“Only maim, blind, or permanently damage?”
Al-Alazar shook his head. “You don’t understand. I only wanted to make it look like the Israelis were trying to murder you. I felt fairly certain that after your attempt on Streicher’s life the Syrian Internal Security Service would set up emergency procedures to screen all letters passing through the central post office. There seemed little doubt that they would detect the bomb.”
“What if they didn’t?” Ari asked, the anger in his voice cutting through his words.
“Then I assumed you’d be perceptive enough to recognize the letter as one of our own explosive devices before you opened it.”
“And if I wasn’t?”
“I was sure you were. In any event I had little choice in the matter. Streicher told the police he was certain you were the Israeli agent who had attempted to kill him. They were going to pull you in for questioning. They would have penetrated your cover story. I had to act immediately.” Al-Alazar paused for a moment to let the impact of his words soak in. “By the way, that was a very sloppily made pen trap you mailed him. You must have set the firing pin too low.”
“So you sent booby-trapped letters to Ludin and to my room, hoping the police would drop their suspicions about me,” Ari said, quickly changing the subject, embarrassed about the bomb that had hardly harmed the Wehrmacht colonel.
“Exactly. You have been seen several times in the company of Ludin and Streicher. The police made the logical leap and assumed that Operative 66 had tried to wipe out the three of you. Streicher’s suspicions were dropped, which was imperative for us. We could not let the police arrest you and rob the Second Bureau of the caged bird they had trapped so carefully. That would have spoiled everything.”
Al-Alazar’s words hit him like a sledgehammer. “What?” Ari said, realizing that for weeks he’d been a pawn being moved by a skilled chess master in a game much different than the one he thought he was playing.
“I will explain everything in due course. But first let me make us something to eat. I’m famished and I suspect you have not eaten this evening. I’ll just fry some eggs; it will take only a few minutes. This whole conversation will proceed a lot better if we continue on full stomachs.”
Although he didn’t feel like eating, Ari nodded.
Al-Alazar rose and moved toward the refrigerator. He was delaying the inevitable—what he had to tell Ari would crush him, and he was by no means in a hurry to do that.
As the sound of eggs frying in oil filled the room, Ari tried to push all thoughts out of his mind. The Second Bureau was closing in on him and the Colonel had arranged it. But why? Why?
Al-Alazar slipped the eggs in front of Ari, a plate of yellow eyes that seemed to stare up, mocking him. He dashed the yolks with his fork, but the laughter ringing in his ears only intensified. It wasn’t the right time to ask about Kim, but that didn’t matter. No time was right any more.
“A friend of mine has been picked up by the Second Bureau,” he said with strained equanimity. “I think they’re going to use her to get to me. If they harm…”
“What makes you think Kim Johnson has been detained by the Second Bureau?” al-Alazar interrupted.
Ari stared at his host in disbelief, but his surprise dissolved after a moment as it became clear that al-Alazar was aware of an every move he had made over the past two weeks.
“There’s been a man watching me, a short, squat Arab. When Kim left the hotel this evening he followed her. I ran after them but by the time I reached the street they were gone. It had to be planned. The man was a Second Bureau agent, his partner was waiting outside. The short, squat, Arab must have forced her inside a car; then the three of them sped off.”
Al-Alazar rose. “Let me make a call and see if I can find out what happened. I’ll be right back.” He moved through an ornately engraved door at the far end of the kitchen and entered the living room. On an inlaid rosewood table next to a backless Ottoman sofa lay the transmitter Ari had attempted to bring into the country. Al-Alazar’s transmitter had broken a little over a month ago. Without knowing it, Ari had brought him a replacement.
The senior Israeli agent picked the wireless up, placed it inside a chest in the corner of the room, and closed the top. His task was difficult enough, there was no need to let Ben-Sion know the full extent of the Colonel’s duplicity. That job completed, al-Alazar went to phone and dialed quickly. He didn’t want to keep Ari waiting too long. After receiving the information he requested, he hurried back into the kitchen.
“Well?”
“She’s in the hotel, apparently waiting for you.”
Ari breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank God.”
Al-Alazar knew no way to do what he had to do gracefully. “You were right, though. She was picked up by Second Bureau agents. They drove her to an out-of-the-way café where she was questioned by Second Bureau chief Suleiman Sarraj and Mukhabarat head Yussaf Fuad.”
“And they let her go?”
“I’m afraid I’m not making myself clear. They didn’t let her go, they gave her further instructions. Kim Johnson is an Egyptian agent. She’s working with Sarraj.”
The color drained from his face. His mouth went dry. A muffled scream escaped his throat.
“It was no accident that you met her,” al-Alazar said. “Sarraj arranged it.”
“Impossible!” Kim was in love with him. She couldn’t have been faking everything.
“I can prove my allegations if you really want me to.”
“No!”
Ari stared at the ceiling, reliving their meeting that first afternoon in Jerusalem. He had suggested she accompany him to the Old City. She had hesitated, explaining that she wanted to go back to the hotel. He’d had to work hard to persuade her to have dinner with him and fly to Damascus instead of Cairo. He recalled her offering to find out about Dov, her unexpected trip to al-Mazza, her demanding the right to sleep with an Arab minister to get additional information.
The memories slashed through him, one after the other, smothering him beneath them. He relived her running out of the dining room in tears when he told her he was a Nazi. Remembered her fears and uncertainties. It had all been an act! A cold, calculated maneuver. Underneath that veil of pain she had been confident that she had him dangling off the edge of her bed, that rather than be left alone, he’d run after her and confess to being an Israeli. Even her protesting that she wanted to leave Syria was false, designed to suppress any subconscious suspicions he might be forming. Suddenly he understood the source of her insight and intuition. She had been able to penetrate his personality so quickly because she’d been thoroughly briefed on him!
He cringed. She had played her part flawlessly; she had made a fool out of him without his suspecting a thing. He tried to hate her, but he couldn’t. He was too full of self-disgust.
But something was still unclear. Kim had stepped into his life in Jerusalem, before he’d been given a new assignment. How was it that the Second Bureau had broken his cover so early? There was only one possible answer—someone had tipped the Syrians off.
“Why did the Colonel set me up?” There was a quiet, menacing anger in his voice.
Al-Alazar saw by the look in Ari’s eyes that there was no sense in denying it; he would have to explain more than he intended to. But not everything. There were certain details it was best Ben-Sion not know yet. “The Syrians have been aware for several months that there is an Israeli spy operating somewhere in the upper echelons of the Baath Party. Both the Second Bureau and the Mukhabarat are on the verge of discovering Operative 66’s identity. It is only a matter of time before they do so. There are signs of an imminent shift of power here in Syria and for certain reasons the Colonel would like to see Suleiman Sarraj discredited when President Assad reshuffles his regime. What you have been doing the last two and a half weeks is leading the Second Bureau chief to me. My sources report that, based on his manipulation of you, he is so sure he’ll succeed he has promised the Syrian Hi
gh Command that Operative 66 will be in prison by the first of October. He cannot back down; he has invested his entire political prestige in capturing me. What you will do now is discreetly let Sarraj know I am Operative 66, but we will flee Syria before he has a chance to arrest us. Our escape will require split-second timing and coordination, but both the Colonel and I are convinced it can be accomplished successfully. Sarraj will be left with nothing to show for his boasting. He will be blamed for allowing two Israeli spies to get away with state security secrets. Public humiliation is inevitable. And, you know what losing face means to an Arab, he will either resign or be deposed. Most likely he will resign.”
Anger burned inside Ari. Not only had Kim’s words veiled her true intentions, but the Colonel’s briefing had been spurious, purposely designed to mislead, maneuver, and manipulate him.
“What about Operation Goshen?” He didn’t even attempt to hide the disgust in his voice. “Have I been banging my head against the wall for nothing?”
“On the contrary. Lieutenant Barkai arrived in Damascus this evening. Saliha Maaruf, though not a strong person, was able to contact Nissim Kimche and relay your message. The children will be in the basement of the Alliance School Saturday evening. If all goes as planned you and I will leave Syria tomorrow night. Our departure should prove an effective cover for Operation Goshen. We’ll be traveling south, over the Golan. Because of us a major part of Syria’s security forces should concentrate in that direction. They’ll never suspect we’re running another operation to the north twenty-four hours later.”
Some of Ari’s anger seeped away. He resented being used, but the Mossad chief’s plan was a masterful one. He couldn’t help but marvel at it. He decided then and there that the first thing he would do upon seeing the Colonel again was deck him, then reach down and help the venerable bastard up. That is, provided he lived through the next forty-eight hours.
“I have just one question,” Ari sad. “How am I going to tip off Sarraj and still leave us enough time to stroll out of Syria without getting shot to pieces?”
“I’m glad you asked that,” al-Alazar said, smiling. It was the first time he allowed himself the luxury of relaxing since Ari had entered his house. “First of all, if my source is accurate, you have told Miss Johnson that you are an Israeli agent, but you have not divulged your purpose for being in Damascus or any of the details of Operation Goshen. Is that substantially correct?”
Flushed with embarrassment, Ari nodded—wondering how al-Alazar knew so much about his conversations with Kim, information that would not normally be available to a member of Parliament.
“We calculated you had too many years of intelligence life ground into you to discuss details of a mission even with those,” the Israeli agent hesitated for a moment, “with whom you were most intimate.”
Ari’s stomach muscles contracted. He’d lied to al-Alazar about Kim, the same way he’d lied to the Colonel about Michelle. But he couldn’t admit to this senior agent that he’d told Kim his assignment was to be executed on the twenty-second, he just couldn’t.
“This may be unpleasant for you,” al-Alazar continued. “But the key to our success lies with Miss Johnson. When you return to the hotel tonight I want you to try and act as normal as possible. She must not suspect that you know she’s working for Sarraj. Then tomorrow evening, confide in her—tell her you’re meeting a high-placed Israeli agent Saturday night and that you’ll be ready to leave Syria immediately afterward. Act nervous, excited. She’ll probe for more information. Give it to her, make up any reason you want for meeting Operative 66. It doesn’t matter as long as she believes you. But don’t be too anxious to discuss your assignment. Part with the information reluctantly. Make her work for it. Drink, talk about how the Israelis have pulled one over on the stupid Arabs. Have a good laugh on the Syrians, on the fact that a member of their Parliament is an Israeli spy. Let my name slip out naturally. Then pull back in fear, horrified at what you’ve done. Act as if everything has suddenly become clear, let her know you realize she’s an agent who has been working for weeks just to get that information out of you. The codes of your profession demand you kill her to protect my cover, but she’s your lover, you can’t do it. Tie her up and leave her in your room. Then get to a pay phone in the lobby and call this number.” Al-Alazar removed a slip of paper from his shirt pocket and handed it to him. “I’ll be waiting to hear from you. Try and make the call as close to nine P.M. as possible, that’s important. It’s crucial that you time the entire evening so that you phone from the hotel lobby between nine and nine-fifteen, the closer to nine the better. But you must call within that quarter-hour span, otherwise we’ll never get out of Syria alive. A Golani paratrooper rescue unit will be waiting for us at a predesignated spot in the desert from nine-forty to nine-fifty. They can’t risk remaining there for more than ten minutes. It will take us twenty-five minutes to reach them. We must be out of Damascus by nine-twenty-five at the absolute latest.”
Ari stared down at the floor, then looked into al-Alazar’s eyes, and spoke in a voice just above a whisper:
“I lied when I said I didn’t give Kim any details about Operation Goshen. She knows whatever I came to Syria to do will be attempted on the twenty-second.”
For a long moment the room was quiet. “I’m aware of that,” al-Alazar said softly.
Ari’s face registered the surprise that bounded through him. It seemed impossible that al-Alazar could have obtained such specific information about what he’d told Kim, yet somehow he had.
“The Second Bureau’s knowing your assignment is scheduled to be completed on Saturday does not present a problem. Sarraj will conclude that upon discovering the Second Bureau is onto you, you fled Syria a day early, aborting your mission in the process. It will appear that with my cover blown, I was forced to escape with you. To make it look like I ran out on a moment’s notice I intend to leave all my equipment and codes behind, intact.”
“And in the wake of what looks like a broken operation, Lieutenant Barkai will lead the children out of Damascus.”
“That’s what I’m hoping.”
Ari paused for a moment. The whole damn thing just might work. “But how am I going to get from the hotel to you without being followed?”
“I was just coming to that. From the lobby you proceed into the dining room as if you are going to have late supper…”
As al-Alazar outlined his proposed escape route, Ari fought in inner war, trying to keep his attention riveted on al-Alazar’s words, and away from drifting into thoughts of Kim. He wanted so much to scream betrayal, to hate her with every fiber of his being, to retreat behind a tirade of angry invective and threats of revenge. That was the ego-salvaging reaction of the victim of self-deception—he could have no part of it. She had not made a fool out of him; she had allowed him to make a fool out of himself. And the Colonel had based an entire operation on the assumption that he would behave that way. That’s what really hurt.
Ari winced. He accepted being used—at this point he had little choice; but he didn’t understand how the Colonel could have anticipated in advance his becoming involved with a Syrian spy. Then something in him snapped. After al-Alazar finished speaking, Ari looked across at him.
“How could the Colonel be sure Sarraj would send a girl after me and that I would fall for her?”
“I don’t know,” he answered, a bit too quickly.
“You’re lying,”
Al-Alazar paused, then spoke expressionlessly. “With your history it was inevitable.”
And suddenly it all became clear. “Michelle,” the name slipped from his mouth. “She was an agent.”
Al-Alazar nodded. “One of Sarraj’s best.”
“And the Colonel knew the whole time, that’s why he selected me for this assignment.”
“Yes,” al-Alazar said as gently as he could. “Though the Syrians did surprise us by sending Kim to Jerusalem. We expected you’d accidentally meet a young lady here in Damascu
s.”
Ari’s attempt to hide his humiliation did not succeed. His expression betrayed everything he felt.
“I should have suspected something. It was too much of a coincidence that I was lured to a remote part of Cyprus exactly when an important message was coming over the transmitter.”
“What about your escape route from the hotel, is it clear?” al-Alazar asked, as if he hadn’t heard his confession.
“I think I’d be more comfortable if you went over the details one more time,” Ari said. He liked al-Alazar. He was compassionate, a rare quality in an agent.
Al-Alazar meticulously went over the steps Ari was to take to insure they met unaccompanied, without showing the slightest trace of annoyance at having to repeat himself. This time Ari cemented every word into his consciousness. Al-Alazar would not have to go over any part of it a third time.
Completing his briefing, al-Alazar leaned back and stretched.
“Ari, I’ve told you as much about our operations in Syria as I dare to at this point. The rest the Colonel will explain in Jerusalem, we owe you that much.” He paused for a moment and shifted uneasily in his chair. “I know how you must feel about the way you’ve been…”
“Don’t,” Ari interrupted.
Al-Alazar nodded. “Then I think it best you start back to the hotel. The number thirty-two bus at the corner of Adnan el-Malki and Omar Safar streets will take you directly to Marjeh Square.”
“I know.”
Al-Alazar groped for something to say to cushion the blow his words had inflicted. “You have no idea how important what you’re doing is to the security of Israel.”
“Spare me the platitudes,” Ari said. “I’ve been an agent long enough. I know the price tag our life carries.”
“I’m sorry, I was just trying to make it easier.”
Ari rose. “I will phone you from the hotel lobby tomorrow night—exactly at nine.”
Al-Alazar nodded. “Come, let me walk you to the door.”
The Damascus Cover Page 19