Sèvres Protocol

by David Lee Corley

  As the British entered their limousine and left the estate, the French delegation exited the Villa. Pineau set down his briefcase on the ground to remove his overcoat. He climbed into the back of the French limousine, leaving the briefcase containing the signed copy of the treaty on the ground. The limousine drove off.

  The villa’s groundskeeper found the briefcase. He had been working at the villa for over thirty years and had seen the guests of the villa often leave things behind. Rich people are so forgetful, he thought. He placed the briefcase in a safe place inside the villa until the owner returned for it or send a messenger to retrieve it.

  As the last limousine, trailed by its security detail in a sedan, left the estate, Brigitte slipped in through the closing gate. She knew she was on to something big when she had seen all the security vehicles and limousines coming and going over the last three days. She just didn’t know what it was. She walked up the driveway. She still had on the same clothes she wore when she arrived three days earlier. She realized that she probably smelled bad and looked worse. She pulled some perfume from her purse and gave herself a spritz. She checked her hair in her compact mirror. She was right. It was worse but she did her best to fix it.

  She didn’t know what she would do once she reached the front door. Her best hope was to find someone, perhaps a butler or housekeeper, that knew the identity of the participants or overheard a revealing conversation. “Can I help you?” said the groundskeeper as Brigitte approached the house.

  “Oh, I didn’t see you there,” said Brigitte, startled.

  “I’m sorry. I wasn’t lurking. Just trimming the rose bushes for winter,” said the groundskeeper. “Are you here to pick up the briefcase?”

  “Oh, ah…,” said Brigitte wondering if the briefcase was inside the villa. “Yes. The briefcase. Is it inside?”

  “Yes. Nice and safe,” said the groundskeeper moving toward the villa.

  “Quite a big meeting, yes?” said Brigitte following him.

  “Oh, yes. Security guards made a mess of my flowerbeds. They should really have been more careful.”

  “I’ll make sure to note it in my report.”

  “Very nice of you. You work for one of the ministers?”

  “In a way, yes. I’m sort of a press secretary.”

  “I could never do that. Stay inside all day. Typing on a machine. I need the outdoors. I need to feel the dirt between my fingers. I don’t use gloves. They’re not natural.”

  “Is it hard work? Keeping the grounds?”

  “At times. But very rewarding. Especially in the spring when the flowers bloom.”

  “I’m sure,” said Brigitte. “You don’t happen to remember the names of any of the guests, do you? I want to make sure I get their names correct for my report and I forgot my guest list back at the office.”

  “Oh, no. I am terrible with names.”

  “Too bad. Is there a housekeeper or butler I could talk with?”

  “No. The security guards chased ’em all off before the meeting. I was the only one allowed to stay, and I wasn’t allowed to enter. Someone had to lock up after they left.”

  The groundskeeper took off his muddy boots and left them on the front porch. Brigitte started to take off her shoes… “No. No. No need,” said the groundskeeper. “Just my boots. Don’t wanna be trampling mud on the floors. Your shoes look clean enough. Just give ’em a good scraping on the doormat before ya enter. It kicks off any pebbles that might scratch the wood floors.”

  Brigitte scraped her shoes on the door mat, and they entered the villa. Brigitte looked around the villa as the groundskeeper went off to retrieve the briefcase. The place was empty. There was nothing that gave her a clue as to who had been here, and why.

  The groundskeeper returned and handed her the briefcase. “There you go. Might want to warn him to be more careful. One can never be sure that such a fine piece of luggage like that doesn’t end up in the hands of a thief.”

  “You are absolutely right. I will warn him. Your country thanks you for your service,” she said.

  “Do you want me to call you a taxi?”

  “That would be quite nice. Thank you.”

  The groundskeeper moved off to the study where the phone was located.

  Brigitte exited the villa and walked back down the driveway, carrying the briefcase.

  October 24, 1956 – Paris, France

  Pineau arrived back at his office in his limousine. He reached for his briefcase, but it wasn’t there. He looked under the seats and in the trunk. Nothing. He told the driver to wait and that he needed to make a call. He rushed inside the building.

  He ran up the stairs to his office and had his secretary call the villa to inquire about his briefcase. She spoke with the groundskeeper who informed her about the nice woman that had already picked it up and was on her way to return it. The woman had not left her name. The secretary thanked him and hung up.

  Pineau thought about the contents of the briefcase and began to panic. He told his secretary not to mention the briefcase to anyone. He needed to find that woman before she opened it, but had no idea where to look.

  October 24, 1956 – Cairo, Egypt

  Nasser sat at his desk staring out the window. He was not happy with the news that the British had broken off peace negotiations at the U.N. He would naturally turn the break in negotiations into a public relations win for Egypt by claiming that the British had no real intention of negotiating with the Egyptians. It was all a ploy to garner international attention. Egypt would look like the victim, not the aggressor. He would win support from other Arab leaders and more importantly… the people of Egypt.

  But Nasser was concerned. He did not see the advantage the British might obtain by shutting down negotiations so quickly and without warning. Why not let the negotiations play out and then find some technical point to reject any agreement if that was the outcome they sought? It didn’t make sense, and that bothered Nasser. He brought in his intelligence chiefs and asked what the British might be doing. They had no idea. They too could not see the logic in the British move.

  The French were also being strangely quiet. They had stopped with their objections to Nasser helping the FLN in their struggle for independence. Was it possible that the French had decimated the FLN forces to the point they were no longer a threat to Algeria? He didn’t know. The FLN leader, Ben Bella, had lived in Cairo as an exile, but had recently been kidnapped by the French while flying over international waters. Nasser decided to send some of his own agents into Algeria to check on the FLN.

  The Israelis had been massing troops on the border, but that was not that unusual. Nasser did not like the reports that training of Israeli pilots in their new French jets was going well. The French were crazy to sell jets to the Israelis. It was a recipe for war to give Israel such advanced weaponry. The Israeli jets were a threat to his tanks and navy. His own pilots were also training in their new jets but the Soviets had sent instructors with no knowledge of Egyptian Arabic, so progress had been slower than he had hoped for. He knew he would have to respond to the Israeli threat soon, but the Israelis were so unpredictable, he could never figure out what they had in mind, and his intelligence efforts bore little fruit. Nasser was blind when it came to the Israelis, and it drove him crazy.

  October 24, 1956 – Paris, France

  Pineau’s briefcase sat on Brigitte’s bed. It was open. Brigitte had used a hairpin to pick the lock. Next to the briefcase sat the one-page document titled, “Protocol of Sèvres.” It was written in French and she had read ever last word on the page in less than a minute. It was the longest minute of her life. She sat motionless just staring at the sheet of paper. She knew she was in deep trouble.

  Upon reading the document she realized it would obviously be classified “Top Secret” if it had not been already. There was no getting around it, she had stolen a top-secret document. It didn’t matter that she didn’t know it was in the briefcase. Everything she had done in the last twenty-fou
r hours gave the impression she was a spy. She had followed international officials to a secret location for a secret meeting. She had trespassed on to the secret location. She had lied about her identity to the groundskeeper. She had taken the briefcase when she knew it was not hers. And to top it all off she was living with Tom Coyle, a former CIA operative. America and France were allies but even allies spied on each other. Coyle might also be arrested and at the very least be deported from France, never to return. She gasped. She could lose Coyle because of what she had done.

  She had stumbled on the biggest story of her career – an international scandal that would lead to war – and she couldn’t tell a soul without risking arrest and imprisonment for treason. If she turned the document over to the French authorities, those involved in creation of the document would know that she had read it. They would lock her up at least until the war was well underway, and maybe for a lot longer than that. She had heard rumors that the intelligence community had a bad habit of disappearing unsavory characters rather than letting their secrets be revealed in a lengthy criminal trial. She shivered at the implication.

  She stopped and reasoned with herself. Brigitte, you’re making a mountain out of mole hill, she thought. It can’t be this bad. After all you didn’t know what was inside the briefcase. If you had, you never would have taken it. The most you are guilty of is stupidity and petty theft… and maybe treason depending on the judge. There must be a way to turn this to your advantage. You just haven’t thought of it yet.

  If she wrote about what she had found, they would know it was her that took the briefcase. If she turned over the document, it was like admitting she was guilty. If she kept quiet about it, they would eventually track her down. If there is no way to win I might as well write my story, she thought. At least then I can claim protection under freedom of the press. Damien would surely come to my defense and hire a good lawyer to represent me. Then again… the government might shut down the magazine, citing national security.

  It was hopeless, or so she thought until a thought came to her. There might be another way…

  October 25, 1956 – London, England

  Eden stared at Patrick Dean’s signature at the bottom of the Protocol of Sèvres document. “Were you out of your fucking mind?” said Eden to Lloyd seated across from his desk. “Why would you allow Dean to sign such a thing?”

  “The Israelis insisted,” said Lloyd. “We had little choice.”

  “Little choice? Do you realize that if this document ever becomes public it implicates all of us in a conspiracy to start a war?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “How many copies are there?”

  “Three. This one, plus the Israelis and the French each have a signed copy.”

  “Get them back.”

  “How?” said Lloyd.

  “I don’t care. Just do it,” said Eden.

  October 25, 1956 – Paris, France

  Brigitte stood in front of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. In her hand was Pineau’s briefcase, closed and locked tight. She took a deep breath and walked into the building.

  Inside the reception area, she informed the guard that she had found the minister’s briefcase and was here to return it in person. The guard offered to give it to the minister, but she insisted on giving it to him herself. It didn’t take long until she was escorted into Pineau’s office.

  Pineau did not say a word to Brigitte as she entered his office. They knew each other. His eyes focused on the briefcase. She handed it to him and said, “I assume this is yours?”

  “Don’t play games, Brigitte. You know it’s mine,” said Pineau. “You opened it?”

  “Of course. I needed to find the owner. I found your name on some of the documents inside and came here immediately. I knew you would be worried.”

  Pineau unlocked the briefcase and opened it. He looked through the documents inside. The Protocol of Sèvres was not inside. “Where is it?” said Pineau.

  “Where is what?”

  “The document.”

  “Which document?”

  “You know to which document I am referring.”

  “I don’t. What you see is all that I found inside.”

  “You are saying that the document is lost?”

  “No. I’m saying it was never there.”

  “Did you destroy it?”

  “No. How could I? It never existed.”

  Pineau considered for a long time before continuing and said, “How can I trust that the document does not surface at some point in the future?”

  “If this document to which you refer was to suddenly appear, I could be accused of stealing it, could I not?”

  “That or much worse.”

  “Why would I ever want that to happen?”

  “I suppose you have a point. It is a very dangerous game you are playing.”

  “Look who’s calling the kettle black.”

  “You realize that thousands of lives are at stake? French lives.”

  “I wouldn’t know about that.”

  “And there is nothing you demand to ensure this non-existent document stays hidden?”

  “No. I am a patriot. I will not play with the lives of French citizens… and soldiers.”

  Pineau’s expression sharpened at the mention of soldiers. She obviously knew about the military plans. “Am I free to go?” said Brigitte.

  “Of course. I have no reason to detain you,” said Pineau.

  “You might say thank you? I did find your briefcase.”

  “Yes. You did. Thank you for returning it.”

  Brigitte got up and moved toward the door. She had pulled it off. She was still a free woman but something inside her couldn’t just let the story go. It was too big. A faint heart never filled a flush, she thought. She decided in that moment to push a little farther. “You know… There is one little favor you could do for me,” she said turning back to Pineau.

  “And what might that be?”

  “If there were any upcoming military activities, I would like to be given the chance to report on them as an embedded journalist. Like old times.”

  “You wish to jump with the French paras?”

  “With the French? No. I had someone else in mind,” said Brigitte with a smile.

  October 26, 1956 – Jerusalem, Israel

  Ariel Sharon sat in Dayan’s office. He wasn’t happy, despite being assigned the honor to spearhead the attack into Sinai. “Why doesn’t she jump with her own troops? She’s not even Jewish,” said Sharon.

  “She wants to report on the entire war. The French won’t even arrive until your position in Sinai has been secured,” said Dayan with a shrug. “I don’t like it either, but the French are asking us to take her with us. They are our allies. Let’s not piss them off before the war even starts.”

  “But after is okay?”

  “Of course. They’re naturally pissed off. They are French,” said Dayan. “Ariel, it’s one woman. How much trouble can she be?”

  “I have a war to fight. I don’t have time to play nursemaid, Moshe.”

  “And I’m not asking you to. She jumped with the French at Dien Bien Phu. I am sure she can take care of herself.”

  “I read her articles. At least she can write.”

  “Ben-Gurion thinks we could use the international press. She’s an outsider. Her reports will be seen as unbiased.”

  “Unbiased. Great. Can we trust her?”

  “The French say ‘yes.’ She has agreed not to report anything until after your initial operations have concluded.”

  “If she so much as looks sideways I will bind her and leave her for the scorpions.”

  “I think that’s only fair,” said Dayan.

  October 26, 1956 – Paris, France

  Coyle sat on the edge of the bed watching Brigitte getting ready to leave. “I don’t understand. Why can’t you tell me where you’re going?”

  “Tom, sweetheart, there are some times when I just can’t tell you what I
am doing. You’re just going to need to trust me,” said Brigitte as she moved into the closet.

  She reached for her rucksack, jumpsuit, and jump boots. She opened a suitcase and placed them inside so Coyle would not see them.

  “I do trust you. Is Bruno going?” said Coyle.

  “No. I mean… I don’t think so… Maybe… I don’t know.”

  “How can you not know?”

  “They didn’t tell me.”

  “Who are they?”

  “Tom, I love you, but I can’t say anything more about where I am going or what I will be doing.”

  “When will you be back?”

  “I don’t know. But I will call you as soon as I can. It may be a week or two.”

  “I am supposed to just wait around until you show up or call?”

  “Yes. Now you know what most women feel like,” said Brigitte giving him a kiss on the forehead.

  FOUR

  October 26, 1956 – London, England

  Lloyd walked into Eden’s office looking like an inmate on death row. Eden was reviewing operational plans.

  “I’m here to report back on the signed documents you requested,” said Lloyd.

  “That had better mean you are happy to report that both copies are in your possession and are being locked away in the Tower of London,” said Eden not bothering to look up.

  “Unfortunately, that is not the case.”

  Eden looked up and said, “So, where the hell are they?”

  “The Israelis refused to return their copy.”

  “Fucking Jews. I should have known better than to trust them. And the French?”

  “They seemed to have misplaced their copy,” said Lloyd knowing how stupid he sounded.

  “They lost it?”