“When do you want me to leave?” Her voice was tight.
“Right away. I think there's an afternoon flight to Tel Aviv – let's finish breakfast and call El Al.” I could do nothing to fill the sudden blankness between us.
Later we rode in tense silence in the cab on our way to the airport. I had a lot on my mind and a few words to say, but it wasn't the time for soul-searching, or for the truth for that matter. I hoped she'd understand. But judging from her reaction, I'd need more than just hope; I'd have to make it happen.
There was no dramatic good-bye scene at the airport. Only more silence. Before she disappeared through passport control and into the departure hall, though, Ariel turned to look at me and smiled a shy smile.
I went back to the city feeling empty. Why did I have to put my work first, above everything else? I knew the answer – my training. But they never taught me how to overcome human emotions like the ones I had now. I knew I'd just done the right thing, personally and professionally. I was protecting Ariel by sending her back to Israel. At any cost she had to be kept away from Guttmacher, the Iranians, and the Colombians. This didn't make it any easier to take, however.
All of a sudden I found myself with nothing to do. I had to sit and wait. It was maddening to go from frantic, busy days to a day of nothing, much less two or three. I called Lan. No, the responses to the subpoenas served upon American Express concerning the R. De Louise credit card had not arrived yet. I had to give in. I had two days to kill but no idea what to do with them.
I had been out of the loop during my Moscow trip. I hoped that the planners of this sensitive covert operation had a firm understanding of the bureaucratic process of conducting a joint operation with another intelligence operation. I had never participated in such a joint venture. But my experience had taught me that the very nature of bureaucracies’ hierarchical structures limited the degree of their operational success. Just as the speed of light is the ultimate speed, government bureaucracies cannot move effectively beyond a preset operational timetable. Rules must be followed; memoranda drafted and, at every level up the chain of command, signed by someone with the authority to sign; reporting and approvals must be obtained, and all that takes time. While each bureaucratic level in turn complies with all its requirements, the operational deadlines slip. The result is fatal holdup. If the operation is civilian, the damage is mostly financial. But if the operation is in either the military or intelligence categories, heads could roll. Therefore, if you want to run a successful covert operation, the person in charge on location must have full, decentralized authority to initiate actions as changing circumstances require.
Since this was a joint effort, these problems were now doubled. If Eric was going to need approvals from both his boss at the CIA and from the Mossad each time a departure from the original plan became necessary, the operation was doomed. As a rule, operational cooperation between two foreign intelligence services is complex. There's a built-in distrust embedded in organizations in which “suspicion” is the motto. The difficulty here was greater because the CIA, much larger and more rigid, had to cooperate with the smaller and more flexible Mossad.
B y Saturday noon I was anxious and tense, the same kind of feeling I had before I went on incursion across the Israeli-Syrian border or on subsequent Mossad assignments. Failure here was not an option. Tom came on time as usual to pick me up. Again, he was like a monk who'd taken a vow of silence. We drove to a safe house in Gernlinden, on the outskirts of the city. I'd lost count of the number of Munich safe apartments I'd been in by now, but I was sure that there'd been more than ten. This time the neighborhood looked similar to that of Bart's pension. The two-story villa was secluded and surrounded by shrubs and birch trees.
Tom opened the metal gate with his remote and we drove into the courtyard. Two other cars were already parked in the yard near the entrance. Three young men were not in very active guard mode, sitting inside. They looked as if they might be U.S. Marines just out of boot camp, crew cuts and all.
I followed Tom upstairs and to a door at the end of the hall. One of the two guards on duty checked us out quickly and let us in.
A huge room occupied most of the second floor. Two dozen people were sitting or moving around in complete silence. Heavy curtains covered the windows and fluorescent lights focused attention on the desks, the maps, the telephones, and the computers. Large photographs of the bank, taken from different angles, covered the wall next to a huge street map of Munich and its surrounding suburbs. Two smaller maps showed the two target areas. It was a charged atmosphere where words were barely audible. The neighbors couldn't possibly complain that we were disturbing their afternoon naps.
Eric, expressionless as usual, was clad in jeans and a sweatshirt. He was wearing a headset. He noticed me come in and nodded. Two distinguished-looking men in business suits sat next to him, both with headsets as well. Needless to say, I was curious about them. Somehow, they didn't seem to me like technicians. Benny, Shimon, and Avi, the Mossad's logistics men, were very much on the scene. Computer and telephone operators were behind workstations; technicians were completing some wiring. A stocky guy in jeans approached Eric, gave him a note and said, “We've got the codeword: Bonanza.”
Eric looked at the two men next to him, showed them the note, and they nodded in approval.
Eric got up and faced the small crowd. “Folks. We've just received final authorization to go ahead with the mission. From now on, no private talk or security violations. We've done all the rehearsing we have time for. This is the real thing and I'll go over it once more. I'll act as the director of operations for both incursions. This guy on my right is Eugene, the stage manager. He'll report to me and oversee the operational stage to make sure all conditions and contingencies are considered. In particular, he'll take the point of view of the German police, the Iranians, and casual observers, to make sure we're invisible.” Eric paused, looked at us, and continued.
“There will be three operational groups, each headed by an action officer. Team number one, headed by Shimon and assisted by Yuval from the Mossad, will hit Bankhaus Backer amp; Haas. Team number two, headed by our Brian and assisted by Gary, will hit Armajani's residence, and team number three, headed by Tom and assisted by Jeff and Larry, will act as decoys at the Bayerische Hypotheken und Wechsel Bank and handle the power failure. There are three rescue teams waiting in three separate safe apartments near the target areas, in case the walls crash in on us. There are also two backup teams to replace any of the operational teams, and two technical support backup teams. If all goes well, you'll not be seeing any of them. There are almost seventy people involved in this operation.
“Team number one will leave Gernlinden at 4:30 P.M. in the blue Volkswagen. Team number two will leave at 4:45 in the green Fiat. Team number three will leave at 4:35 in the Volkswagen van. Remember, this is Europe; this is Germany. People here obey traffic lights and rules within the city. They go wild only on the expressway. Don't burn up the road. You could blow the entire operation with a stupid moving violation. The license plates are genuine, but the registrations are under phony names. It will survive a police check, but a thorough inspection will raise unnecessary questions. It's getting dark earlier now; use your headlights.
“Make sure there's nothing on you to give away your identity. One last time, will each team member please inspect his partners’ clothing, pockets, laundry labels, everything.”
Each team member checked the others’ pockets, shoes, and shirt collars, anything that could give identity away.
I knew what Eric meant. In these operations, in case of apprehension the first police report and the initial press coverage leave the longest imprint on public opinion. “Two burglars caught in a Munich bank” gets a mention inside the local papers and that's the end of it. On the other hand, “two burglars caught in a bank and in an apartment in Munich, one is a Mossad agent and the other a CIA agent” gets the front page of every newspaper in the world, with continued coverage throughout the investigation and trial. And that's only the news coverage. Then come the columns, the commentaries, the speculations. The bottom line: in addition to the political quagmire, public pressure would make it very difficult to extricate the agents from a prison term. However, if operatives were caught as anonymous foreign citizens, a quiet understanding with the friendly government of Germany would spring them loose fairly quickly.
“Clean,” announced each team member after the inspection.
“Good,” continued Eric. “Under no circumstances are you to use your weapons against any civilians or the German police. Keep your gun loaded but with the safety on. Use it only if you are in imminent danger. Although we don't believe there's anyone in Armajani's apartment, there could be surprises. Armajani, his wife, and their daughter are under surveillance in Milan for the weekend. We've also staked the place out for the past week and know the apartment to be unoccupied. Same goes for the bank – if you're surprised inside, don't use your weapons unless your life is in danger. Simply knock the guy out. Remember your cover stories: if stopped before
