by Nathan Ronen
Sir John looked at him skeptically once more. He saw Arik’s statements as an inadequate sort of excuse that the Israelis told themselves in order to avoid making a decision regarding the fate of the occupied Palestinian territories. The English point of view was different. It was global in nature, and Israel was a minor factor when compared to the weight of the Arab countries: 9 million Israelis versus 420 million Arabs, their oil and gas, and their immense wealth. Even when Islamic terror harmed Britain, they did not want Israel’s help, and they certainly had no patience for Israel’s macho attitude in the occupied territories.
“In the Middle East, everyone only understands force,” Arik said.
“Do you mean that you Israelis only get the point when force is used against you?” Sir John overturned Arik’s thesis. “After all, between 1967 and 1970, you had the opportunity to reach a peace settlement with your neighbors, but you were drunk on power, and therefore had to suffer the Yom Kippur War in 1973, for which you paid with thousands of casualties and war injuries before you came to your senses and reached a settlement, which you could have reached without the consequences of that war.”
“That’s right,” Arik sighed. “I admit, we have a problem with our messed-up DNA. We emerged from the Holocaust with a total lack of faith in people, and sometimes we pay the price. Can you forgive us for having a Masada complex?”61
“Okay, let’s let it go,” his host said. “I’m tired. Too much information and too many arguments for the end of the day. I’m hungry and I haven’t had time to eat yet. Let’s drive to my club and chat there.”
He removed his raincoat from the hanger, buzzed his assistant, and instructed his driver to wait for them in the underground garage.
The easily flowing conversation flattered Arik, making him forget the well-known fact that Sir John took care never to meet with deputies, but only with people on his own level. Arik found it pleasant to be treated as an equal by Sir John. The warning lights that should have been flickering in his mind stayed dormant.
* * *
61According to the accounts of historian Josephus, the siege of Masada by Roman troops from 73 to 74 CE, at the end of the First Jewish–Roman War, ended in the mass suicide of the 960 Sicarii rebels who were hiding there. The story of Masada is often evoked in Jewish and Israeli heritage.
Chapter 40
Home House Private Members’ Club, Soho, London
The social club at which Sir John and Arik Bar-Nathan arrived, located in Portman Square at the corner of Baker Street, was an exclusive members-only club. The steep membership fee and stringent application committee were tough barriers, navigated by few. The members were pleased by the fact that those turned down included Russian tycoons and Arab sheiks from the Persian Gulf who were buying anything valuable in London as an investment. The club was located in a prestigious London neighborhood not far from the Sherlock Holmes Museum; tradition claimed that the famous detective had lived on Baker Street in a five-story brown-brick building built in typical Georgian style. Its first floor was now inhabited by a fine-dining restaurant offering a traditional English dinner.
“Shall we have dinner?” Sir John asked.
Arik was glad for the offer. He was hungry and ordered an Angus beef steak with pepper sauce, fingerling potatoes, and Brussels sprouts. Sir John opted for a steamed Atlantic cod fillet with two sides of vegetables. The sommelier, who was of Spanish origin, suggested the red wine Rioja 890 Gran Reserva.
For dessert, Sir John preferred an English pudding while Arik opted for the trifle, an English layered dessert served in a clear cup, with the layers usually concealing sponge cake, crème fraîche, fruit, and other surprises.
Dinner was wonderful, and Sir John refused Arik’s offer to split the check. After the meal, members could make their way up to one of the floors that offered billiard tables and card tables. However, they wanted to talk privately, and instead took the internal elevator to the smoking room, where they could order a variety of cigars with a good snifter of brandy. They chose Calvados apple brandy and found themselves a quiet nook with green, high-armed leather armchairs. While as a child cigarette smoke had made Arik choke, as an adult he actually enjoyed the scent of a fine Cuban cigar.
“So, what’s going on at the Mossad, Arik?” Sir John asked leisurely. “I heard you’re now second-in-command to the Mossad director. Are you still the terrorist hunter and angel of death?”
“If there’s no one to hunt the wolves, the sheep will never be protected,” Arik replied. “The wolves have multiplied too quickly since someone in the West decided that the entire world is a nature preserve. The sheepdogs aren’t managing to deter them and deal with them. Now, it’s already a matter of survival. Both of us know that weakness only encourages aggression.”
“That’s true,” Sir John said. “I always tell my people to hope for the best but prepare for the worst.”
Arik nodded in agreement.
“So, how are you enjoying our London?” Sir John asked, pouring himself another glass of Calvados.
“I don’t know London anymore,” Arik said diplomatically. “It’s become so cosmopolitan.”
“You mean that it’s become a Muslim city?” Sir John interjected sadly.
Arik nodded.
“A wave of Islamophobia has emerged in Europe that somewhat resembles what you once called ‘Judophobia,’” Sir John said philosophically.
“It’s not exactly the same. The Jews always wanted to fit into any society that agreed to take them in and contributed to it. They’ve never used terrorism.”
“What are you trying to say? That all Muslims are terrorists?” Sir John scolded him.
“Of course not.” Arik chuckled. “But all the terrorists who attacked European countries were Muslim, right?”
“Our problem is that we’re dealing with people whose moral standards are so different from ours, and we need to take care not to get dragged down to their level,” Sir John grumbled. “That terrorist Iman al-Uzbeki is always one step ahead of us. He’s always on his way to somewhere. But we’re patient. After all, he needs transportation, and we’re networked into the computers in every airport in the world as well as central train stations and bus stations. If he even tries to withdraw money from an ATM or uses his credit card, we’ll be on to him within a few minutes, and an assault team sent by us or our allies will be on its way to him.”
“I wish it was that simple,” Arik said. “I’ve already met Iman in Morocco. He’s the head of the snake, always hiding in the bushes, and when you’re sure you’ve got him, you find out you got sidetracked by one of his diversionary tactics. He’s like a gecko shedding its tail and managing to escape. If you’ve exposed one cell or team, you’ll discover it’s entirely compartmentalized from others, and at most, you’ve eliminated one segment with no leads elsewhere. As far as he’s concerned, real professionalism means going back with a time machine.
“Iman doesn’t use electronic means to operate his network. He himself doesn’t use computers or GPS. He has no credit cards and communicates only through used burner phones or using stone-age methods. He’s regressed to utter primitivism.”
Sir John’s expression was skeptical. “I still don’t know how to act with regard to this. I want to discuss it with the prime minister and with my counterpart in MI5, David McBrady. At the moment, I’m just looking at the options. I’ve thought of some ideas for collaboration between us. In any case, we’re a law-abiding country, and I believe in God and in Jesus Christ, his emissary on earth, to send me guidance.”
“Like your Jesus, I’m also a Jew who believes that God only helps those who help themselves,” Arik said. “That’s what my father, Leon Rechtman, taught me. As a young man, he was a communist and believed communism would save Jews from anti-Semitism. He was disillusioned when the Holocaust came along and totally shook up his life, and when he escaped to Russia,
Stalin, who feared the Jews, was waiting for him. Therefore, I don’t believe in a generosity reserved only for corrupt priests or fools.”
“You’ve got a problem with God?” John asked with a subtle cynicism, in the manner of devout Englishmen who were Cambridge graduates and regularly attended Anglican church services.
“I might believe in God, but I can’t stand His earthly emissaries, and I don’t care if you call them priests, rabbis, or imams,” Arik said. “So, let’s agree that you have to ask your boss, and I need a greenlight from my new boss, who will also need authorization from our prime minister.”
Sir John’s cell phone rang, and he replied, “Yes, I haven’t forgotten. Make sure to save me two seats. We’ll be right there.”
“Where are we going?” Arik asked curiously.
“This evening, a three-day international seminar on the topic of global terrorism is kicking off at King’s College. Tonight is the opening lecture, which I thought both of us would find interesting. It’s being given by someone from your country. Let’s go, we’re late.”
“From my country? Who is it?” Arik asked, puzzled. Sir John kept his silence, smiling mysteriously.
Chapter 41
Department of War Studies, King’s College, London
Prof. Giuliani Vivaldi, head of the Faculty of International Law, approached the podium in White Hall, the main lecture hall in one of the most prestigious academic institutions in the world, located in the Strand neighborhood on the bank of the Thames.
Arik and Sir John searched for seats and found unoccupied chairs in the first row marked with a sign stating “Reserved.” Before sitting down, Arik scanned the lecture hall, as was his habit, and in the middle of the fifth row spotted a familiar face from the past. It was Colonel Rizkawi, formerly head of the Department for International Activity Abroad in VEVAK, the Iranian intelligence service, and now the service’s representative in London. The two rivals had never sat in such proximity, but after exchanging an assessing look, they nodded to each other in greeting.
Prof. Vivaldi began, “Good evening. As part of a study being conducted at our university regarding the spread of international terrorism and legal ways of dealing with it, this time the person chosen to give the opening lecture for our seminar is not a colleague from the legal field, but rather a historian, a renaissance man from the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, who will provide a somewhat different perspective on terrorism and its implications.”
To the sound of enthusiastic applause, he invited Prof. Yuval up to the podium62.
Prof. Kaspi looked younger than his forty years. He was very slender and short. He examined the row of respected guests, which included the entire forum of the British Chiefs of Staff Committee, as well as politicians, journalists specializing in defense topics, and representatives from intelligence agencies and the British Ministry of Defense. All of them were sitting in the front row, while behind them were students from all over the world studying for advanced degrees at King’s College.
“Good evening and thank you for coming to Prof. Vivaldi’s fascinating seminar,” he began. “I’m happy with all the media attention this lecture is inspiring, but I want to say that, despite this large hall, I prefer a conversation over a frontal lecture. So, if you want to ask a question or make a comment while I’m speaking, abandon your usual politeness and toss out a comment or raise your hand to ask a question. Are we agreed?”
A murmur of agreement passed through the audience. What he was suggesting was in stark contrast to the usual British protocol.
Prof. Kaspi continued. “I’m going to tell you a story. Imagine a fly that wants to destroy a china store. It knows it can’t move even a tiny cup on its own. What does the fly do?”
The large hall, its external façade resembling a long, narrow, church-like structure in the Gothic English style, with pillars supporting arches and plenty of stone decorations, grew silent.
“This fly enters the ear of an elephant, and drives it crazy,” Kaspi continued, “to the extent that it starts going wild and destroys the whole store on behalf of the fly.
“Take a look at terrorism from the point of view of a terrorist leader, say, the head of Al Qaeda. He knows he’s weak in relation to the tremendous power of the strongest superpower in the world. He hates that superpower and its values. So, what does he do? After all, he has no chance in a direct confrontation with American might. He decides to target the most phallic of symbols, the erect American totem of New York’s Twin Towers in the events of 9/11 in 2001. The terrorist hopes that when his enemy is enraged, it will employ its massive power against him, stirring up major military and political upheaval and in the course of which he hopes mistakes will be made, harming neutral parties and changing the balance of power. The terrorist thus resembles the fly in my simile.
“Al Qaeda couldn’t have toppled Iraqi dictator Saddam Hussein, but after the American elephant destroyed the Middle Eastern china shop, terrorist leaders received an unprecedented opportunity to seize control of the Iraqi state and its surroundings. A good terrorist doesn’t think like a military general or a tactician. He thinks like a Hollywood producer about how to put on the best show in town. The terrorist will target whatever creates the best photo ops and hardest-hitting media impact. If you ask people what they remember from the events of September 11, they’ll immediately talk about the drama of the collapse of the Twin Towers, barely mentioning the damage to the Pentagon. Imagine if, in 2001, Bin Laden would have sent a terrorist cell to crash into the Statue of Liberty while the global media’s cameras filmed it all. The number of casualties might not have been as high as it was in the Twin Towers, but what an immense theatrical effect such an action could have had.”
“What you’re saying is very interesting, but where are you going with this?” a question was tossed out from the front rows.
“I’m trying to say that like the terrorist, those trying to combat terrorism need to think outside the box,” the professor explained. “After all, the terrorist knows he can’t single-handedly win the battle, but he expects his rivals to defeat themselves by reacting unwisely to the terrorists’ provocations. We shouldn’t mindlessly activate the ‘defense theater,’ which primarily stems from a state leader’s need to prove to his people that he’s taking action. We mustn’t get pushed into military operations that are not viable in the long term.”
Sir John whispered something in the ear of his counterpart David McBrady, head of MI5, who nodded in agreement and raised his hand to ask a question.
“What are you trying to tell us, learned sir—that our military operations against ISIS in Iraq or the major military initiative against the Taliban in Afghanistan were a kind of display of machismo, a male competition over whose is bigger?” the redheaded McBrady commented loudly. McBrady was cynically nicknamed “the model” in the halls of the British security service due to his affection for expensive Italian suits, designer shoes, and silk ties, commented loudly.
Prof. Kaspi chuckled. “I’m merely trying to say that the effectiveness of terrorism largely hinges upon the reaction of the targeted country. Since the legitimacy of modern-day states is based upon the promise of granting their citizens full security, they sometimes react disproportionately and unwisely, thus enhancing the effectiveness of terrorist activity. In response to the drama unfolding on TV screens, leaders are prodded into producing equally impressive counter-drama such as columns of soldiers and tanks, long-range intercepting missiles, visually striking fire and smokestacks and targets exploding with stunning accuracy on air, in order to satisfy the citizens’ need for revenge.”
“Hold on, I want to understand!” the head of the British Ministry of Defense’s Research Division called out. “Do you expect us to hold back from responding to terror attacks aimed against us, conveying to our citizens that we must live with terrorism so long as it’s bearable, just like living with harsh chronic illnesses o
r traffic accidents?”
“With all due respect, let’s get some perspective through the facts.” Kaspi smiled cynically. “If you look into the statistics, in 2002, a peak year for terrorism and exploding buses in Israel, 451 people died as a result of terrorist activity, while traffic accidents were responsible for the deaths of 542 people. In the Western world, for every person killed due to terrorist activity, a thousand die due to overeating. In that regard, the fast-food corporations pose more danger to the world than Al Qaeda.”
“The theater of terrorism definitely needs a stage,” hot-headed Security Service Director McBrady yelled at him. “But in free countries, the media provides the drama for the people, with massive headlines printed in red! We don’t control the media. After all, they’re thrilled to report on terrorist threats or attacks, because they want to make a living and sell papers. And it interests them more than writing about the environment or global warming, which, in the long range, is more dangerous than terrorism.”
Murmurs of agreement sounded from every direction. Sir John rose from his seat and said, “We at British intelligence service MI6 believe that the most effective response to terrorism is good intelligence and covert action against terrorist leaders and the financial networks that fund terrorists. It’s true that this doesn’t look good on TV or provide the sort of drama you hear about on the media or create heartbreaking photo ops for the press. This is Sisyphean, daily work, but if it’s done professionally, it’s a lot more effective so long as the policymakers allow us to carry out our work without interference based on political considerations, or turning to the press in order to rake in votes.”
