Since he overthrew Libya's senile King Idris in 1969, Qaddafi had provided money, arms, sanctuary, and training facilities for just about every terrorist organization worthy of the name. He had provided active support for the team that carried out the Olympic Games massacre in Munich. He had provided the PLO with a yearly allowance of forty million dollars. He had offered a million dollars for the assassination of Anwar Sadat of Egypt. He had invaded Tunisia. He had fought with Egypt. He had repeatedly invaded Chad. He had fomented unrest in the Sudan. He had given financial assistance to the Nicaraguan Sandinistas, Argentina's Montoneros, Uruguay's Tupamaros, the IRA Provisionals, the Spanish Basque ETA, the French Breton and Corsican separatist movements, and Muslim insurgents in Thailand, Indonesia, Malaysia, and the Philippines. He had provided military assistance to Emperor Bokassa of the Central African Republic and Idi Main of Uganda. He had been behind the blowing up of a Pan American plane at Rome's FiumicinoAirport, in which thirty-one passengers burned to death. He had provided the SAM-7 heat-seeking missiles with which a Palestinian team planned to shoot down an El Al jet taking off from Fiumicino. He had been an active supporter of the OPEC raid in Vienna in Christmas 1975.
The man who had selected Libya as the training ground and marshaling area for his assault group felt quite satisfied that he had made the right decision. His every need was being met. Qaddafi had even offered a bonus of ten million dollars upon successful completion of the project. At the end of their private audience he had presented the man with a personally autographed copy of his Green Book on the Islamic Revolution – and a check for half a million dollars toward initial expenses.
In Libya the man was known as Felix Kadar. It was a name of no particular significance; in other countries he was known by other names. In the files of the CIA and the U.S. State Department's Office to Combat Terrorism he was known only by the code name Scimitar. The man had no particular political views or commitments to any specific ideology. He had been baptized a Catholic, but on occasion he wore the green turban that signified the pilgrimage to Mecca. He had indeed gone there. He had been one of the planners of the assault on the Great Mosque and had been agreeably surprised by the inability of Saudi Arabia's own forces to dislodge the intruders. In the end, the assistance of the French government was called for: the Gigene, the highly specialized National Gendarmerie Intervention Group, came on the scene – and the raiders died, leaving the Saudi royal family much shaken and the man in the green turban one million dollars richer.
The man had long since conceived the outline of the idea. It had struck him that unrest in the world presented an unparalleled opportunity for commercial exploitation. At Harvard, studying for an M.B.A., he had written, as he had been trained to, the business plan. It featured a specific financial objective; the acquisition of a personal fortune of one hundred million dollars within fifteen years.
More than twelve years had passed, and he was still only halfway to his objective: he had averaged something over four million dollars a year, taking the rough with the smooth, so a straight-line projection pout him something like forty million dollars short by the close of his allocated period, May 31, 1983. Clearly something would have to be done; a bold stroke was called for. Allowing a surplus for inflation and unforeseen expenses, he would aim to clear fifty million dollars from one major action, and then he would retire. He would be two years ahead of schedule.
Felix Kadar had another motive for wishing to achieve his financial objective ahead of time. He had made a specialty of carrying out his work through different organizations and under different identities, and he was expert in modifying his appearance and personality. Nonetheless, it seemed to him that it would only be a matter of time before one of the Western antiterrorist units started putting the pieces together. And, he admitted to himself, he had allowed his ego to get he better of him recently.
He had played games with the authorities. In the knowledge that he had never been caught or even arrested and was soon to retire, he had deliberately increased the risks of living on the edge. That must stop. Mistakes would be eliminated.
The seventy-one men and women in the attack force were all known to him either personally or by reputation. He had compiled a list of suitable candidates over the years and had made full use of the extensive files of terrorists maintained by the KGB. He kept up the friendliest of relations with Ahmed Jibril, the Palestinian ex- captain in the Syrian Army who was one of the KGB's most active agents inside the various Palestinian movements.
He used fingerprints and other personnel data accumulated in the KGB and his own files to vet each candidate rigorously. Kadar was particularly concerned about infiltration – a specialty of the Israelis, many of whom spoke Arabic and were in appearance indistinguishable from Yemenis and North Africans. The classic ploy of the Israelis was to substitute one of their own for one of the fedayeen killed or captured in action against them. It was not so difficult to do, and hard to detect when the Palestinians were scattered among a dozen countries. Today Kadar believed he had caught such a man. He was not absolutely sure, but then he didn't have to be. Within the camp Kadar's will was absolute law; he was judge, jury, and, if it so pleased him, executioner.
The assembled terrorists were drawn up in two ranks in a semicircle facing Kadar. It was night, and the dusty parade ground was brightly lit with powerful floodlights, though Kadar himself was in shadow. To one side a shapeless figure was spread-eagled against a metal frame embedded in the hard ground.
Kadar was further concealed by an Arab headdress made of camouflage material; his mouth and nose were covered, and his eyes were hidden behind sunglasses. Though some of his people had worked with him before, none had ever seen his face or knew his real name. They knew him as a hooded figure, a voice, and a consummate planner. The implementation was almost always left to others.
'Brothers and sisters,' he said, 'followers of the Revolution. For years you have been fighting to destroy the Jews and to free your native land. You have fought in many glorious battles and have killed many of your enemies, but always final victory has eluded you. You have been cheated out of what is your due not just by the accursed Israelis but by the support they receive from godless America and the might of Western imperialism. You have been brought to this camp to train and prepare for an action directly targeted at the soft underbelly of the decadent West. Your deeds will echo around the world, and the pain and shock of the rulers of the West will be terrible.'
There were shouts and applause from the guerrillas. Several fired automatic rifles in the air in a display of enthusiasm. Kadar thought he had spent enough time on the ritual condemnation of Israel and the West. It was time to deal with more practical matters. Terrorists – at least Kadar's pragmatic kind – didn't fight on idealism alone. They liked to be paid in hard currencies.
'Fellow freedom fighters,' he continued, 'this is not yet the time for me to tell you the precise details of our mission. For reasons of security you will all understand, that information must be withheld until shortly before the day of action. Meanwhile, though you are all experienced and battle-hardened veterans, you will be trained to a peak of even greater combat effectiveness. As you do this, you may care to reflect not only on the glory that will be attained from this mission but on the one hundred thousand American dollars you will each receive upon its successful completion.'
This time the applause was considerably more enthusiastic. There were further bursts of Kalashnikov fire. Kadar reflected that experienced and trained by the liberation camps though his men might be, too many of them had become lax and overemotional in their reactions. The raw material was there, but it needed to be subjected to ruthless discipline if his plan was to succeed. His orders must be followed unhesitatingly; obedience must be absolute. The only way to achieve this within the limited time available was to instill a terrible fear of the alternatives. He had dangled the carrot in front of them; now was the time for the stick. He had stage-managed the demonstration for maximum impact.
He held up his hand for silence, and the cheering ceased. He spoke again. 'Brothers and sisters, we are faced with implacable enemies. Our war is unceasing. Constantly they try to destroy us. They send their warplanes against us; they raid us from the sea; they fill the airwaves with their foul propaganda; they manipulate the media to distort the truth of our cause; they send spies and sowers of discord among us.'
There was a ripple of reaction from the ranks of fighters: fists were shaken; weapons were raised in the air.
'Silence!' he shouted. A hush fell over the terrorists. The group was still. They were used to savage and sometimes arbitrary discipline but also to the informality and frequently free and easy life of guerrilla units that, whatever they boasted to their womenfolk, spent little of their time in actual combat. They sensed that this mission would be different.
