No Medals Today Page 4
“Stop, that’s enough, Yiftach. You’re driving me nuts with your stupid check of the registration plates of the trucks. You’re behaving just like a kid. Let me have some peace and quiet.”
“I wonder what Chantal thinks about this war. I never actually spoke with her about Israel—we haven’t gotten to that yet. I have—out of duty—told her several times how beautiful our country is, and that all Israelis are peace-loving. I never explained the significance of life in Israel, or what being an Israeli or a Sabra means. The whole world, and especially France, still remembers the Six Day War that was fought six years ago. That is an opportunity to get on to the subject! Only I have no idea when next I will get to see her. I must call her and explain that she won’t see me for a few days.” Only after I said this to myself did I realize that I was talking out loud and that Emi had also heard me.
Emi breaks his silence, “You know Yiftach, I am really not interested in your story with that woman. Please, we’re at war now, so keep your mind on what we have to do.”
I shut up for the rest of the ride. It is overcast. Fall. Autumn leaves are flying in the breeze that also bends the trees I see on the roadside. I can’t help thinking of the war in Israel. My two brothers are fighting, and I don’t know where they are stationed. My brother-in-law, Tzipi’s brother, is an officer in the paratroopers. I know for certain that he is in Sinai. Many members of our family have been called up, and many friends are at war. Who will be killed? Who will suffer injuries? All that we see in our immediate surroundings, here in France, is calm, routine but for a few words in newscasts and newspapers. I tune into FIP on the car radio. This station broadcasts music and traffic reports, and the announcer jokes, “If you’re traveling North on Boulevard Périphérique, near the bridge”—I didn’t understand which bridge—“then you have plenty of time to read the newspaper if you have one with you in the car.” I wonder what the traffic reports are like in Israel now. I return to reality. I am in Paris. We have work to do. Perhaps I’ll grab fifteen minutes of sleep?
When reach the embassy, they inform me at the entrance that the meeting with the CDSE has been delayed until eleven-fifteen, so I have a few minutes. I rush to my office, check the mail, and get the newspapers that were promised to me. The large brown envelope bears a black stamp that says “Only for the Recipient.” Yesterday’s Sunday newspaper headlines shock me. The headline on the front page of Haaretz screams, “Moshe Dayan: The Fighting Is Hard, but It Will End in Our Favor.” A sub-heading reads, “Our Forces Have Several Dozen Casualties.” Also on the front page: “The Tel Aviv Airport Has Been Closed to Civilian Traffic Until Further Notice.” Yedioth Acharonot arrived with a reduced number of pages and the headline, “Last Night and This Morning, Fierce Fighting in Sinai and the Golan Heights.” An interesting report appears under a sub-heading, reads, “Hundreds of Pillars of Fire Coming From Syrian Tanks and Vehicles Were Seen in the Night on the Golan Heights.” That doesn’t exactly match the briefing we received from the ambassador. Sunday’s Maariv, also with a reduced number of pages, has a headline, “Fierce Battles to Repel the Syrian and Egyptian Forces and Hold Ground on the Golan Heights and Sinai. The Egyptians Did Not Succeed in Transferring Tanks and Vehicles During the Night.” In the daily caricature by Dosh, little Israelik is waving his arms, but instead of the traditional Kapparot Chicken, he is waving two eagles, one representing Egypt and the other, Syria —under a heading, “Kapparot 1973-5734.” It seems that a large section of the Sunday paper was already printed on Friday before they knew that war had broken out because there were a lot of election campaign ads. What will be the outcome of these elections? Most important: On Thursday, the day before the eve of Yom Kippur, we beat Turkey at basketball 96:78 and our team was ranked seventh in Europe. In Davar there was an example of Israeli arrogance personified: “The Prime Minister, in Her Broadcast to the Nation, “No, We Were Not Surprised. There Is No Doubt that We Will Be Victorious.” Dayan said, “We Will Beat Them Soundly. We Did Not Want to Make a Preemptive Strike.”
Only now do I begin to internalize the reality of this war. The newspapers for Friday, the eve of Yom Kippur, suddenly look like history. A headline in Haaretz reports that Kissinger is opening discussions with Abba Eban and the foreign ministers of four Arab countries to settle the dispute. The price control commission has approved the rise in various prices. It’s an optimistic week in the stock market. The Alignment Party publishes a full-page election ad promoting a four-year plan. The editorial column of Haaretz deals with ego problems in the Israel Aircraft Industries (IAI) administration. The Israeli team lost a basketball match in Barcelona, against the Italian team, 94–73. Israel is ranked seventh in basketball in Europe. The victory against the Turks did not sweeten the bitter pill of the loss to the Italians. In Yedioth there is a headline in which Kreisky of Austria says he knows he is the subject of shame in Israel as Yom Kippur approaches. The subject of Kreisky also occupies several headlines in the newspaper Davar, among them one about Austria’s effort to organize an airlift of immigrants from the Soviet Union. In Davar, election notices are smeared all over the Sabbath edition of the newspaper. Maariv deals with the problem of the transit camp for immigrants from the Soviet Union. Davar reports a Syrian warning that Israel is about to set out on a dangerous adventure and attack Lebanon and Syria. Ah! I found an interesting report in Maariv, which says on the eve of Yom Kippur that “IDF forces are alertly following events on the other side of the Suez Canal, and measures will be taken to prevent the Egyptians from mounting a surprise attack.” Oh, really!
What is going on here? Who am I supposed to believe? What I see and hear at the embassy, especially in the closed meetings, is something else, altogether—in the newspapers, everything is pure honey! In another day or two, it will all end in a brilliant victory for us, they promise. Here, they are asking for more and more equipment… not just airplane parts, that I understand. What about bags of blood? Are they also short of blood?
The Israel Friday papers are always in demand with us here in Paris, even a week or two after their publication. It is always the connection to home, the factor that always helps us feel we belong to Israel. The concept of “Homeland” acquires an entirely different dimension on foreign soil. A thirst develops for every word, every snippet of information—even gossip coming from home, when you are far away. The motherland. Now, at noon on Monday, three days after being published, this last weekend’s newspaper suddenly seems to belong to a world that no longer exists.
At the meeting with the CDSE, those present are informed that the Western European countries have placed an embargo on the export of military equipment to all three countries engaged in the armed conflict in the Middle East. I reported on my encounter with Monsieur Du Pont: “Gentlemen, I am happy to announce that we will be able to transport anything we wish from Orly. I don’t think anyone will check us out.”
“Yiftach, you’re talking nonsense. The embargo order is a government directive conveyed to all the ports and harbors. I do not believe than any official, whatever his rank, will do anything to contravene those orders. We saw what happened in Frankfurt yesterday when we wanted to transfer the radar station. By the way, are you dealing with that?”
“Yes, the shipment will reach Orly in the afternoon hours tomorrow, toward the end of the day. It weighs a lot and cannot be loaded onto one aircraft. As to the embargo: I think that if we operate cleverly without making waves, we will be able to dispatch as much as we like from Orly airport. We will send the military equipment as civilian equipment on El Al, and sensitive items will be forwarded by DIP. My gut feeling from the meeting this morning with Monsieur Du Pont was excellent. He hates Arabs, that’s for sure. It doesn’t mean that he is a Zionist, but there’s only one way to find out! We’ll put it to the test. Are we getting the parts we need for the IAF from Dassault?”
“I still don’t know. We haven’t yet received any information from there,” the CDSE responds.
I explain to the p
articipants at the meeting how the radar station will be transported, repeating Eddy’s explanation. “Folks, it’s really unbelievable how simple it is to smuggle the radar to France,” I enthuse. “I think that Eddy knows how to sneak any goods from Germany into France. I learned that the main thing is what is written in the papers that accompany the shipment. If they were making a movie about it, they would certainly complicate things for the sake of creating suspense.”
“Calm down, Yiftach. Don’t get so excited,” the CDSE says, trying to cool me down. “I would like to see that shipment get to Orly and then actually lift off. Once that happens, you can get excited. There will be two planes here tomorrow, a passenger jet and a cargo aircraft. The cargo plane is supposed to carry what is defined as humanitarian aid, sent by courtesy of the Jewish community here. Instead of humanitarian aid, we will load the radar, in the hope that it arrives there safely, with God’s help.” The CDSE is getting religious all of a sudden. That is already a cause for concern. Will we really not be able to manage without divine providence?
Toward the end of the meeting, the CDSE releases all those present, and requests that I stay behind. “Pay attention, Yiftach. Yesterday, we sent Giora to Orly. Giora is one of the Mossad’s best experts at shaking off surveillance. He has an entirely different function here, but we are taking advantage of his expertise to check out several details. We sent him to Orly to join the security personnel guarding the El Al plane that is parked there for the day. His shift was from four o’clock in the afternoon till the aircraft took off, close to nine o’clock in the evening. Without any effort, Giora observed four different people, without any apparent connection between them, equipped with binoculars, who watched everything going on around our aircraft. We are confident that the Russians sent at least one man. From our experience with them, there certainly two or even three more at a distance from the plane, in a place where they can see what is going on. The French are also interested in knowing what occurs near our airliner. We’re okay with the Americans, but we have to presume that the CIA also wants to know what is going on. God only knows who else is interested in what is going on around a plane that stands at the airport all day, every day, until further notice. Today, when we begin processing passengers for the flight to Israel, Giora will be watching at the check-in desk. Tomorrow he will be surveilling the arrival of the plane, from the time it lands till noon. In addition to securing the aircraft, his primary job will be to check what else is going on in the area. We don’t have any real interest in knowing who wants to see what is happening, but we want to check out who is watching us. It’s free territory, and we cannot hide. We’ll know more from his findings tomorrow. I am telling you all this so that you pay careful attention. You have to assume that we are operating under a magnifying glass at Orly. Everyone wants to know what we’re doing. We have to carry on with business as usual, but take every precaution not to volunteer unnecessary information of any kind, not to anyone. That includes being careful what you say. Take care even when you think no one understands Hebrew. Also instruct everyone in your department about this. When you have to speak, speak in hints. Bear in mind that all the El Al telephone lines at the airport and in the embassy are being tapped. I’m not sure that that is really the case, but being over-careful never killed anyone to this day, so please!” the CDSE says.
My office is in a shambles. The two security guards who have been seconded to us are helping Udi sort the DIP. Everything is almost packed, ready to send as unaccompanied cargo, and Udi is filling out the appropriate forms. The guys from Brussels have already departed with their DIP and that of The Hague. The ruckus is great. I asked for coffee to be sent in when I got them together: Udi, Emi, and Yossi Meidan, who also joined us, as well as the two new security guards we got as assistants to the department.
“Guys, pay attention! I want to have a brief review of the various instructions. It’s important for Yossi, who isn’t very familiar with our routine, as well as for the two newcomers. It will be a short briefing about what we do here on a daily basis, as well as an explanation of the new tasks. Emi and Udi, forgive me if I go into too much detail—it’s for the benefit of the newcomers, and it won’t harm anyone if we review the procedures again. Until now, we received diplomatic mail, called DIP, to transfer on to South America or West Africa. This was done once a week. Since the DIP to South America and Africa is graded low confidentiality, we sent it out as unaccompanied cargo. Three times a week we would also receive classified material for us. All that is in the past. From today, everything has changed. We receive DIP daily on the El Al plane that arrives in the morning, and we have to transfer it onward according to the attached instructions. In addition to the DIP, because many countries in Africa have expelled our diplomats, we have to meet the deportees from Africa at the Le Bourget airport and transfer them to Orly, where they will board their flight to Israel on El Al. Is everything clear, so far?”
I call El Al to speak to Itzchaki in the operations department, to verify that he had received the documents from Damian and sent them to Du Pont’s office. There is a fair chance that by the end of the day we will have a license to enter Orly airport with the vehicle we have not yet taken possession of.
***
In Cologne, Germany, three small trucks from Frankfurt have already reached the transportation company whose services Eddy Benayoun is using to transport the radar station. There they have begun loading the first trucks that will set out for France, heading to Orly airport. All six trucks will be loaded tonight already and will be on the road tomorrow at four o’clock in the morning to reach the border with Belgium before the Customs Office opens at six o’clock in the morning. The forms and required documents are being filled out at the warehouse of the loading site; the German customs officer on duty is in his office at the Cologne airport till eleven o’clock at night, the hour when the airport closes to traffic. The paperwork will be prepared and stamped tonight. The goods are being described as auto parts and are being sent from three different addresses in Germany. Their destination is a large auto parts dealer in a southern suburb of Paris. Each truck will arrive via another customs brokerage office. We call it “spreading the risk.”
***
Shortly before six in the evening, I am called to the entrance of the embassy building. Damian has delivered the vehicle, and he is all smiles. “Come and see what a beauty I have for you.” We go outside, and I see an old VW Van painted shocking blue that stands out a mile. “What’s with this color!!??” I am frantic.
“I got the catalog number of the color from El Al. You said it’s supposed to be their vehicle, so I called, and they gave me their blue. What don’t you like about it?” Damian is thoroughly disappointed in me. “Because of the shortage of time and because I know you are very busy, I didn’t want to bother you, so I did it all by myself. It usually takes two or three days to paint a car like this, and I did it in half a day! The car went into the oven twice! I delayed other jobs to get it painted in time—I didn’t want the paint to be wet! And, what is more, I painted it in the El Al color!”
“I apologize, Damian, you did a great job, and very fast, as well. You really are first class. I will tell the ambassador how you helped us. I understand that you will submit the invoice to the administrative officer.” I try to behave myself, although I have difficulty not showing how troubled I am by the highly visible color of the vehicle.
“There’s no need for money. It’s my contribution to the war effort. When you’ve finished with it and no longer need it, you can give it back to me. I have taken out all-risk insurance for you. The original vehicle license is with Itzchaki at El Al, as you requested. I made a photocopy of it for you. Here, take it!”