“You look terrible in uniform, and you really should invest in a deodorant. If you are briefing the media, why haven’t I heard anything?”
“Because there is a complete press embargo for the time being. Blackout. Nada. Nothing. And I look great in uniform and you know that.”
“So what are you doing here if there is nothing to do?”
His smile widened with obvious relish. “Well, there’s also a slot here for the representative of the army’s history department, whose role it is to document everything that happens.”
“And that would be you as well?” I started to understand.
“Exactly. I mean, for the time being. The actual representative of the history department had a booking for a hotel in Eilat, and he didn’t feel like canceling, so I agreed to replace him.”
“Replace him? That’s all?”
“Why not? What’s wrong with it? And why don’t you just stop whining for a little while? We have the situation in hand, don’t we?”
“Replace him?” I asked again.
“OK, so not exactly. He actually got the invitation from me, but in a few hours they will send a replacement for the history department.”
“So,” I hesitated. “In a few hours the media embargo will be lifted, and then you will be sitting here as the spokesman’s representative.”
“You’re starting to get it,” he stated with satisfaction and cracked his knuckles loudly. “Come and meet the big hammer.”
I followed him to a small office whose space was almost entirely taken up by a heavy armchair. Deeply embedded in it, legs stretched forward almost to the opposite wall, was Brigadier General Harel, head of operations branch. He had a strong chin, bushy brown mustache, fearful, very light blue eyes and the large, heavy hands of a mechanic or a killer.
I said, “Now that I am here, and I can’t reveal anything to anyone, would you please tell me what happened? Have you heard Jean-Claude’s story already?”
“Yes,” replied Harel with his famously convincing baritone, examining me from head to toe and chewing on a cigar butt like someone having fun more than someone trying to make an impression. For a moment, a warm smile flashed across his face, the only time he would smile in the next three days, and then he said, “You sounded a bit larger over the phone.”
I smiled back at him.
“Come on, I will explain briefly what’s going on. In ten minutes, the chief of staff, the prime minister, and acting defense minister will be here with their regular gaggle, so listen up. The only thing we received from the plane is an English-language transmission from an Arab who declared that from now on the plane will use the call sign Deir Yassin. They killed four people and they will tell us later what their intentions are. All our transmissions to the plane have been unanswered. Right now it is flying in circles over the Sinai Desert.”
“What about Jean-Claude’s story?”
“Jean-Claude is the only lead we have that can tell us what is really going on there. We are hooked to his phone, as you know.”
Instead of thanking me, he sounded like he was complaining. “You need to tell him to stick his cell phone between two seats so that the microphone will be uncovered and the rest of it should be hidden. Do it as quietly as you can. He has a problem because his phone is humming. We are about to transmit. Let’s go.”
He pressed the switch and I heard the weird airplane whistle again, a little bit weaker this time.
“Speak,” Harel said, moving his lips noiselessly. “He can hear you.”
“Jean-Claude,” I whispered. “Jean-Claude.” There was no reply.
“Jean-Claude,” I tried again, and I could hear the sounds of a distant conversation through the phone. All the uniforms in the room were looking at me.
“I can hear you,” I suddenly heard Jean-Claude whisper.
“Stick the phone between two seats and we won’t talk anymore, just make sure it stays uncovered and watch yourself. Be careful…” I lost my voice. I was silent as I looked at the people around me. There were three colonels, two sergeants, and three female soldiers. One of them burst out crying. The lump in my throat was rising into my eyes, but I couldn’t afford the luxury of crying. I was the only civilian in the army HQ bunker.
“What part of it can I report on?” I asked Harel. “At least tell me how they got onto the plane.”
“You’re not to report any of it,” he blurted out. “You know what Jean-Claude told you: five terrorists managed to board the foreign minister’s plane. They apparently managed to get into two locked safes full of classified material after they broke into the cargo hangar at the airport. They killed two guards and a foreign ministry driver. They dumped the contents of the safes and got in. That’s how they made their way into the plane’s cargo hold and from there they climbed into the cabin.”
‘Albert!’ I felt a stabbing pain in my head. He was a boy from one the poorest quarters of Jerusalem, who made his way to government service and the trust of his superiors for many years.
“The story must not leak, it’s very sensitive.”
“This is how they got in, so surely they know how they did it, don’t they? Whom should we hide it from?”
“They do know, but the citizens of this country will not understand and cannot accept such a thing. That’s why there is a news embargo and censorship. Don’t try to get any story out, because if anything leaks out, it will be the end of you and the end of a few others as well. Would you like to stay here with us?”
“Is that a threat or an invitation?”
“It doesn’t matter which. I mean it.”
“Don’t try so hard to hide your enthusiasm.”
“I’m not hiding anything,” he said, his face a complete blank.
I was about to say, ‘why don’t you keep my cell phone and choke on it?’ but knew that I wouldn’t. Danny was on the plane. The event was bigger than my job.
“And don’t forget that your father is in there.” Harel was reading my thoughts. “I am sure you wouldn’t want to put him or the foreign minister at any risk or jeopardize in any possible way everything we are doing here,”
“Actually, he is my stepfather,” I mumbled quietly. “And where is the ladies’ room around here anyway?” I needed privacy. The female sergeant led me through a metal bridge and a spiral staircase to a smelly chemical washroom. I locked myself inside. There were all kinds of obscene writings on the door. I lowered the seat, sat down on the toilet, and felt my temples pounding and my eyes itching.
“Danny,” I said aloud and hoped that if he was still alive, on the plane, he would somehow hear me. Maybe there is a God or cosmic radiation that would convey my message.
“Danny,” I said. “I don’t hate you. I don’t hate you anymore. I love you. God, I will do anything you tell me to, just bring him back alive. I will be good to him, I won’t offend him, and I won’t aggravate him. Just bring him back alive. I will do whatever he says. I will let him touch me, I will kiss him, I will hug him, just bring him back alive. I forgive him for everything, e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g.”
I cried for almost five minutes and then wiped my eyes, blew my nose with lots of military scratchy toilet paper, and rearranged my hair. I smiled at myself gloomily in the broken mirror on the wall. Above the mirror, someone had scribbled, “Eat shit. Five million flies can’t be wrong.”
I exited the washroom and re-joined the female sergeant who had been waiting for me all that time.
“How can one get a job with CNN?” she asked. I looked at her. Her hair was dyed a copper color and her shirt was perfectly starched. The top button was undone and a red Military Intelligence pin stuck above her button was an invitation to peek at her huge breasts.
“Are you nearing the end of your service?”
“I am from a small town in the south. My father died when I was young.”
“Are you nearing the end of your service?” I tried again
“I’m not sure. They want me to sign on for more, but I’m
kind of fed up with it.” We stumbled through the strange staircase up to the metal bridge.
“It looks very interesting in here,” I said carefully. “Especially when you come from a small town.” I needed her goodwill. “But maybe it really is a bit depressing to go through your whole service under the ground.”
“It’s not too bad, but I just wanted to know.” After a short break, she added to my amazement, with a lot of sympathy in her voice. “You had a bad fight with your boyfriend over the phone when you were inside there?”
“If something opens up in our office, I will let you know,” I concluded. We reached the main control room, teeming with officers. Harel glanced at me with a look that said, “Get lost”. I had no such intention. I walked in and the general chief of staff immediately muttered, “What is she doing here? She’s from the press, isn’t she?”
“She’s the source for our telephone line, Sir,” Harel mumbled. “Her guy on the plane is the one who called.”
“I see,” said the chief of staff. “I hope you understand that you are not to open your trap about anything that’s happening here.”
“That’s clear,” said Ehrlich. “That’s clear,” repeated the spokesman’s representative. “That’s clear,” I agreed. The COS grinned for a second. “Is that cell phone giving us anything anyway?”
“The Communications Battalion is working hard at it with a mobile communications intelligence unit deployed at Rosh Ha-Ayin. They are using it to hear things as far away as the cockpit.” Harel reclaimed his position as Bunker Commander.
“Let’s hear it,” the Chief of Staff commanded. He turned to the nearby electronic equipment cabinet and his entourage followed. A nervous and sweaty Lieutenant Colonel with a unit insignia showing antennas and olive branches started fidgeting with the dials.
To my surprise, the whole room was suddenly tuned into the sounds coming from the plane. We could hear a muffled conversation between two people and a girl’s voice choked with tears.
“Are there women on the plane?” I whispered to Ehrlich.
“They took two secretaries with them”, he replied nervously. “As well as Yakira, the minister’s press advisor.” I felt a pang of pity and pain. The communications officer raised his finger, asking for quiet. Suddenly there was a rapid conversation in Arabic. I couldn’t understand a word. Two men were talking, in a sort of friendly chat. Then we heard a loud whistle and the conversations were cut off.
“Intel!” Harel screamed towards a tiny lieutenant who was sitting in the corner taking notes. “Intel, do you have anything for us?”
The lieutenant lifted his eyes and said, half-cheeky and half-shy, “My name is Hezi.”
“Hezi, do you have something for us or don’t you?” Harel repeated, on the verge of exploding.
The intelligence officer glanced at the piece of paper in his hands for one more moment and then said, “They are planning to return here and land in Tel Aviv.”
The prime minister, seated in an upholstered armchair, finished a phone conversation, looked intensely at the maps and the electronic equipment, shook his head, and scratched his nose.
“We’re going to the airport. We will continue from there,” he said slowly as if he was weighing every word. “Have all these electronics transferred to Mossik at the airport somehow.”
“Mossik?” I whispered to Ehrlich.
“Yes,” the redhead said with the knowing air of a police reporter and walking archive. “The airport director, former senior of the security service, used to be head of the Rafah Border Crossing. A terrific guy. I worked with him once on a major drug bust at the crossing. I imagine the whole action will now be focused there, at his place.”
“Get me Mossik,” Harel ordered someone, and immediately received a telephone handset.
“The airport works for me,” Ehrlich whispered to me. “There’s this airline employee that I know…” I gave him a look full of loathing.
“Mossik, yes, hello. Yes. Alright.” We heard Harel in a very military exchange. He listened for a short while. “Yes, yes, over here too. No. I know. When we know, I’ll tell you. Meanwhile, heads up. The Big Boss, Little Red Riding Hood and all their entourages will be at your location in twenty. I imagine you’re ready.” He listened again. “Sure,” he continued. “Anything new from the control tower?”
And then he said, “I understand. What do you know? Alright, I will stay here for now and we’ll keep an open line to you. I am sending you real time feed from the plane through the Cobra.”
“A scrambled line through which they will transmit the call once it is reconnected.” Ehrlich who had started to grasp his job explained to me. Since he was tasked with keeping an eye on me, he tried to rehabilitate our professional relationship.
“What did he say?” I turned to Harel who relaxed a bit after the important entourage had exited the Bunker. “Are there any wounded?”
“Yes, they are updating the prime minister as we speak. The hijackers will land at Ben Gurion Airport within half an hour and then they will reconnect to us. They said that they would be very happy if we have plans to storm the plane. It’s fully booby-trapped and they feel like they are at the gates of paradise. They’ll be grateful if we help them take that decisive step.”
“May I make a phone call from here?” I asked politely.
“Remember your commitment to us.”
I whispered to Haroush, “Sit hard on the IDF spokesman. They will be releasing the story any minute now: the hijacking, the hostages, political blackmail—the works.”
“A segue from this morning’s bombings?”
“Maybe, but entirely irrelevant now. The main story is shifting back to the airport. Sit on someone until they spill the story. Both teams should stay at the airport, and you should be there too. Bring me a cell phone; I will meet you in the briefing room.”
Tel Aviv, at four in the afternoon, was crowded and loud, and as vibrant as ever. Ehrlich plonked himself into the driver’s seat of the jeep with the relish of a gung-ho military recruit, took out a blue police flasher, placed it on the hood, and turned it on. He looked at the reflecting blue light with satisfaction and proceeded to commit almost every imaginable moving violation.
“Where did you get this?” I couldn’t hide my amazement.
“I brought it from home,” he said with a smug look on his face. “I received it from the Athens police chief when he visited Israel. He was very impressed with me.”
“Aren’t you supposed to stay in the bunker?” I tried to rain on his parade.
“No, our captain is going over there, and together with Harel’s deputy they will run the show there without us.” He was humming an old soldiers’ song.
“What do you think is going on? There have been bombings all day long. Do you guys have a sense of where this is all going?”
“All the bombings were just a preparation for the hijacking of the minister’s plane, just to divert our attention from the main scene. Now the big show begins. It’s again the airport where the big bang will take place. And what a bang it will be.”
“You piece of shit, do you realize my father is on that plane?”
He turned to look at me. “Sorry, but isn’t he actually your stepfather?” He didn’t even try to hide a smile. “You weren’t the best of friends were you?”
“Shut up.”
He went back to his soldiers’ song, and then went on with his analysis “They will want to make a big show of it.” It’s clear that they want to torpedo the peace process. And judging by the pace of events today, they may succeed. What worries me is a general deterioration. We’ve already raised the alert level on the Syrian border, and there is constant activity along the Lebanese border. The question is what will happen in Jordan and in Egypt.”
“Do you think there will be more terror attacks besides the hijacking?”
“I’m sure of it,” he laughed and cut off the car that was ahead of him. “What do you think, Shira?” I didn’t answer.
“Are you daydreaming or what?”
The morning’s nausea returned. I prayed that we would get to the airport already. At the same time, I wanted to get away from it all. We passed a row of eucalyptus trees. I would have loved to be back in Geneva or in Rome, in the sprawling gardens of the Villa Borghese, in the endless green turfs, by the lakes and the waterfalls.
“Beauty is the name of the game in Italy,” Theo had explained to me before we had visited. “The Italian women—inside the home they don’t have much, but when they step outside they are beautiful and elegant like models. It’s a true pleasure to watch. The men, too. They are as handsome as gods, dressed to the hilt, and oozing with charm. But up in the head, there’s almost nothing.”
* * *
Chapter 9
We went to Rome after the foreign minister resigned. He was old and weary of the fight, tired of everything, bored with the people around him, had lost interest in his own family long ago, and now seemed bored even with himself. So he woke up one morning and announced his resignation. At that time I couldn’t understand such things and had no way to figure out how his decision would drastically impact my life in a short while.
Nahum Shemer, the minister’s media advisor, was almost sixty years old. He had been the minister’s wingman for decades and was his loyal right-hand man as well as gatekeeper. At the last moment, before he left the office in anger and disdain, the resigning minister set up his loyal friend with a cushy and honorable job—ambassador to Rome.
“The new foreign minister, as you know, is not one of us,” Nahum Shemer told Danny, the cadet who had won over his trust. Nahum’s silver hair was combed with precision. In preparation for his new position, he had bought new glasses with an intelligent, thin gold frame instead of the thick, masculine black frame that befit his previous position as a government clerk. I think he must have been quite a heartbreaker in his day. But even though I made an effort to smile at him, he wasn’t impressed and he hardly reacted. He wasn’t the type of older, caring gentleman who might be interested in me or in my troubles.