Countdown in Cairo (Russian Trilogy, The)

by Noel Hynd

  “Go for it,” she said.

  He released her arm and turned back to address the driver.

  “How you doing tonight, Tony?” he asked in English.

  “I’m fine, Mr. Lamara, sir,” the driver answered in English with a broad smile. “How’s it going for you, aside from getting turned down by the lady?”

  “Could be better, could be worse,” Voltaire said with a laugh. “This is my associate. Josephine. She’s going to be working with us on a mini-project.”

  “Nice to meet you, ma’am,” the driver said. “Welcome to Cairo. Hope you liked the crazy ride.”

  Stifling her shock, Alex only stared at the driver.

  “Tony is from New York,” Voltaire said. “He’s one of our street people in Cairo and one of my bodyguards. He came on duty when Abdul went home.”

  The driver raised a hand, which now held a massive black pistol. He used the nose of the weapon to push back his Olympique de Marseille cap, giving it a polite tip. He grinned again, then stashed the weapon back under his jacket where it had been.

  A beat while it sunk in. “I should have known,” Alex said.

  “Yes, you should have. See you tomorrow,” Voltaire said.

  FORTY-ONE

  After ordering breakfast in her room the next morning, Alex pulled on jeans and a T-shirt. She sat down at the desk in her suite and opened her laptop. There was a double window open to the daylight, and the sounds of the city—traffic, voices, children, car horns, vendors—were more distant because her window faced the swimming pool and the hotel’s private enclave.

  She sorted through personal emails from home, answered some, and put others on hold. She opened one from Janet, who was kicking back in New York and had developed a crush on one of her bodyguards. Well, at least things were under control on that front, Alex theorized. Maybe if Janet was really lucky she’d get taken to some velvet-rope mob joint with some of the guys. Who knew? She took Paul Guarneri at his word that Janet would be kept safe and well treated.

  Alex’s breakfast arrived via room service. She tried to eat lightly in hot countries and stick to bottled water, fruits, and food that couldn’t easily contaminate. Looking back to her laptop, she found a transmission from Fitzgerald. Alex opened the CIA file and, wondering what impact it might have on her own operation, began to read.

  It was a single document, the result of several other documents merged into one in order to provide her a background briefing. She was tempted to skim, but knew better. So she read carefully.

  Israeli espionage efforts against

  the United States

  Document Is/2009/19/07/cia- Esp.hg.7

  On June 5, 2008, the US Central Intelligence Agency intercepted a conversation in Berne, Switzerland, in which two Israeli officials had discussed the possibility of getting a confidential letter that then—Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice had written two years earlier to Palestinian leader Yasser Arafat. One of the Israelis had commented that they may get the letter from “Kanga,” apparently a codename for an Israeli agent within the US government.

  This revelation has again been treated by much of the American and Israeli press as an aberration, as over sixty years Israeli officials have claimed that they do not spy on the United States. Israeli Foreign Minister David Levy once told the Wall Street Journal (7/6/2007) that “our diplomats all over the world, and of course specifically in the Unites States, don’t engage in such things.” Similarly, Prime Minister Netanyahu’s office once declared, “Israel does not use intelligence agents in the United States. Period.”

  Yet this has demonstrably not been the case. From the very infancy of the nation-state of Israel, espionage activities and theft of information have occurred from friends and foes alike, often more from friends than from foes.

  For example, in 1954, a hidden microphone planted by the Israelis was discovered in the office of the US ambassador in Tel Aviv. In 1956 telephone taps were found connected to two telephones in the residence of the US military attaché.

  The most damning and notable case is the one of Jonathan Pollard, which dates from the 1980s.

  Jonathan Jay Pollard, a veteran of US Navy intelligence forces, sold secrets to the Israeli government during the 1980s. Pollard claimed that although he did spy for Israel, he did not conduct espionage against the United States.

  Born in 1954, Pollard majored in political science at Stanford University. He longed to emigrate to Israel, imagining himself as a superspy fighting on Israel’s behalf. Instead of moving to Israel, however, he enrolled at the School of Law and Diplomacy at Tufts University. At Tufts, he sold information on foreign students to the CIA.

  Although he already had his foot in the door with the CIA, the Agency turned him down when he applied for a job. After attending a 1982 meeting between US Navy and Israeli intelligence officers, Pollard was convinced that Israeli security was threatened because the US was withholding crucial secrets from its ally, particularly in the area of poisonous gases manufactured by Iran and Iraq. By that time, Pollard had a security clearance that gave him the authority to check out classified documents and take them home. Soon Pollard was smuggling out suitcases crammed with highly classified material from US Naval Intelligence. The US government claimed Pollard eventually leaked classified information on the layout of the Palestine Liberation Organization’s headquarters in Tunisia, which Israel eventually bombed …

  As an agent with the FBI, Alex had been familiar with the Pollard case. But refreshing herself on the background details, while on assignment in Cairo, had a chilling edge. She continued reading.

  Pollard photocopied and turned over to Israel more than fifteen hundred classified messages and more than a thousand documents. The Israeli government paid Pollard $2,500 per month. They also financed trips to Europe and a $7,000 ring for his wife …

  (Examining officer’s note: It is no small irony that Pollard was actually on the payroll of the taxpayers of two separate countries: GHL 12-24-04)

  The Federal Bureau of Investigation was finally alerted by suspicious coworkers to the quantities of files that Pollard was signing out. Eventually, the FBI put surveillance teams on Pollard to discover what he was doing with the material, suspecting that he might meet with a foreign representative. Within a few weeks of 24/7 surveillance, however, Pollard apparently became aware of the attention.

  (Examining officer’s note: It has never been established how Pollard became aware of the surveillance efforts, but it is widely believed that he was tipped by the Israeli service he was supplying: GHL 01-23-05)

  In 1985, Pollard and his wife sought asylum in Israel. The two drove to the Israeli Embassy in Washington, DC. Pollard requested political asylum using his own name. But the officer on duty apparently didn’t know who his uninvited guest was. Pollard and his wife were evicted from the embassy by Israeli guards. They were immediately arrested by the FBI.

  Pollard never had a trial. At the request of both the US and Israeli governments, he entered into a plea agreement. Pollard received a life sentence and a recommendation that he never be paroled.

  The CIA claimed that another highly placed Israeli spy in the US had to exist in order to give Jonathan Pollard his highly specific tasking orders. The CIA and FBI both code-named this individual as “Mr. X” but his/her identity was never discovered.

  (Note of examining officer #2: No cooperation was ever forthcoming from Israel on the subject of “Mr. X.” No surprise there. JGF 02-15-06)

  In November 1995, Israel granted Jonathan Pollard Israeli citizenship. To the US, this signaled Israel’s willingness to accept full responsibility for Pollard. His potential release in order to return to Israel became a hot-button item. Israel threatened to cease peace talks with the US until the issue was resolved but failed to gain Pollard’s release from prison. Pollard’s case was considered by Presidents Reagan, Bush, Clinton, and Bush 43, all of whom denied him clemency …

  As of September 2009, Pollard is in the twenty-fifth year of
his life sentence.

  Alex stopped reading because she felt mildly nauseous.

  Was there something about this tea that disagreed with her? She had slept well, but there was suddenly a queasy feeling in her stomach. It went away in a moment. Last night’s tea? Airline food from the other day? Something in the sooty Cairo air that had compromised her immune system?

  The discomfort was sharp, like a pang. She had once contracted food poisoning in Mexico and it had started this way. She winced. Then it felt as if something was wrong with her head. Her forehead throbbed as if she had a migraine. Then that went away too.

  She read carefully and quickly through the summary paragraphs of the remainder of the files. A few stood out:

  Item: “The Lavon Affair”: In 1954, Israeli agents attacked Western targets in Egypt in an apparent attempt to upset US-Egyptian relations. Israeli Defense Minister Pinchas Lavon was removed from office, though many think real responsibility lay with David Ben-Gurion.

  Item: In 1967, Israel attacked the USS Liberty, an intelligence-gathering vessel flying a US flag, killing 34 crew members. See Assault on the Liberty, by James M. Ennes, Jr. (Random House).

  Item: In early 2007, an Army mechanical engineer, David A. Tenenbaum, told investigators that he “inadvertently” gave classified military information on missile systems and armored vehicles to Israeli officials (New York Times, 2/12/07).

  Item: In May 2008, the US ambassador to Israel complained privately to the Israeli government about heavy-handed surveillance by Israeli intelligence agents, who had been following American Embassy employees in Tel Aviv and searching the hotel rooms of visiting US officials …

  The FBI knew of at least a dozen incidents in which American officials illegally transferred classified information to the Israelis, said former Assistant Director of the FBI Mr. Raymond Wannal. The Justice Department did not prosecute.

  She concluded her reading. Okay. She got the point. Normally the Israeli intelligence services worked with the Americans. Sometimes they worked against them.

  Why was Fitzgerald sounding this theme so sharply? She considered his age again and thought of the Suez crisis of fifty years ago in which the English, French, and Israelis sought to lash back at Nasser without the Eisenhower administration knowing their intentions. The mission had been a failure and had made Nasser a hero in the Arab world.

  Her mind fiddled with the sound of it.

  Nasser, NASCAR. Just two letters apart. She broke a mild sweat. What was going on? Suddenly, another surge of pain in her stomach. She really didn’t feel good.

  Well, she had taken some precautions before this trip. She had some Ciprofloxacin in her medicine kit for just such emergencies. She went to the bathroom, found one, scored it, and popped half a tab.

  She looked at her clock. She suddenly felt lousy. Bad jetlag, she figured. That didn’t help.

  Heck, she didn’t have to be anywhere until 3:00 in the afternoon, when she needed to be in front of the hotel to meet Voltaire. Might as well get some extra rest. She went back into the bedroom and lay down again on the bed.

  FORTY-TWO

  Alex’s eyes opened at half past two in the afternoon. She felt better. Either the turbulence within her had settled or the medication had helped.

  She found the bulky khaki jacket that she could wear over a navy tank top. Maximum coverage. She packed a bag to carry on her shoulder. In it, she threw her weapon, which she kept loaded with the safety catch on. She also took her passport, some cash, and a credit card. She was wary of the sun, so she threw an American baseball cap into the bag too and was careful to take sunscreen and sunglasses.

  She was in front of the hotel within a few minutes. Voltaire had a BMW X5 SUV in the hotel driveway. He was waiting for her. Alex climbed into the passenger’s side of the front and, as they pulled out, flipped down the vanity mirror.

  She watched a car pull out behind them.

  “Friendly, right?” she asked. “The car that’s trailing us?”

  “Bodyguards. Abdul and one of his pleasantly unsavory people. They’ll be with us most of the day.”

  “Good,” she said. She pushed the mirror back upward.

  “So if we get shot in the back it’ll be by our own people, not the opposition. Isn’t that reassuring?”

  “Seriously,” she said. “You have quite a sense of humor.”

  “Oh, relax,” he said. “This is your tourist day. We talk a little and discuss what’s going to happen. Tomorrow you work.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” she said, easing up a little. Her stomach rumbled, then was steady again.

  On the drive from Cairo to Giza, Alex saw row after row of endless tenements, much as she had noticed on the trip into the city. Their vehicle passed miles of redbrick buildings built illegally, according to Voltaire, and by hand.

  “The bricks come from the local mosques,” he said. “The people who live there have only recently received running water and electricity. The buildings grow in height as the families grow. One generation builds a floor above their parents and so on. Then you realize brick buildings can only go so high before gravity takes over. Buildings crumble all the time. The people living there are usually crushed to death.”

  “I don’t suppose the government does anything,” Alex said.

  Voltaire laughed. “Why would they? It helps control the population problem. There are too many people already. But it’s in these same slums that Islam is most fervent.”

  They arrived in Giza in less than an hour.

  They parked the X5. There was still urbanization all around them. Alex had imagined the pyramids in a remote desert, somewhat farther away from Cairo. But the stretch of desert where the Pyramids of Giza stood was surrounded on all sides by city. The location was more like a national park than a remote wonder. Alex brought her shoulder bag containing her weapon with her.

  Voltaire led Alex to a stable run by some Bedouin tribesmen whom he knew personally. The Bedouins rented out horses and camels by the hour. Alex was tempted by the camels, but opted for a horse. Voltaire did the same. The Bedouins put them up on a pair of beaten-down old horses and cracked the whips behind them, sending them off.

  They entered a sandy patch that led to the pyramids, which Alex could distantly see up ahead—three immense structures reaching toward the hot blue sky. Alex had never completely understood the magic and majesty of this place until she saw the Great Pyramids of Giza rise before her as they approached.

  “I’ve lived in Egypt for most of my adult life,” Voltaire said. “I’m not very religious in a traditional Judeo-Christian sense. But this is a place where spirituality can be felt almost anywhere. The country is full of discovered as well as undiscovered ancient burial sites. No matter where you go you’re sure to fall on pyramids, temples, or mastabas, which are tombs. I’ve visited Saqqâra and all its temples. Ever been there? It’s not far.”

  “No,” she said.

  “Saqqâra has the oldest pyramid in Egypt, that of King Zoser. Then there’s the city of Luxor and the Luxor Temple, then the Valley of the Kings, and the Valley of the Queens. There’s the Hatshepsut Temple, and the Karnak. Do you know anything about Queen Hatshepsut?” he asked.

  “No,” Alex said, walking her horse briskly. She glanced behind her and, as expected, saw Abdul and the other bodyguards following at a discreet distance with a second pair of horses.

  “She was more powerful than Cleopatra or Nefertiti,” Voltaire said, sounding now more like a professor of history than a spy. “Hatshepsut stole the throne from her stepson. She dressed as a man to assert her power and declared herself Pharaoh. Her reign was prosperous. But Hatshepsut’s legacy was systematically erased from Egyptian history, historical records were destroyed, monuments were torn down, and her corpse was removed from her tomb. The Egyptians don’t like the idea of women having power. Never did and never will. It’s a historical aberration when it happens.”

  Up ahead lay the Giza Plateau and the three Great Pyram
ids. As Alex gazed ahead, she felt a surge of excitement. She had the sudden sense of watching a dream unfurl before her, of being transported to a time twenty-five centuries before the birth of Jesus when these great burial vaults were built by three generations of pharaohs: the father, Khufu; the son, Khafre; and the grandson, Menkaure. Voltaire kept quiet, letting her savor the moment.

  The Sphinx was the guardian of the pyramid of Khufu and remained the center of superstitions because of its mysterious appearance. Known in Arabic as Abu al-Hol, the Father of Terror, the statue was called the Sphinx by the ancient Greeks. He resembled their mythical winged monster with the woman’s head and lion’s body who posed riddles and killed anyone unable to answer them.

  Voltaire grinned as a couple rode past them on a pair of camels, barely in control. The woman seemed to be hanging on for her life. Voltaire, genial soul that he was, shouted after them in Arabic and everyone laughed, whether they understood or not.

  “When I was a kid,” Voltaire said in a revelatory moment, “I went to a school in Lausanne, Switzerland, for a few years. We had a schoolboy game. We would rename the airlines. British Airways at the time was called BOAC. The British Overseas Airline Corporations.” He paused. “We called it ‘Better On A Camel.’ To this day I can’t look at a camel without thinking of that.”

  Alex laughed. “Any other good ones?” she asked.

  “SABENA. The Belgian Airline,” he said. “ ‘Such A Bad Experience, Never Again.’ ”

  She laughed harder.

  “Here’s the best,” he said. “TAP, the Airline of Portugal. ‘Take Another Plane.’ ”