by Uzi Eilam
“We know about the Shahed 129 drone, which was apparently developed through reverse engineering. The pieces of the American UAV were placed at the disposal of the Guardians’ engineers, who studied it carefully and are still trying to duplicate it. The Iranians claim that it is an aerial vehicle capable of carrying smart bombs and carrying out surgical attacks on remote targets. I recommend taking this sweeping claim with more than a few grains of salt. We don’t think the Iranians are capable of producing a completely accurate duplicate of our drone,” Deutsch said. “After all, it had a self-destruct mechanism that appears to have kicked in. There were some fragments that could have afforded them significant information, but we need to assume their claims are propaganda.”
“We know that Iran assisted Hezbollah in arming UAVs in Lebanon,” Haim said. “But these were simple, tiny models in comparison to the Shahed 129, which the Iranians are trying to duplicate and reproduce. In terms of their work to acquire a visual intelligence system, this is a major step for Hezbollah. We’ve also observed the early signs of such activity in the Gaza Strip, in the development units of Hamas.”
“I suggest we concern ourselves with issues related directly to the large Iranian UAV, regardless of whether it already exists or is simply a figment of their propaganda,” Bernard interjected, in an effort to guide the discussion back into more relevant waters. “In Israel, you have a great deal of experience in developing numerous models of unmanned aerial vehicles. What can you tell us about the components that would be absolutely critical for Iran in developing an efficient advanced system? We understand that every country has the right to maintain its confidentiality, especially regarding systems that are strategic in nature. So, without giving away anything you are precluded from sharing, Gideon, what do you have to say about possible directions for the procurement of technologies and components for these ambitious Iranian projects?”
“Aerial vehicles of this kind contain five subsystems,” replied Gideon. “The aeronautical structure, the engine, an antidetection system, a secure communications channel for control and the transmission of visual images, and the payload—which, in our case, is the camera.”
“And which of these five subsystems is the most essential?” Bernard asked. “Which is the proverbial showstopper? Gerald? Gideon?”
“I suppose the engine is the most critical component out of the five,” Dr. Deutsch posited. “However, I’m not downplaying the importance of the camera or the necessity of a reliable resistant broadband communications channel. I also find it difficult to believe that the Iranians could master the issue of radar absorbent material.”
“I agree with Deutsch’s analysis,” Gideon said. “Clearly, without a suitable engine, there can be no intelligence-gathering UAV project. As for the other systems, I can imagine the Iranians compromising by buying dual-use products, which are easier to purchase on the free market.”
“Would the Iranians be willing to make do with an inferior drone?” Bernard turned to Dr. Deutsch now. “And what can the Americans tell us today about the Guardians’ success in deciphering the secrets of the drone that simply fell into their laps, so to speak? Did the self-destruct mechanism really function as it should have?”
“Our experts think that the drone that’s been shown on Iranian television is a model made out of wood and cardboard,” said Deutsch. “It’s certainly not something that could take off tomorrow. Still, we know about previous UAV models that were developed in Iran: the aerial vehicles referred to by General Bar-Oz. We should assume that using reverse engineering to duplicate the downed American drone is a high priority for them.”
“Where should we be focusing our search for subversive Iranian procurement activity geared toward building a modern drone? On the sale of drone engines? Safran is a French multinational company that was established through a merger of our avionics and missile companies. Could it be a target for Iranian procurement efforts?” asked Bernard.
“Professor Bernard,” General Secretariat Director de Villiers interrupted, raising his voice in protest, “the supervision of defense exports carried out by the Secretariat prevents the unlicensed export of strategic components. The engines you’re referring to are classified as supervised products on the lists maintained by the Missile Technology Control Regime, which was established to prevent the proliferation of weapons of mass destruction. I suggest that you not underestimate our ability to carry out the required monitoring.”
“Mais mon général, we need to remember who we’re dealing with here,” replied Professor Bernard. “We’ve already witnessed sophisticated, multistage Iranian procurement processes via other countries. We must assume that they will also try to make use of prohibited procurement methods for the drones.”
“With your permission, ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to make a suggestion.” Gideon spoke now, receiving an almost imperceptible smile from Dominique. “First, I would like to praise the supervision of French defense exports. Based on my personal experience, I can attest to the fact that very little, if anything at all, can leave the country without the supervisory apparatus knowing about it. I propose that we ask General de Villiers to have the General Secretariat map the abilities of the French defense industries vis-à-vis all five realms of UAV production. The data can be considered by a task force subcommittee in order to lay a foundation for determining aims and necessary measures.”
“Dr. Ben-Ari’s suggestion is a good one,” the general agreed quickly. “Madame de Saint-Germaine will coordinate the information assembled by the General Secretariat and pass it on to the subcommittee.”
“Excellent idea, Gideon,” Bernard said. “Dr. Deutsch, would you be interested in sitting on the subcommittee?”
“Yes, I would. I think it will be a good way to handle the problem. You can count me in.”
“How about you, Gideon?”
“Hmmm…” Gideon hesitated, taking note of the anger in Haim’s face. “General Bar-Oz and I will coordinate our presence on the subcommittee.”
“That will be fine, as long as there is definitely an Israeli presence,” Bernard said.
“There will be, without a doubt,” Haim said. He seemed placated, to Gideon’s relief. “You can count on it.”
“I will take it upon myself to chair the subcommittee,” said Professor Bernard, and he received nods of approval from everyone around the table.
Chapter 18
Darkness descended on the streets of Paris as Dominique drove home in her elegant Peugeot. The electric gate to the underground parking garage opened without a sound, and the car slipped comfortably into its designated spot. The comfort made possible by her favorable financial situation was not something Dominique took for granted—not even now, after so many years. She appreciated the affluence that joining the de Saint-Germaine family had allowed her.
When she entered her apartment, she was overcome by a wave of exhaustion, which was a familiar product of her overloaded days in the office. Her bag was heavy with material she had brought home from the office to read over at home, and she dropped it on the sofa. She slipped off her business jacket, removed the scarf from around her neck, and collapsed on the sofa, groaning with pleasure as she kicked off her shoes and began massaging the soles of her sore feet.
A hot, then cold, shower washed away all the difficulties of her busy day. Refreshed, wearing a robe and with her hair wet, she poured herself a glass of white Sancerre and returned to the sofa. A few sips of the chilled wine infused her with a sense of serenity that allowed her to consider the past day and to take stock of her career.
Dominique had nothing to complain about in terms of moving up in the ranks in the prime minister’s office. In the chauvinistic male-dominated world in which she was competing, few women had managed such a route of upward mobility. But did her professional accomplishments justify the price she’d had to pay? She pondered this question without reaching any clear concl
usion. Her conscience tormented her for not being there for her daughter Agnès as much as she should have been during her adolescent crises but, fortunately, her genes had given the tempestuous teenage girl a sound ability to study and learn. Now that Agnès was an adult and had begun university, things were easier.
Her thoughts turned to a conversation she’d had earlier that day with General de Villiers, her supervisor on the General Secretariat. Every meeting with him involved some kind of clear sexual innuendo, as he tried to tempt her with promises of further advancement. He was a revolting man with whom she was unwilling to even enter a bedroom. But Dominique did not abstain from relations with men altogether. The fact that her husband, Jean-Claude, had absented himself from their bedroom for the past few years had not left her indifferent. She knew he had a young lover and that, on many occasions, when he was ostensibly out of town on business he was actually in Paris at an apartment he kept for her.
A few times, Dominique had been attracted to men who had made advances, and she had found she was willing to sleep with them without a long-term commitment. She had thus far succeeded in elegantly evading de Villiers’ advances, which took much of her energy.
She thought about the last instructions he had given her. The Americans and Israelis had cards they were holding close to their chests, such as the capabilities of their technologically advanced unmanned spy planes, secure communication channels, and important intelligence and technological information they had gathered regarding Iran and the terrorist groups it supported. He had suggested she use her charm to learn what she could. As a member of the task force, she was completely justified in getting close to other members of the project, especially the Israelis, in order to induce them to give her the information she needed.
She refilled her wine glass, climbed onto a barstool at the counter in the kitchen, and reached for the phone. She had wanted to talk to Gideon anyway, but she was unsure how to connect it to de Villiers’ instructions. She hoped it was not too late to call him and start the evening over.
“Hi. Is it a bad time?”
“Dominique! No, it’s not a bad time at all!” Gideon concealed neither his surprise nor his pleasure at hearing her voice.
“The days are flying by and, so far, we’ve had no time to ourselves,” Dominique said.
“I’ve been feeling the same way. At the end of the meeting yesterday, I told myself we’d eventually find time to talk. I’m glad you called. How are you doing in all this craziness?”
“I’m surviving.” She sighed. “But I believe my schedule is somewhat more challenging than yours. I’m still obligated to fulfill my other duties at the General Secretariat that are unrelated to the task force.”
“When I’ve been in similar situations in the past, I’ve made it a point to clear my schedule and force myself to pull off the highway once in a while to relax. And on some occasions, ma chère, I’ve even found it to work.”
“What would you say to you and me making such a stop this evening? Are you free for a quiet dinner? It could give us some quality time to talk without any time constraints.”
“That sounds wonderful, Dominique. Nothing would make me happier.”
“Shall I come fetch you from the hotel? I’ll pick a place by then.”
“Great. I can’t wait.”
Gideon was not bothered by the fact that Dominique had initiated the rendezvous. He also shrugged off any concerns of professional impropriety stemming from the fact that that he and Dominique were now colleagues on the same task force. He was getting older, and he deserved to enjoy himself for as long as he could. And besides, Dominique was an old flame. His heart raced when he conjured up images of her as a university student, young and full of life.
Dominique knew she could take him almost anywhere she wanted, but she had not decided where that was. In the car on the way to his hotel, she decided to reserve a table at a restaurant they had visited together in the past. Her plan was to spend some quality time together and see where things led. She chose Restaurant Marty on Avenue des Gobelins in the 5th Arrondissement, on the edge of the Latin Quarter. Dominique loved its traditional French cuisine and remembered how mesmerized Gideon had been by his first encounter with it as a young student from Israel.
The hotel lobby seemed empty when Gideon stepped out of the elevator wearing a jacket, a freshly ironed white shirt, and a light blue tie. “And where are you off to this evening, Gideon?” He was caught off guard by Haim, who was seated at the bar holding a glass of beer. “You look like you’re on your way to a wedding—and you’re the groom!” he joked.
“Nowhere special. Just dinner with a few French acquaintances from the old days.”
“Well, have a good evening.” Haim was unable to conceal his jealousy at Gideon’s involvement in the French experience, complete with his mastery of the French language and his personal relationships with the locals.
“Thanks, Haim. You too.” Gideon walked out of the hotel to meet Dominique by the curb.
A sporty silver Peugeot RCZ stopped in front of the hotel entrance. Gideon got in quickly and Dominique pulled swiftly back into traffic.
“Bonsoir,” Dominique glanced at his jacket and tie and smiled. “You certainly look like you’re wearing your thirty-first best.”
Gideon remembered this expression, which the French used to refer to the elegant outfits so many donned for New Year’s Eve parties, and he responded with a grin. Dominique was wearing a black dress straight out of a fashion magazine. The tightly fitting garment flattered her, and she knew it. She soon turned onto Avenue des Gobelins and found parking on the street just outside the restaurant.
“Restaurant Marty! You remembered!” said Gideon in amazement as they entered the small restaurant, with its two rows of tables covered with white tablecloths. Dominique smiled.
“Yes, mon chère. I thought this would work for us. Did you know that the same chef still runs the kitchen here? Of course, he has already cultivated a new generation of creative chefs who now work alongside him.”
They were soon greeted by the sous-chef, who obviously knew Dominique well. The young man presented the evening’s selections.
“You decide,” said Gideon.
They shared a pleasant meal, refraining from talking about Dominique’s work and the work of the task force. Gideon recounted his return to Israel after his last stint at Stanford and told her about his children, Amitai and Noam. Dominique did not press him for details regarding his breakup with his American wife. She told him, with visible emotion, about her daughter Agnès, the talented student. To Gideon, it was as if they were in a world all their own, and it seemed to him that Dominique felt the same.
Why don’t we pass on the digestif here?” Dominique suggested after finishing dessert. “I have a bottle of aged cognac from last century that would be a perfect way to end the evening.”
“Are you sure it won’t be an imposition?” Gideon asked, contemplating the offer as his heart beat faster.
“My husband is out of the country on business, as he often is, and Agnès is out with friends studying for her semester exams.”
They left the restaurant arm in arm, and only when they were in the shadows, beside the car, did Dominique turn to face Gideon. They pressed up against one another for a long embrace and the kiss about which Gideon had been dreaming since the evening began. The drive back to Dominique’s did not take long, and soon she was slipping her key into the front door.
“I hope you don’t mind the mess in the living room,” she told him when they got inside. “I got home late and, as you know, this was a rather spontaneous date.”
“Not to worry. My eyes will be focused entirely on you,” Gideon assured her, as he slid his hand around her waist.
Dominique took his hand and led him into the bedroom, which was dimly lit by a soft orange light. Their clothes came off quickly, and Gideon found h
imself lost in her gentle embrace and sensual caresses. He lay on his back, and Dominique continued to stroke him all over his highly aroused body. This was not the young inexperienced student he had known so many years ago, he thought, before being swept up in the tempestuous whirlwind that brought them together, climaxing in a crescendo of moans. Relaxed and quiet, they lay in each other’s arms and said nothing.
“That was magnifique,” Dominique finally whispered in his ear.
“I can’t think of a better word to describe it,” Gideon said softly.
“We forgot the digestif. I’ll be right back.” With a sparkle in her eyes, she stood up, wrapped herself in a robe, and glided out of the bedroom.
“We had our priorities in order,” Gideon called after her, “and I’m glad.”
She returned a minute later with a bottle and two glasses. The cognac slid smoothly down their throats to complete the warmth and tranquility that now enveloped both of them. A light, relaxed conversation ensued. Dominique told Gideon more about her struggle for a position among the elite of the prime minister’s office, as well as about her disappointing marriage, which had run aground. Gideon continued telling her about his life, including his standing relationship with the Israeli defense establishment. They refrained from discussing the project.
“I can drive you back to the hotel,” Dominique offered.
“That’s sweet of you, but there’s really no need. I’ll be able to find my way home. You deserve the rest.”
They stood by the door and hugged each other for a long time. And with a soft kiss and a promise to keep in touch, they said good night.
Gideon asked himself what had happened that evening. Was it a one-time event based on a shared sense of nostalgia? What did Dominique want? What did he want? He walked by well-designed, brightly lit storefronts and display windows until he reached his hotel. His cell phone rang. Gideon hoped it was Dominique and was disappointed to see that it was only Professor Bernard.