Beyond the Shield

by Nachman Kataczinsky

  Several suitcases and large boxes, all with diplomatic seals, were also unloaded and put into the cars. The ambassador, who met the plane, got into the limousine and the two car convoy drove off.

  The DC-3 was refueled and left an hour later. Avram Zaretzky, the supposed First Secretary of the old Palestinian legation, left on the outgoing flight. Being a polite man he had told his contact, Boris Andreyev, the day before that he was going to leave and another man would take his place. Andreyev was visibly annoyed. “Who is going to take your place. Can you give me the name of the new First Secretary?”

  “I have no idea,” Zaretzky responded with a smile. “They didn’t tell me.”

  “I want you to contact me as soon as you get back home. I will need a steady flow of information from you.”

  “What kind of information, comrade Andreyev? It may be better if you ask me questions and I’ll try answering them.”

  “Maybe. In any case, I need you to contact me first to establish a communications routine. You should know best how to establish communications discretely and safely.”

  Zaretzky nodded. “I will do my best.”

  ***

  Merkulov, the head of the NKVD security service, and his underling Andreyev waited patiently. The room was small and drab. Beria’s suite at the Kremlin was smaller than that of the other members of the Politburo. He had a much nicer suite and office on the Garden Ring – the loop road around the center of Moscow - and rarely did any business at his Kremlin office.

  The receptionist picked up the intercom and, after replacing the handset, told the two to enter the inner office.

  Beria was sitting behind his desk and let them stand for a short while. Finally he put aside the paper he had been reading and pointed to a couple of simple wooden chairs. “Sit and tell me what brought you here.”

  Merkulov nodded to Andreyev. “Comrade Commissar, as you know, yesterday the Israelis brought their first transport with goods for their new embassy. The same plane also took back the old legation’s First Secretary, who was our source. He will stay in touch.

  “We observed several unusual things about the plane. It was a modified DC-3 with a large cargo door in place of the passenger one and some kind of arrangement that allowed two automobiles to be unloaded with just a couple of people pushing them.

  “We never saw such cars before. The shape is…” Andreyev hesitated, “strange or maybe futuristic.” He put several photographs in front of Beria. “And they drove in almost absolute silence.”

  Beria studied the photographs with interest. “What does it say on the back of the trunk?”

  Andreyev pulled out a magnifying glass from his briefcase. “On the left it says ‘Consolidated’, on the right ‘Sabra-A’.”

  “Never heard of such a brand.” Beria looked at the photographs again. “The shape does look strange.”

  Merkulov spoke for the first time in the conversation. “When they asked two days ago for a fuel allotment I instructed the liaison to tell them that we have only five liters of gasoline to give them. They responded that they’ll take any liquid fuel for their cars, so I authorized some kerosene and some diesel in addition to the gasoline. They accepted it.”

  Beria shrugged. “They’ll probably sell the kerosene and diesel on the black market to buy gasoline. When they do we will have something on them. Good thinking, Merkulov.

  “One thing puzzles me. Do they make their own automobiles? If so, we may have seriously underestimated them. Keep investigating. I want to know what’s going on with this State of Israel, Palestine, whatever.”

  The red telephone on his desk started ringing. Beria waved to Merkulov and Andreyev to get out.

  Alexander Nikolaevich Poskrebyshev, Stalin’s personal secretary, was on the line. “The leader wants you here in an hour with the two files you were supposed to prepare.” The line went dead.

  Beria both despised and feared Poskrebyshev. The man was smart, didn’t mind taking action and had been close to Stalin for many years. Beria opened a drawer in his desk, pulled out two bound files, stuffed them into his briefcase, and left.

  Forty minutes later he entered the anteroom of the leader’s suite of offices. Soon Vyacheslav Mikhailovich Molotov, the People’s Commissar for Foreign Affairs, joined Beria in the waiting room. They nodded to each other. Molotov took a seat at the farthest end of the room from Beria.

  It was Beria’s job to spy on everyone, especially people close to the top. He enjoyed the fear he provoked in people but was somewhat apprehensive, if not outright afraid, of those who were personally close to Stalin and under the leader’s protection. Beria didn’t like fear and hated those who evoked it. One could always hope that a protégé would slip up but the chances of this happening with Molotov were too small for Beria’s taste. Beria was hopeful that the upcoming meeting might create an opportunity for him to undermine Molotov and maybe, in the future, topple him.

  Twenty minutes later the inner door opened and a guard beckoned for the two to come in. Poskrebyshev got up from his desk, knocked on the door to the inner office and stuck his head in. He opened the door wider, beckoned for the other two to follow him, and entered.

  Stalin was seated behind his desk with a benign expression, stuffing his pipe, usually a sign that the leader was in a congenial mood. He gestured to the chairs arranged in front of the desk. The three took their seats and waited.

  “Molotov, you asked for this meeting. What is it?” Stalin lit his pipe and puffed a couple of times.

  “I wanted your approval of my choice for our ambassador to Israel. I think it’s an important post and we need just the right man for it.” He paused, waiting for Stalin’s response.

  Stalin’s left eyebrow climbed up in a somewhat mocking expression. “According to Beria it’s not all that important. How important can an ambassadorship to a small country of sand and camels be?”

  Molotov shrugged at Beria. “Shall I tell the leader or will you?”

  Beria didn’t look amused. “Yesterday the first direct transport flight arrived with cargo for their embassy. A DC-3 brought two cars. They rolled them out directly from the plane. My engineers tell me that this required a significant and very advanced modification of the frame.” He looked at Molotov, who smiled beatifically, or as beatifically as his normally stern expression would allow.

  “Here are pictures of the modified plane. The cars were also very interesting,” Beria said as he put several more photographs on Stalin’s desk. “As you can see, they look different from anything else we have ever seen. We couldn’t identify the make or model. They must be manufactured locally. My people also tell me that they are absolutely silent.”

  Stalin carefully examined the photographs then pushed them over to Poskrebyshev. Molotov said, “I suspected that Beria’s estimate of their abilities was somewhat simplistic. Whatever these Palestinians are, they are not living in a country of sand and camels.”

  “Yes, I think that Beria underestimated them. So who do you propose sending there?”

  “I have two candidates. I gave the names to Beria so as not to waste time.

  “The two are Boris Yefimovich Shtein and Semyon Ivanovich Aralov. Shtein is an excellent analyst, especially in economics, and has experience in our foreign service. He served as an ambassador to several small countries. He is currently serving in Moscow.

  “Aralov is different. He has military experience and used to be the chief of the GRU, the military intelligence service. He also served as an ambassador, so has diplomatic experience. There is one difficulty with him: In 1937 he was relieved of all his duties and appointed to manage the Cultural Museum in Moscow.”

  Stalin looked at Beria, who pulled out two files. “I carefully studied both of them and have no idea what Yezhov had against Aralov. I don’t mind appointing Shtein, but there are two things against him: we urgently need intelligence from Israel and this isn’t his forte. Also he is Jewish and I don’t know if we can trust him to do his job properly in a
Jewish state.”

  “So you would prefer Aralov. What is your preference?” Stalin asked Molotov.

  Molotov shrugged, “Either one is fine with me.”

  Stalin nodded, “Aralov it is.”

  Chapter 13

  January 1943

  “Gentlemen, I want a status report.” General Halder, the head of the OKH and a senior member of the Committee for the Welfare of Germany, nodded at Admiral Canaris. “Admiral, will you do the honors, please?”

  “The Abwehr is now primarily concerned with collecting intelligence on the Nazis. Our secondary target is the general population.

  “I will start with the general population. Two weeks ago the mood of the country was very dark. The damage from the nightly bombing raids on our cities couldn’t be denied. Hamburg is a burned out shell and a large part of Berlin is in ruins, as are most of the other major cities. Even Hitler’s propaganda machine couldn’t conceal the fact that our forces were being pushed back in France and that Austria was successfully invaded.

  “The popular mood is much better now, mostly due the pause in bombing raids. There is also some optimism that we can negotiate an acceptable peace.

  “We expected that with the popular support we’re enjoying the Nazi resistance would dissipate. Regrettably it is not so. Our main difficulty is that our own Wehrmacht troops are not completely reliable. Some of our soldiers and officers are members of the Nazi party and there are even more sympathizers. In every fight with the Nazis we have to always look behind us – is the guy at our back friend or foe?

  “Identification armbands help, but the Nazis are devious and sometimes use our colors.

  “On the plus side, honest soldiers vastly outnumber Nazis and when we confront them face to face we always win. The maniacs fight to the bitter end, partly because our own soldiers sometimes kill Nazi prisoners.

  “This is the general situation. Details are in the reports you have.”

  General Halder nodded at Field Marshal von Kluge. “Can you give us a summary of what’s going on at the fronts?”

  “Certainly. The situation is very simple. There is no activity on the French or Austrian fronts. The Eastern Front is relatively quiet. Our intelligence indicates a Russian buildup in the north – around Leningrad.

  “Since the French front is so quiet and the British stopped bombing, we need to move at least ten divisions from France, half of them to reinforce the Eastern Front and half to finish off the Nazi resistance. We have negligible forces in Austria. If the Jewish force there decides to move, our chances of stopping them are small, so we left only observers in place.”

  Halder looked at the others in the conference room. The OKH was much calmer these days with Hitler gone. The assembled generals seemed to agree with von Kluge.

  “Rommel, you will have to take charge of the Home Front. We need to finish this civil war nonsense as quickly as possible. Berlin is already clean of this garbage. As agreed, we need to pacify the large cities first. You will implement the strategy we devised.”

  Rommel rose from his seat. “I accept this appointment and will do my best. I will need at least a month to six weeks to pacify the country. My only doubt is whether the de facto ceasefire with the Western allies will last that long.”

  Carl Goerdeler spoke for the first time. “As the civilian head of this government I took it upon myself to contact the British. They assured me that both they and the Israelis will wait as long as necessary. They also warned me that they will know of any breach of good faith by us and will immediately resume hostilities. I was given to understand that in such a case only unconditional surrender would be acceptable.”

  “What about the Soviets?” asked von Kluge.

  “No one will guarantee quiet on the Eastern Front,” Goerdeler responded, “until after their summit. I don’t know where and when this is going to happen.”

  ***

  The President carefully got up from his chair and carefully made several steps holding on to the edge of his desk. He didn’t do this very often; it was difficult. His doctor urged him to exercise his legs as often as he could without overdoing it and he tried to abide by the instructions, including swimming when he could. The whole thing was still amazingly new to him – after so many years of being confined to a wheel chair it was exhilarating to be able to walk even a few steps.

  Harry Hopkins entered the room and the President returned to his chair.

  The Foreign Secretary and the Secretary of War entered, took their seats, and waited for the President to start.

  “Gentlemen, I think that it’s time we send an ambassador to Israel,” the President began. “We didn’t bother when they setup their embassy here. If you remember,” he looked at Cordell Hull, “you were against an embassy in a third-rate country, especially as this might offend our friends in Saudi Arabia and elsewhere. The situation has changed. Israel is providing us with vital intelligence. Or am I wrong?” FDR looked at the Secretary of War.

  “I don’t know about vital but it definitely helps us against Japan. Just a week ago they gave us the coordinates of three submarines that were lurking close to the West coast. We destroyed them. They also warned us of a reinforcement transport bound for the Philippine island of Mindoro. The navy took care of it. It seems that McArthur’s command missed them completely. If they had landed, re-taking Mindoro would have become that much more difficult.”

  The Secretary of State carefully inspected his manicured fingernails. “I still don’t know whether it’s wise to appoint an ambassador. We really don’t want to upset the Saudis and endanger our oil holdings there. Their production isn’t significant right now but sources in ARAMCO tell me that they have oil reserves that might be useful in the future. I see no significant advantage to having an embassy in Israel.”

  FDR deliberately inserted a fresh cigarette in his holder and lit it before responding. “Cordell, did you hear all the rumors about Israel having in fact travelled here from the distant future?”

  “Sure. The yellow press was awash for a while with those stupid rumors. What does it matter?”

  “If it’s true we need to collect information and learn about future science and technology. Just being able to go to a public library there may be enormously beneficial. Having an embassy makes all that easier.”

  Secretary Stimson shrugged. “Mr. President, if you’ve already made a decision, why discuss it with us?”

  “Always blunt and to the point, Stimson. In fact I wanted to hear objections. Cordell presented the standard State position, which is a bit out of date. We are going to have an ambassador in Israel. How about appointing Hermann Baruch?”

  Stimson nodded. Cordell Hull shook his head and said, “Mr. President, I appreciate that Mr. Baruch is a great supporter of the Democratic Party and of you personally. On the other hand, he is Jewish and I would have some doubts about having him represent the interests of the United States in a Jewish country. It is only natural to think so. As you know my wife is Jewish and I’m not prejudiced against Jews.”

  “I know you’re not prejudiced, Cordell. Do you have anybody else in mind?”

  The Secretary of State nodded. “We have a very gifted man in Egypt. He’s our Ambassador in Cairo and is accredited to Saudi Arabia. He has been in the service of the Department of State since 1915 and served, among other places, as Embassy Counselor and Consul General in Moscow and as Chargé d’affaires in Berlin beginning in May of 1939. He became the senior officer in Germany after we recalled our ambassador because of Kristallnacht. From Berlin he was appointed Embassy Counselor in Rome and from there to his current post in Cairo.”

  Harry Hopkins, who was silent up to this point, stirred in his seat. “I remember Kirk from his stint in Moscow. He was our senior man there for nine months in between Ambassadors Davies and Steinhardt. I agree, he’s a good man.”

  The President nodded. “Okay, so Kirk will be our man in Israel. Please inform him and make it clear that he needs to take up his post wi
thout delay.”

  ***

  The old Arava turboprop, refurbished and freshly painted, landed at the airstrip in Mehrabad near Teheran without incident. The aerodrome was primitive, with a small control tower and short runways. The place had belonged to an aviation club established in 1938. Since the British-Soviet takeover of Iran it was mostly abandoned. Recently the landing strip had been improved by the British to accommodate the B24 Liberator used by Winston Churchill.

  The Arava unloaded a platoon of Israeli soldiers and several engineers. Their job was to examine the landing strip and make it safe for larger aircraft.

  The three engineers spent the rest of the day inspecting the tarmac landing strip. It was a bit short and wouldn’t withstand many jet landings. The leader of the team connected to headquarters through a geostationary satellite and transferred images, measurements and a recommendation to make the landing strip longer and wider.

  The next morning two Israeli Air Force C130s landed. They managed to stop at the very end of the short strip, where one of them disgorged a bulldozer, a grader, and a roller - equipment to lengthen and widen the strip. The work was finished by the evening of the second day with three crews working non-stop.

  The whole length of the strip was also sprayed with a stabilizer to make landing a jet safe, at least for a while. The C130 Hercules took off with the crews and their equipment, leaving the Arava and a platoon of Israeli soldiers behind. Also left behind were several Sabra cars and a small group of security personnel.

  The second C130 Hercules carrying a paratrooper company, a couple of observation drones with their communication truck, as well as a truck for the troops and some other equipment, stayed parked close by.

  The security people left the strip in one of the cars and drove to Teheran. They were met by the Israeli representative to the court of Muhammad Reza Shah Pahlavi. The diplomat led them to a small complex of buildings behind a tall wall close to the center of Teheran which had been the German embassy, soon to become the Israeli embassy.