Striking Back: The 1972 Munich Olympics Massacre and Israel's Deadly Response (6 page)

9
                  
GOLDA BLANCHES

ISRAEL, LOD INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT, VIP ROOM TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 5, 1972, 1430H

Victor Cohen called his wife and asked her to pack him an overnight bag. Cohen, head of interrogations at the Shabak, had spun a web of hope around the Sabena hijackers four months before. Minutes earlier Yosef Harmelin, the widely respected head of Shabak, had called him. “Get to Lod Airport immediately,” Harmelin said. Cohen understood—he was to fly to Munich to negotiate with the terrorists who had taken the Israeli athletes hostage earlier that morning.

When Cohen, a stout man with quick eyes, walked into the packed, smoked-filled airport VIP room, he saw Defense Minister Dayan, Mossad chief Zvi Zamir, and his boss, Harmelin, conversing in a corner. He was taken aside and told that the prime minister had decided to send Dayan and Zamir to Germany. Dayan, he was told, insisted that Cohen accompany them.

At 0530 hours Prime Minister Golda Meir had been awakened with news of the attack in Munich. At first, her military aide, Brigadier General Yisrael Lior, was unable to sketch a clear picture of the events, but by nine, when an emergency meeting of the defense cabinet was set to begin, certain facts had been established: Moshe Weinberg, the wrestling coach, had been killed; nine or ten Israeli athletes were being held at gunpoint in their apartment complex in the Olympic Village; Fatah’s Black September group was responsible; the terrorists demanded that Israel release over two hundred prisoners.

At the close of the meeting Meir and her cabinet decided that the Israeli ambassador to West Germany, Eliashiv Ben-Horin, would present the following principles to the West German authorities:

1. The Israeli government does not bargain with terrorists. The responsibility of handling the crisis falls on West Germany. The Israeli government expects the West German government to do all in its power to secure the release of the hostages.

2. Israel will understand if the terrorists are promised freedom, so long as it helps liberate the hostages.

3. Israel hereby pledges its trust in West Germany and is certain that the government will do all in its power to ensure the safety of all the hostages.

Ben-Horin arrived at the Olympic Village at 1100 hours under direct orders from Jerusalem. He was the first official Israeli representative to meet with the negotiating team. He immediately relayed the cabinet’s position, emphasizing Israel’s absolute refusal to release terrorists from its jails. Ben-Horin kept the diplomatic channels open for both formal and informal messages.

The talks with West Germany were burdened by the stress of the present and the oppressive weight of the past. Since early morning, Meir, German chancellor Willy Brandt, and Interior Minister Genscher had held a drawn-out and unproductive dialogue over the phone. Chancellor Brandt and Genscher voiced their disgust at the attack and expressed condolences over the death of Weinberg. They had little else to offer. Meir, for her part, clarified her position—that the West German government was responsible. Brandt and Genscher did not dispute that, or ask for greater flexibility on the part of the “Old Lady” regarding the terrorists’ demands. They did, however, politely refuse the prime minister’s offer to send a team of commandos to Munich.

Brandt’s and Genscher’s hands were tied by German federal law. Israeli officials were unaware that the German constitution did not give the federal government authority to move so much as one soldier into the Bavarian state. Constitutionally, all matters concerning the resolution of the developing international crisis were in the hands of the Bavarians, sole sovereigns of the Olympic Village. Brandt’s and Genscher’s degree of influence was tied to the Bavarians’ willingness to heed their advice. However, any intervention, foreign or federal, was deeply resented by the Bavarian authorities.

The German reputation for precision, efficiency, and order inspired confidence in the Israeli leaders. Dayan and Zamir were certain that the West German security forces would stage a well-designed rescue. They didn’t realize that the Federal Republic of Germany lacked an anti-terror unit, and that, even had such a unit existed, it would not have been able to act in Munich. No one in Israel thought to check these facts.

At 1450 hours Golda Meir stood before Israel’s parliament, the Knesset, in a two-piece Terylene suit, her gray-streaked hair pulled back in a bun, and announced that Israel “expects that the Federal Republic of Germany and the International Olympic Committee will do all in their power to free the Israeli citizens from the hands of the murderers. It is unfeasible that the Olympic Games will continue as though nothing has happened while our citizens are under the threat of death at the Olympic Village.”

Prime Minister Meir and the top officials of Israel’s security forces concluded the emergency meeting by deciding to leave the rescue mission in German hands. In an interview fifteen years after the massacre, Zamir said, “There was a bad feeling about whether the Germans could really be trusted. Could we remain uninvolved when questions of what, how, and why arose?”

Moshe Dayan, who held enormous sway with the prime minister, pushed for Israeli abstention from the hostage crisis. Other officials urged Dayan to fly to Munich, as head of the defense establishment and the Israeli with the greatest influence abroad.

Victor Cohen arrived at the airport ten minutes after Dayan. Cohen disagreed with the decision to send Dayan. He approached the legendary general, who was talking with Zamir and Harmelin, and said, “Listen, the hostage situation is playing out in front of the world. If you show up there, the media will recognize you, the terrorists will hear about your arrival, and then they’ll understand how major this crisis is for Israel, and that doesn’t help us at all. It will only make them raise their price and maybe rattle them enough to harm more hostages. You should stay in Israel.”

The room fell silent as all heads turned to Cohen. Dayan’s decisions were not often questioned in public. Dayan nodded. “You’re right, Victor. You and Zamir should go. I’ll notify Golda.”

A few hours later Cohen and Zamir boarded a rented plane for the three-and-a-half-hour flight to Munich. They touched down at Munich International Airport as the last flicker of twilight played on the plane’s metallic wings. A secret service car took them straight to the Olympic Village.

Concurrently, Golda Meir spoke to a reporter in her office. Why wasn’t Israel willing to bargain with the terrorists? the reporter asked. “If we should give in,” she replied, “then no Israeli anywhere in the world will feel that his life is safe.” After a few beats of introspection, she added, “It’s blackmail of the worst kind.”

10
                  
IN THE HOSTAGES’ ROOM

MUNICH, OLYMPIC VILLAGE, 31 CONNOLLYSTRASSE, APARTMENT 1 TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 5, 1972, 1705H

Issa agreed to extend the deadline three times. First, under pressure from Schreiber, Troeger, and Touni, he gave them one hour. Merck and Genscher were then able to squeeze two more delays of two hours each, making the new deadline at 1700 hours
.
The Germans explained that the postponements were merely bureaucratic: the Israelis had not yet been able to locate all 234 prisoners; there were difficulties obtaining the approval of one minister; Tel Aviv traffic is stifling. Their excuses, some plausible, some less so, were meant to give the impression that negotiations were progressing, strings were being pulled, prison doors were sliding open on well-oiled tracks. The end of the crisis was near—a bit more patience and the terrorists would be parading through the joy-filled streets of Beirut, held aloft by a throng of supporters.

With each delay, Issa became more impatient and volatile. When the third extension was requested he threatened to execute two of the Israeli hostages. He vowed to drag the athletes to the doorway and shoot them in front of the cameras. Across the globe a billion viewers were glued to their televisions, watching the crisis unfold in real time. Tension peaked in the minutes leading up to each of Issa’s deadlines. In those nerve-racking moments, the German negotiation team would walk to the entrance of 31 Connollystrasse. Issa would huddle with the group. The viewers could see but not hear. The conversation over, the Germans would move slowly away from the building. The world held its breath waiting for the TV announcer to broadcast the verdict from the West German officials. With the approach of each deadline the athletes’ families watched helplessly as the delegation’s fate was discussed.

As the crisis on Connollystrasse boiled and simmered, athletes in the village soaked up the sun. Two hundred yards from the Israeli delegation’s building, sunbathers lay on the banks of an artificial pond. The Olympians chatted about the competition and exchanged training techniques, while just two minutes away their fellow competitors were being held at gunpoint, their lives in peril.

The scene at the village was surreal. The Munich police estimated that seventy thousand spectators, alongside thousands of reporters, television crews, and photographers with long-range lenses, tried to get close to the action. Athletes and troops shared the same ground, the former chatting and staying loose, wary of taking their minds off the prize of Olympic competition; the Olys, police, and soldiers stood by armored personnel carriers, focused on the looming possibility of a gunfight.

At 1635 hours, close to twelve hours of static negotiations ended when the gloomy German officials presented themselves at the blue door. Their strategy was leading to a dead end, and they knew it. The Bavarian interior minister, Bruno Merck, spoke first, but with little success. The terrorists weren’t buying any more half-baked excuses. Issa then surprised the Germans with a new proposal. He demanded that a plane be ready and waiting on the runway within an hour. The terrorists and their hostages would be flown to Cairo, where the negotiations could continue. The Israeli government would fly the released prisoners to Egypt, and the exchange would be made there. If this demand was not met, Issa assured them calmly, he would execute each and every one of the hostages.

Genscher, Schreiber, Troeger, and Merck backed away from the doorway to confer. They agreed that the plan was not viable. The sovereign nation of West Germany could not allow the transfer to foreign soil—the kidnapping, actually—of international guests by a terrorist group. Yet Issa’s proposal also held considerable appeal. The shift of the crisis to an Arab country might save the Olympic Games: with the crisis two thousand miles away and far from the prying lenses of the media, the so-called Games of Peace and Joy could go on.

The crisis committee wanted to buy time to see if the plan was in any way workable. Genscher asked to speak to the hostages. Issa hesitated for a minute and then shouted to Tony in Arabic on the second floor. The curtains at the second-floor window were opened and fencing coach Andrei Spitzer appeared in his undershirt. His hands were tied, his hair plastered to his sweaty forehead. “Is everybody okay?” Genscher asked. “What is the situation with all the other hostages?”

Spitzer managed to reply, “Everybody is okay except for one—” before he was hit in the back of his head with the butt of an AK
-47
and dragged away from the window. This implausible encounter, captured by the cameras, was the last time Spitzer was publicly seen alive.

Genscher insisted that Issa let him into the hostage room. He wanted to see the athletes with his own eyes. If they were willing to fly to Cairo, West Germany would arrange the transfer. Issa was feeling the pressure: he and his squad had been on their feet for at least twenty-four hours. They had been holding the hostages captive for twelve. He knew their lack of sleep could compromise the mission; he feared losing the ability to make sharp decisions. The negotiations were going in circles. Egypt had friendly relations with Fatah; they would be welcomed there. Issa understood that the longer they stayed in the Olympic Village, the more vulnerable they became. He assumed that the Germans were just waiting for the right moment to pounce. The move to an Arab country, which first came up as a possibility during the planning stages of the operation, now seemed a brilliant option. And if Cairo should reject the planes, they would simply fly on to Morocco.

Issa also recognized that one battle had already been won—that of the airwaves. Throughout the hostage crises the Palestinian problem had been prime-time news; millions of people now knew of their people’s predicament. Issa agreed to Genscher’s request.

At 1705 hours
,
five minutes after the final deadline passed, Genscher and Troeger pushed open the blue door, entered Apartment 1, and bounded up the steps to the room holding the captives. The view was harsh. Weight lifter Yossef Romano lay lifeless in the center of the room, in a spreading pool of blood. The walls were stained red and riddled with bullets. Food and garbage was strewn across the floor. Yossef Gutfreund, the hulking weight lifting referee, was bound to a chair. The remaining eight hostages were crammed together on two beds with their hands and feet tied. “It was a terrible impression,” Troeger later recounted. “Appalling, I must say. They said they were treated well; however, the discussion was absolutely overshadowed by the fearful and depressed mood of the hostages.” Genscher, who was shaken by the encounter, said, “The picture of the room will stay with me as long as I live. I will never forget those faces, full with fear, and yet full of hope.”

Genscher introduced himself to the hostages as the interior minister of West Germany. He spoke softly in German and Troeger translated. Genscher promised the Israeli hostages that he would do everything possible to help them. “How do you feel?” he asked. He glanced at the face of each man in the room and then asked whether they were willing to be flown abroad with their captors. The hostages nodded numbly in agreement. Genscher and Troeger filed out of the room. Troeger once again requested that he be held hostage in place of the Israeli athletes. Again, Issa refused.

The German incompetence during the hostage crisis was absolute. Their feeble attempts to free the Israelis were pathetic, doomed to failure. Schreiber was the first to propose “kidnapping” Issa, during their first, early morning meeting. After that, the negotiations team suggested snatching several of the captors as they came out of the apartment to pick up four heavy crates of food. Two undercover policemen wearing chefs’ uniforms complete with toques planned to help carry the food, then spring into action and overpower the terrorists. The scheme was inane. Issa requested that the food be delivered at 1400 hours
,
then brought in each crate by himself. To prove that the food was not poisoned or drugged, German tasters sampled each plate.

The next scheme to free the Israelis was equally harebrained. After lunch, twelve local policemen, chosen for their martial arts skills, were stationed on the roof of 31 Connollystrasse. Their orders were to burst into Apartment 1 through the air-conditioning vents and the windows. Their codeword: Sunshine. Ulrich Wagner, who would later become an expert in hostage negotiations, felt that the rescue team was unfit for the job. “They selected them, asking: have you shot a gun or whatever? That was it; they had no training, nothing.”

After going over the layout and position of the building’s air vents, the policemen were instructed to take over the roof. The inexperienced volunteers wore training suits over bulky bulletproof vests. Their mission: to surprise the terrorists and extricate the hostages without causing them injury.

Codeword Sunshine was never spoken. Live TV coverage showed the rescue team standing on the roof in their training suits. Every room in the Olympic Village had a TV: Issa watched the events unfold, in real time, on his own personal screen. He stepped out of the apartment yelling at the Germans that two hostages would be killed immediately if the police did not get off the roof. At 1800 hours
,
Schreiber gave orders to retreat, and the amateurish rescue mission was aborted.

Schreiber and his men tried to get an exact count of the number of terrorists they faced. Knowing their number would be essential to any successful rescue mission. They identified four terrorists, including Issa, simply because these men had popped their heads out of the second-floor windows and the third-floor balcony. The four-man count was revised once Genscher and Troeger returned to the crisis center and reported that there were at least four or five terrorists in the apartment. Miscounting your target guarantees failure. Schreiber and his men thought they were facing five terrorists—which is partly why, four hours later, their rescue mission would fail so abysmally.