Black Sunday (18 page)

He knew the Russians would never help Israel, but in light of the new East-West detente, he thought they might cooperate with the United States. The request to Moscow must come from the Americans, but Kabakov could not suggest the move without the approval of Tel Aviv. Precisely because he hated so much to ask, he would sign the message to Tel Aviv himself, instead of putting the primary responsibility on Tell.

Kabakov decided to swear that the plastic was Russian, whether it was or not. Maybe the Americans would swear to it too. That ought to put the onus on the Russians.

Why such a large quantity of explosives? Did the amount signify some special opportunity the Arabs had in this country? On that point the KGB might be of help.

The Black September cell in America would be sealed off now, even from the guerrilla leadership in Beirut. It would be hell to find. The heat from the woman's picture would drive the terrorists far down in their burrow. They had to be close by---they had reacted too fast after the explosion. Damn Corley for not staking out the hospital. Damn that pipe-smoking son of a bitch.

What had been planned in the Black September headquarters in Beirut, and who had taken part? Najeer. Najeer was dead. The woman. She was hiding. Abu Ali? Ali was dead. There was no way to be positive that Ali was in on the plot, but it was very likely, for he was one of the few men in the world Najeer trusted. Ali was a psychologist. But then Ali was many things. Why might they need a psychologist? Ali would never be able to tell anyone.

Who was the American? Who was the Lebanese who brought in the explosives? Who blew up Muzi? Was it the woman he saw in Beirut---the woman who came to the hospital to kill him?

The taxi driver pushed the big car to the limit the wet pavement would allow, slamming over the potholes and nosediving to a halt at the first red light. Moshevsky, with a resigned expression, climbed out and got into the front seat beside the driver. "Take it slowly. Neither bang nor jar," he said.

"Why?" the driver said. "Time is money, buddy."

Moshevsky leaned toward him confidentially. "Why is to keep me from breaking your fucking neck, that's why."

Kabakov looked absently at the crowds hurrying along the sidewalk. Midafternoon and already the light was failing. What a place. A place with more Jews than Tel Aviv. He wondered how the Jewish immigrants had felt, crowded on the ships, herded through Ellis Island, some of them even losing their names as semiliterate immigration officials scrawled "Smith" and "Jones" on the entry papers. Spilled from Ellis Island into a bleak afternoon on this cold rock where nothing was free except what they could give each other. Broken families, men alone.

What happened here then to a man alone who died before he could make a place and send for his family? A man alone? Who sat
shivah
---the neighbors?

The plastic madonna on the dashboard of the taxi caught Kabakov's attention, and his thoughts shifted guiltily back to the problem that plagued him. Closing his eyes against the cold afternoon, he started over from the beginning, with the mission to Beirut that had ultimately brought him here.

Kabakov had been briefed minutely before the raid. The Israelis knew Najeer and Abu Ali would be in the apartment house and that other Black September officers might be present. Kabakov had studied the dossiers on guerrilla leaders known to be in Lebanon until he knew what was in them by heart. He could see the folders now, stacked alphabetically on his desk.

First, Abu Ali. Abu Ali, killed in the Beirut raid, had no relatives, no family except his wife, and she, too, was dead. He---
a man alone!
Before the thought was completed, Kabakov was rapping on the plastic shield that separated him from the driver. Moshevsky slid open the partition.

"Tell him to step on it."

"So now you want me to step on it," the driver said over his shoulder.

Moshevsky showed the man his teeth.

"So I'm stepping," the driver said.

__________

The Israeli consulate and mission to the United Nations share a white, brick building at 800 Second Avenue in Manhattan. The security system is well thought out and thorough. Kabakov fumed in the confines of the holding room, then went quickly to the communications center.

His coded cable to Tel Aviv regarding Abu Ali was acknowledged in less than a minute. It set delicate machinery in motion. Within fifteen minutes, a stocky young man left Mossad headquarters for Lod Airport. He would fly to Nicosia, Cyprus, switch passports and catch the next flight into Beirut. His first business in the Lebanese capital would be to enjoy a cup of coffee is a small café with an excellent view of the central Beirut police station, where, hopefully, waiting for the statutory period in the police property room was a numbered carton containing the effects of Abu Ali. Now there was someone to claim them.

__________

Kabakov was on the scrambler with Tell for half an hour. The ambassador expressed no surprise at Kabakov's request for roundabout Russian aid. Kabakov had the feeling that Yoachim Tell had never been surprised in his life. He thought he had detected a bit of extra warmth in the ambassador's voice as he said goodbye. Was it sympathy? Kabakov reddened and stalked toward the door of the communications center. The telex in the corner rattled and the clerk's voice stopped him in the doorway. An answer was coming to his query about the Syrian bombing in 1971.

The bombing took place August 15, the telex said. It occurred during Al Fatah's major recruiting effort in Damascus that year. Three organizers were known to have been in Damascus at that time:

---Fakhri el-Amari, who led the team that assassinated Jordanian prime minister Wasfi el-Tel and drank his blood. Amari was believed to be in Algeria at the present time. Inquiries were under way.

---Abdel Kadir, who once bazookaed an Israeli school bus; killed when his bomb factory near Cheikh Saad blew up in 1973. The telex added that doubtless Kabakov would not need his memory refreshed on Kadir's demise, as he had been present at the time.

---Muhammad Fasil, alias Yusuf Halef, alias Sammar Tufiq. Believed to be the architect of the Munich atrocity and one of the men most wanted by the Mossad. Fasil was last reported operating in Syria. The Mossad believed him to be in Damascus at the time of Kabakov's Beirut raid, but recent reports, not yet confirmed, placed him in Beirut within the past three weeks. Israeli intelligence was pressing sources in Beirut and elsewhere on Fasil's whereabouts.

Photos of el-Amari and Fasil were being transmitted via satellite to the Israeli embassy in Washington to be forwarded to Kabakov. The negatives would follow. Kabakov winced at that. If they were sending negatives, the pictures must be poor---too poor to be very useful when transmitted electronically. Still, it was something. He wished that he had waited to ask about the Russians. "Muhammad Fasil," Kabakov muttered. "Yes. This is your kind of show. I hope you came personally this time."

He went back into the rain for the trip to Brooklyn. Moshevsky and the trio of Israelis under his direction combed the Cobble Hill bars and short-order restaurants and klabash games looking for traces of Muzi's Greek assistant. Perhaps the Greek had seen the American. Kabakov knew the FBI had covered this ground, but his own men did not look like police, they fit better into the ethnic mix of the neighborhood and they could eavesdrop in several languages. Kabakov stationed himself in Muzi's office, examining the incredible rat's nest of papers the importer had left, in the hope that he could find some scrap of information about the American or about Muzi's contacts in the Middle East. A name, a place, anything. If there was one person between Istanbul and the Gulf of Aden who knew the nature of the Black September mission in the United States, and Kabakov could find out his name, he would kidnap that person or die trying. By mid-evening he discovered that Muzi kept at least three sets of hooks, but he had learned little else. Wearily, he returned to Rachel's apartment.

Rachel was waiting up for him. She seemed somehow different and, looking at her, he was no longer weary. Their separation during the day had made something clear to both of them.

Very gently they became lovers. And their encounters thereafter began and ended with great gentleness, as though they feared they might tear the fragile tent their feelings built in air around their bed.

"I'm silly," she said once, resting. "I don't care if I'm silly."

"I certainly don't care if you're silly," Kabakov said. "Want a cigar?"

__________

Ambassador Tell's call came at seven A.M., while Kabakov was in the shower. Rachel opened the bathroom door and called his name into the steam. Kabakov came out quickly, while Rachel was still in the doorway. He wrapped a towel around himself and padded to the telephone. Rachel began to work very hard on her fingernails.

Kabakov was uneasy. If the ambassador had an answer on the Russians, he would not have used this telephone. Tell's voice was calm and very businesslike.

"Major, we've gotten an inquiry about you from
The New York Times.
Also some uncomfortable questions about the incident on the
Leticia.
I'd like for you to come down here. I'll be free a little after three, if that's convenient."

"I'll be there."

Kabakov found the
Times
on Rachel's doormat.
Page one:

ISRAELI FOREIGN MINISTER IN WASHINGTON FOR MIDEAST TALKS.
Read that later.
COST OF LIVING, GM RECALLS TRUCKS.
Page two. Oh, hell. Here it is:

ARAB TORTURED HERE

BY Israeli Agents,

CONSUL ALLEGES

By Margaret Leeds Finch

A Lebanese seaman was questioned under torture by Israeli agents aboard a Libyan merchant vessel in New York harbor last week prior to his arrest by U.S. customs officials on smuggling charges, the Lebanese consul said Tuesday night.

In a strongly worded protest to the U.S. State Department, Consul Yusuf el-Amedi said first mate Mustapha Fawzi of the freighter
Leticia
was beaten and subjected to electric shock by two men who identified themselves as Israelis. He said he did not know what the agents were after and refused to comment on smuggling conspiracy charges pending against Fawzi.

An Israeli spokesman emphatically denied the allegations, saying the charge was "a clumsy attempt to arouse anti-Israeli feeling."

Department of Corrections physician Carl Gillette said he examined Fawzi at the Federal House of Detention on West Street and found no evidence of a beating.

Consul Amedi said Fawzi was attacked by Major David Kabakov of the Israeli Defense Force and another unidentified man. Kabakov is attached to the Israeli embassy in Washington.

The
Leticia
was impounded...

Kabakov skimmed the rest of the article. The customs authorities had kept their mouths shut on the investigation of the
Leticia
and the newspaper did not have the Muzi connection yet, thank God.

__________

"You are being ordered home, officially," Ambassador Tell said.

The corner of Kabakov's mouth twitched. He felt as though he had been kicked in the stomach.

Tell moved the papers on his desk with the tip of his pen. "The arrest of Mustapha Fawzi was reported routinely to the Lebanese consul, as Fawzi is a Lebanese citizen. A lawyer was provided by the consulate. The lawyer apparently is acting on orders from Beirut and he's playing Fawzi like a calliope. The Libyans were informed, since the vessel is of Libyan registry. Once your name came into it, I have no doubt Al Fatah was alerted and so was Colonel Khadafy, the enlightened Libyan statesman. I haven't seen the deposition supposedly authored by Fawzi, but I understand it's very colorful. Verg graphic anatomically. Did you hurt him?"

"I didn't have to."

"The Lebanese and the Libyans will continue to protest until you are withdrawn. Probably the Syrians will join it too. Khadafy owns more than one Arab diplomat. And I doubt that any of them know why you are really here, with the possible exception of Khadafy."

"What does the U.S. State Department say?" Kabakov felt sick inside.

"They don't want a diplomatic uproar over this. They want to quash it. Officially, you are no longer welcome here as an arm of Israel."

"The fat-faced idiots! They deserve---" Kabakov shut his mouth with a snap.

"As you know, Major, the United Nations entertains the U.A.R. motion for a censure of Israel this week over the action against the fedayeen camps in Syria last month. This matter should not be exacerbated by another disturbance now."

"What if I resign my commission and get an ordinary passport? Then Tel Aviv could disown me if it became necessary."

Ambassador Tell was not listening. "It's tempting to think that if the Arabs succeed in this project, God forbid, the Americans would be enraged and would redouble their support for Israel," he said. "You and I both know that won't happen. The salient fact will be that the atrocity happened
because
the United States has helped Israel. Because they got involved in another dirty little war. Indochina has made them sick of involvement, just as it did the French, and understandably so. I wouldn't be surprised to see Al Fatah strike in Paris if the French sell us Mirages.