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Ultimatum

Page 5

by Antony Trew


  Conscious of the implied criticism, the Lebanese Minister said, ‘It was indeed unfortunate. It is to be the subject of a full enquiry. But you will recall that when I offered to provide a Lebanese military guard you assured me your Syrian officers would not require assistance.’

  ‘Quite so. We were anxious not to draw attention to the consignment. This dictated our policy. And still does.’ He paused. ‘I am sure you will agree, my dear Bakkal, that there is nothing to be gained by recrimination. The situation is too serious for that. Particularly in view of the report published by Al Hayat this morning. That really has complicated matters.’

  ‘I agree. We are taking strong action. But newspapers are newspapers and they look for sensational stories. An Israeli attack is always news, especially one on the Port. Unhappily the media people are now in full cry. Late this afternoon our security police arrested a Le Monde reporter. He has found out a good deal. For example that the dead men were Syrian army officers.’

  ‘In the name of Allah! Why were we not told?’

  ‘I gave instructions that you were to be. It was late this afternoon. Our people cut off a telephone call the reporter was making to his Paris office. At first he was only repeating the Al Hayat story, but as soon as they realized he knew more they cut him off. That was before he was able to tell Paris that the dead men – but for one Israeli – were your officers.’

  ‘What can you do to him?’

  ‘Not much. We have to be careful with the French. But of course they are very much involved. They may not object too strenuously if we hold him. At least for some time.’

  ‘The longer the better,’ said the Syrian Minister. ‘We need time. We are having a special meeting of the Cabinet tonight to consider these developments. I was anxious to talk to you first. If the truth gets out – and it looks as if it will – the political implications are extremely serious. We shall of course be guarded in any statements we release, and we shall have to consult with the French Government and yourselves.’

  ‘Will you be disclosing the nature of the weapons?’

  ‘I cannot say at this stage. The fact that the Israelis must now know – if they didn’t already – will influence our judgement. The whole affair will have to be considered on the basis of political advantage, with special regard to international repercussions. I will keep you fully informed.

  ‘Thank you, my dear Samedi. I will let you know of all developments at this end. I shall instruct our police and military authorities to assume that the missing equipment may still be on Lebanese territory. We shall maintain the utmost vigilance, you may be sure.’

  There followed the usual exchange of courtesies and the conversation ended.

  On October 8th Le Monde published Pierre Gamin’s story: A consignment of agricultural machinery from France to Syria, said Le Monde, had been the objective of the Israeli commando operation in Beirut Port on the night of October 5/6. The ‘agricultural machinery’ had evidently been of a sufficiently confidential nature for special precautions to be taken for its safety while in the Port. So much so that five Syrian army officers, including a colonel, had been assigned secretly to protect it, although the machinery had been consigned to a well-known Beirut firm of agricultural machinery distributors for delivery to the government irrigation works at Bekàa.

  All the Syrian officers had been killed in the course of the Israeli attack, continued Le Monde, adding sagely: There is considerable speculation as to why Syrian army officers should have been guarding French agricultural machinery purchased by the Lebanese Department of Agriculture. The newspaper did not explain that it was their reporter, Pierre Gamin, who had done the speculating once he had elicited a hotch-potch of facts from a member of the Byblos’s crew, from a policeman who had been present when the bodies of the dead men had been found in Shed 27, and from an attractive secretary in the Port Captain’s office.

  In a leading article commenting on the Israeli raid and the strange circumstances surrounding it, Le Monde observed: The conclusion seems inescapable that the ‘agricultural machinery’ consigned to Beirut was a French arms shipment destined for the Syrian military forces. That it was shrouded in such secrecy, and attracted the attention of an Israeli commando operation, suggests that it must have been of a very special nature. Until such time as the French Government issues a statement in clarification there is likely to be much uninformed speculation. This can only be damaging to France.

  The cat was well and truly out of the bag.

  Intense diplomatic and media activity followed publication of the Le Monde report.

  In Damascus the Syrian cabinet was called together for the third time in twenty-four hours, on this occasion primarily to consider the situation in the light of the Le Monde report.

  It was decided that no statement about the missing weapons should be made until the matter had been discussed fully with the French Government. The Minister of Defence was deputed to brief the Syrian Ambassador in Paris, and instruct him to call on the Minister of Foreign Affairs at the Quai d’Orsay without delay.

  There was long discussion by the Syrian Cabinet on the delicacy of the situation, observing that, although directed against Syrian military personnel and equipment, the Israeli operation had taken place on Lebanese not Syrian soil. It was finally agreed that the Lebanese Government should be asked to report the incident to the United Nations Organization and to lodge a strongly-worded protest against Israeli aggression.

  Over the weekend of October 9th/10th there were urgent cabinet meetings in Paris, Damascus, Beirut and Jerusalem. Notwithstanding intense pressure from the media none of the governments concerned was prepared to issue a statement. All enquiries were met with a firm ‘no comment’.

  On Monday, October 11th, the Syrian Minister of Defence announced that part of a shipment of arms, ‘products of high technology with an exceptional potential for destruction’, had been interfered with by an Israeli commando unit while in transit to Syria. No mention was made of the place or date of the incident, the outcome of the ‘interference’, or where the arms had come from.

  This guarded statement was soon overtaken by events for the next day the BBC evening news service in London carried a report that the target for the Israeli commando operation in Beirut harbour on the night of the 5th/6th October had been a consignment of tactical nuclear missiles supplied by France to the Syrian Government in terms of a secret agreement. It was understood that the Israelis had succeeded in seizing only a small part of the consignment. Accounts of the incident, continued the BBC, were as yet confused and contradictory but it had been established that a number of Syrian army officers and at least one Israeli soldier had been killed.

  The Israeli Government at once denied that it was in any way involved. It repudiated in advance any charge of aggression and challenged the Lebanese and Syrian Governments to furnish evidence in support of the allegations made.

  On the following day The Times confirmed and amplified the BBC report. The missiles supplied by the French to the Syrians were, said the newspaper, France’s latest battlefield support weapon, the Pluton, a surface-to-surface tactical missile with a nuclear warhead. Aerospatiale of Paris, continued the report, were largely concerned with its production, having been responsible for project management, aerodynamic studies, guidance and control systems. The propulsion units were provided by SEP of Pateaux, France. In a footnote to the report The Times’s aviation correspondent listed Pluton’s vital statistics as:

  Length: 7·5 m.

  Diameter: 66 cm.

  Span: 142 cm.

  Launch weight, with propellant: 2,350 kg.

  Launching vehicle: AMX-30

  Range: 100 to 125 km.

  Propulsion: dual thrust solid propellant rocket motor.

  Warhead: AN-52 tactical nuclear weapon, yield 15 kilotons.

  He recalled that in 1974 the French press had suggested that Pluton might be on offer to foreign countries in view of reports that the United States had supplied its
tactical Lance missile to Israel, although equipped only with conventional explosive warheads.

  If the technical data given by The Times’s aviation correspondent were not understood, at least the concluding item of his footnote was: A nuclear warhead of 15 kilotons would be more destructive than the atom bomb on Hiroshima in 1945.

  At the meeting of the French Cabinet that night there was anxious and angry discussion. The decision some months earlier to supply Pluton to Syria had been hotly contested by several members of the Cabinet. They had spelled out clearly the dangers of introducing nuclear weapons to the Middle East and the international repercussions likely to follow. The Minister of Defence had on that occasion reminded the Cabinet of the United States’ sale of Lance missiles to Israel and pointed out that the Israelis were well ahead with the development of their own nuclear weapon: a two-stage, surface-to-surface rocket with nuclear warhead and a range of 450 km – well in excess, he emphasized, of France’s Pluton. The Israeli project, MD-660, had been in existence for at least six years. France, he said, could certainly not be accused of having initiated the introduction of nuclear arms to the Middle East. Annoyed and frustrated at finding himself under attack for what had been a Cabinet decision, he concluded, ‘If we do not supply these weapons to Syria the Soviet Union will.’ Having said that he produced an elegant silk handkerchief, dabbed at his forehead and sat down.

  The Minister of Economy and Finance reminded the meeting that in exchange for the supply of Pluton, France had secured from the Syrian Government oil concessions of the utmost importance: a contract to develop the recently discovered Syrian oilfields and to receive from that rich source an assured supply at an advantageous price during the first five years of production. ‘The health of the French economy, its planned re-development, is wholly dependent upon sustaining oil supplies in the long term at prices substantially lower than those established by OPEC. Abrogate this agreement and you do irreparable damage to the fabric of France’s economic structure.’

  The Minister of the Interior supported him. ‘This incident, the knowledge that Pluton in limited numbers is going to Syria, has been magnified out of all proportion by the international media and by governments, friendly and unfriendly, who sense the possibility of diplomatic advantage. In a few weeks it will be seen for what it is and forgotten. It is no more than a rational step by France to protect her economy, and maintain the balance of power in the Middle East.’ He paused, conscious of his timing. ‘It is also a calculated attempt by Israel to create a situation aimed at preventing Syria from achieving parity in tactical nuclear weapons.’

  The Minister of Foreign Affairs expressed the view that, when the weapons were handed over to representatives of the Syrian Government in Marseille, French responsibility had ended. Every possible precaution had been taken to keep the agreement secret, he said. That was why the missiles and their nuclear warheads had been described as ‘agricultural machinery’ and despatched to Beirut, a Lebanese port, instead of to Latakia, the principal port of Syria.

  The French Prime Minister, who had been persuaded against his better judgement to agree to the supply of Pluton, had shaken his head emphatically. ‘Responsibility for introducing these weapons into the Middle East belongs in both moral and realistic terms to France. It did so the moment we agreed to supply. No words, no sentiments, no denials, can in any way diminish that responsibility. There is nothing to be gained by deluding ourselves. We have now to face the reality of what has happened.’

  The French Cabinet discussed the realities well into the night without arriving at any particularly helpful conclusions.

  8

  The Leros arrived off the Piraeus well after dark on October 13th and anchored in the Bay of Athens. Next day the pilot boarded and, on a fine morning under a blue sky where feathered clouds reflected the rising sun, she entered the port and went alongside. Stevedores swarmed aboard, the hatches were opened and unloading began.

  The passenger from Beirut seemed in no hurry to leave although he’d had his passport stamped by the immigration officer in the ship’s dining-saloon. Instead, he stood at the after end of the boat-deck, his leather travel-bag at his feet. Leaning on the guardrail, he could see both along the quay and, obliquely, into number 3 hold.

  The cabin steward who’d looked after him passed, balancing a tray on one hand. ‘Not going ashore yet, m’sieu?’ He smiled sympathetically. The Frenchman had tipped well.

  ‘Waiting for a friend. He’s coming to pick me up. It’s nice loafing in the sun.’

  ‘You are right, m’sieu. I wish I could.’ The steward waved his free hand and disappeared down a companion ladder.

  The passenger was not waiting for a friend but he was interested in the cargo being discharged from number 3 hold which he watched discreetly from the corner of his eye. It was only after a crane had hoisted the large hessian-wrapped bale from the hold and transferred it to the quay that he began to think of moving. When he’d seen the bale picked up by a fork-lift truck and carried into the transit shed, he took his bag and raincoat and went down the passenger gangway to the quay. In the shed he produced an Algerian passport at the customs barrier. The customs officer checked his appearance against the photograph, noted the name, Simon Dufour, searched perfunctorily through the travel-bag and scrawled on it with white chalk. ‘Okay,’ he said nodding curtly as he handed it back.

  The bearded passenger went through the exit, down the steps into the sunlight. He walked across to a line of waiting taxis. To the driver at its head he said, ‘Constitution Square,’ and opened a back door. As he climbed in he slammed it unintentionally. ‘Pardon,’ he said. ‘My mistake.’

  The driver grunted something uncomplimentary, let out the clutch and the taxi moved off.

  For Tel Aviv the drab, weather-stained building was old. At least thirty years old. Characterless in grey concrete, grubby, neglected and paint-blistered, it looked more. It was in a side street in the Montefiore area between the Jaffa and Shalma roads.

  The ground floor windows were boarded up, the entrance doors locked and barred on the inside. Here and there graffiti competed with remnants of old posters long since eroded by sun, wind and rain. The windows of the upper floors had not been cleaned for years and behind them sun-bleached blinds shut out what little light might otherwise have penetrated.

  It was only the back of the building which showed signs of occupancy. There the upper floor windows were clean, though drawn venetian blinds effectively concealed what was happening behind them. Not that anyone outside could have seen. The blank back of a red-brick building, fronting on to the street on the far side of the block, obscured the view.

  The backs of these two buildings were separated by a rectangular patch of sand where an old fig tree struggled for existence. The rectangle was shut in by the windowless flanks of adjoining buildings. Near the fig tree an old wheelbarrow, a decaying oil drum and the rusted remains of a bicycle lay in the yard. The only way into the concrete building was across the yard, and the only access to the yard was through a steel door in the back of the red-brick building. Anyone making the journey did so through a complicated series of internal passages and locked steel doors overseered by security guards.

  Few but the initiated knew that beneath the concrete building there was an underground complex, bomb and radiation proof, with its own generators, life support and communications systems. It was the Headquarters of Israeli Intelligence.

  In an office on the second floor two men sat talking on opposite sides of a desk. The elder had crew-cut grey hair and a lean weather-tanned face. The younger was sleek and round. His ingenuous features and enquiring eyes suggested a mildness which did not belong. He was second-in-command to the man to whom he was listening, General Jakob Kahn, Director of Israeli Intelligence. The general had distinguished himself as a brigade commander in the Five-Day War, and as a divisional commander in the October War. On both occasions the younger man, Bar Mordecai, had been on his staff.

  �
��We do know,’ said Kahn, ‘that our forces had nothing to do with the attack on Shed 27. We did not know – and I accept responsibility for this – that the Pluton consignment had already left France.’

  Mordecai nodded in agreement. ‘Nor did we know that they would get nuclear warheads with the first delivery – or at all. Kuper reported they’d get conventional explosive warheads, at least until they’d completed familiarization training. Even then, he said there was doubt in the French Cabinet about supplying nuke warheads unless we deployed ours.’

  Jakob Kahn shifted the cheroot from one side of his mouth to the other. ‘In fairness to Kuper he has a hell of a job in Paris. Security at Aerospatiale and the Ministry is exceptionally tight. In the circumstances he’s doing well.’

  ‘Of course, I agree.’ In a characteristic gesture Mordecai stroked his sleek head of hair as if he were brushing it with his hand, ‘But what do you make of the Syrian allegation that the attack on the shed was an Israeli operation? We know it wasn’t. So what’s behind it? Salamander confirms there was an attack. Five Syrian officers were killed. And the sixth body? Who was he? We know he wasn’t an Israeli.’

  Kahn waved his cheroot in wide circles. ‘There are two possibilities. First, the whole thing may have been set up by the Syrians themselves.’

  ‘Isn’t that stretching it a bit far? Killing five of their own officers. Hi-jacking their own equipment.’

  ‘Of course. But what could be more convincing? It would be worth sacrificing six of your own men if the stakes were high enough. And they are.’

 

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