Israel knew perfectly well that these Libyan Mirages could be made available to the Egyptians or the Syrians. Time was of the essence, but even though the Israelis had very good engineers, there were still significant technological barriers: it was not possible for a Mirage-type aircraft to be built in a few months. It was not just the knowledge of how to do it, but also the tools and equipment needed. In short, it would probably take years of work before the first aircraft could take to the skies. This is why the Israeli's did all they could to save time. Just as the Soviets had done when they wanted to build their first atomic bomb, they decided to steal the plans they needed. And as usual, they did so very proficiently.
As with other similar cases, an ‘official truth' was naturally provided. This version, which is of a rather romantic nature, assigned full responsibility to Alfred Frauenknecht, a Swiss aeronautical engineer and a vigilante hero.
This exemplary man, a Swiss citizen who lived quietly in Zurich above all suspicion, worked at the Sulzer company that manufactured Mirage planes under license for the Swiss Army. He had an important job, a good salary, and an excellent career ahead of him. His future seemed perfectly secure. Above all, Frauenknecht was a man with a heart: he could not support injustice. According to him, he believed that General de Gaulle's arms embargo on Israel was an example of this injustice. As a result of his work, he often met and could sympathise with his Israeli colleagues in Paris. All before the embargo, of course.
The Swiss decided to look for ways to help the Israelis. From his perspective, the most scandalous aspect was the fact that even the aircraft's spare parts were subject to the embargo. This meant that the Israeli Air Force were unable to maintain the planes they already owned, unless they reclaimed parts from other fighter aircraft and used those, which would only weaken its operational capabilities.
According to the official version, Frauenknecht was so revolted by the situation that he was determined to restore some semblance of fairness and soon resolved that the only solution was to steal the plans and give them to Israel. Not just the plans for the plane itself, but also those for the tools needed to manufacture the spare parts. It was a risky operation. After all, the plans were top secret and Sulzer were under contract to convey them to no one. Frauenknecht had to think of a particularly subtle ploy of seizing the documents and handing them over to the Israelis.
Eisenberg, Dan and Landau
74
One evening when they [Frauenknecht and his Israeli colleagues] were dining together, the Swiss engineer noticed a strange tattoo on the forearm of one of his companions. ‘What’s that?’ he asked.
‘It’s a souvenir from my forced stay in Dachau’, the Israeli replied.
Frauenknecht was embarrassed and confused. On his next trip to Germany he made a symbolic visit to the concentration camp’s memorial. The sudden embargo imposed by President de Gaulle in 1967 was a shock not only to the Israelis, but to Frauenknecht as well. He was better placed than anyone to know about Paris’ refusal to send vital spare parts for the Mirage planes, meaning the entire Israeli Air Force would be grounded during the protracted war.
Like many Swiss, Frauenknecht had received a rather strict upbringing. His moral principles meant that he was revolted by the cynicism with which the French had ‘stabbed Israel in the back at the precise moment when they needed help’, in the middle of a war that threatened their existence. He also thought it unforgivable that de Gaulle had refused to deliver the fifty Mirage aircraft that Israel had already ordered and paid for.
The Swiss engineer decided that moral outrage alone was not enough: he, Alfred Frauenknecht, was going to do something to help the Jews. It was the most impressive decision he had ever made and once the plan was established, he proceeded to work with complete efficiency and inspiration.
One day, Frauenknecht asked for a meeting with his boss: he had found a new, bright idea of how to save the company money - something a boss always wants to hear! Frauenknecht spoke to him about the Mirage plans and in particular the reactors. He pointed out that the documents, which were stored in cases, were taking up too much space.The company was entirely committed to manufacturing the planes and even had to rent warehouses to store its equipment. Frauenknecht suggested microfilming the plans and burning the originals, thus saving the company time and money.
His boss immediately agreed. However, Frauenknecht, who had thought of everything, added that the burning of the original top secret documents should be done in controlled conditions. He advised his boss to approach a specialised company, who were under the control of the Swiss intelligence bureau: there would clearly be a very strict protocol surrounding the operation. Firstly, a single photograph would be taken of each document, which would take place in the presence of a military police officer and in an isolated room. The boxes would then be transported to the municipal incinerator, a fifteen-minute drive from the factory. Two armed guards would be on hand to monitor the loading and unloading.
Frauenknecht offered to personally oversee the meticulous operation, although he pointed out that there were still risks during the transportation. Consequently, he volunteered someone he trusted, his cousin, to act as the driver. This was a risky move: at the time he was on the verge of committing treason. However, his offer was accepted with no reservation.
The plan was carefully put into operation. The photographer
