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PROFITS OF WAR -- INSIDE THE SECRET U.S.-ISRAELI ARMS NETWORK |
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3. Love in the Time of Revolution AUGUST 15, 1977. How could 1 ever forget my first day in the External Relations Department of the Israel Defense Forces/Military Intelligence? My right cheek was badly swollen with an abscessed tooth and I could hardly speak because of polyps on my vocal cords. It was three weeks before I felt normal again. Spooks, too, are human. IDF/MI/ERD was the most prestigious department in the intelligence community. Its status went back to the 1974 Agranat Commission which the prime minister had appointed to investigate the intelligence failures of the 1973 war, when Israel had been surprised on Yom Kippur by the Syrian-Egyptian attack. Several of the important recommendations in the commission's secret report were implemented immediately by the government. One that I was well aware of converted Military Intelligence into the senior intelligence agency, giving it more powers than Mossad. As a result, the National Assessment, the intelligence term for the immediate security situation in the country and what the security arrangements were to be, would be solely the responsibility of the director of Military Intelligence. It was not to be a pooled responsibility of the various intelligence agencies -- this one was his alone. A further effect of the recommendations was the creation of the External Relations Department of Military Intelligence. This was built around an existing unit called Foreign Liaison. When I joined External Relations in 1977, it had four branches: There was the Special Assistance Branch (SIM), through which special military assistance was to be given to other countries and various "liberation movements." The Mossad department that had been in charge of external military assistance now became a liaison department between foreign countries and SIM. Then there was the branch in which I was initially employed, known as RESH -- the pronunciation in Hebrew of the letter R. R branch was in charge of intelligence exchange with foreign intelligence communities and general relations with foreign intelligence networks. The Mossad, in fact, had a large parallel branch called Tevel, but once R branch gained prominence, Tevel had a problem. It arose because in order to receive intelligence information from foreign countries, it was necessary to give them something in return. And what countries in the West wanted most was technical information about Soviet weapons systems; in other words, military information. The Mossad no longer had access to the analytical departments of the military to gain this information -- they had to go through the R branch. The result was that the once-powerful Tevel now found itself also playing the part of a liaison department with the R branch. A third branch, known as Foreign Liaison, was charged with taking care of Israeli military attaches outside Israel as well as Israeli military personnel serving in foreign countries. It was also in charge of liaison with foreign military personnel and foreign military attaches in Israel. The fourth branch, Intelligence 12, was a general liaison branch with the Mossad. Other than these four branches, the External Relations Department also had an operations officer who was directly subordinate to the chief of ERD and who took care of various logistical matters such as passports, intelligence exchange conferences, diplomatic pouches coming in and out, security, and so on. He also had under his control the ERD conference halls, where secret intelligence meetings were held. While working in the R branch, I was assigned by the office of the director of Military Intelligence to work with the Iranians. The director's office wanted someone who was knowledgeable about Iran to be a direct liaison with the Iranian intelligence community. The Mossad representative in Tehran at the time was very ineffective, and finally the director and the chief of Tevel agreed to his recall. The deputy military attache in Tehran, Col. Yitzhak Cahani, who acted as the External Relations Department's representative, was also rather unsuccessful with intelligence work, as he didn't speak Farsi and didn't understand the situation on the ground. Starting in late September 1977, I became a Middle East commuter, traveling back and forth between Tel Aviv and Tehran. Because I was born in Tehran, I was still regarded in Iran as an Iranian citizen and therefore subject to Iranian laws, even though I had by now taken out Israeli citizenship. I wasn't supposed to have a foreign diplomatic passport -- which Israel had issued to me -- because the Iranians deemed dual citizenship illegal. The difficulty was overcome when the Israeli government issued me a diplomatic passport in which the place of birth was conveniently not mentioned. I used it only when I went to Tehran. As a result of the establishment of diplomatic relations in the late 1960s between Iran and Israel, the Iranians had a full embassy in Ramat Gan with a SAVAK representative, a military attache, a commercial attache, a consul, and an ambassador. But it wasn't officially designated as an embassy and it did not have a sign on the door or a flagpole. Officially, the Iranians had an interests section in the Swiss Embassy in Tel Aviv, but it didn't really exist, and callers to the Swiss Embassy who asked for it would be referred to the unofficial Iranian Embassy in Ramat Gan. Israel had the same unofficial status in Tehran. The building on Kakh Avenue had no sign on the door, but everyone knew what it was. The reason for this elaborate charade was the Shah's concern that his relationship with Arab nations would be disrupted. They were fully aware of the unofficial arrangement, but this ruse allowed the Arabs to turn a blind eye. My trips to Tehran were a source of ill will toward me from Col. Cahani and the Mossad, because I had taken over some of their territory. However, they could say nothing: I had been commissioned by the big boss, the director of Military Intelligence. In Tehran I would often meet the SAVAK representative, as well as officials from Iranian Military Intelligence. Mostly the meetings were held in my room at the Carlton Hotel, not far from the unofficial Israeli Embassy. Besides sharing information about Iraq and other Arab countries, the Iranian intelligence people and I also exchanged technical information. For example, Israel at the time was developing a tank called Merkava at the Israel Military Industries. The tank developers were interested in knowing the composition of metal sheets, developed by the British and used on their advanced battle tanks, some of which had been supplied to the Iranians. This metal, known as Chobham armor, was thought to be impenetrable by indirect rocket or missile hits. On instructions from my superiors, I asked the Iranian military, through their foreign liaison department, if we could have a sample of the metal. "The only way you can get a sheet of this metal would mean us cutting up a tank," said my Iranian counterpart. "Fine," I said. "Why don't you do it?" And they did. They cut a sheet of Chobham armor off one of their tanks and dispatched it to Israel in a diplomatic crate. It didn't destroy the tank -- but it made it less secure because the hole had to be patched with inferior metal. Later, in the early 1980s, the British realized that the Merkava tanks had features of the British armor. We were exchanging a great deal of intelligence with the Iranians on Iraq, which we saw as a mutual enemy, even though the Shah had officially settled his disputes with the Iraqi leadership. We were also passing to them information on the activities of anti-Shah Shi'ite Iranians living in Lebanon. It was from there that information about the impending Iranian revolution first started to leak out. "You must be careful," I told my Iranian colleagues. "We think you're in for big trouble here." Apart from these intelligence-swap meetings, I had another task in Tehran -- putting together an analysis of the underground Tudeh Party of Iran, a pro-Soviet group. My research visits to Tehran University resulted in my meeting two special friends who were to play major roles in my life and in the complex political scene in the Middle East. One was a man calling himself Mahmoud Amirian, an alias, who was writing a doctoral dissertation on Marxism. He used an alias because he had been jailed in the late 1960s by the SAVAK for subversive activity. When he was released, he left Iran and lived in Baku, in the Soviet Union, just over the Iranian border, until 1976, when he came back to Tehran using an alias and a French passport. He came in as an Iranian expatriate who was born and lived in Paris. He had effectively "laundered" himself. After we became friendly and I had found out who he really was, he revealed that he was one of the leading members of the Tudeh Party in charge of foreign liaison. An extremely well-educated man, he believed in "the cause." Even though he knew I was in Israeli intelligence, he told me he trusted me. The other man I met at Tehran University in 1977 was Sayeed Mehdi Kashani, who was doing a Master's thesis on the Shi'ite community of southern Iraq. A few years older than I, he was the son of Ayatollah Abol Qassem Kashani, who at the time was an opposition Shi'ite leader living in the holy city of Qom. Like Amirian, Kashani had been jailed for subversive activities against the Shah. My meeting these two men was not entirely accidental. I had been directed to them by the research department of IDF/MI. Israel had an intelligence network within Tehran, using the local Jewish community, and possessed a lot of information about the opposition in the capital. Kashani and Amirian both introduced me to their friends in the Iranian opposition. I heard enough to convince me to write reports for Israel early in 1978 declaring without reservation that the Shah was about to be overthrown. I also pointed out that it was the first time that opposition circles were no longer wishfully thinking; they were talking realistically. The intellectuals and the middle class in Tehran, I reported, were fed up. There was extreme corruption in higher circles, prices were skyrocketing, and food production in Iran, which had been the bread basket of the Middle East, had come to a halt as a result of the Shah's White Revolution, breaking up the feudal system. He had distributed land to the peasants to keep them happy, but he had destroyed their life-support systems. In times past, the feudal lords had provided villagers with seeds, a marketing system, transportation, water, and so on, but after these lords had been dispossessed and the land divided up, the peasants' infrastructure was destroyed. Who was to take care of their marketing? The Shah wasn't interested -- his attention was on the military, not food production. As a result, food production in Iran came almost to a standstill, and by 1978 most supplies were being imported. The peasants managed because they found ways of providing for themselves. The rich were all right, too, because they could afford to buy the high-priced imported foodstuffs. The people who suffered were those caught in the middle, the intellectuals and the middle class. They were battling extremely high food prices, and on top of that the infrastructure of the city of Tehran was not capable of handling the traffic, which came to a standstill. Even my superiors laughed at me when I wrote that the traffic might be one of the reasons the Shah would be overthrown. But it was true. It was quite clear that people were fed up with taking hours to get to work and back. The middle classes spearheaded the revolution, but the Shi'ite fundamentalists quickly jumped on the bandwagon. My talks with Kashani's Shi'ite friends left me no doubt that they were extremely well-organized through the mosques, the one perfect infrastructure remaining. Discontent spread through the university, intellectual circles, and the mosques. A report I sent back in February 1978 pointing out the "mosque network" was dismissed by Military Intelligence and Mossad analysts, who thought it too theoretical. I believed that my sources were impeccable and my assessments on the mark. I had gone deeper than any other Israeli intelligence official. I spoke the same language as my contacts, both in tongue and, to a large degree, thought. I was convinced that it would not be long before I was proved correct. * * * Despite the volatile situation in Iran, my controllers in the External Relations Department decided they could use me in an entirely different part of the world -- Central and South America. Apart from Iran, Israel's main military exports were going to those two regions. There were direct government sales as well as sales through a private network coordinated by Ariel Sharon, at that time minister of agriculture. With the swing toward leftwing governments, there was a danger that these markets might be closed down. If the Sandinista National Liberation Front (FSLN) took over from President Anastasio Somoza Debayle in Nicaragua, for example, it was likely they would obtain their military equipment from the Soviet Union. Upon learning of close contacts between the Tudeh Party and the commanders of the Sandinistas, my controllers asked me if I could get my Iranian friends to help arrange a meeting between an Israeli intelligence official and the Sandinistas. Although I wanted to concentrate all my talks with my contacts on the coming changes in Iran, I did what I was asked. I wasn't sure of the roots of contact between the Tudeh Party and the Sandinistas, but I assumed they arose through connections in Moscow and Havana. "Can you arrange a meeting?" I asked Amirian. "I will try," he said, and I knew as soon as he said it that there would be no problems. It took Amirian just a short time to get back to me. The path had been cleared for a meeting with the Sandinistas. My superiors were delighted and had no hesitation in deciding who should travel to Central America: me. I realized there was a very good reason for my selection. My superiors wanted me out of Iran for a while for my own safety. Although my warnings of an impending uprising against the Shah had not been treated seriously, everything that I had reported had been passed on to the Americans as a matter of policy. In turn, the Americans had referred my reports back to Iranian intelligence. I was being placed in an extremely delicate position, and it was felt I should be pulled out of Tehran for a few weeks at least. Not that the mission to Nicaragua was going to be a piece of cake. No one knew how I would be received by the Sandinistas and what they might decide to do with me once I was in their territory. And there would be no backup. I had to go in complete secrecy. Even the Israeli intelligence network stationed in Central America could not be informed of the mission, out of concern about a possible leak to the right wing. I did not like the idea of leaving my post in Iran unattended even briefly when the country was at such a critical juncture. I felt I should return to Tehran as soon as possible, but I was excited about my new mission. Late in March 1978, I flew to the United States and from there traveled to Managua. The city, leveled by an earthquake in 1931, badly damaged by fire four years later and then hit again by a major earthquake in 1972, was now in a state of great uncertainty, with recent fighting in the streets between Somoza's troops and the Sandinistas. The leftwing movement had not forgotten Somoza's father's act of treachery in 1934 when, as head of the National Guard, he had invited Augusto Sandino, the revolutionary patriot after whom the movement is named, to a banquet and then murdered him. But now, with 500,000 homeless, a death toll of more than 30,000 from the political fighting between the Somoza government and the Sandinistas, and an economy that was in ruins, everyone knew it would not be long before Somoza was overthrown. On arrival at the Intercontinental Hotel, a vast concrete structure rising up from old Managua, I phoned a number that had been given to me by an FSLN representative I had met in Washington while en route to Central America. The woman who answered said she would call for me at eight the following morning. She arrived as arranged, dressed in jeans, a light-blue blouse and sneakers. I'll always remember that first image of her ... tall, slim, with green eyes, light-olive skin, and jet-black hair. She flashed a bright smile as she held out her hand. "I'm Marie Fernanda," she said. "We're in for a bit of a trip." Then she led me outside and with a soft chuckle introduced me to her old, mud-splattered yellow Fiat. That car was to be the catalyst for some of the happiest and most tragic moments of my life. Less than ten kilometers out of Managua we reached the first military roadblock. Marie pulled out a press card that identified her as a Colombian journalist. She was going north, she told the inquisitive government soldiers, to write a story. I was merely introduced as her companion. We were waved through. Skirting Lake Managua, we smashed over potholes as the road narrowed, but at least the traffic was thinning out. An hour later we hit a small town. The National Guard was everywhere with roadblocks at each end of the town. We were told that if we kept going we would be risking our lives because we would be entering areas held by the revolutionary forces. "That's why I'm here," Marie told the officers. "To cover the war." Twenty minutes on, we came to another roadblock. Russian submachine guns were trained on us. "These are friends," said Marie. "They know the car." I was happy to hear her reassurance. A group of unkempt young men in "odds and ends" paramilitary dress approached, Kalashnikovs slung over their shoulders. After a few words of greeting, they moved back the barbed-wire barriers and we continued. Now that she was in territory held by the FSLN, Marie lost her nervousness. Her voice now full of confidence, she let me have it. "I don't understand you people," she said angrily. "You Israelis and the Jews who have suffered so much are now helping this Nazi Somoza. You don't care about what he has done to the Nicaraguan people." There wasn't much I could say. It was true we were supplying Somoza. She had not finished: "It's very bad that your country that was created on a socialist-egalitarian basis has turned into a fascist state which helps the Nazi dictators of South America." I let her run with it. The fertile countryside, with rocky outcrops pushing through dense vegetation, flashed by. "Where did you learn your English?" I asked. I'd taken her point. I wanted to talk about other things. "In the United States. I lived there for a few years. Don't think we are all peasants," she said, her voice brimming with dignity and indignation. "While the revolution is for the peasants, it is being run by enlightened professionals." She told me she was taking me to the Sandinista military headquarters in the area. There I could present my case -- "and it had better be good." I wasn't there to present a case, of course. My assignment was to find out what the Sandinista policies might be when they came to power and try to establish lines of communications. Civilian traffic had been replaced by jeeps filled with youths, all clutching Kalashnikovs. It was obvious who controlled this part of the country. It was a long, hot drive, during which we stopped at small towns for cold drinks or to fill up with gas from old-fashioned, hand-cranked pumps. I asked where they got their gas. "We have a supply system," she said. "We Sandinistas have everything under control. All civilian needs are being met." Finally we reached a heavily guarded military base. The guards moved aside as Marie turned into the gates. "Welcome to the regional headquarters of the Sandinista military forces," she said. An officer in full Uniform, who explained he was "foreign liaison," led me to a prefabricated building that had been comfortably fitted out with a bed and shower. This was my room. It was obvious I'd be spending the night here. Marie was given a similar "villa" next to mine. She came in and sat on the bed. She told me she was 21, and that her role with the Sandinistas was also foreign liaison. "And maybe one day," she added, "I'll be foreign minister of a liberated Nicaragua." She was so earnest and serious. I wanted to see that bright smile I'd seen earlier. "Marie Fernanda, can I call you Freddie?" I asked, which made her laugh. "Sure," she said. There was a shy awkwardness between us. I was deeply attracted to her, and she knew it. I asked her why there had been no sound of gunfire. "Is this war? It's so quiet." "There's a lull. The biggest fighting is a long way away, near Costa Rica. But soon there will be no more war. It's been a long struggle, but Somoza is finished." Having said that, she left. Later that afternoon I was taken to the commander's office. A bespectacled man in his mid-30s greeted me with a warm handshake, then introduced me with great modesty to a number of his companions. "I hope you had a nice trip to Managua, and I hope soon we will be able to meet there, too," he said in good English, with a trace of a Spanish accent. We sat around in the office, and he made it clear that the Sandinistas would like to have a relationship with Israel. "We respect the Israeli people very much," he said. "We identify with the Jewish plight because we are facing the same type of Hitler in our country. We have faced him for many years. It's too bad that your government is aiding him and selling him arms." So I got it again, this time from the top man. But I had expected it. I outlined our thoughts about our links with Central America. I repeated to him, as I had to Freddie, that I had no excuses to offer -- Israel was selling arms to Somoza in a big way: artillery, machine guns, mortars, and soon it would be helicopters. I could have given him the usual spiel that Israel wasn't to blame, that independent arms brokers were the real culprits. That was the accepted Israeli line, but I suspected that my hosts knew better. However, I did have a point to make. A number of Sandinistas were being trained by our enemies, the PLO, in Lebanon. The commander shrugged. "We have a war to win, Mr. Ben-Menashe. Your country is arming Somoza, we receive some training from the PLO. Who is to judge who is right? But I can only ask you to tell your government to stop arming Somoza and start siding with the people of Nicaragua. You could begin by providing us with any medical aid or field hospitals which you can spare. There is still a lot of blood that is going to be shed." I made a note of his requests, and we established a means of contact through a Sandinista liaison office in South America. Of course, I had no authority to make any promises. I was there to sound them out -- and tell them that Israel would like to keep its embassy running in Managua when the Sandinistas were in control and that we could act as a go-between for them with the U.S. My hosts said that they would support any peace moves in the Middle East -- but also emphasized that Israel should recognize the PLO. "Although we recognize Israel's right to exist, we recognize the PLO as the legitimate representative of the Palestinian people," the commander said. It was clear that my hosts didn't want to commit themselves one way or the other. "The Sandinistas are a very democratic movement, from the social democrats down to supporters of Soviet communism," the commander continued as we sipped sweet tea. "When we take over, there will be democratic elections. We are spearheading the revolution for the people of Nicaragua. We are not against a free market, but we don't believe the peasants should be starved out." The commander was drawing a picture of a socialist country with freedom of the press, freedom of speech, free education, and a good health and welfare system. I explained that I had been working in Iran. "Another revolution," he said with a laugh. "You must enjoy them." He was interested to know if the Tudeh Party was going to have any part in the government after the Shah was toppled. I told him the Shah was going, but I certainly didn't think the left would take over. The new leaders would be religious. "Are they going back to the Dark Ages?" "Dark Ages or not, I think you'll find that religion, rather than accepted government principles, will soon be Iran's driving force." We were served dinner in the office area. The air was thick with the smoke from the Marlboro cigarettes my hosts were smoking. "Not everything American is bad," the commander laughed. Back in my room, Freddie showed up. "How was your discussion?" she wanted to know. I told her that it had gone well. She made coffee. My pulse pounded, and it wasn't the drink. In the morning, we headed south, the Sandinistas again showing respect for my lovely companion. Back in government-held territory, the Fiat started to act up. Then, with a loud bang and gushing of steam, the radiator blew. Fortunately, we were close to a small village where we found a cantina and called a mechanic. The car would take several hours to repair, and we knew we'd never get back to the capital in time to beat the curfew. If you drove around the city after curfew, you were likely to be shot. There was only one room available above the cantina with two beds. Freddie kissed me warmly, then told me she was going to sleep. I climbed into my own bed, my mind racing over the events of the previous day. Freddie, breathing softly in the darkened room, was foremost in my mind. She was no ordinary peasant woman, that was for sure. Apart from her beauty, she had a fast mind. I watched her sleep, so peaceful, and then dozed off myself. We were back at the Intercontinental Hotel shortly after noon the following day. Freddie said she'd show me around the city. We sipped the strong, locally produced coffee, and wandered through the streets. She showed me the monument to the poet Ruben Dario and took me around areas that had been rebuilt following the devastating 1972 earthquake. And that night she stayed with me. The smell of her skin, her sparkling green eyes, overwhelmed me. I was her first lover. She left at ten the following morning. I phoned Israel and reported that all was well. At noon there was a call from the lobby. Three men had come to see me. It was important, said the porter, that I meet them. I guessed who they were as soon as they entered the room. Dressed in dark suits with bulges under their jackets, it was obvious they were from state security. They wasted no time. "Where were you in the last few days?" the most senior, a well-built man with neatly trimmed hair, wanted to know. "Who are you working for?" "None of your business." He banged on the coffee table. "It is our business. If you don't already know it, we make everything our business in Nicaragua." I told them I would not speak to them further until I had talked with my ambassador and that if they didn't let me call him there would be an "incident." They found the number and dialed it themselves. They wanted to be sure whom I was talking to. I asked for the ambassador. I didn't even know his name, because I hadn't told the embassy I was there. When I was finally put through, I spoke to the ambassador in Hebrew, explaining I was an Israeli citizen and that I worked for the government. "We weren't informed," was the terse reply. "I know you weren't informed. But please call the Tel Aviv office of Col. Meir Meir, chief of External Relations. And do it quickly, or you're going to be involved in something far bigger." "Such as?" "Such as trying to get an Israeli intelligence officer out of a Nicaraguan jail." It was about 12:30 P.M. in Nicaragua, evening in Israel. There was still a chance Col. Meir would be in the office. I hung up and waited. There was an awkward ten minutes as the security men and I sat staring at one another. I could see their patience was running out. Then the ambassador called back. He said he was coming around right away. Minutes later he hurried into the room. He gave me a cold glare, then told my visitors: "I'm taking responsibility for this man. You have nothing to be concerned about. He'll be leaving the country tomorrow. He's just an Israeli adventurer traveling around Latin America." They didn't believe him, but they had no authority to interfere with an Israeli citizen who had come under the official charge of his ambassador. As soon as they left, he turned on me angrily. They had confirmed my identity in Israel, but he was not happy that he had not been informed. He wanted to know whom I had met, so he could prepare a report. I told him that Israel would tell him. And I sat and smiled at him until he left. I spent that night with Freddie. I gave her my home and office numbers in Tel Aviv and the Carlton Hotel number in Tehran. As I traveled to the airport the next morning, there was a lump in my throat. I had already started to miss her. A few weeks later, in April of 1978, she called me at my office in Tel Aviv. She was in Lisbon, Portugal, and she had a proposition to put to me. A short holiday in Athens, if I could manage to get the time off. I was owed a lot of days, so I made the arrangements and flew to Athens. The first two days were magical, as we strode hand in hand around the ancient city. On the third day she told me she was pregnant. "What should we do?" she asked. I had no idea. I was totally unprepared for this. "We're kind of an unlikely pair," she said. That was putting it mildly. She was a socialist Catholic, a Sandinista, subject to party discipline. I was Jewish, working for Israeli intelligence, and my country was supplying her most hated enemy with weapons. There could be serious personal, political, and professional consequences for both of us. "It would be awfully hard for us to be together to raise a baby," I said. "We live on opposite sides of the world." "Opposites attract." Yes, it was true. She was beautiful, passionate, sweet, fascinating, different from anyone I'd known. I wanted her. I wanted the baby. But I knew if we were ever together, my job would be in jeopardy. I'd be considered a security risk. My brain was saying one thing, my heart another. Later that day we took a bus to Sounion, where the Adriatic and the Mediterranean meet. As we looked at the two seas merging, she turned to me and said, "I don't think I could ever have an abortion." "Yes, but we barely know each other. Who are you? I don't know. Who am I? You don't know." She looked up at me with that radiant smile, gleaming white teeth against olive skin. Then she kissed me. "I want the baby, Ari." "Okay," I said, still confused. "It's your choice. Maybe it's destiny." Which it was. *** By April 1978, my warnings about an imminent revolution in Iran had been accepted by my superiors. Later that month, I sat in as my report was handed around at an intelligence exchange conference in Tel Aviv involving Israeli Military Intelligence and Mossad analysts on one side, and American CIA and Defense Intelligence Agency analysts on the other. This time my heart sank. One American analyst dismissed my conclusions as baloney, saying that what was happening in Tehran was nothing more than a lot of shouting by a bunch of noisy kids in the street and that the demonstrations and unrest had been going on generally in Iran since the 1950s. It was not a friendly meeting -- in fact, there was an outright confrontation on the subject between the two sides. We were trying to tell the U.S. representatives that there would be a change in status quo in the Middle East and Israel could not depend on Iran for any military backup against the Arabs. It had always been accepted that if ever Israel was stormed by the Arabs, the Americans would come to the rescue, using Iran as a staging ground. Now the Shah was going to go, and Israel's security would be weakened. It was as simple as that. The American analysts wouldn't listen. That was a slap in the face for the Israeli intelligence network and for me personally. A further shock came later. President Jimmy Carter, in a public speech, declared that the Shah of Iran was an ally and a friend and stood like a rock in the Middle East. We just couldn't believe it. The Americans had not only dismissed our warnings but had not even bothered to do any serious checking themselves. They had completely misread the threat to the Shah's rule. It wasn't until the end of that year that the Carter administration finally admitted that the Iranian ruler was about to go. In December 1978, the CIA enlisted the aid of the Israeli intelligence community and the SAVAK in a plan to kill Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini, the Islamic cleric who was coordinating the upsurge of opposition from Paris. Put together by the prime minister's counterterrorism adviser, Rafi Eitan, the plan was for an Israeli hit team to fly to France without the permission of the French authorities and "eliminate" Khomeini. On the same day, the Iranian generals would declare martial law in Iran and, after order had been restored a month or so later, the SAVAK would move in and arrest or remove the generals and restore total power to the Shah. On paper the plan could have worked, but the human element was too weak. There was no way on earth that the Shah, the generals, and the SAVAK had the ability to pull off their end of the bargain. The military and the SAVAK had been too well infiltrated, and they were all too busy shipping their booty out of the country to escape the inevitable doomsday. Nevertheless, preparations continued. The Israeli selected to lead the raid on Khomeini's residence in the outskirts of Paris was Col. Assaf Heftez, chief of the Israeli Police Border Guard special antiterrorist unit -- a highly trained commando team set up to deal with hijackings and other terrorist incidents. There is no doubt the team would have successfully carried out its part and returned home without being caught, but the Shah did not have the backbone or the loyalty of his people necessary to retain his grip on the Peacock Throne. The plan, however, was still put to the Shah by the recently retired Israeli ambassador to Iran, Uri Lubrani. It was instantly rejected. "I will not allow any more Iranians to be massacred," said the Shah. "For the generals to carry out martial law will mean bloodshed in the streets of Tehran. We will handle the situation ourselves." This was new. The Shah of Iran was showing concern for the people of Iran! Lubrani told the Israeli intelligence community that the Shah could not stay in power and that no general in Iran could stage a military coup. The country was lost to the Shi'ite leadership, he said. It was just a matter of time. In December 1978, I decided to let my CIA colleagues know what I thought of them. I was furious and personally offended that all my earlier reports had been dismissed. Nothing had been done about our warnings and then at the end of 1978, when it was too late, they had come up with an impossible plan that would have created more bloodshed. "You guys better start listening a bit more instead of thinking you are always right," I told an official by phone. I don't recall who hung up first. In that same month, with the assassination plan abandoned, a serious attempt was made to get Ayatollah Khomeini to agree to talks. Israel wanted to know where it stood when he came to power. Prime Minister Menachem Begin agreed with the intelligence departments that nothing would be lost by trying to talk to Khomeini. But who was going to do the talking on Israel's behalf? The task fell on the shoulders of an unlikely person -- Ruth Ben-David. In the early 1950s this charming, gracious French Catholic woman lived in Paris and entertained ultra-orthodox Jews who used to visit from Jerusalem. Rabbi Amram Blau, then head of an orthodox Jewish sect in Jerusalem known as Neturei Karte, meaning Guardians of the Citadel, was among those who visited Paris. Being a widower, he craved female attention. He was introduced to the stunningly attractive woman with whom he whiled away the hours. Eventually they fell in love. They decided to marry, and she converted to orthodox Judaism. Before her husband died, she frequently accompanied him when he traveled to Turkey to attend seminars at which Jewish rabbis and Shi'ite mullahs entered into religious debates and tried to establish how theology could be brought back to earthly government. In those meetings Ruth met the exiled cleric, Ayatollah Khomeini. When Rabbi Blau died, his son from his first marriage took over the leadership of the Neturei Karte. But it was Ruth who was recognized as the matriarch of the sect. Prime Minister Begin entrusted Ruth Ben-David with visiting Ayatollah Khomeini in Paris on his behalf in December 1978. She was to sound him out about how he would see relations with Israel if he were to take over -- and what his attitude to the Jews in Iran would be. Khomeini gladly received the emissary, his old friend. It was said she was the only woman he would sit alone with in a closed room. She had a long conversation with him at his residence outside Paris, and she reported back personally to Begin. According to accounts directed to intelligence analysts from the Prime Minister's Office, the meeting with the Ayatollah was very friendly. Khomeini made it clear that the Iranian Jews were Iranian citizens and Islam respected Judaism and all other religions that were not seen as heresy. He would not allow Baha'is to practice their religion in Iran, because in Islamic law it is stated that prophets who came before the Prophet Mohammed, including Moses and Jesus Christ, were true prophets, but anyone who came after him claiming to carry the word of God was a heretic, and heretics should be put to death. The Prophet Mohammed was the seal. Khomeini added that the Israeli state in Palestine was also a heresy and should not exist. However, the first interest of the Islamic state was to bring Islam and Islamic government to the Moslem populations in the Arab countries and rid the Moslem world of heretic governments. He also said that Mecca and Medina had to be liberated from the Saudis. His message to Begin was clear: Don't worry, Israel. First on my agenda is to deal with my Arab enemies. Then I will deal with Israel. This news was well received in Israel. Some Arab countries -- Jordan, Iraq, Saudi Arabia, Kuwait, Egypt, and the Emirates -- were going to have an active, formidable enemy. They were not only going to have to deal with Israel now, but also Iran. The Shah, in his last years, had started lining himself up with moderate pro-American Arabs, which could have become a deadly coalition against Israel. As the situation looked at this new stage, it seemed fortunate that the plan to assassinate Khomeini had not gone forward. *** Shortly before Christmas 1978, I asked for a vacation. My superiors were happy to remove me from the scene for a while because I had upset the Americans by speaking my mind to them. I had already called Managua and made arrangements. I flew to Lisbon and took a cab to the Penta Hotel. Freddie had arrived ahead of me. She threw open the door. I'd seen her a few times since April, but not like this. She was huge. Our baby was due in two months. "You're beautiful, Freddie," I said. It was a blissful two weeks that we spent together in Portugal. As we strolled along the Atlantic at Estoril, she told me of the arrangements she'd made for the birth of our child. I took her hand. "I'm glad we decided to have it," I said. She smiled, that smile that had won my heart in war-ravaged Nicaragua. The Sandinistas had almost won control, even occupying the national palace for a few days in August that year. "It looks like you might be foreign minister soon, after all," I said. But it was only half a joke. I didn't want her to be swallowed up by a far-away bureaucracy. All too soon, it was time for me to go back to Tel Aviv. She patted her tummy. "Don't worry about us," she said. "And you'll see us again when you can, huh?" I took her in my arms. One day, I thought, I'd stop saying goodbye to this woman. It was not easy living without her.
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