“That’s the damnedest story I’ve ever heard,” said Rogers. “Why don’t we know about this?”
“Because you are slipping,” said Jamal with a wicked smile.
There was silence.
“Jamal,” said Rogers again, more insistently. “I asked for this meeting because there is something I have to tell you.”
“Very well,” said the Palestinian. “What is it?”
“I want you to be very careful,” said Rogers slowly. “Your life is in danger.”
The Palestinian laughed.
“You came all the way to Beirut to tell me that? That is hardly news to me, my dear Mr. Reilly.”
“Your life is in danger,” Rogers repeated, “from the Israelis.”
“The Israelis have given up on me! They know that I am invulnerable.”
“Don’t be so sure that they have given up,” said Rogers. “Remember that there is a new Israeli government, and there are old plans that can be dusted off.”
“What of it? Our fates are all in the hands of Allah.”
“Let’s cut the crap,” said Rogers. “I am trying to save your life. So listen to me.”
“I am listening.”
“I want to tell the Israelis that you have been working for us. That you are off limits.”
“No.”
“Why not? I think they suspect as much already.”
“No,” repeated Jamal.
“But why not?”
“Because what you said is false. I don’t work for you. I work for my people.”
“Yes, of course. But you’re in danger…”
Jamal cut him off.
“My answer is no. I will not depend on the charity of the Israelis. I would rather be dead.”
Rogers realized that he was getting nowhere.
“I have another proposal,” said the American.
“What is it?”
“I want you to leave Beirut.”
“Maybe you did not hear me before,” said Jamal, his voice rising. “I am not yours to command. You don’t tell me where to go.”
“I know. I understand. I’m only suggesting that perhaps now, for a little while, you might think about going somewhere safer than Beirut.”
“For me, there is nowhere safer.”
“You are impossible!”
Jamal smiled for the first time.
“Yes,” he said. “I am.”
“Look,” said Rogers. “If you won’t listen to reason, there isn’t much we can do for you. But there are a few things. What kind of car are you driving?”
“Chevrolet,” said Jamal.
“Bullet-proof?”
“Yes.”
“We can get you a better one.”
“All right,” said the Palestinian. “I accept.”
“What kind of radios do your bodyguards use?”
“East German.”
“They’re junk,” said Rogers. “The Israelis can easily intercept the signals. We’ll get you new radios. Fuad will bring them to you.”
“Fine,” said the Palestinian.
“What else?”
“That is enough,” said Jamal.
“No, it isn’t,” said Rogers. “What else, God-damn it!”
“Mr. Reilly,” said Jamal, putting his hand on Rogers’s shoulder. “If the United States cannot keep its friends in the Middle East alive, then it is the United States that has serious problems, not me. So I will trust in your good offices.”
“I told you once in Kuwait that I had never lost an agent,” said Rogers. “And I don’t intend to start now.”
“Yes,” answered Jamal. “You did tell me that. And do you remember what I answered? I told you that I was not your agent.”
They talked for a few minutes more and then Jamal excused himself. He had a meeting with a visiting intelligence officer from Japan. It was getting to be an industry, Jamal said, this business of security cooperation.
After Jamal left, Rogers sat for a while in the apartment, thinking of what Jamal had said. “I am not your agent.” Rogers had to admit that he wasn’t sure what Jamal was. He wasn’t a CIA agent. He certainly wasn’t an ally of the United States. He was something awkward, in between. The American relationship with him was, in that sense, out of control.
45
Beirut; January 1979
The Israeli special-operations team entered Lebanon mostly through the Beirut International Airport. They came one by one, as businessmen travelling on various European passports. They were well trained and intensely motivated. Among them was the cousin of one of the Israeli athletes who had been killed at Munich.
Their mission was to finish once and for all a job that had been started years ago-and to make no mistakes. But even professionals make mistakes.
There were little hints, tipoffs, bits of evidence. The first came from the Mossad officer in East Beirut who was responsible for liaison with the Lebanese Christian militia. He paid a visit to the Christian militia’s chief of intelligence one day in early January and said that he would be away for several weeks. He added that it would be wise to stay out of West Beirut for a while. When the Lebanese Christian pressed for details, the Mossad man just winked.
What the Israeli didn’t say was that most of the Mossad station was quietly slipping out of Beirut. There was no sense in leaving them there, vulnerable and without good alibis, while the special-operations team did its work.
The incident seemed odd to the Christian militiaman. So he sent his own agents to check the logs of Beirut hotels and car-rental agencies and the records of arriving airline passengers to see if there were any unusual developments. It took him a week to gather all the information, and most of it was useless. But he did eventually notice one peculiar detail. Three cars had been rented by foreign passport holders from a particular car-rental agency in East Beirut that week. That seemed strange. Foreign visitors didn’t usually rent cars in Lebanon. They took taxis. Stranger still was the fact that all three cars had been reserved by the same travel agent in Paris. When the militiaman called the number of the Parisian travel agency, it had been disconnected.
The Christian intelligence man wasn’t sure what to do with the information, so he did what intelligence officers usually do. He traded it. As it happened, he owed a favor to the head of Lebanese military intelligence, Samir Fares, who had recently helped his men obtain some American-made electronic-surveillance equipment. So he simply passed along to Fares his scanty evidence that the Israelis might be up to something.
Fares was busy that month with an escalating war in the streets of West Beirut between Syrian, Iraqi, and Libyan agents. So he didn’t pay any real attention to the militiaman’s tip until he got another piece of information-this time from an agent in a small and very secret Christian underground group called Al-Jabha, which was said to have close ties to the Israelis.
Someone was trying to monopolize the group’s bombmaking business, the agent complained. Al-Jabha’s workshop in the mountains had been commandeered by one member who was especially close to the Israelis. The man had brought special welding equipment to the garage, along with sheets of heavy steel plate. That was state-of-the-art for car bombs, the agent explained. The sheets of steel were welded under the car, around three sides of the bomb, so that the force of the explosion would blow out in a particular direction.
It wasn’t fair, the agent said. Lebanon was a country of entrepreneurs. Nobody should try to monopolize the bombmaking business.
The intelligence reports made Fares nervous. Somebody-apparently connected with the Israelis-was planning to hit an important target in West Beirut. But Fares had no idea who or why. He made a mental list of the possible targets: the Sunni prime minister, the Shiite speaker of parliament, several Druse members of the cabinet. The security of these Lebanese officials was Fares’s responsibility. He called in the officers who were responsible for protecting them and issued an alert: The Lebanese Moslem officials should alter their normal travel routines until further notice-and stay off the streets of West Beirut.