. The minister of interior does nothing and decides nothing without first consulting Professor Bernard.”

  “Mon général,” the professor said quickly, shaking his head. “I fear you are making me out to be much more than I actually am. I simply have known the minister for many years, and that is why he trusts me.”

  “Among other things, the General Secretariat for Defense and National Security is responsible for issuing permits for defense exports and for supervising defense export restrictions. We receive the assistance of the customs authority, which operates under the Finance Ministry. The customs authority coordinates the collection o
f information and the identification of suspicious financial transactions.” General de Villiers paused momentarily to allow Dominique to finish translating his remarks into English. She was a beautiful woman with a sweet voice. Haim couldn’t take his eyes off her.

  “You undoubtedly know everything there is to know about me and Brigadier General Bar-Oz,” Gideon began, addressing their French hosts. “We’re curious to know what’s been happening here, what the threat is, and what led to the establishment of such a distinguished task force to contend with it.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Ben-Ari. Your question is timely and most appropriate,” said Professor Bernard. “General de Villiers, why don’t you begin by filling us in on your findings.”

  “The event that got our attention,” the general began, “was a shipment of dozens of electronic switches produced by a French technology company that specializes in them. When we attempted to stop the shipment, we realized, unfortunately, that it was already en route. It had already arrived in Sweden, where it was received by the company that purchased them, which then turned around and shipped them directly to Tehran on a regular SAS commercial flight.”

  “If I may, I’d like to add something,” interjected the director of counterintelligence, who received a nod of approval from Professor Bernard. “The switches in question were dual purpose and have been used extensively by our automotive industry on their automated production lines. They also happen to be used to manufacture the world’s most advanced missiles. According to our experts, the components are essential to the warheads of long-range missiles with maneuverable warheads. Since then, we’ve dealt with this loophole in the supervision,” he said somewhat apologetically, “and all the countries taking part in the embargo against Iran have been informed of the oversight.”

  “Thank you,” Professor Bernard said and then launched back into his presentation. “Based on information we gathered after the fact, we also learned—actually, only quite recently—that the Swedish company was actually a dummy corporation owned by Setad, an Iranian financial body with an annual turnover of tens of billions of dollars. Setad is under the exclusive control of the Supreme Leader and is ostensibly meant to engage in social service work. However, it has come to light that this wealthy fund has other goals, such as assisting in the Iranian procurement effort in contravention of the international embargo on Iran. All this demonstrates the importance of working in coordination with all the countries that might be involved in the procurement effort, and not just those directly involved.