MJ-12

by Michael J. Martinez

  “Take over the world before they kill us all?” Maggie said with a smile, but immediately regretted it; the look on Mrs. Stevens’s face was pure shock. “Kidding! Kidding. God, I’m kidding, Rose. Sorry. No, we’re going to report in to Danny on the secure teletype at Foggy Bottom, and we’re going to figure out who Joe on Capitol Hill is. We’re also going to warn Frank, Cal, and Zippy to watch their backs out there in Syria, in case Wisner changes his mind. And then we find a way to talk to Forrestal, which won’t be easy, with his family running interference. We scare him too much, he’ll run to Hoover and that’ll prove Hoover right. So, until he moves, we’re stuck.”

  Mrs. Stevens’s smile popped right back on her face. “Well, while you were sneaking around the park, I got a bit of good news from our Secret Service man in Florida. Forrestal left his house.”

  “Left? Where did he go?”

  “Well, they had to do a little digging to find out, but seems like he checked himself in at Bethesda Naval Hospital. For exhaustion. And very limited visiting hours for family.”

  Maggie thought about this for a second. “Limited visiting hours for us, too. But we’ve gotten into worse places. Shouldn’t be too hard.”

  “What worse places?” Mrs. Stevens asked, leaning forward.

  Maggie finally cracked a smile of her own. “You aren’t cleared for it. Which means I’m gonna need another couple highballs before I tell you.”

  April 17, 1949

  Diplomacy had never been one of Frank Lodge’s strong suits to begin with, but even with one of America’s foremost diplomats now residing in his head, he still didn’t like playing the part. And yet here he was, dressed in a goddamn suit and sitting in the back seat of Meade’s BMW with Copeland and Keeley, on the way to meet with the new President of Syria, Husni al-Za’im.

  Cal was sitting up front, dressed in a military uniform this time to make his presence at the meeting more believable. A couple of the military guys stationed at the legation had tossed some angry looks Cal’s way, but Meade had stepped in and told them, in no uncertain terms, to mind their own business and, if need be, take orders from Cal.

  Frank hoped it wouldn’t come to that. He’d honestly never thought much one way or the other about Negroes, given that he was a Bostonian and didn’t really come across too many of them. The ones he’d seen in colored units during the war had been fine soldiers, and Frank had done his best to stop his men from engaging in the name-calling and occasional fights that broke out between whites and coloreds.

  But Frank saw Cal very differently. Cal had been pissed on his entire life, and yet here he was, a Variant with the amazing power to heal or kill with a single touch. You’d think all that mistreatment would put a man suddenly bestowed with such astonishing capabilities on a very different path. Who wouldn’t exact a little justice for all those years of injustice? But Cal was a man of faith, something Frank wished he could understand but didn’t. And so, Cal served his country, did as much as he could not to harm anyone too greatly, and took the slings and arrows with a sigh, even with a little smile. Maybe knowing he could kill with a touch was enough for him to endure it.

  All Frank knew was that if it was him, he’d want to crack some heads.

  The car pulled up to Damascus’s presidential palace, and a soldier opened the back door of the car for Keeley, Copeland, and Frank, while Cal got out from the shotgun seat and gave a quick look around before flashing Frank an “OK” signal.

  “I suppose I’m still going in blind with regard to whatever exactly you did to get Za’im in power, Miles?” Keeley muttered as they entered the spacious building. A little misdirection on the new administration’s part had sent the reporters or photographers on a wild-goose chase; there was no one there to cover their arrival.

  “Trust me, sir, it’s better this way,” Copeland said. “Ah, there’s Miss Silverman!”

  Frank smiled as Zippy Silverman walked over to greet them. She left her kid gloves on as she shook hands—probably wise, given her ability—and paused to give Frank and Cal a hug. They hadn’t seen each other for a couple weeks, but she’d regularly left updates and reports at a dead drop conveniently located in a park between Copeland’s house and the U.S. legation.

  “How you doing, Zip?” Frank asked with a smile. “You look good.”

  “Reporting suits me,” she replied. “And I’m pretty good at it, too. Who knew?”

  Keeley stepped over to them. “Excuse me. Who the hell is this?”

  Frank put up a calming hand. “Sir, this is Zipporah Silverman. She’s one of us, working undercover as a correspondent for The Jerusalem Post.”

  “And as a stringer for the Associated Press now, too,” she said, excitement in her voice. “Honestly, the pay’s almost better than what I’m getting with—”

  “—an agency which shall not be named,” Frank finished.

  “Right,” Zippy said, blushing. “Anyway, I’ve met the colonel already, so he won’t be surprised to see me.”

  Keeley frowned and stared hard at Frank and Zippy for a minute before turning on his heel and stalking off toward a waiting government official. Frank gave Zippy a small smile. “Nobody tells him anything,” Frank said. “Every time I see him, same thing.”

  “Yeah, well, the Russian ambassador is just as bad,” Zippy said as they began walking behind Keeley. “Met him last week. Perfect idiot. It’s his number two, Karilov, we should be worried about. They’re pretty angry about the coup. He seems to be working some of the opposition legislators hard, some of the military guys who weren’t with Za’im. Already laying the groundwork for something.”

  Frank raised an eyebrow. “You are good. Think you can seed some stuff into stories yet?”

  “Depends on the seed,” she replied. “Not a huge audience here for the Post. Mostly intellectuals and government types looking for the next thing to hate about Israel.”

  “That really bugs you, doesn’t it?”

  Zippy shrugged. “I’m Jewish, Frank. The Nazis killed so many of us. We’ve been hated for generations and for no good goddamn reason. Why is everyone surprised that we’re now standing up for ourselves and building a country of our own? Don’t we deserve it?”

  Frank wanted to ask about the “we” part but thought better of it—not the time or the place. “What else on the streets?”

  “People are generally OK with Za’im. They feel snakebit after losing the war with Israel last year, and he’s promising national pride—without demonizing Israel in the process. He also loosened some of the restrictions on dress—headscarves, fezzes, that sort of thing. Kind of a pro-West move, I think.”

  “Or pro-Commie,” Frank muttered. “Not like the Reds are big on religious dress-up either.”

  Conversation was halted as they entered the anteroom of the presidential reception hall. There they were searched—thoroughly—by Za’im’s soldiers, and Frank was grateful he’d left his gun at home. While they were being patted down, no fewer than four voices in his head explained in no uncertain terms the best way to dispatch the six guards in the room with maximum efficiency, and Frank had to make an effort not to shush them aloud.

  After the search, which included confiscating Cal’s sidearm for good measure, the party was ushered into an opulent room resplendent with the kind of artworks Frank had seen in Istanbul last year, on a different assignment. Of course, he knew—or rather, the memory of an Ottoman historian told him—that Syria had been part of the Ottoman Empire for centuries, and the country was still shaking off that cultural legacy, along with that of the French and English, for that matter.

  “My friends!” Za’im said, rising from his place at the head of a long, intricately carved, and polished table. “I am so very pleased to see you!” He came over, arms wide, and greeted Copeland with an ebullient hug, ignoring an increasingly red-faced Keeley.

  Thankfully, Copeland remembered his etiquette. “President al-Za’im, it is good to see you well,” he said, extricating himself from the man�
��s bear hug. “May I present James Keeley, envoy extraordinary, minister plenipotentiary, and duly appointed representative of the government and people of the United States of America to the great Republic of Syria.”

  Za’im smiled and extended his hand. “Welcome, Mr. Keeley. My apologies. Your man Mr. Copeland here has helped save our country from ruin. As have the others here. On behalf of the Syrian people, I thank you for bringing peace and prosperity back to our nation.”

  Keeley shook the new president’s hand warily. “On behalf of the United States, officially, I thank you for receiving me. We have much to discuss.”

  “We do! We do! Please sit and take a coffee with me,” Za’im said.

  He’s a little manic, said the voice of Jonathan Goldman in Frank’s head. Goldman was a head-shrink from Washington whose deathbed Frank had sat at just before the Vienna mission. Hasn’t been getting much sleep, little wild-eyed. Interesting.

  He’s not bothering to introduce the others in the room, despite their high ranks, came the voice of Thomas Kincade, a good behind-the-scenes State Department diplomat who’d passed away last February. He’s not used to protocol yet. And yeah, he’s looking a little ragged, and not just from putting a government together.

  Frank looked off to the side of the room, where Za’im’s aides sat. He immediately recognized al-Hinnawi and al-Shishakli—and Shishakli’s kid as well. This time, they’d even got the boy a little military suit of his own, with piping and fringe and everything.

  Odd.

  Weird.

  Unusual.

  What the hell? The voices in his head were all on alert now. Who brings a ten-year-old boy to government meetings? Or coup-planning sessions, for that matter?

  “So, my friends. Mr. Keeley. Does this meeting mean that the United States will officially recognize the legitimacy of our new government on behalf of the Syrian people?”

  Keeley smiled, even as the others around the table looked surprised at Za’im’s forthrightness. “I’m afraid not, sir. The United States certainly appreciates you acting in the best interests of your people, and has certain expectations that those interests will continue to be upheld.”

  Za’im’s smile narrowed a fraction. “Well, then, speak plainly, Mr. Keeley. What does the United States wish from us before we receive formal recognition?”

  “This was a military coup, of course, Mr. Za’im. We expect there will be new elections in short order. We also hope you’ll establish peaceful relations with your neighboring states. All your neighbors, I should say.”

  Za’im nodded. “I have no wish to move against Israel at the moment, Mr. Keeley. We have much to do to ensure the welfare of the Syrian people. So long as Israel respects our borders, we will not march on them.”

  “Those borders are in dispute,” Keeley noted. “Are you willing to engage in constructive dialogue and negotiations in order to resolve that dispute? That would go a long way toward recognition.”

  Za’im thought about this a moment. “I cannot be seen reaching out to Israel for any sort of peace,” he said. “Part of what got me here was bitterness over losing the war last year. But if there was an intermediary who could work on our behalf? Then, yes. I would listen to them and I hope they would listen to me. What else?”

  This time, Copeland piped up. “The previous administration had stalled its approval for the Trans-Arabian Pipeline. We are hopeful that, as a gesture of goodwill between Syria, the United States, and its Arabian neighbors, you would see fit to approve the TAPline with all due haste.”

  Za’im nodded and gave Copeland a small smile. “I wondered when you would bring this up. Of course, Syria does not wish to impede progress and commerce. But we would hope that Syria too would benefit from this project, as it is our government that will be called upon to help protect and defend the land on which it sits.”

  He wants money. Military aid, the diplomat said in Frank’s head.

  Copeland knew it too. “How much are we talking, my friend?”

  Za’im smiled. “See? This is proper negotiating! I would say … two hundred million.”

  Keeley looked shocked, and even Zippy and Cal looked taken aback by the sum. But Copeland merely smiled. “That’s quite a lot of money, sir,” Copeland said evenly. “Far more than we had discussed previously, I believe.”

  “Running a country is hard,” Za’im said. “There is much work to be done to make Syria great again.”

  “I’m only authorized to go to fifty million,” Copeland insisted.

  “One hundred fifty million,” Za’im countered.

  “Seventy-five.”

  “One twenty-five.”

  “Fine, a hundred million even, but that’s really all I can do,” Copeland said.

  Za’im smiled and clapped his hands. “Done!”

  “So, does that mean you’ll approve the TAPline right away?” Copeland asked.

  “Once the United States has recognized the legitimate government of Syria and I have assurances from the highest levels that my hundred million dollars is on the way, then yes,” Za’im said. “And I urge your president to hurry, as many other Western nations are waiting to see what the United States does—as are the Soviets.”

  “Have you received a delegation from the Soviet Union, sir?” Keeley asked neutrally.

  “Of course not, Mr. Keeley! I wanted to see my friends here first!”

  “Well, we appreciate that,” Keeley said.

  Za’im smiled. “The Russians are coming tomorrow instead.”

  Frank couldn’t help but chuckle a bit at this. Za’im had used American expertise, assistance, and even a U.S.-led covert operation—a generous term for the fucking mess at Copeland’s house the previous month—to bring himself to power but was still playing both sides against each other. It was kind of brilliant. For all his brashness, Za’im at least had the balls to back it up.

  “I see. Is there anything else?” Keeley asked.

  “Yes, actually. I am hoping you can help me with a small problem I have,” Za’im said, looking over at Frank, Cal, and Zippy. “You seem to have some talented individuals well suited to the task.”

  And here we go, Frank thought. “And what task would that be, sir?” Frank said.

  “Have any of you been to Lebanon?” Za’im asked.

  FROM: LT LODGE USA

  TO: LCMR WALLACE USN, DCI HILLENKOETTER CIA, LTG VANDENDBERG USAF

  CC: MR HOOKS CIA, MISS SILVERMAN CIA, MISS DUBINSKY CIA

  DATE: 19 APR 1949

  RE: DAMASCUS OPERATION

  CLASSIFICATION: TOP SECRET-MAJIK

  THIS REQUEST WILL COME THROUGH OFFICIAL CHANNELS FROM OPC, BUT GIVEN THAT THE REQUEST INCLUDES MAJESTIC-12 ASSETS, WE ARE GIVING OUR OWN UPDATE.

  PRESIDENT ZA’IM OF SYRIA HAS ASKED CIA/OPC CHIEF OF STATION COPELAND TO INVESTIGATE A SITUATION IN BEIRUT, LEBANON, ON HIS BEHALF, AND HAS SPECIFICALLY REQUESTED MYSELF, MR HOOKS, AND MISS SILVERMAN FOR THE JOB, ALONG WITH MR MEADE FROM OPC. THE FOLLOWING IS OUR VIEW OF THE REQUEST AND OUR RECOMMENDATION.

  HISTORICAL BACKGROUND

  ORIGINALLY PART OF THE FRENCH MANDATE OF SYRIA, LEBANON GAINED INDEPENDENCE AS A SOVEREIGN REPUBLIC IN 1943. THERE ARE THOSE WITHIN SYRIA WHO STILL SEE LEBANON AS PART OF A “GREATER SYRIA,” WITH CULTURAL, RELIGIOUS, AND ETHNIC TIES. THIS MAY BE RECIPROCATED BY CERTAIN ELEMENTS WITHIN LEBANON, BUT LIKELY TO A LESSER DEGREE.

  IN OTHER WORDS, SYRIANS--POSSIBLY INCLUDING THE CURRENT GOVERNMENT--MAY SEE UNIFICATION WITH LEBANON AS A GOAL. THE LEBANESE MAY NOT FEEL THE SAME WAY.

  LEBANON SHARES A BORDER WITH ISRAEL AND SUPPORTED OTHER ARAB-MUSLIM NATIONS DURING THE 1948 CONFLICT, THOUGH THE COUNTRY LIMITED ITS SUPPORT LARGELY TO LOGICSTICS AND STAGING. REGULAR LEBANESE TROOPS DID NOT INVADE ISRAEL DURING THE CONFLICT.

  THE CURRENT GOVERNMENT OF LEBANON IS CONSIDERED NEUTRAL TO BOTH THE UNITED STATES AND SOVIET UNION. BY CONSTITUTIONAL LAW, IT INCLUDES REPRESENTATIVES OF ALL MAJOR RELIGIONS AND ETHNIC GROUPS IN THE AREA. LEBANON HAS BECOME A TRADING HUB FOR THE ENTIRE
REGION, AND HAS ENJOYED ECONOMIC PROSPERITY AND A COSMOPOLITAN CULTURE SINCE THE END OF THE WAR.

  ZA’IM’S RELATIONS WITH THE LEBANESE GOVERNMENT REMAIN TENTATIVE, AS ZA’IM IS NEW TO HIS POSITION AND THE LEBANESE WORRY ABOUT HIS INTENTIONS. WE ARE TOLD THE NEW SYRIAN GOVERNMENT HAS REACHED OUT TO THE LEBANESE GOVERNMENT AND ASSURED THEM OF STATUS QUO POLICIES TOWARD EACH OTHER.

  ANTOUN SAADEH

  THE PRESIDENT OF SYRIA HAS REQUESTED CIA/OPC INVESTIGATION INTO THE ACTIVITIES OF ANTOUN SAADEH, AN ACTIVIST AND NEWSPAPERMAN IN BEIRUT. SAADEH IS A PROPONENT OF THE “GREATER SYRIA” MOVEMENT, WHICH HE SEES STRETCHING FROM SYRIA AND LEBANON THROUGH TRANSJORDAN, ISRAEL, IRAQ, AND PARTS OF THE SINAI.

  SAADEH IS GREEK ORTHODOX BY BIRTH, AND SEES GREATER SYRIA AS A MORE SECULAR STATE. SOME OF HIS VIEWS ARE HIGHLY NATIONALIST, OTHERS HIGHLY SOCIALIST. HIS SYRIAN SOCIAL NATIONALIST PARTY (SSNP) EMBRACES ELEMENTS OF BOTH FASCISM AND COMMUNISM, WHILE DENYING LINKS TO BOTH AND PROCLAIMING ITS PLATFORM TO BE A WHOLLY NEW INVENTION RATHER THAN A SYNTHESIS.

  SAADEH HAS BEEN IN LEBANON FOR NEARLY TWO YEARS, HAVING BEEN EXILED PRIOR TO LEBANESE INDEPENDENCE. SINCE HIS RETURN, HE FOUNDED A NEWSPAPER DEVOTED TO HIS POLITICS AND PHILOSOPHY, AND HAS BEEN RALLYING CITIZENS AGAINST LEBANON’S GOVERNMENT. ACCORDING TO ZA’IM, CORROBORATED BY COPELAND’S SOURCES WITHIN LEBANON, SAADEH MAY BE PLANNING A REVOLUTION OR COUP AGAINST THE LEBANESE GOVERNMENT IN THE NEAR FUTURE. THE FREE MARKET ECONOMY IN LEBANON HAS LED TO POCKETS OF POVERTY AND DISEMPOWERMENT THAT MAY BE SYMPATHETIC TO SAADEH, AND THERE MAY BE ELEMENTS OF THE ARMY THAT MAY WISH TO TAKE A MORE MILITANT STAND AGAINST ISRAEL WHO MAY SUPPORT SAADEH’S NATIONALIST LEANINGS.

  PROPOSED MISSION

  ZA’IM WISHES OPC/CIA TO GO TO BEIRUT AND REPORT ON SAADEH’S ACTIVITES, AND TO PROTECT SAADEH AS NECESSARY AGAINST ELEMENTS OF THE LEBANESE GOVERNMENT THAT MAY SEEK TO SHUT HIM DOWN. OUR SUPPORT OF SAADEH WOULD BE LIMITED TO HIS PERSONAL SECURITY AGAINST LEBANESE GOVERNMENT INTERVENTION. IF THERE IS A COUP, IT IS UP TO SAADEH AND HIS REVOLUTIONARIES TO ENSURE ITS SUCCESS. ZA’IM HAS ALREADY BEEN TOLD THE UNITED STATES WOULD NOT SUPPORT ANYONE IN SUCH A CIRCUMSTANCE, AND ZA’IM AGREED, ASKING ONLY THAT WE TRANSPORT SAADEH TO DAMASACUS SHOULD A COUP ATTEMPT FAIL.