“Lev, Moises, I presume this call relates to our discussion about events in your current location last April.”
“Yes, sir. We have confirmed the presence of three subjects whom we last saw in South America. It is not feasible to meet with them in Tel Aviv anytime soon without creating difficulties. We will have to return at a future date and with a solid plan.”
“Will you be back to the Institute tomorrow?”
“Jehovah willing and good luck with the weather and the rather unreliable transportation facilities we will face.”
“Overcome, brothers. I am sure this is an issue that won’t wait.”
§§§§§§
Le Bureau Central National (BCN) d’INTERPOL pour la France [The International Criminal Police Organization, or INTERPOL], Office of Senior Detective Chief Superintendent Eugène Léon Dentremont, 200 Quai Charles de Gaulle, 69006 Lyon, France, December 29, 1964, late evening
DCS Dentremont was called into headquarters from a black tie soiree honoring President Deutraine’s appointment of a new chief of staff of the French air force. Now ensconced in his office with a fully secure line, he returned the direct line call from “C” at Israel’s Institute.
“C” answered the telephone himself. “Thank you for getting back to me so promptly, Eugéne. I would not have troubled you unless it was about a matter of some gravity.”
“I’m glad to be ‘bothered,’ ‘C’; I hate black tie affairs. What’s up?”
“Some of our agents have located the fugitives being sought in the Project Save the Generals case.”
“Confirmed?”
“As nearly absolutely as possible. My most senior katsa [field agent] and kidon [assassin] have identified all three. In fact, they participated in an athletic contest and spent the evening having drinks with them. As important as that, we have one of our sayanim in the area to keep a close watch on them while we plan our move.”
“Can you give me the area, ‘C’?”
“Of course, but we all must understand that this must be handled with the utmost delicacy for any number of reasons: the political fallout with the French, the Muslims, Israel, and the Algerian government; the risk of causing an international incident that leads to armed conflict among countries; and certainly the possibility that a premature, gauche, or mishandled operation could result in the permanent loss of our access to these SS monsters. The place is Sidi-bel-Abbès, Algeria.”
“The French Foreign Legion!!?” Léon exclaimed, quite unlike his usual unflappable self. “Do you wish to handle this alone, ‘C’? Cutting out the FBI, the CIA, the Sûreté, the SDECE [Service de Documentation Extérieure et de Contre-Espionnage—external security], and the DGSI [Direction générale de la sécurité intérieure—internal security] —to name but a few—will not help you win friends; and it won’t get you any help you might find that you need.”
“Nor INTERPOL, I presume?”
“We will not be happy. However, we are good at keeping secrets; and we will not betray you.”
“Thank you for that. I, of course, would not expect anything less. Frankly, our experience with the FBI and the CIA has not filled us with confidence; and the French would have a conflict of interest of the first order. They would be highly averse to allowing French Foreign Legion soldiers to be taken, and they would be loath to admit ever that they were employing former Nazis in senior military positions.”
“I understand, and I pledge INTERPOL assistance in any way we can should you make a request.”
“Thank you, Léon. The Institute will consider this to be a marker we owe you, payable at some future date.”
§§§§§§
Oval Office, the White House, Washington, DC, December 31, 1964, 0600
President Johnson listened intently and without interrupting as the DCIA presented the PDB [Presidential Daily Briefing] for the previous day. The PDB was a top secret document produced each morning for the president of the United States under the direction of the DCIA, DDIA, the NSA, and other members of the United States Intelligence Community as became necessary. There was only one topic covered in today’s PDB.
Director McCone summarized.
“Mr. President, ‘C’ communicated to us—as a courtesy—that they have intelligence that they consider comes from absolutely reliable sources relating to the whereabouts of the murderers of the senior generals around the world, including one of our own, Gen. Glen Gabler, USA/Ret. You will recall that they almost captured them in September 1963 in Bariloche, Argentina, and Puerto Montt, Chile. The fugitives have been in the wind ever since, seemingly having vanished from the earth. Then, in April 1964, a group of Israelis took part in a Krav Maga martial arts competition with French Foreign Legionnaires in Sidi-bel-Abbès, Algeria.”
“That’s the world headquarters for the Foreign Legion, isn’t it?”
“Used to be up until two years ago when they got booted out of country after Algeria got its independence.”
“Let me guess,” the president said, “those old Nazis are now in the Foreign Legion and fighting for France.”
“Seems so.”
“Lot of strange bedfellows since the war seems to me.”
“And this is about as strange as it gets, Mr. President. Apparently, the Legion and the Mossad have close ties; and the old Nazis are thick as thieves with the Israeli Jews.”
The president shook his head.
“As I said in the beginning of this PDB, the Mossad has officially informed us that they are planning to capture or to terminate the three fugitives they know about and any others they run into in Algeria. They invite our help, but I have to say that ‘C’ didn’t seem all that enthusiastic or hopeful that we would want to get involved.”
“Involved how?”
“They are going to run a black-op to kidnap or kill the Nazis.”
“Where … exactly?”
“On the base. It’s a Foreign Legion outpost EMT or Tactical Command Post for rapid deployment missions.”
“With French Foreign Legionnaires protecting their comrades, Director?”
“Probably with some stealth, Mr. President; but in a nutshell, that’s about it.”
“And what do they want from us in return for destroying every diplomatic endeavor from now until kingdom come, or even risking war with the French?!”
“At the minimum they’d like some equipment … like two Beechcraft King Air Multirole Transports and flight crews to get the people in and out, two C-97 Stratofreighters to haul in all the stuff, and a few third-generation jet fighters—including, but not limited to Airforce F-111 Tactical Strike Aircraft and F4 Phantom IIs with our air-to-air missiles, more sophisticated radars and medium-range RF AAMs for stand-off ranges, our improved electronic countermeasures (ECM) for spoofing radar seekers, and chain-guns for starters, sir.”
“C-97s are the pregnant guppies that we now have for civilian use?”
“Basically.”
“Anything else suit their fancy, Director?”
“Boots on the ground would not be rejected. ‘C’ specifically hinted at SEALs and Army Rangers.”
“Large force?”
“No, they want a small force, but the crème de la crème.”
“Any idea what this would cost in American money, Director?”
“Depends on the length of time involved and the exact equipment we contribute, but I’d think nothing less than $100 million.”
“I know that a lot of you think I take too long of a time to make up my mind about things, especially when it comes to military action. However true that may be in general, in this specific instance I will give you my decision right now: it’s no. Plain unvarnished no. Risk a war with the touchy French; so, the world will be safe from a couple or three old Nazis? I don’t think so. Tell ‘C’ that for me, and wish them luck. They’re gonna need it.”
§§§§§§
Israeli Institute for Intelligence and Special Operations [Mossad LeAliyah Bet], Headquarters of Director Levi Apple
man ben Cohen, Glilot Junction on Highway 2, Ramat Aviv Neighborhood of Tel Aviv, January 1, afternoon
“C” sat at his simple old desk in the Institute and surveyed his most trusted katsa, Abraham Levy, and the designated head of the kidon squad, Lev Mizrahi, who would direct the mission and turn it into an assassination if necessary. That was Lev’s specialty. There were a total of nineteen men in the room including Moises Silverman, the senior Mossad field agent who had been part of the Project Save the Generals since its inception, and an unprecedented fourteen katsas. There were only thirty-five katsas [foreign field agents] in the entire world; so, the significant percentage of them involved in this project underscored the gravity with which it was regarded. “C” was well aware that if the mission became a disaster, his coterie of agents would be severely depleted; and he would almost certainly lose his job. Each man was special and known personally by “C”; and he cared about them, knew their families, and was cognizant of what they had already sacrificed for Éres Yisra’el. He was on a first name basis with them: Eban, Micah, Eliot,
Enos, Gavriel, Ezra, Haggai, Yachin, Enos, Manny, and Aaron. The force was rounded out by five IDF commandoes who came with the personal recommendation of the IDF chief of staff.
“C” did not waste time on formalities or warm up chit-chat.
“Thank you for your willingness to be involved in this mission. You are volunteers, and a great deal rides on what you do, not the least of which is the reputation of Israel … and … my job. And, oh, yes … your lives. We are in this alone. President Johnson and DCIA McCone flatly turned us down when I requested operational assistance. They want nothing to do with what could well turn out to be an international incident.
“You men will fly to Sidi-bel-Abbès, Algeria, tomorrow night and do a HALO parachute drop in the mountains just north of the city. You will travel in three separate companies to a location outside the west gates of the city on the side opposite the Legion headquarters. There you will meet our sayanim who lives in the city. He will be your guide. Others of our sayanim who live in Algiers have arranged trucks to haul in heavy weapons and troop trucks to aid in your escape. When you leave this room, each of you will be issued an L-pill—just in case—and false ID papers including Moroccan passports. In part, you have been selected because of your fluency in Arabic; that is important should this venture come unglued; and you have to make it back to Israel on your own. You know the drill: should you be captured or killed, we will disavow you. You know better than to carry anything that identifies your real person, anything that originated in Israel, or any personal photos or memorabilia. No Magen Davids [Star of David] on you anywhere or in any form.”
There were no demurrers, even from the minority of the men who were religious.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE
Tell Atlas Mountains, Northwestern Algeria, January 3, 0 dark-30
The INS [Israeli Navy Ship] S class submarine, Tanin [Tz-71], surfaced in international waters offshore from the bustling North African city of Sidi-bel-Abbès, Algeria, in radio silence and all-lights-out precautions. The ship had earned the affectionate name “Sugar Boat” among the crew and the commandoes from the smooth voyage and easy and silent surfacing maneuver. Nineteen men dressed all in black and with black-painted faces stepped swiftly onto the deck and took a moment to gain their sea legs. As they assembled, two zodiacs were put into the ocean on the starboard side; and crew men lined the bridge, coming to aid the commandoes as they entered the boats.
The zodiacs sped in the direction of the shoreline, and the Tanin submersed. The entire time on the surface of the Mediterranean had been less than seven minutes. Five minutes into Algerian waters, two Sikorsky S-58 helicopters—a longer and more powerful version of the earlier Sikorsky model S-55—appeared out of the blackness and hovered over the zodiacs. A trail line was dropped from the helicopters to each of the zodiacs and secured only by two men holding the line. A rescue basket was lowered and two men gingerly entered it and stretched out to avoid imbalance. The basket was retracted into the helicopter, and the two men were quickly helped out and into the cargo bay of the aircraft. The process was repeated three times, then the rescue basket apparatus was retracted into the helicopter for the last time. The final action was to pull the trail line back into the aircraft with six backpacks full of weaponry and emergency supplies. The boat drivers headed back to sea for the predetermined GPS site where they rejoined the sub. The Sikorskys moved swiftly at low altitude towards the Tell Atlas Mountains north of Sidi-bel-Abbès. It was largely an instrument flight since they could not risk lights.
The Sikorsky rose well above the mountains, and at the predetermined location, began to release the parachutists and their gear in a HALO [high altitude, low opening] drop. There was real danger in the process: it was pitch-black dark, they were landing in unfamiliar territory, and—unlike most of the rest of the archetypal barren North African habitat—their landing site was in the steep well-watered and forested mountains north of that vast desert. Had the landing been in the light, the men would have been treated to a striking green background with a surprisingly densely populated area of North African towns.
The mountains–with their inhospitable environment–have provided a refuge for the original inhabitants, who fled successive invasions. Here the Berber people survived, preserving their own languages, traditions, and beliefs, while at the same time accepting Islam to some extent. Village communities still live according to a code of customary law–known as kanun–which deals with all questions of property and persons. The family unit traces its descent from a single ancestor, preserving its cohesion by the sense of solidarity that unites its members; an injury to the honor of one affects the group as a whole and demands vengeance.
The Kabyle Berber society in the Tell Atlas Mountains had struggled for centuries to preserve its individuality apart from the majority Arabs. Nowhere is that more evident than in their choice of habitat. Their fortified villages are largely perched high up on mountain crests. Most of the villages are small, consisting of a few dwellings, a mosque, a threshing floor, and a place for the assembly of the elders—the djemaa which governs the affairs of each community altogether separate from adjacent villages. The fortified villages guard against predation by any outsiders, including the government. Families live in separate rooms in the form of a square around a closed interior courtyard. Parachutists would be greeted with a hail of gunfire if sighted.
Women grow vegetables in small gardens adjoining their houses. Fig and olive trees cover the mountain slopes below and around the villages, and those carefully tended trees are the principal resources of the clans and are husbanded communally. The Kabyle are also skilled craftsmen working with wood, silver, and wool. They supplement their families’ incomes by working as peddlers and selling carpets and jewelry to the people of the plains below.
The landing went relatively well; for seventeen of the nineteen commandoes, it was safe, efficient, and successful. For one thing, none of the men parachuted into a town by mistake. For two of the IDF noncommissioned officers, it did not go so well. Rav samal mitkadem [Rasam-advanced chief sergeant) Levi McGuire hit a rocky outcrop, fell fifteen feet, and fractured his right femur, and Rav samal rishon [Rasar chief sergeant first class] Shaul Shraga ben Peretz landed on a spike of a dried up cork oak tree which penetrated his left foot through-and-through. Unfortunately for the unit, and especially for the two soldiers, they were out of commission; and they had to be dealt with appropriately. Fortunately—and as the result of good planning—Jacob ben Amsallem, the sayanim from Sidi-bel-Abbès, was waiting for the commando unit in the drop site with his pack mules. The little tailor knew a village situated near the mountaintops which was populated by a small clan of strict Orthodox Jewish families who were as private, protected, and prickly as their Berber neighbors—the nearest of whom lived forty-five miles away. He loaded the two injured men onto mules and led them up the rough trails to the village where the rabbi was happy to serve as
an auxiliary sayanim and to provide nursing and protective care for his coreligionists, who were a rarity in his mountains.
The seventeen still fit commandoes donned night vision goggles and began to pick their laborious way down the mountainside through moist forests of cork oaks, an undergrowth of cane apple and heather shrub, and treacherously irregular carpets of rockroses and lavender. The footing was especially difficult in areas of crumbling limestone where they encountered heavy roots of green oak, arborvitae, stands of cedar, and thin bushy undergrowth covering the rocky soil. There were decent trails and even two gravel roads which would have been navigable for a family automobile. Lev insisted on avoiding both of those options for the sake of security. It was slowgoing due to the need for silence. Occasionally a small herd of wild boars or an infrequent jackal startled the advance guard, but they were well enough trained not to utter a sound. Besides the uneven terrain they had to descend, the march was difficult because of the weight of their packs.
Every man carried a backpack holding weapons that could not be traced back to Israel: a Russian Stechkin APS—A 9x18mm Makarov 1951 modified to the AO-44/APB variant with attaching silencer and steel wire stock, a select-fire machine pistol; a Walther or Pistole P38, a 9 mm semiautomatic handgun which was the service pistol of the Wehrmacht during World War II. The Israelis had the late 1963 postwar military model P1 with an aluminum frame rather than the steel frame of the original design. The pistol held eight rounds in a single row, detachable box magazine, and was fitted with a silencer; twelve Soviet F1 RPG-6 [Ruchnaya Protivotankovaya Granata] hand grenades and plastic explosives; and a Soviet spetsnaz force NRS-2 survival knife worn in an ankle holster with a built-in single-shot firing mechanism able to fire a 7.62x42mm SP-4 cartridge. The packs also contained three days of emergency rations and water, injectable morphine, tetanus antitoxin, and antibiotics—penicillin and streptomycin—a tourniquet, tape, plastic splints, and powder antibiotic wound packs.
The Charlemagne Murders Page 62