troubled about something. He won’t tell me the details, and he refuses to meet with anyone else from the Deuxieme Bureau. He says that we’re penetrated by his people from top to bottom, and I suspect he’s right. But he is willing to meet with an American. I think he regards it as a sort of insurance policy. Any interest?”
“Definitely,” responded Rogers. “But I’m not putting any militiamen on the payroll.”
“I don’t think this fellow is interested in money,” said Fares. “It’s more complicated than that.”
“What kind of a Lebanese is he?”
“Confused,” said Fares. “He’s a bright young man, one of the top students at the Universite de St. Joseph, who has seen something that terrifies him. His name is Amin Shartouni.”
“How did you meet him?” asked Rogers.
“His brother is married to my wife’s sister,” said Fares.
“How Lebanese,” said Rogers.
“I can arrange a meeting in a week or so,” said Fares. “But I warn you, he’s an odd fellow.”
“ La puissance occulte! ” whispered the tormented-looking young man. “They never teach us about it in school, but it is the secret history of the Middle East!”
Amin Shartouni spoke in a raspy, breathless voice-as if in a fever-at an apartment in Ashrafiyeh. He was a thin man with short curly hair and a look of intense concentration. His skin was the color of parchment and was drawn tightly across his face. As he talked, he wagged his finger at Rogers and Fares.
“What do you mean by ‘ la puissance occulte ’?” asked Rogers cautiously. “Is that some sort of organization?”
“No, no, no! Of course not!” said Amin in exasperation. “Are you a fool? It is not a single group. It is the hidden power behind all of the groups and leaders.”
“I’m still not sure I understand,” said Rogers gently, not yet certain whether he was talking to a lunatic or a useful intelligence asset. He prodded the young man. “Perhaps you could explain what you mean in more detail.”
“Very well,” said Amin. “I will give you an example. A new leader named Hafez Assad came to power in Syria last year. There is a story about the name. Should I tell it?”
Fares nodded.
“Very well. The name of his family was ‘al-Wahash,’ which means ‘the Beast.’ So he was Hafez the Beast. But he changed it to Assad, which means ‘the Lion.’ So now he is Hafez the Lion.”
“What about la puissance occulte? ” said Rogers.
“I’m coming to that,” said Amin. “The question is, who is the real power behind Hafez the Lion? Is it the Syrian Arab Baath Party? No, of course not! Preposterous!” He snorted at the absurdity of the thought.
“The real power lies elsewhere, shrouded in mystery and deceit: Assad is an Alawite, and the hidden force behind him is the Alawite tribal council. Officially, there is no such council. Any Alawite will tell you that it does not exist. In Arabic, we even have a word for the lies we tell to protect such secrets. We call it taqiyya. But here is the truth. Assad’s father was a member of the Alawite council, and it was this council that selected Hafez as leader of the Alawites and ultimately as president of Syria! Do you understand?” He looked hopefully toward the American.
“Continue,” said Rogers.
“Ahaaa!” said Amin, pleased to have an audience. “Next, consider the Druse. Everyone assumes that the Jumblatt family controls the Druse, yes? But that is an illusion! The real power is not Kamal Jumblatt, but the secret council of Druse notables that chose him as leader. This council includes the Sheik al-Aql and others and maintains secret relations with the Druse of Israel and Syria. It is another example of la puissance occulte.”
“Tell me more,” said Rogers. He was becoming fascinated by this little dervish of a man.
“Yes, certainly,” said Amin. “Consider the Shiites. People imagine that the most powerful Shiite leader in the world is the Shah of Iran. Why not? He is the Shah of Shahs! He has money and palaces and tanks! But the reality is entirely different. The Shah rules at the sufferance of a humble man in Najf, who is the highest authority in Shiite Islam. He leads the ayatollahs of the Ulema, the Shiite religious council. If the ayatollahs ever decide to make trouble for the Shah, then poof! He is finished. Do you begin to understand what I mean by occult power?”
“I’m beginning to,” said Rogers. “But I would like another example. What about the Lebanese Christians? What is the hidden power that guides their decisions?”
An uneasy look came over Amin’s face. Rogers immediately wished he hadn’t asked the question. The young man’s hands fidgeted on the table and his eyes darted back and forth between Rogers and Fares.
“I cannot talk about that,” he said, shaking his head.
The meeting lasted thirty more minutes, but the young man had become wary. Rogers played for time by asking him simple questions: Where was he from? Where had he gone to school? Where did he work? Amin gave polite, cautious answers. When he opened his clenched palms, they were covered with sweat.
“We’ve talked enough for today,” said Fares. He suggested that the three get together again in two weeks. Amin nodded his head almost imperceptibly.
Before the next session, Fares spent several hours alone with Amin. Calming him, reassuring him, coaxing him. Fares felt like a doctor treating a patient who has been so traumatized by an event that he can’t bear to discuss it. They arrived together at the safe-house, doctor and patient.
“I think that Amin is ready to tell us more about la puissance occulte today,” said Fares. “Isn’t that right, Amin?” The young Lebanese nodded.
“Please tell our American friend about the organization that you joined in East Beirut.”
Gently, gently, said Rogers to himself. The curtains were closed and the lights were dim.
“Yes, I will tell you about the group,” said Amin. “Not all about it, but some.”
Rogers nodded and the young man began.
“The name of the group is Al-Jabha. The name is supposed to be secret.”
“Al-Jabha?” asked Rogers.
“Yes,” said Amin Shartouni.
“And what does that mean?” asked Rogers. He knew the answer, but that wasn’t the point.
“It means ‘The Front,’ said Shartouni.
Rogers nodded. He believed that interrogations had a kind of rhythm. Make someone answer a first question, and then a second, and a kind of rhythm develops, like a trance.
“Please continue,” said Rogers.
“Al-Jabha was founded sometime in the late 1960s, I don’t know when. I don’t even know who founded it. Once I asked the man who recruited me and he just laughed.
“What did he say?”
“ ‘Les cinq illustres inconnus!’ The five illustrious unknowns. A doctor, several lawyers, an engineer, an insurance man. All professional people. But he wouldn’t tell me their names. His tone of voice made me think there must be others-bigger and more powerful-behind these people.”
“How were you recruited into the organization?” asked Rogers.
“It happened gradually. First I heard from one of the other students at St. Joseph about a group that was training people how to use weapons in case of trouble with the Palestinians. Then a friend from my neighborhood in Ashrafiyeh approached me. He said that I should do something for Lebanon and told me about the organization. When I said I was interested, he took me to meet a man who owned a bookstore near my house. This man told me that Al-Jabha had been watching me for some time and asked if I was interested. I said yes.”
“And what happened then?” asked Rogers. Gently, gently.
“He gave me a number-611-and said that from then on that was my only identification in the group. He said I should never write the number down. Just memorize it. The bookstore owner’s number was 138. My friend’s number was 457. We were a cell, the three of us. That was it! I was in. There were no meetings, no papers, nothing.”
“Tell us about your training,” said Fares.
“It started right away. The bookstore owner told me to be ready the next Saturday. He said I should go to the Sin el-Fil roundabout and look for a car that had on the rear window a map of Lebanon and the words: ‘Lebanon for the Lebanese.’ He said I should follow this car up into the mountains.”
“Was that a slogan of the group?” asked Rogers.
“Yes,” said Amin.
