Mirage

by James Follett

  12

  JERUSALEM

  Emil glanced surreptitiously at his watch. The emergency meeting of the Cabinet had dragged on for an hour now and showed no signs of reaching a decision - especially with Eshkol allowing the Commander-in-Chief of the Air Force to rant on about French treachery.

  ‘De Gaulle is crazy,’ Brigadier-General Mordechai Hod was saying. ‘Look at that speech of his in Canada calling for a free Quebec. For a foreign head of government to make such a statement is irresponsible lunacy. He can’t last in power much longer.’

  ‘De Gaulle makes his own rules,’ Yitzhak Rabin, the Chief of Staff, remarked caustically.

  He was about to add something but was interrupted by Levi Eshkol wryly observing: ‘Unfortunately the sanity of heads of state is not a reliable barometer as to the length of time they are likely to remain in office. We have to make plans on the assumption that de Gaulle is going to be around for some years to come - he doesn’t have a coalition to hold together. So what are we going to do about his so-called partial arms embargo? I don’t intend to close this meeting until we have at least an alternative short-term supply policy thrashed out.’ His stare traversed the men seated around the table. Eshkol was now seventy-two. He was a coalition compromise and did not make an inspiring prime minister - even his own Mapai Party was not happy with him - but he had excellent judgement in picking the right men for the right job, was a good listener, and could make shrewd assessments of risks. ‘We need those Mirages, Prime Minister,’ said Hod shortly. ‘There is no alternative.’

  ‘We’ve got to find one,’ said Eshkol mildly. He was beginning to regret inviting the obstinate commander-in-chief of the Chel Ha’Avir to the meeting.

  ‘And I keep telling you that there is no alternative to the Mirage,’ said Hod doggedly. ‘Our entire air force is locked in to that aircraft. We can’t change overnight even if we had a fighter to change to. Which we haven’t. I tell you this much, Prime Minister, even without having to deal with enemy intrusions and the occasional dogfight, normal exercises and training flights alone will ground all our fighters due to lack of spares inside six months. At the rate the Soviets are rearming Nasser, his air force will be back to its pre-June strength in half that time.’

  Eshkol turned to Abba Eban. ‘Is there any chance that the Americans can be persuaded to change their minds about the supply of Phantoms?’

  ‘What about the fifty Skyhawks they promised us?’ Hod broke in, glowering frostily at the Foreign Minister.

  Abba Eban polished his heavy horn-rimmed spectacles while he considered his reply. He was a vain man who chose his words with the innate caution of a connoisseur forced to select a vintage from a sergeants’ mess wine list. ‘The Skyhawks are being deliberately delayed as you well know, general. The State Department have made it clear that there is absolutely no chance of President Johnson authorizing the supply to us of any aircraft in the present political climate. No chance whatsoever.’

  Some scathing remarks were made about Lyndon Baines Johnson that Eshkol told the minute secretary not to record. ‘Very well, gentlemen,’ he said, ‘let’s hear what Carl Gless has to say.’ He picked up a telephone and asked for Gless to be shown in. A moment later a slim, slightly-built man in his mid-forties was ushered into the cabinet room. With only a cursory glance at the gathering, he sat opposite Eshkol and waited politely to be spoken to.

  Emil studied Gless with interest. He was deputy to Al Schwimmer, the man who, starting from nothing in 1948, had built Israel Aircraft Industries into a company employing over a thousand at his Lod Airport plant. The main business of IAI was the repair and modification of civilian aircraft and military transports. Schwimmer had let it be known whenever he had the chance that, given government support, IAI could become an aircraft manufacturer. It was a suggestion that few people took seriously simply because aircraft construction required the sort of industrial base that Israel did not have. Already IAI had had problems building the Fouga trainer under licence. Emil wondered why the extrovert Schwimmer had sent his deputy along to the Cabinet instead of attending himself.

  ‘Thank you for coming so quickly, Mr Gless,’ said Eshkol when Gless finished apologizing for Schwimmer’s absence. ‘As you know, de Gaulle has embargoed the fifty Mirage-5s we’ve ordered and has blocked the supply of spares for our existing Mirages. What we want to know is whether or not IAI can manufacture those spares for us.’

  Gless’s answer was a succinct, unhesitating: ‘No, sir.’

  Eshkol raised an eyebrow. ‘You know the Mirage, Mr Gless. Why not?’

  ‘I was shown the spares’ requisition list before I came, sir,’ said Gless respectfully. ‘Most of the spares are engine components - precision parts such as fuel valves, compressor bearings - that sort of thing. We could not possibly manufacture such items without the original drawings.’

  Abba Eban cleared his throat. ‘You have several Mirages at your Lod plant, Mr Gless?’

  Gless nodded. ‘Yes, sir. We’re updating the cannons on six at the moment.’ He gave an expectant half-smile - as if guessing what the next question would be.

  ‘Well then. I know nothing of these things, but would it not be a simple matter to strip a Mirage down to its component parts and so make copies of them?’

  Hod gave a contemptuous snort and was stopped from delivering a sharp riposte by Eshkol holding up a warning hand. ‘It’s a sensible question, general. Let Mr Gless answer it.’

  Gless picked up a silver table lighter and studied it for some seconds before replying. ‘Mr Eban, any engineer - no matter how good - would be hard-pushed to make exact copies of this lighter. Having the parts isn’t enough. We don’t know what the engineering tolerances are of all the components; how much undersize would you have to make the plated parts before they are plated? What material is the wheel made from? Tungsten alloy? If so what proportions of what metals? What heat treatment has been used for the hardened parts such as the spindle? What grade of alloy is the outer casing made from? What type of solder and flux was used?’ Gless paused and repositioned the lighter in the centre of the table. All eyes were focused on it.

  ‘Of course,’ Gless continued, ‘given enough time to produce enough prototypes, we could come up with a working lighter - but it would not be the same as the original and nowhere near as reliable. Those are the production problems with an item containing perhaps fifty components. A modern fighter has in the region of half a million components.’

  ‘But you do make parts for the Mirage?’ Eshkol queried.

  ‘Yes, sir. We can renew wiring; fit new guns; rocket launchers - that sort of thing. Install new avionics. Even carry out damage repair reskinning work. But there is no way that we could make reliable and safe airframe components such as wing formers and fuselage frames, or engine spares without the original production drawings, and the heat treatment specifications, and the modification notes.

  All the skills, experience and know-how of an aircraft manufacturer go into their documentation. The actual aircraft is the manifestation of the skill and experience contained in that documentation.’ There was a silence when Gless finished his eloquent speech. Emil understood why Al Schwimmer had sent him. Gless glanced around the table at the sombre faces and seemed embarrassed at what he had said. Tm sorry I can’t be more positive,’ he muttered.

  ‘You’ve been most helpful,’ said Eshkol. ‘We won’t take up any more of your time.’ He glanced at his notes while Gless left the room. ‘Ask them to send Mr Wyel in.’

  Hod looked up. ‘What’s he doing here?’

  ‘He has a suggestion to make,’ Eshkol replied.

  Hod was unimpressed. ‘I already know which Savile Row tailor makes the best suits,’ he observed sarcastically.

  Emil smiled to himself. Jacob had elevated making enemies to an art-form. The elegant ex-airman entered the Cabinet room - capped teeth and gold cuff links gleaming. He bid the assembled men good morning and sat in the chair vacated by Gless.

  �
��I understand you have a suggestion to make regarding our fighter supply problem, Mr Wyel?’ said Eshkol briskly.

  ‘Yes, Prime Minister. My department has carried out an evaluation of those countries that would be prepared to sell us subsonic fighters.’

  Hod groaned. ‘For God’s sake, Wyel - this is 1967.’

  Jacob smiled blandly. ‘No one will sell us supersonic fighters, general. Therefore, as an interim measure, we must take what is available.’ ‘And what is available?’ Eshkol inquired.

  ‘Fifty refurbished Hawker Hunters from the United Kingdom at three million dollars each.’

  Hod threw back his head and laughed.

  ‘Is that with or without Green Shield stamps?’ someone asked. Jacob’s florid features remained expressionless. Emil admired him for not getting rattled.

  ‘Listen, Jacob,’ said Hod evenly, ‘the Chel Ha’Avir has changed since you were a pilot. Our entire combat training, ground support and third line maintenance system is locked into the Mirage. To bring in a new fighter involves a lead time of two years. Hell - the Hunter isn’t even a new fighter. It’s—’

  ‘One of the most successful fighters ever built,’ Jacob broke in. ‘It can carry virtually the same payload of bombs, missiles and cannon as the Mirage ...’

  ‘At a speed that a Bedouin rifleman on a camel can shoot down,’ Hod interjected.

  ‘... Spares for the Rolls-Royce Avon jet engine are plentiful and cheap,’ Jacob continued, ignoring the interruption. ‘The airframe is simple and can be easily modified

  ‘We modified a few on the ground belonging to the Arabs.’

  ‘We should hear Jacob Wyel out,’ said Eshkol frostily.

  Hod shrugged. ‘No harm in listening, Prime Minister. Provided that’s all we do.’

  ‘The Hunters are nine years old now,’ said Jacob. ‘Of course I fully understand its limitations but it would make an excellent support aircraft in pre-emptive strikes where its low speed would not be such a disadvantage. I’m sure General Hod’s memory is not so short that he has forgotten that the Mirages had to lower their flaps and main gear to keep their air speed down for accurate strafing of ground targets. The Hunters would enable us to maintain our strength until we get political settlements with the French and the Americans. They are easy to fly and maintain. They are cheap, plentiful, relatively free of political restraints. And - most important of all - they are available.’

  ‘Available from whom?’ Abba Eban asked.

  ‘From the British. There’s a company in the south of England that supplied us with aircraft just after the War of Independence. They have also kept us supplied with spares for our old DC-3s. Luckair now specialize in refurbishing and supplying fighters to Third World countries.’

  ‘So we’re a Third World country now, are we?’ said Hod cynically. ‘We won’t be any country at all unless we strengthen our air force,’ Jacob replied.

  ‘With obsolete aircraft?’

  ‘Obsolescent,’ Jacob corrected. ‘The Hunter is in service with over thirty air forces, and it’s still in operational service with the RAF.’ Eshkol toyed with his gold pen. ‘What do we know about this Luckair?’

  ‘A good deal, sir,’ said Emil, speaking for the first time. ‘The owner is Lucky Nathan. I’ve had dealings with him since the early days. Naturally, I haven’t maintained such close ties as Mr Wyel, but Luckair is a reliable company. As far as I know, they don’t supply Arab countries.’

  ‘Because the Arabs can afford new MiG-2 Is,’ said Hod sourly. ‘No,’ said Jacob sharply. ‘Because Mr Nathan has an informal agreement with us not to supply Arab countries. An agreement which I secured many years ago and which Mr Nathan has stuck to.’ After a further fifteen minutes of lively discussion, Eshkol held up his hand for silence and said: ‘Mr Wyel’s proposal is the only option

  open to us at the moment. I suggest that we authorize him to begin preliminary negotiations with this Lucky Nathan and his Luckair. We can always back out of negotiations if Johnson can be persuaded to change his mind over the Phantoms. Shall we take a vote, gentlemen?’

  13

  Lew ‘Lucky’ Nathan was smoking boredly in his suite at the King David Hotel. Nineteen years’ hard work had added a million pounds plus to his personal bank accounts scattered discreetly around Europe. In all other respects he had changed little. He was still lean, lantern-jawed, mistrusting of everyone, and with a control over his temper that was as vulnerable as an egg in a spindryer. His redeeming feature was that he was a good employer. He paid his hundred staff at Blackbushe well, stuck to bonus agreements, and was not averse to rolling up his sleeves and working a riveting gun on the shop floor whenever an urgent delivery date was looming up. Robbie Kinsey - the ex-borstal boy he had hired in the days when he was restoring his first DC-3 at Blackbushe - was now his general manager. Kinsey was unique because he was the only man that Lucky trusted.

  ‘Not locked!’ Lucky yelled in response to a rap on the door.

  Jacob entered the room, tossed his briefcase on a chair, and headed for the drinks cabinet. He poured himself a generous measure of whisky.

  ‘Help yourself to a drink,’ Lucky invited with a generosity that was marred by a note of sarcasm.

  Jacob downed the glass and poured another.

  ‘Have another while you’re at it.’

  Jacob sat in a chair opposite Lucky and loosened his silk tie.

  ‘Well?’ Lucky demanded.

  ‘I think I’ve done it.’

  ‘What do you mean you think? Do we or don’t we have a deal?’

  Jacob drew a folded document from his inside pocket and passed it to Lucky who read it through twice. ‘For Chrissake, Jacob. What use is this? A bloody letter of intent?’

  ‘It’s as far as they were prepared to go.’

  Lucky tossed the document down on the coffee table. ‘That’s no bloody good. Christ -I can pick up letters of intent from any tinpot banana republic any day of the week. The least I need is an initialled draft contract to get things moving.’

  ‘Israel is not a tinpot banana republic,’ said Jacob angrily. ‘A letter of intent from the Ministry of Defence must count for something.’

  ‘I can’t risk a twenty-five million dollar bridging loan on a bloody letter of intent - not even if it was from the bloody President of the United States!’

  ‘On the security of fifty Hunter airframes? Of course you could. Any bank in the City of London would jump at it.’

  ‘I didn’t say I couldn’t raise the money,’ said Lucky. ‘I’m not prepared to take that sort of risk. I can’t carry that sort of loan without the security of a contract.’

  ‘That’ll take at least a month,’ said Jacob.

  Lucky sighed. ‘I don’t think you understand the situation, Jacob. The Brazilians have given me first refusal until the end of the month

  - and that’s only because they owe me a couple of favours and their top brass know they can depend on me for incentive payments. If we don’t take up the option then Hawker’s will grab those airframes from right under our noses. They need something to keep their workforce busy while Harold Wilson’s lot make up their mind about the Buccaneer. Christ Almighty - it’s not every day that fifty Hunters come on to the market. Did you tell them that?’

  Jacob examined his manicured nails. ‘Of course I told them. Listen, Lucky - they’re not happy about being pushed into a corner where they even have to consider buying subsonic fighters. To put any pressure on Eshkol right now would be suicide. We’ll get the contract. We’ve got to get it because they’ve no choice. But you’ve got to let me do this my way.’ He picked up the letter of intent and held it out to Lucky. ‘You know your trouble, Lucky? You’re getting old. Twenty years ago you risked everything by buying your first DC-3 - and for what? A quick profit of a few hundred pounds inside a year. Now you stand to make not a few hundred pounds, but twenty-five million dollars less my dividend. So why not go back to London, visit your friendly merchant bankers, and see what the
y think of the idea? Meanwhile I’ll do my best this end to get a draft contract drawn up.’

  14

  LONDON

  It was quiet in the El Al offices. Daniel leafed boredly through a booklet on Switzerland. An appendix that listed major manufacturers included ‘Sulzer’. It was a name he had heard before but could not remember where or when. He turned to the page on Sulzer. Based in Winterthur, a town a few kilometres north of Zurich, Sulzers were a long-established engineering company that appeared to make just about everything: refrigeration equipment; air-conditioning plants; elevators and gas turbines. Daniel suddenly remembered where he had heard the name before. Sulzers were building Mirages for the Swiss government under licence from Dassault. Ben Patterson had mentioned that he would be serving a stint at Sulzers’ documentation sub-contractors on a user coordination group. Presumably de Gaulle’s embargo had brought Israel’s participation in such groups to an abrupt end.

  Daniel studied an aerial photograph of Winterthur. It was a pleasant medieval town of parks and churches which had managed to keep the Sulzer industrial complex firmly in place to the west of the railway terminus. A photograph of the town’s main shopping thoroughfare, presided over by a solitary policeman, conveyed an air of prosperous, film-set neatness: grass verges that looked as if they had been trimmed with nail-scissors, and prim flowers in disciplined borders that looked capable of reporting the presence of weeds to the authorities.

  Daniel sat deep in thought for some moments. He remembered a news bulletin on the BBC that mentioned some boats under construction in Cherbourg for the Israeli Navy. He reached for a telephone directory and looked up the editorial offices of Jane’s Fighting Ships.

  ‘There’s not much I can tell you,’ said the helpful editor at Jane’s when Daniel put his query to him. ‘We’re more concerned with commissioned ships rather than ships being built, but I can tell you something about the builders. They’re Construction Mechanique de Normandie. They now specialize in the building of Lurssen-designed FACs—’