Harry got red faced and beyond speechless. Totally tongue tied. We all roared with laughter as he promptly swallowed a mouthful of beer the wrong way and began choking and coughing with Yoram pounding on his back and everyone laughing. Then Harry started laughing too,—and nodding his head with enthusiasm.
It was a wonderful evening. I really like being around guys like these. Maybe it’s in my genes. After a while, I got to wishing Joanie had been able to come with us. I even learned a bit more about Israel and how the people think.
“Israel is unique according to an Israeli joke,” the General, “call me Yoram,” explained with a smile and a mouthful of chicken.
“One third of the Israeli population is in the active duty military or reserves, one third of the Israeli population works, and one third of the Israeli population pays taxes. Our problem is it’s the same one third.”
His wife rolled her eyes. It’s obviously a very old joke.
Chapter Three
Today is Saturday, the Sabbath here in Israel, and Oren came in a car to pick up General Roberts at the hotel after a late breakfast. Harry and I went with him. The streets were rather empty as Oren drove us to another army office building, this one new and modern and rather austere. Once again an elevator took us down instead of up. Then Harry and I twiddled our thumbs and drank coffee and talked with Oren for almost three hours while the boss met with various Israeli brass and politicians.
Oren is a really interesting guy. He’d been born, he told us, Andrew Morgenstern in Los Angeles. When he was eight years old his whole family moved to Israel. He’d just been drafted and finished basic training in time to spend a tour of duty on the Golan and then completed officer training in time to be a lieutenant and go into Lebanon in 2006 on some kind of punitive expedition. Now he’s a senior captain in the regular Israeli Army with a girlfriend he hopes to marry, the one we met last night at General Makow’s house. From what he tells us it is obvious he is hopeful of making major on the next promotion list. And he is absolutely seething over the murder of the two little girls and their parents by the Iranians last week.
General Roberts didn’t look all that happy when he finally rejoined us. He didn’t say who he’d met or what he’d learned, just that he would be meeting some people for dinner this evening and we would on our own until noon tomorrow. Then he handed Harry a piece of paper.
“Harry, I can’t read this but I’m pretty sure it’s a phone number for General Makow’s residence. His sister-in-law asked me to give it to you if it looked like you were going to have some time free this weekend. You do remember Deb, don’t you?”
****** General Christopher Roberts
My dinner is with the Israeli defense minister, a former general who used to command the Syrian Front, and the Mossad director, Yair Alon. Ari and Yair and I talked for hours and I learned a lot. Both of them make no bones about it. Israel intends to hit hard, really hard, at whatever organization or country is responsible for the latest incident. They just want to make sure they hurt the right people.
And they want us to help them identify the doers.
“The country expects us to retaliate quickly and we will; soon,” the defense minister explained as he waved his glass of Israeli wine at me.
I probably wasn’t supposed to see him do it, but out of the corner of my eye I watched him cut it with a healthy shot of water.
“The situation today is much like the one which existed in ancient Greece and Persia, General. Think about it. We Jews are like the Spartans and the Arabs are like the much more numerous Athenians and Persians. The Spartans always won because they spent a lot of time preparing to fight while most of the Athenians and Persians, like today’s Arabs and Persians, spent their time making speeches about how brave they are and telling each other about all the terrible things they are going to do to the Spartans when they win.”
Ari may or may not be pretending to be a little drunk, but he’s been making the same point in different ways over and over again all evening. Why? I already know Israel has a strong army. Hell, maybe I’m getting paranoid.
Iran is obviously at the top of the Israeli hit list so far as these guys are concerned. But, according to both of them, Israel is asking for our input because they are not absolutely certain who sent the latest batch of terrorists. They say they want to make absolutely sure before they act because when they do it won’t be pretty.
But then why do the Israeli communications NSA has intercepted all say they are already sure it is Iran? Do they have an Iranian source? These guys are talking to me as if they don’t know we’re listening to their phones. Or do they know we try to listen to them and are letting us hear what they want us to hear?
Both the Prime Minister and the defense minister were emphatic about Iran’s role in causing the renewal of fighting in Syria, Iraq, and Lebanon. According to them, Iran is actively sponsoring terrorism against the Sunnis in all the lands with significant Shiite populations and using its oil revenues to pay Pakistan and North Korea to help them develop nuclear weapons. But such a description of what Iran is doing doesn’t square with the new Ayatollah publically saying it would be wrong for Iran to develop nuclear weapons and claiming it would not happen.
So I asked them flat out.
“Is the Ayatollah telling lies when he says Iran is not developing nuclear weapons because of its treaty with the U.S. or is he being misled by the Iranian military and intelligence community? Or are Israel and the United States being misled by ours?
They were emphatic. “He lies.”
“It’s a cultural thing,” explains Yair, the Mossad director, after he took a sip of wine.
“He can’t help himself. It’s ingrained in his brain because he and his supporters are Shia and have always had to lie in order to survive in an Islamic world dominated by Sunnis. Only someone who is hopelessly naïve could possibly believe the Iranian government will keep an agreement or negotiate in good faith not to develop nuclear weapons or attack Israel.”
He’s obviously talking about our State Department and our recent Secretaries of State.
I left with a lot of friendly vibes about the people I’d just spent the evening with—and a feeling that one of our key allies was about to launch some kind of military operation, with or without our support, and whether we like it or not.
But who are they going to go up against? Iran it would seem. And is it primarily vengeance for a horrible act of terrorism or is there a deeper strategic reason and retribution and the recent terrorism will be their excuse for the Israelis doing what they think they have to do?
******
After dinner was over I didn’t go straight back to the hotel. Instead, I headed over to our new embassy on Hayarkon Street. I needed to use its secure communications facility to send Peter inquiries to forward on to the director of the National Security Agency and the new CIA director.
Despite the late hour, the ambassador and the political attaché were both waiting in the ambassador’s office when I arrived. The ambassador kept her mouth shut and listened; the political attaché wanted to know who had been at the dinner and what I learned. I didn’t tell him much, not even who was present, just mumbled something about old soldiers telling stories to each other and drinking too much.
After I listened to the political attaché babble on for a while about the importance of “not encouraging the Israelis to do something rash” and the need to keep the embassy informed, I excused myself and went downstairs to visit the embassy’s communications center on the fifth floor next to the embassy’s legal office.
When I got to the communications center I sent an encrypted report on my conversations with the Israelis to Peter and asked him to contact both NSA and the CIA for an update regarding the terrorist attack as well as information as to the possible relationship between the terrorists and Iran, particularly the government or one of its components such as the Revolutionary Guards. In other words, is Iran responsible or not? And, more importantly, what�
��s the latest on what they think the Israelis are going to do?
I also instructed Peter to ask both agencies if the Israelis know we are listening to some of their phone calls and are using them to feed us false information, and for an updated report on the status of nuclear cooperation between Iran and everyone else including Pakistan, Syria, Russia, and North Korea. Maybe I’ll learn more tomorrow morning when I have breakfast with the Prime Minister and his National Security Advisor.
Then I went back to the hotel where we are staying, the Tel Aviv Sheraton, and called Dorothy and the kids—or maybe I should say kid since John is the only one still living at home. She was still in Portland winding up her medical practice and packing our clothes and personal possessions. It looks as though we’ll move, at least temporarily, to Washington next month. We’re going to keep the Portland house no matter what.
Dorothy and I still don’t know for sure where we’ll be living for the next year or so. Best, of course, would be somewhere close to my office, or near the hospital where she’s going to practice. But about the only thing we’ve decided so far is we want to be somewhere which won’t require a long commute for either of us. We found a really nice realtor with the help of her mother. The realtor, in turn, found several surprisingly expensive furnished rentals we might be able to afford for a year until we find something to buy. After that, who knows? I sure as hell don’t.
******
Some of the intelligence updates I requested were hand delivered to the hotel the next morning with a note from Peter saying the others were being worked and will be coming shortly. One of the embassy’s Marine guards was waiting in the hotel hallway in civilian clothes and handed them to me when I opened the door to get the morning papers.
I know, I should have had breakfast delivered to the room. But I forgot to fill out the room service card. What I really should have done is stayed in the embassy guest suite. Oh well, live and learn.
It seems nothing new has surfaced in the past forty-eight hours and the CIA is almost certain the Israelis know we can listen to some of their messages. The updates merely repeated what Peter and I heard in the briefings before I left Washington: All those countries are attempting to set up nuclear weapons programs except the Saudis – and they’re bankrolling Pakistan, and maybe even North Korea, to do it for them. On the other hand, there are still no Iranian intercepts suggesting the Iranians were involved in the terrorist attacks. To the contrary, the Iranians seemed to be confused and think they are being wrongly blamed as part of some Israeli or Sunni plot."
Oren picked me up at the hotel and drove me to my breakfast meeting. It only took about ten minutes to drive to the Prime Minister’s home from the hotel—and even longer to get past the three guard positions you would hardly know existed unless, of course, you get stopped at every one of them as we were. There was one at the beginning of his street; one at the gate in the white stucco wall around his house; and the third at the end of the driveway in front of the door.
I arrived exactly on time to find the Prime Minister waiting and totally fluent in English. And, to my surprise, with him was a rather distinguished looking man I’ve never met but whose name and face I certainly knew from numerous newspaper stories and news broadcasts over the years. He had been the Prime Minister prior to the man I was meeting and was, so I’d been led to believe, a severe critic and political enemy of the current government. There was a third man present by the name of Yossi Stavri. He’s a heavy set retired general who apparently acts as the Prime Minister’s security advisor. And until I met him over the phone a couple of days ago I didn’t even know he existed even as a retired officer.
I instantly got the impression that the three of them have been here together talking for some time before I arrived. Breakfast was friendly and informal. We picked up toast and croissants from a sideboard and sat down around a small round table. And then we gently pumped each other for information. The three Israelis drank coffee and I drank tea – and, as before, the only tea on offer was my favorite brand.
Basically we just ate our breakfasts and felt each other out about various issues—the Israelis asked how I thought the President might react to several relatively minor Israeli initiatives on the West Bank; and I wanted to know if they were still uncertain as to whether it was Iran who sent the terrorists and what they are going to do about it if it really was Iran.
“Oh yes, we are still uncertain and undecided.” That’s not what NSA says. What’s going on here? And why?
We spent almost two hours talking and I got the impression the Prime Minister delayed going to his office in order to stay in the conversation. Strangely enough, their comments and questions increasingly turned to what I think about various problems and opportunities that might be confronted by Israel and the United States in the years ahead.
After three or four disclaimers as to my not knowing how the President might respond to various hypothetical situations, I finally put both hands around my cup of tea and leaned forward with a friendly and sympathetic smile.
“Guys, I really wish I knew the President well enough so I could tell you how he might react to the various scenarios and circumstances you’ve been asking about. But I can’t. I’m new—I’m not one of the President’s confidants and I’m certainly not a member of his inner circle of advisors. Just because I have an opinion about something doesn’t mean the President shares it or will even ask me what I think.”
Then Stavri surprised me. He reached over the table and patted me gently on my clasped hands.
“We’re thinking down the road, General. It’s what we must always do if Israel is to survive.”
Chapter Four
On the drive back to the embassy I made a decision. I’m going to open a temporary office in Tel Aviv. Not a formal office with a name on the door, just something low key so a couple of my aides can stay here and act as my eyes and ears until the current crisis blows over or blows up.
The immediate problem, of course, is I don’t have anyone who can speak Hebrew. Lots of people here speak English but my guys can’t count on that. They are going to need two or three people who are totally fluent in Hebrew and know Israel intimately.
Yeah, the more I think about it, the more sure I am that I’m going to need at least Evans and Duffy and a couple of Hebrew speaking assistants to accompany them in the field. And, of course, we’ll need someone to run the office and answer the phone when they’re not around. But who should they be – Americans? Israelis too old to be called up for military service? Women?
Is it okay if the Israelis know? Yeah, probably it is – we’ll have to assume they’ll learn everything anyhow so we might as well be open and up front about it. Maybe people who have joint citizenship. Wonder how long it would take Dick and Harry to learn the rudiments of Hebrew? Nah. Bad idea. We don’t have time for that and I’m damn sure not going to suggest they learn it the way I learned French and German. I need boots on the ground yesterday.
******
I met with Evans and Duffy as soon as I got back to the embassy. Both of them seemed quite taken with the idea of staying in Israel for a while. In any event, they don’t have much choice in the matter. I need them here.
Evans and Duffy came with me when I went upstairs to see the ambassador and visit with some other embassy staff before leaving for the airport. The ambassador is a political appointee, an Internet heiress from California who funneled mega-bucks into the President’s campaign. More importantly, she seems to have a good head on her shoulders. In any event, I introduced Major Evans and Mister Duffy and explained some, but certainly not all, of what they will be doing for me and the support they might need from the embassy. She promised to help.
As I walked down the ornately tiled floor to the Commercial Attaché’s office I could see the Ambassador getting on an elevator with Evans and Duffy. She is going to introduce them to the embassy’s administrative officer and its senior military attaché, an army colonel named Hopkins.
&nb
sp; At the Commercial Attaché’s office I had a brief and private meeting with one of his office assistants, Mary Tonello. The Director of the CIA had given me her name and strongly suggested I speak with her to get her take on the current situation.
Mary is married to the embassy’s assistant commercial attaché, has two children in a Tel Aviv high school, and, surprise, surprise, is an important person—the CIA station chief—and, as such, ranks far above the commercial affairs attaché she and her husband supposedly work for.
According to Mary, some of the people on the embassy staff, except the ambassador who knows better, think the Cultural Attaché is the CIA station chief; others think one of the FBI agents in the embassy’s legal office is the head of the CIA station, perhaps because that is where the secure communications center is located. She likes the confusion.
Mary said her people will help Evans and Duffy wherever possible and she hopes we will keep her informed if anything comes up she should know about. I promised we would.
“Besides, they’ll be using the embassy communications center for anything important so you’ll probably know what’s happening before I do.” And so will the NSA.
Mary just smiled. I smiled back.
****** Major Dick Evans
Harry and I visited Dewey Adams, the embassy’s administrative officer, to arrange our housing and support. Dewey’s a friendly guy, a tall, slender, balding man in his late thirties with a deep southern accent from rural Georgia. He was genuinely warm and welcoming when the ambassador introduced me and Harry and told him the embassy will be providing us with money, accommodations, and whatever other support we request. Dewey smiled at us and nodded when she told him we would be back shortly after she took us to pay a courtesy call on the military attachés. And off we went following her down the hall to their office.
Israel's Next War Page 4