by Antony Trew
Within twenty minutes of the receipt of Salamander’s message Juri had locked and left his apartment in the Rue Hamra and driven down the Avenue du Général de Gaulle and the Avenue Ramlet el Baida, hugging the Marine Drive, the sea to his right. Where Ramlet el Baida turned east to join Rue el Ahtal, he left the road and followed the track down to the beach. The night was intensely dark, the place deserted at that hour.
He turned off the lights, felt for a switch under the dash, flicked it and pushed the lead of a pentop mike into the car radio’s control panel. Concealed behind it was a Siemen’s VHF 500 transmitter. He spoke into the mike. ‘Suffolk-five-nine-eight.’ The response was immediate. ‘Plymouth-three-seven-two. Go ahead Suffolk-five-nine-eight.’
Juri passed Salamander’s message, adding, ‘Sounds of shots, speech slurred, words garbled.’
The acknowledgement came and he took the mike lead from the panel, shut the switch under the seat, put on headlights and drove back into Beirut. The message would probably have been monitored, the point of transmission possibly plotted, but he was not worried. He never transmitted from the same place twice. What he was worrying about was Salamander.
At Intelligence HQ in Tel Aviv, Jakob Kahn and Bar Mordecai had problems with Juri’s message. The communications division had taken the transmission on tape. Phonetically it read, SHEEP … SHEEPWRESH … DURL … DURLURV … FORD … NOO … UN … TWO … MORE …
Kahn frowned with irritation. ‘These bloody phonetics ball things up. Forget the way words look, Bar. They’re only sounds. Read them over to yourself quickly. Keep doing it. See what you get.’
The two men sat in silence reading and muttering to themselves. ‘Now read aloud, fast,’ said Kahn.
Mordecai did. Several times.
Kahn glanced at him. ‘Got it?’
Mordecai said, ‘I’ve got Shipwreck. Delivery forward noon … but I’m not sure of that last bit … two more … Does that fit?’
Kahn was lighting a cheroot, making a ceremony of it. ‘No, it doesn’t. But tomorrow does.’
‘Of course. Sticks out a mile.’
‘Always does, Bar, once you’ve been told. Now let’s think this over. I assume forward means brought forward.’ Kahn adopted his brooding posture, arms on desk, shoulders hunched, head forward, nodding sagely. Mordecai, too, did some hard thinking. Later, they compared notes. Of certain things they became sure. One – the message almost certainly concerned Mahmoud el Ka’ed, Salamander’s principal assignment. Two – in Israeli Intelligence the code-word Shipwreck meant one thing only – the agent using it was in grave danger at the time of transmission. Three – the slurred, garbled words, the sound of shots, suggested Salamander had been captured or killed.
‘Killed, I hope,’ said Kahn. ‘He knew too much.’
‘He’ll be difficult to replace,’ said Mordecai. ‘How long has he been in that telephone department?’
‘Seven/eight years.’ Kahn shrugged his shoulders. ‘He had good cover. I hate losing him. But we always find others. Let’s get back to the message. Delivery of what and where? To be brought forward. Why?’
Mordecai was tentative, judicious, flying kites. ‘Possibly, I say possibly, the missing nuke.’
‘Probably, Bar.’ Kahn squinted at the tip of the cheroot he’d just lit. ‘We know Salamander was bugging the Miramar apartment today. We know from this message that he was in bad trouble, but had to get it through. So what could it be? The nuke? I’d say “yes” to that. Why brought forward? I can’t answer that. To be delivered at noon tomorrow. That’s twenty-four hours before the ultimatum expires. Delivered where? We know that Zeid is Barakat. That he operates in Spender Street.’ Kahn sat bolt upright, and Mordecai read the familiar signal of inspiration. ‘Remember what Ibrahim Souref said in that Mocal tape?’
Mordecai did, but he wasn’t out to spoil Kahn’s play. ‘You mean?’ he asked.
‘Think of Rudi and Ahmad. They have to deliver the goods. That’s what he said.’
‘Or words to that effect.’ Mordecai smoothed his hair. ‘So Rudi and Ahmad could be delivering at noon tomorrow to Spender Street.’
Kahn said, ‘I’d rate that possible, Bar. But not as high as probable. London’s a bloody great city. Spender Street may be nothing more than their work cover. The nuke could be going some place else. And it’s outside the search area right now, that’s why it’s still to be delivered. Right?’
‘Right. So what do we do?’
‘Pass Salamander’s message with our interpretation to Barlov. He’ll contact Ascher. We brief Ruth before she leaves in the morning.’ He thought of something. ‘She’ll miss the noon delivery if it is Spender Street.’
Twenty-four Hours To Go
20
Most of the London dailies on the morning of Wednesday, November 10th, expressed in one way or another public unease at the lack of information from the Government, observing that the ultimatum would expire at noon on the following day.
In its leader The Guardian urged the Prime Minister to take the people into his confidence however unpalatable the news might be. Few Londoners, wrote its editor, can be unaware of the massive search now taking place. Many, perhaps the majority, may ask if this is not a fruitless undertaking, the consequences of which may be disastrous. Whatever the humiliation involved, would not the Government be well advised to call off the search and announce acceptance of the ultimatum’s terms. That this would entail bowing to the will of the terrorists, so savagely and barbarically imposed, should not mask the greater truth that the claim of the Palestine people to a homeland of their own is as well founded morally as its settlement is long overdue.
The media generally, while deprecating hysteria and urging calm and business as usual, vied with each other in painting lurid and sensational pictures of the holocaust which might result from the explosion of a fifteen-kiloton nuclear device in the heart of London.
Interviews with nuclear physicists, nuclear weapons experts, recently-retired generals, admirals and air marshals, fought for space and viewing time with those of Hiroshima survivors, witnesses of Pacific atoll tests, scientific and medical luminaries and politicians of varying calibre and all parties anxious to make something of the occasion.
With the advantage of visual presentation, the BBC and ITV dominated the scene and Patrick Moore, James Burke, Raymond Baxter and other pop scientists were having a field day. If the ultimatum was doing nothing else it was educating the British public in the horrors of nuclear war.
It was not surprising that the media’s exertions in this direction rather more than cancelled out its appeals for calm and business as usual in the other. As the hours dragged by the morale of Londoners began to bend and the exodus to assume serious proportions. Roads leading out of London were choked with traffic – hotel accommodation in the provinces was no longer obtainable – Londoners were staying with relatives and friends in all parts of the country – caravans could no longer be bought or hired – and motorists in their thousands were driving into the country to sleep under canvas or in their cars. The danger of disease through lack of hygiene was but one of the many problems thrown up by the crisis.
The consensus of world media, while sympathetic to Britain’s dilemma, believed she had no practical alternative to acceptance of the ultimatum, and labelled the massive search a dangerous gamble.
In the international political arena there was, however, some opposition to a policy of appeasement, notably in France and Canada where political leaders had both publicly and privately urged the British Government not to yield to nuclear blackmail since to do so would endanger the whole fabric of Western Society. Noting this a French commentator observed: To resist nuclear blackmail is more easily said than done, no matter how ethically correct. For France, who supplied the nuclear warhead and is herself not at risk, the role of candid critic, however tempting, is disreputable.
There was growing though not yet formidable opposition to appeasement among politicians and military leade
rs in the United States. Tired of humiliation and retreat, fearful of the growth of nuclear blackmail, and as yet unaware of the US President’s advice to the British Prime Minister to accept the terms of the ultimatum – advice given with the confidential backing of Mr Brezhnev – they believed such a policy to be disastrous.
In Japan there was opposition to acceptance for more or less the same reasons, reinforced perhaps by a degree of schadenfreude; a notion that it might do the West no harm to have a taste of Hiroshima medicine. In Israel, predictably, public and political opinion was implacably opposed to yielding to force. Indeed, the Israeli Prime Minister had that morning announced to a press conference that Israel not only had a nuclear capability but would not hesitate to use it if attempts were made to recover conquered territory by any means other than negotiation. ‘We are not prepared,’ he said, ‘to remain idle while other nations use Israel as a bargaining counter for the solution of their problems, be they oil or something more sinister.’
The oblique reference to the ultimatum was not lost on the correspondents to whom he spoke.
An emergency meeting of the Security Council in New York considered an Israeli resolution condemning the Arab States, whose harbouring and nurturing of the PLO and its terrorist offshoots has encouraged this barbaric act, and censuring France, whose action in supplying nuclear weapons to the Middle East has made it possible. Predictably, the resolution was vetoed by France and the Soviet Union. A French amendment urging the Arab States to persuade those responsible to withdraw the ultimatum and come to the negotiating table was adopted.
A resolution submitted by the Arab States calling upon Israel to announce at once her intention to return the conquered territories, and so remedy the injustice responsible for the ultimatum, was adopted.
In a communiqué issued in Beirut the PLO once again disclaimed all responsibility for theft of the nuclear warhead and the ultimatum to the British Government, Yasir Arafat repudiating the Soukour-al-Sahra’ as a dangerous and irresponsible group of militants whose activities could do irreparable damage to the Palestinian cause. He added, however, that abhorrence of their action should not mask the justice of their claim for the return of the Palestinian homelands.
In London the ad hoc Committee met at frequent intervals, the various searches continued to be as unremitting as they were unrewarding and contingency planning went steadily ahead. As the hours went by, behind-the-scenes diplomatic activity intensified in a number of countries. Opinion among members of the ad hoc Committee was now divided between those who favoured the soft-line advocated by the US President and those who didn’t.
The President’s policy was favoured by the Prime Minister, the Home and Foreign Secretaries, the Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police and the Chairmen of the GLC and Port of London Authority.
Opposed to these were the Defence Secretary, the Chief of the General Staff, the Chairman of the Combined Intelligence Committee, the DGSS, the Head of the Special Branch and Sir George Isaacson. Increasingly this group believed that the warhead must be found and neutralized. If this were not done, they said, the threat to London would remain whatever action the Government might take. It was apparent, said the DGSS, that the Soukour-al-Sahra’ had no intention of parting with the warhead and he drew attention to condition 8 of the ultimatum which stipulated, the nuclear device will remain in position in London under the control of the Soukour-al-Sahra’ until such time as the undertakings have been fulfilled in all respects.
There was no guarantee, he said, that the SAS would not impose further demands on the British Government as time went on. There was, he continued, the high probability that the SAS would take the warhead to other countries – threatening detonation if interfered with at any stage – so that New York, Paris and West Berlin, for example, might well be the next victims of nuclear blackmail.
The Defence Secretary supported the DGSS and added, ‘Let the United States and the Soviet Union, in pursuance of their covert policies, issue their communiqués. Let them offer to provide a new Palestine and guarantee the territorial and sovereign integrity of the State of Israel once she has returned the conquered territories.
‘Let the British Government, if you wish, appear to support such a policy – but in principle only and without commitment. In the meantime continue the search for the warhead up to and after the expiry of the ultimatum. Continue the search, I say, until it is found.’ The Defence Secretary wagged an admonitory finger at members of the Committee. ‘I do not believe they will detonate that device – even if it is in London, which it may well not be.’
It was against this background of divided opinion in political circles both at home and abroad that the Cabinet, faced with the unenviable task of formulating a policy before the expiry of the ultimatum at noon the next day, itself began to divide into hawks and doves.
At noon on Wednesday, November 10th, the issue was still very much in doubt. During the afternoon it was, however, agreed that the Prime Minister should speak to the Nation and again give the assurance that the Government would take whatever steps were necessary to ensure that the warhead was not detonated, however unpalatable those steps might be.
At 5 pm the BBC and ITV interrupted their services to announce that the Prime Minister would address the Nation at 10 pm that night.
There was speculation as to the lateness of the hour. In the main people thought it had been chosen both to reassure Londoners before the onset of the final day, and because it was a time when most people were likely to be at home.
In fact the time had been chosen because Greenwich Mean Time was five hours in advance of US Eastern Standard Time. The US President and the Chairman of the Soviet Union had agreed confidentially to issue their communiqués at four o’clock Eastern Standard Time. The Prime Minister, having been told this, had decided to speak to the British people an hour later. The communiqués would, he knew, smooth the way for acceptance of the ultimatum.
21
The black van backed out of the garage at the end of Pimsvale Lane, turned and travelled up to the intersection with Kiddey Road where it stopped before moving off in a westerly direction. It was a wet, windy morning and Rudi Frankel drove with exceptional care, yet not so slowly as to inconvenience other traffic or draw attention to the van. Ahmad Daab sat next to him. They seldom spoke and then only in low voices as if afraid that, notwithstanding the noise of the engine and traffic, they might be overheard. Both were frightened, worried men. This was the most dangerous phase of a dangerous operation and slippery streets did nothing to comfort them. They would have been even more frightened and worried if Barakat had not come to the garage at nine o’clock that morning and disconnected the wires which led to the plastic switchboard. He’d taped their ends and pushed them back under the bale’s ‘contents’ label, the loose end of which he’d stitched back into place. He’d disconnected the switch because the risk of accidental detonation was unacceptably high if the van were in collision or had turned over.
Now, with its dangerous cargo made relatively safe, it travelled down through the Lewisham Road and Greenwich High Road to the approaches to the Blackwall Tunnel. It dropped down into the tunnel and emerged on the north side of the river less than twenty minutes after leaving Pimsvale Lane. Once clear of the tunnel, Rudi turned left and hugged the Thames almost to Limehouse Pier where he veered right up West India Dock Road. As the van approached the busy intersection with the East India Dock Road the traffic lights went red and he pulled up in the nearside lane, ready for the turn to the left. The traffic was heavy and soon built up behind as he waited for the lights to change.
The amber came, then green. He let out the clutch, the van moved forward and shuddered to a stop as the engine stalled. He pressed the starter several times but there was no response.
‘Christ,’ said Daab. ‘What’s the trouble?’
‘Sounds like ignition.’ Rudi’s voice was hoarse. He jabbed at the starter again. The engine spluttered into life and the van moved f
orward in a series of jerks before the engine died again, leaving the van straddled across the intersection. In desperation Rudi kept using the starter but without success. The traffic behind began to hoot.
‘Name of Allah,’ cried Daab. ‘It had to happen now. Can’t you do something?’
‘Shut up. I’m doing my best.’
The hooting increased. Frankel climbed down from the driver’s seat and opened the bonnet. The rain came in wet sheets, and rivulets trickled down his neck. He checked the distributor and plugs and at last found the trouble. He turned to Daab. ‘Go and phone the call-box number where Ibrahim is waiting. Tell him what’s happened. It’s a burnt coil. We’ll have to get garage help.’
Daab turned up the collar of his jacket. ‘Okay. I’ll do that. They must be worried.’ He jumped down into the road. His nerves were jangling and he was glad to get away from the van in spite of the rain.
A truck driver came up. ‘What’s the trouble, mate?’ The noise of electric horns drowned Frankel’s, ‘Coil’s had it.’
A traffic policeman in oilskins arrived on a motorcycle. ‘What’s going on?’ he shouted above the noise of his engine.
