The Shield: a novel

by Nachman Kataczinsky PhD

  The Nazis knew that the Caliph was powerful and they distrusted him and his motives. Himmler also wanted to find out as much as possible about the Caliph’s weapons and technology, though he doubted that the spies embedded with the Jews would be useful for that purpose.

  Chapter 10

  The weather in Istanbul was pleasant: sunny and warm with a few clouds. Moshe Cohen got off a nondescript boat that blended in with the many fishing vessels coming and going in the port area. His documents showed him to be one Ibrahim al Taibeh from Palestine. He was in his late twenties, about 5’9”, with brown eyes and dark, almost black hair. His suit concealed a heavily muscled physique. For the past five years he had worked for the Mossad. His native language was Hebrew, but he was fluent in Palestinian and Syrian Arabic dialects. He could speak German like a Berliner or with an Arabic accent. He could also communicate in Turkish, Greek and Serbian. He had been recruited to the Mossad from the Tel-Aviv Kameri Theater – his friend, and now controller, thought that he was far too good a performer to be wasted on a theatrical career. He had jumped at the opportunity to add some excitement to a life he considered dull and pedestrian and never regretted his decision.

  Moshe wandered among the crowds of Istanbul, making haphazard turns and randomly changing direction. He knew the city well from previous assignments and it didn't change in a century. It did not take him very long to verify that he was not being followed. Then he proceeded to the German embassy.

  It took him more than thirty minutes to get into the building. He was passed from the Turkish Army guards at the front gate to a couple of uniformed SS and from them to a German civilian. He was searched for weapons. The letters he was carrying were discovered and returned to him.

  The civilian, a cultural attaché of the embassy, escorted Moshe into a small office with two chairs and a table – a fairly typical Gestapo interrogation room.

  “Now, please explain to me who you are and what your mission is.” Gustav Hildebrand sounded bored.

  “As you were notified by your Foreign Ministry, I am Ismail Al Taibeh. I was sent from Palestine by the Grand Mufti’s cousin with a message for the Grand Mufti, may Allah always smile on him. I must see the Grand Mufti as soon as possible. Your government guaranteed me safe passage and transportation and I expect to be on my way immediately.”

  Hildebrand was carefully examining Ismail’s documents. “This is interesting,” he said slowly. “Your documents seem new, not older than several weeks, and they were issued by the Caliph of Jerusalem. I thought the British held Jerusalem?”

  “You are not up to date, my friend,” Moshe smiled. “Our enemy has not been in charge for a while now. The Great Caliph rules Palestine and the adjacent territories.”

  The Gestapo man smiled a nasty smile. “I am not your friend, Ibrahim, assuming that is your real name. It says here that you are a major in the Caliph’s guard. What are you doing here?”

  “I told you once and I will repeat it, since you seem to be slightly hard of hearing: I was sent as an emissary to Hajj Amin al Husseini, the Grand Mufti of Jerusalem, with the full agreement and cooperation of your government.”

  “I heard you before. I think you are lying, and we have means to extract the truth from you. So tell me – what do the British want with the Mufti?” Hildebrand was not entirely sure that this was the right way to treat the visitor, but in his experience intimidation usually worked and was worth trying.

  “Gustav Hildebrand, you have a choice, you can either keep playing your little Gestapo games or you can call the ambassador and let him decide. If you choose the Gestapo games, you will either die by the hand of the Caliph or be hanged with a piano wire around your neck by your own people. Neither execution will be pleasant, though likely the Gestapo way will be easier for you.” Moshe Cohen leaned back in his chair and relaxed.

  Hildebrand was conflicted. He was angry at the threat but also confused by the complete self-assurance, or rather arrogance, of the visitor. The major, as Hildebrand was already thinking of him, behaved as if he was in charge. Possibly he was bluffing, but his documents had an air of being genuine about them, including the fact that they were made of a smooth filmy material the Gestapo agent had never seen before, and Ribbentrop’s personal invitation was received by the embassy only a day earlier. He decided to try a different tack:

  “What is this book you brought with you?”

  “This is the holy Koran,” Moshe responded laconically.

  “Is that so?” He leafed through the book, “And would you mind if I opened the envelope?”

  “This is entirely up to you. I was ordered to deliver it sealed and untouched. Please read the warning on the outside before you open it.”

  Hildebrand examined the envelope again. There was an incomprehensible script he thought might be Arabic, followed by German. It said: “For the eyes of the Grand Mufti Hajj Amin al Husseini, may Allah smile on him forever. Opening without authorization punishable by death.” The seal consisted of the same script with crossed scimitars and a Hand holding a rifle.

  “What would happen if I opened it now?” Hildebrand asked the major.

  “You will die in the manner I described before.” The major was as relaxed as ever.

  Hildebrand toyed with the envelope for a couple of minutes pretending to study it. The envelope was made of the same strange material as the major’s documents. Finally he made a decision: “Please wait here. If you need something, knock on the door. Would you like food or coffee?”

  “Thank you. I am fine, but my patience is wearing thin. I suggest you go about your business as quickly as possible.”

  Hildebrand left, to pass this problem to his superiors.

  ***

  Mizrahi had been negotiating with the British for almost two weeks. There was good progress on some issues and several disputes. Supplies of food and fuel had started flowing and, in return, cargo ships loaded with 60 millimeter hyper velocity guns, along with their armor-piercing ammunition, were leaving for the port of Alexandria. The British complained that they did not have enough time or facilities in Egypt to perform all the upgrades on their tanks. This had been partially resolved by shipping tanks from Egypt to Israel, retrofitting them with the new guns, and shipping them back.

  The British government was still reluctant to cede Kuwaiti or the Sinai Peninsula. They did not refuse outright but kept postponing their decision to ask for meaningless clarifications while at the same time claiming that the territories were independent countries. I fact the British controlled the Egyptian government and it would take very little to make the Egyptian king sign a declaration selling the Sinai to Israel. The British had no idea why Israel wanted this piece of desert. The Egyptians were not interested in it either and would have sold it for a song if asked to.

  Mizrahi knew the Foreign Office was doing its usual thing: playing for time and hoping for the best. Their situation in England had vastly improved since the negotiations began – food supplies, for instance, were almost at pre-war levels with shipments arriving from the colonies and Canada without interference from German U-boats. The pinpoint coordinates given to the Royal Navy by the Israelis made the submarines’ life expectancy so short the Germans withdrew most of them.

  The ambassador advised his government to claim “various production problems” and slow down the shipment of weapons. This was not too far from the truth: the plants were running at full capacity with maintenance suspended indefinitely. They could use some downtime.

  His recommendations were considered by the Israeli Defense Cabinet.

  “In the old days,” the Foreign Minister offered, “I would have said that we have to stick to our agreement. If we slow down the supply of weapons, they'll be within their rights to slow down the supplies to us. In the current situation, I am not so sure.

  “I believe that Mizrahi is right and the British do not intend to give us either Kuwait or the Sinai. They think that because we are Jewish we won’t endanger their fight aga
inst the Nazis. I also have the feeling that they think of us as ‘small Palestine’ and of themselves as ‘the great British Empire,’ an attitude we supported by dealing with them fairly. We all know that’s not the ‘superpower’ way!

  “I recommend we slow the deliveries a little and make it clear we can increase them again – for a price. I estimate that it will take them less than a week to start yelling for help, not only because of slowdown of deliveries but because of a combination of less cannon supplied and their very high attrition rate.”

  “I agree,” Nitzan Liebler interjected. “We now have two satellites in orbit over Northern Africa and are also flying regular drone reconnaissance flights. The British have only a vague idea how to use their armor. They have lots of first shot kills of German tanks with the new guns, but their tactics suck. Given the number of tanks, along with their reliability and range, our average battalion commander would have made mincemeat of Rommel’s troops by now. The new guns damage the Germans, but not enough to stop them completely.”

  “Okay,” Amos Nir summarized, “then our next step will be to slow the deliveries a bit and wait for them to yell. We’ll offer them some tactical training to reduce their losses and request a fast, positive response on Kuwait and Sinai. To make their decision easier, we will offer to train their tank commanders in the Sinai. After we build bases there, a transfer of ownership will be only a formality. Of course, the Egyptian government will have to sign off on the agreement, but we’ll leave that to the Brits.”

  The Foreign Minister brought up the next issue: “Avigdor Mizrahi asked for additional staff. He needs people he trusts to handle communications and paperwork. He bought a building in a nice neighborhood, so we have space, sort of. The building has been bombed and while it is being renovated we will be able to accommodate a small number of people there. I suggest we send six or seven people, including a communications expert, a trade expert and other staff I listed in the memo you all have in front of you.”

  “I agree,” said Amos Nir. “We need more of a presence in London, and we also need to prepare for opening formal relations with the U.S. and the Soviets. That will require at least six additional staff people. I suggest we start with that and add more as necessary.”

  “How are we going to send them to London? I don’t think we should ask the Brits for transport – especially as we need to transfer computers and satellite equipment,” remarked the Defense Minister. “How about using one of the executive jets we have available?”

  “Do they have the range for a return flight from London?” the Finance Minister asked.

  “We have a choice,” the Defense Minister said. “We can either use an Israel Aircraft Industries Galaxy 200 to fly directly over France – it has the range to go to London and back with some fuel reserve left, or we can fly over Spain. In that case, we have to refuel in London. My recommendation is to fly over France. At mach .75 and a ceiling of 45,000 feet it will be out of reach of the German fighters, assuming the Germans will even be aware of it.”

  “What if they have an emergency and have to land in France?” the Foreign Minister asked. “We don’t want this plane or its passengers falling into the hands of the Germans. I would prefer the safer route over Spain.”

  The Defense Minister looked dubious. “Refueling in London is possible - we can use plain kerosene and put the additives directly into the tank. This will mean a much longer stay on the ground, giving the Brits a good look at the plane. I’m not sure we want to do that. The chance of an emergency on such a flight is about one in five thousand - they probably won’t have to land in France. I suggest that we leave the decision to the experts at IAI.”

  Amos Nir closed the discussion: “I agree with Nitzan, the chances of an emergency landing are very small and exposure to the Brits is undesirable. If the engineers at IAI agree, I would vote for a direct flight.”

  “I have another issue,” the Defense Minister said slightly apologetically. “It should be dealt with by the German negotiating committee, but there is no time. We had a communication from Eichmann. He is the main liaison with the Germans responsible for organizing the transports to Brindisi. In his radio message he complained that they are having problems rounding up Jews for transport to Italy. People seem not to trust the Nazis - no surprise there - and not many volunteer to go. We need to do something to help; otherwise this endeavor will take much too long.”

  The Absorption Minister was the first to respond: “There is one resource we haven’t used yet: the Jewish Agency and other activists spread out all over Europe. It won’t take very long to locate them. If we could persuade them, they could persuade their communities to cooperate. We will have, of course, to send people to the different political movements – the leftist, like the Hashomer Hatzair will not accept a Revisionist emissary.”

  “I think this is less of a problem than some of the Orthodox communities,” the Minister for Religions responded. “I don’t think that the anti-Zionist communities will yield to any persuasion by anybody. They think that if the Almighty wanted a state, he would perform a miracle and create one; It's not up to the Jews to create a state of their own. To make them move we have to send emissaries that speak their language telling them that the miracle happened and the state is here. This is not a problem we can ignore – They number close to two million.”

  “And how do we get to any of those communities?” Amos wanted to know.

  “How about setting up a meeting with Eichmann at the Brindisi compound and telling him that we'll send our agents to deceive the Jews? These agents will be our liaison with the activists in Jewish communities,” suggested the Defense Minister, “but I am reluctant to suggest we send the Ultra-Orthodox as agents – the sight of bearded Jews traveling all over Europe may be too much for the Nazis.”

  The Religions Minister nodded: “I agree, especially as few of the Ultra-Orthodox are trained for this kind of activity. On the other hand it would be enough, in my opinion, to send agents who are observant, know the history of the community they are visiting and can persuade the leaders that a miracle happened and the state of Israel is here, now. They saw it that way in 1948. These people are open to the idea of a miracle, which I think is really what it is anyway. Oh, and some of them had emissaries in Palestine. If we could locate their descendants, it might make the mission that much easier.”

  “I have a related question. Isn’t the compound still being built? Do we really want to let this Nazi see what we’re doing?”

  “Hannah has a point,” Amos Nir said, “But I think that psychologically it's a good idea to make him come to us and meet face to face. Maybe we can create an enclosure in the compound and meet him there, limiting what we show him?”

  “That sounds much better,” Hannah responded. “Who will talk to him?”

  Nitzan Liebler thought for a moment: “I think that we have the right man there already. The commander of the facility is one Colonel Ephraim Hirshson. He speaks German, not like a native but well enough to be understood. His Arabic is good and he is a tough cookie and definitely the guy to deal with the likes of Eichmann. We'll need to tell him what we want from the Nazi and I believe he can get it.”

  ***

  The next time Ibrahim woke up, a couple of hours later, he felt much better. His headache was gone and his foot wasn’t as red. He enjoyed the sensation of not being in pain. The door opened and a soldier in a black uniform came in. He put a bundle on the chair next to Ibrahim’s bed.

  “What is going on?” Ibrahim asked.

  “Everything will be explained to you in good time,” the soldier responded in Arabic. “Please dress and get ready to leave.”

  Ibrahim did as he was told. A bit later he was escorted to a small dining room decorated with swastikas and verses from the Koran. Within seconds a familiar looking man entered the room.

  “Sit,” the man pointed at one of the chairs at the dining table. “May Allah bless you forever. You deserve a good meal before going back to
Palestine.” The man took a seat opposite Ibrahim.

  As soon as they were seated, servants, in the same black uniforms, started serving food.

  “Do you recognize me?” the man asked.

  “Your Excellency, I think that I am in the presence of the Grand Mufti of Jerusalem!” Ibrahim attempted to get up.

  “Sit, sit,” the Mufti said. “I am glad you recognized me. It is a good sign that I am known even in your own future time.”

  “Sir, you are not only known, but revered by us. You are our role model and we strive to fulfill your vision.” Ibrahim’ voice was slightly trembling with excitement.

  “Now listen carefully,” the Mufti said, extending a typed sheet of paper. “I have carefully read the books you brought. Here is a message for my grand nephew. You will have to memorize it. I'll also give you a handwritten note to show him. The note is written on and sealed in rice paper, so if you get caught on the way back just swallow it.” He pulled out a fountain pen from his pocket, signed the flap of the envelope, finished the cup of coffee he was drinking and got up. Ibrahim jumped up from his seat.

  “Sit. Finish your meal in peace. Later one of my aides will instruct you on how you will return to Palestine. May Allah be with you always.”

  “Yes, sir. May Allah the mighty and merciful smile on you forever.” Ibrahim attempted a salute like he saw the soldiers give the Mufti.

  The Mufti saluted back: “Allahu Akbar,” he said as he left the room.

  Later, after nightfall, Ibrahim was taken to an airplane parked on the runway of a small airstrip. It was dark except for the car’s dimmed lights, but even in this light he could see the German Luftwaffe insignia on the plane. He had never before flown in such an old-fashioned airplane. It was uncomfortable, noisy and slow. The plane’s windows were painted so no light could escape. Only the pilots could see outside. Ibrahim spent his time on the plane memorizing the message.