Raid on the Sun (9 page)

Butrus Eben Halim was an unremarkable, henpecked, forty-two-year-old professional with no children and predictable habits. Every morning at the same time, at the same stop, he caught the same bus from Villejuif south of Paris to the train station at Gare Saint-Lazare Metro. The most interesting thing about him was that he was an Iraqi scientist working at the French nuclear reactor at Sarcelles. It was no surprise then that Halim was immediately intrigued by a rakish Englishman named Jack Donovan, who raced around Paris in a red Ferrari with an ever-present blonde in the passenger seat. Halim noticed him driving by the Villejuif bus stop on numerous occasions. So it was natural that one day, when the Englishman pulled up to the curb, asking if Halim had seen a blond woman waiting at the bus stop, the Iraqi would quickly fall to his charms. The two men struck up a conversation, and Donovan offered Halim a ride to the train station. By the time he had dropped Halim at the Gare Saint-Lazare station, Donovan had begun a friendship with the impressionable Iraqi.

It was exactly what Mossad’s Paris station head, David Arbel, had counted on. Not long after Arbel, a distinguished, urbane man with white hair and impeccable manners, received the Tsomet request to find an Iraqi recruit, a
sayanim
(sympathetic Jewish volunteer) working in personnel at Sarcelles provided Mossad with a photocopied list of the names of all Iraqi scientists working at the plant. The personnel list had been double-coded at the Mossad station, located in the heavily reinforced basement of Israel’s Paris embassy, using a system that ascribes each phonetic sound of a word a corresponding number. For instance, the sound “ah” in the word
about
might be a “2,” the sound “bout” a “3.” Thus,
about
would be 23. The message was then sent encrypted to the research departments at Mossad and AMAN. None of the nondescript scientists at Sarcelles registered a hit on the intelligence computers, so Halim was targeted in the spring of 1978 as a “hit of convenience,” and a
yarid
(team of break-in, bugging, and security specialists) was assigned to work him.

A field officer, or
katsa,
observed him for a week, at first using “motionless following,” that is, watching Halim in stages rather than tagging him. Meanwhile, a
Shicklut
team broke in and bugged his apartment with listening devices in order to learn about his personal life and piece together a profile. And, of course, to ensure that he was not under surveillance by another organization. The
yarid
would need as much information as possible, for this operation had to be a “cold approach,” and recruiting foreign nationals was delicate work.

According to Victor Ostrovsky, the approach was made in August by an experienced field agent he identified as “Ran S.” It was Ran, Ostrovsky said, who posed as the rich and successful entrepreneur “Donovan,” involved in business from London to Libya. A Mossad phone tap had revealed that Halim’s wife Samira was returning to Iraq to visit relatives for the fall. Donovan took advantage of Halim’s bachelor status to invite him to dinner and walks along the Champs-Elysées. He took him to fine bistros and clubs and to his luxurious hotel suite at the Sofitel Bourbon. They smoked cigars and drank fine wine, something that, as a Muslim, Halim was not used to. But under his new friend’s influence, Halim loosened up and began to enjoy himself. One night after some heavy drinking, Donovan fixed the two of them up with some girls, then, making a phony excuse, left Halim behind with a young French prostitute, Marie-Claude Magalle, who was frequently employed by the Mossad for such jobs, though she had no idea that the organization hiring her was in reality the Israeli secret service.

Finally one night, Donovan invited Halim along on his latest business deal: a scheme to supposedly buy old shipping containers and then resell them to African nations to be used as temporary housing and storage. As Donovan feigned to close the transaction, Halim, aided by some obvious staging by the
katsas,
noticed that the bottoms of some of the containers were badly rusted. He pointed the damage out to Donovan, who then finagled a discount out of the sellers. When the deal was completed, Donovan celebrated by giving his shocked but grateful new friend a thousand dollars for his help. Though Halim, of course, could not know it, Ran was gradually binding the Iraqi scientist to him using the three time-tested hooks of the spy trade: sex, money, and emotional motivation—in Halim’s case, excitement and friendship. He was now ready for the trap, for some real spy business, some
tachless.

One night, some five months after they had met, Halim was having dinner with Donovan and noticed his English friend seemed down. Donovan explained that he was having trouble with a huge deal: he had contracted with a German company to sell pneumatic tubes for shipping radioactive medical materials. The tubes were supposed to have been inspected by an English scientist, but he had disappeared. And now it looked like the deal would, too. Halim, taking the bait, spoke up.

“I can do it. I am a nuclear scientist.”

Surprised, Donovan gratefully accepted his help. The next morning he flew them both to Amsterdam to meet the German businessmen, a Mossad case officer and an Israeli nuclear engineer, according to Ostrovsky, posing as “Mr. Itsik” and “Mr. Goldstein.” After successfully concluding their business, all four went out to dinner. Saying he had to make a business call, Donovan excused himself from the table. Goldstein and Itsik took the opportunity to begin casually querying Halim about his relationship with Donovan and about his work. When Halim divulged that he was working on the Iraqi nuclear project, the two businessmen were taken aback. In an incredible coincidence, they told him, they were at present working on a deal to sell nuclear power plants to Third World nations.

“Your project would make a perfect model for us to use to sell these people,” Itsik remarked. “We could all make a fortune.”

He leaned closer across the table to Halim. “But we have to keep this between us. Donovan will just want a piece of the action.”

Halim was reluctant to supply any plant materials at first, but the two agents worked on him. In the end they convinced him that he had nothing to lose. After all, they only wanted a model of the plant. Nuclear reactors were not exactly state secrets, were they? Donovan paid Halim eight thousand dollars for his services and returned to England. As agreed, Halim went back to work at Sarcelles and provided his new partners with a layout of the nuclear plant at al-Tuwaitha.

The plant outline of al-Tuwaitha showed the schematic of Osirak, the chemical reprocessing plant, the smaller Isis reactor, the administration buildings, and an underground tunnel leading off the main reactor used to channel off free neutrons for further experiments. Paris head Arbel sent the plans back to Hofi in Tel Aviv by armed carrier. There the plans were pored over by IDF intelligence and the IAF, including Ivry. But AMAN and the IDF needed more information. Ran, it was decided, would stay out of the picture while Halim’s new handlers, the Germans, would use him as a “lead” to recruit another more senior scientist or administrator.

Halim was paid generously, but his new friends were much pushier than Donovan. They began demanding more details about the building of the reactor: its capacity, a timetable of shipments. Where were the parts stored before shipping? What was the date Osirak would go “hot”? Did Iraq have other nuclear facilities? Increasingly worried, Halim struggled to supply the men with answers to their endless questions. The fact was, Halim was too afraid not to. Something about these men was far too menacing for them to be simply businessmen. What had he gotten himself into? the Iraqi chided himself. A few weeks later Halim read in the French papers about the mysterious explosion at La Seyne-sur-Mer. Halim realized immediately that he had passed on the exact information about the date and place from where the cores would be shipped: information that the two Germans had been so interested in the previous month. The final straw came when the Germans asked, or rather demanded, that he introduce them to Yahia al-Meshad.

Meshad, an Egyptian-born senior nuclear physicist, had come to al-Tuwaitha from Alexandria University. He was in his mid-forties, dark and stocky, with a finely honed sense of irony and deadpan style of humor. By 1980, many of the young Iraqi scientists who had gone abroad to study were refusing to return to Iraq, especially the ones in the United States, where they began applying for asylum or appealing to the State Department. So Meshad, who had a reputation for brilliance and thoroughness, was considered quite a catch at the Nuclear Research Center, where he began working under Khidhir Hamza.

Hamza began to use Meshad as a liaison with the French engineers, sending him regularly to the Sarcelles nuclear plant to inspect the manufacturing of Iraqi reactor parts and equipment. When Chirac announced that France was going back on their deal and supplying Iraq with lower-grade caramelized uranium, Hamza assigned Meshad the task of ensuring that only the enriched U235 was sent to al-Tuwaitha. Weapons-grade uranium had to be 93 percent enriched. Caramelized uranium was enriched far below the enrichment required to extract plutonium. The substitute low-grade would be worthless to Iraq’s atomic bomb program. Mossad was not certain how Hussein was going to respond to the new French dictum. Hofi, who opposed a military raid on Osirak, was especialy anxious to know if Iraq would accept the caramelized uranium. If so, then the threat posed by Osirak would be considerably less and perhaps Begin could be argued out of a military attack. The “Germans” were assigned to get the information out of Meshad—one way or another.

By now, Halim figured the German businessmen had to be spies. He prayed that Donovan could help him. After all, he knew these men. Halim telephoned Donovan in London and sheepishly relayed the entire story to him, including the part where he had been paid money behind Donovan’s back.

Donovan feigned concern. According to Ostrovsky, Ran then set Halim up.

“I think Itsik and Goldstein may be CIA,” Ran/Donovan replied.

“Oh, my God, they’ll shoot me!” Halim panicked.

“No. No they won’t,” he assured him. “At least it’s not the Israelis. The CIA won’t hurt you. They just want information. Maybe I can help get you out of this. When are you meeting Meshad?”

“Tomorrow night,” Halim replied. “For dinner.”

“Good. I’ll fly to Paris. Leave the name of the restaurant at my hotel. I’ll stop by and pretend to run into you at your table.”

The next evening Donovan happened by the bistro table. Halim invited him to sit down and introduced him to Meshad. He praised his friend profusely and, with an awkward, insinuating intimacy, explained to the physicist that Donovan was an amazing businessman who could buy and sell many things that were useful to them. He would pay generously for any “help” Meshad could supply. Cautious and arrogant, Meshad refused to take the bait. The dinner ended with Donovan suggesting they could perhaps meet again. Meshad was noncommittal. Donovan watched him leave the restaurant. He was frustrated. He would have to depend on Halim.

Later at Meshad’s hotel, Halim, anxious to satisfy Donovan and get the Germans off his back, again tried to recruit the Egyptian. Following Donovan’s suggestion, he suggested the two have some fun and dialed Marie-Claude Magalle to join them. Meshad was perfectly open to Magalle’s charms and retreated to his bedroom with her. But as far as doing business with the Germans, the Egyptian rebuffed all of Halim’s approaches.

He was forced to call Donovan the following morning and give him the bad news.

First the cores had been sabotaged, and now he was supposed to deliver Meshad. Halim’s head whirled. He actually had heart palpitations, he was so frightened. For the next month he tried to avoid the Germans and Donovan. He just wanted out. Finally in June, his wife, Samira, returned to Paris. Halim immediately confessed to her everything he had been doing.

“I think they are CIA,” he told his wife.

“You fool!” Samira cried. “What do the Americans care about any of this? You have been duped by Israelis!”

Stunned and nauseous with the sudden epiphany, Halim realized his wife was right. In the days following her return, he discreetly wrapped up his affairs, packed up all their belongings, and bought two one-way plane tickets to Baghdad. By the end of June he and his wife were on a plane from Orly, Halim forgetting in his haste to say good-bye to Donovan.

Donovan, however, was unconcerned. Mossad had gotten out of Halim what they needed. The focus now switched to Meshad. Since Meshad was an administrator under Khidhir Hamza in Atomic Energy, the Israelis were convinced he was an integral part of Iraq’s secret atomic bomb program as well. Mossad decided that if Meshad could not be recruited,
other
arrangements would have to be made—they might even have to show him a “better world,” the
katsa
euphemism for an assassination.

In June 1980, Meshad returned to Paris to check on equipment and ensure that the uranium France was obligated to ship to al-Tuwaitha was enriched 93 percent. After a week at Sarcelles and a detour to the French countryside, he returned to Room 9041 at his favorite hotel, the Meridien, at around seven o’clock in the evening on Friday, June 13. Late the next morning a housekeeper again passed the
DO NOT DISTURB
sign that had been hanging on the room’s doorknob throughout her entire morning shift. Anxious to clean the room and finish the floor, she slipped the key quietly into the lock and pushed the door open a crack, calling out,
“Allo, Allo.”
Stepping in, she spotted Meshad’s body lying on the floor beside the bed in a pool of blood, his throat slit.

The French papers in the following days reported that a hooker had propositioned Meshad in the elevator on his way to his room. Later on, the woman told inspectors she had heard men’s voices as she stood outside the door to Meshad’s room, though it was not clear if she had been asked by the Iraqi to come back later in the evening. The police concluded it was a professional job: someone—a business partner, a competitor, or even a foreign intelligence agent—wanted to get their hands on some papers in the Iraqi scientist’s room. This person, or group, had hired the prostitute to confront him outside his chamber and delay him. But Meshad had refused the proposition, then walked in on the perpetrators and been killed.