But ELIMINATE?
Simon Baum never slept that night. He remained in his office, in the bowels of the Israeli embassy, sipping cognac poured into dark Turkish coffee — what Parisians call
But the night was quiet, and so was the new day. Baum worked restlessly, checking dozens of communications until the early afternoon, when he finally dozed off in his office. He was asleep at his desk when the long-range French Marine Commando helicopter, the SA 365-7 Dauphin 2, clattered into the sky above Taverny, bearing the COS director, Gen. Michel Jobert, and the Hamas General, Ravi Rashood, along the first miles of their long journey to the south.
They flew to the eastern side of Paris, well clear of the heavy air traffic around Charles de Gaulle Airport, and set a course due south. It would take them east of the city of Lyon, then down the long Rhone River valley, all the way to the delta in the glistening salt marshes of the Camargue. From there they would swing east along the coast, across the great bay of Marseille, and into the small landing area the Foreign Legion operated at Aubagne, fifteen miles east of France’s second city.
It could scarcely have gone more smoothly. Except for one certain Moshe Benson, air traffic controller at the small regional airport near the village of Mions, which stood eight miles southwest of Lyon’s main Saint-Exupery Airport, and thus considerably closer to the flight path of the Marine Commando helicopter.
Benson picked the helicopter up on the airport radar as it clattered ten thousand feet above the vineyards of Beaujolais. He realized instantly that it was military, not transmitting, and not offering any call sign to this particular control point. This was slightly unusual, even though the military in France were apt to operate with a degree of independence.
Moshe Benson made a routine call to the control tower in Marseille to report formally that a fast, unidentified helicopter had just come charging through his air space, and that they might keep a watch for it. He told them he assumed it was French military.
Meanwhile, Simon Baum was awakened by one of his agents to learn that a Marine Commando Dauphin 2 helicopter had taken off one hour ago from the Taverny complex and appeared to be headed south. The Mossad chief immediately called four
Simon Baum knew that the range of the Dauphin was less than 500 miles and he knew that Marseille was 425 miles south of Paris. Unless it was going sightseeing along the Riviera, that particular helicopter was going into Marseille or, more likely, to the military base at Aubagne.
For some reason he was not quite able to explain, Baum badly wanted to know who was onboard that Dauphin. He had a gut feeling it might be the elusive terrorist commander Ravi Rashood. And his country wanted that man dead at any cost.
He called two of his top agents in Marseille and told them to get out to Aubagne on the double. He checked his man in the main city airport, Marseille-Provence, and put him on full alert, though he did not expect the Dauphin to fly in there.
Thus, by the time Generals Michel Jobert and Ravi Rashood touched down in Aubagne in the gathering dusk, there was a black Peugeot discreetly parked along the main road to Marseille, 200 yards beyond the main gates to the Foreign Legion garrison. Through powerful binoculars, Simon Baum’s men had watched the Dauphin land, and now they were watching for an army staff car to exit the garrison bearing at least one and possibly two passengers.
They had only four minutes to wait. And when General Jobert’s Citroen began its fifteen-mile journey into the city, there was a Mossad tail right behind, with two of Simon Baum’s most lethal operators in the two front seats. They were not so much agents as hit men.
They drove directly into Marseille, and ran west down the wide, main boulevard of La Canebiere, toward the Old Port. With the busy harbor in front of them, they turned right and made their way to the north side, to the Quai du Port, and immediately turned away from the water, into the labyrinth of streets that housed some of the best restaurants in Marseille.
The army staff car came to a sudden halt outside the world-renowned fish restaurant L’Union, and both General Jobert and General Rashood disembarked and hurried up the two front steps. They were inside, with the big mahogany doors closed behind them, before the Mossad trackers had turned the corner.
But Simon Baum’s men saw the car backing into a parking space not twenty yards from L’Union’s main entrance, and they guessed that the passengers had already made an exit. Agent David Schwab jumped out and waited outside the restaurant, while his colleague, Agent Robert Jazy, parked the car and returned on foot.
Five minutes later both men went into the paneled bar area of the big, noisy restaurant and identified General Rashood from Jacob Fabre’s photographs, which they had received from Paris via the Internet. Neither of them could identify General Jobert, and the third man, now speaking to the two new arrivals from Paris, was unknown to them.
The Mossad agents did not know it, but they were watching a minor piece of secret history. This was the first meeting between General Rashood and Col. Jacques Gamoudi, the two men who would command the military assault on Saudi Arabia.
In two separate places, twenty-five feet apart at the long, polished wooden bar, the five men sipped glasses of wine from the vineyards of the Pyrenees, until, shortly after 7:30 P.M., General Jobert and his men walked out of the bar into the main restaurant and were led to a wide, heavy oak table covered with a bright red-and-white checkered tablecloth in the corner of the room. Two flickering candles were jammed jauntily into the necks of empty bottles of Chateau Petrus, the most expensive Bordeaux in France.
The three men occupied three sides of the table; no one’s back was turned to the arched entrance across the room. Colonel Gamoudi and General Rashood had already established a mutual respect and were locked in conversation, mostly involving the armored vehicles necessary to storm Riyadh’s main royal palace from the front. General Rashood favored a quiet, fraudulent entry against unsuspecting guards, who could then be taken by surprise, with an armored vehicle jamming the main gates open.
Jacques Gamoudi was inclined to hit those main gates with a tank, and have his infantry charge from behind that heavier armored vehicle, moving straight ahead, firing from the hip.
“My method is less likely to cause us casualties,” said Rashood. “Because that way we’ll call all the shots, with a huge element of surprise. A tank’s damned noisy and likely to alert the entire place.”
“It’s also very scary,” replied Colonel Gamoudi. “And may even cause a quick surrender of the palace guards.”
At this point the waiter came, and all three of them decided to order the local speciality, bouillabaisse, a seafood stew with onion, white wine, and tomatoes flavored with fennel and saffron. One big steaming bowl for three. They ordered a bottle of white wine from Jurancon, and some Italian antipasto to start.
“I think one of our main problems will be getting the guys in for the hit on the King Khalid Air Base,” said Rashood.
“Bouillabaisse — air base — it’s all the same to us, heh?” laughed Gamoudi. “And the sea’s the key to both operations.”
Michel Jobert chuckled, and the conversation continued in a light-hearted manner until the main course arrived. The principal decisions had been made. Both Rashood and Gamoudi had accepted the money. The plan was to be executed as masterminded by Prince Nasir.
But they all understood that the sticking point was the entry into southwestern Saudi Arabia. “It’s all very well for you, Jacques Gamoudi,” said Rashood. “Your guys are in and ready, as soon as you arrive. I have to get my squad into the country, and it’s not going to be easy. I don’t know if the Saudis can fight, but there’s a lot of them. And we have to be extremely careful.”
“That’s true, General,” replied Colonel Gamoudi. “Because my operation depends entirely on the news from Khamis Mushayt. It’s critical that the Saudi Army in Riyadh understand there has been a major surrender in the south. And critical that they know it before my opening attack.”
Rashood nodded in agreement. At which point, agents David Schwab and Robert Jazy suddenly appeared in the waiting area of the main dining room. Now they each wore long, black leather coats, which they had not been wearing in the bar. They were standing in the slightly raised entranceway at the top of the two wooden steps that led down into the dining area, facing Jacques Gamoudi head-on, from a distance of around 100 feet. They stood to
