Ultimatum (20 page)

Beneath the ‘Yours sincerely’, the Prime Minister had signed his name with what those who knew him well would have described as his angry flourish.

Within twenty minutes of Lanyard and McGann’s departure from the Israeli Embassy a meeting of the Operations
Sub-Committee
was taking place in a conference room at the Ministry of Defence in Whitehall.

The Chairman, Sir Dyhart Tanner, sat at the head of the table, to his right the members of the Committee, to his left the Israelis: Barlov, Ascher, and Ruth Meyer.

The Chairman opened the proceedings by formally introducing the British and Israeli representatives. He stressed the urgency of the situation and expressed the hope that differences of opinion, if any, would be speedily resolved. Looking at the wall clock, he said, ‘It is now nine-
forty-seven
. We have to complete the operation by eight o’clock tomorrow morning. The Israeli Government has requested our co-operation, so I will ask their representatives to open the discussion.’

At Barlov’s request Ascher outlined the operational plan. He did this succinctly, wasting neither words nor time, and soon gained the respect of his British listeners who earlier had looked askance at the shaggy-headed, bearded man in blue denims and plimsolls, who’d sat hunched in a chair doodling on a scribbling block, apparently not listening.

‘Thank you,’ said the Chairman. ‘The plan is, I would say, ingenious and tactically sound. You have told us the
warhead
is in Central London – in a position which could cause devastation of possibly the most important area of the Metropolis.’ He paused. ‘Where in fact is it?’

There was a stir of interest. An expectant hush. A leaning forward to look at the man who knew. The question had been in all minds as Ascher unfolded the plan. He looked up from the scribbling block. ‘As soon as we’ve agreed the
plan in principle I’ll give the location.’ With that he resumed work on a complex doodle.

The Chairman said, ‘I hope this doesn’t suggest mistrust of the undertaking given by our Prime Minister.’

‘No,’ said Barlov quickly. It is simply our belief that the operational plan must be considered objectively. This is best done if we agree on the general outline now and
thereafter
discuss the detail.’

‘Very well,’ said the Chairman. ‘I think we can accept that. Now let’s get on with the discussion. We haven’t much time.’ He didn’t add that he thought the Israelis were a cunning lot; holding back the prime secret until they were satisfied the operation was to be conducted in the way they wanted.

In the lengthy discussion which followed members of the Sub-Committee proposed a number of amendments to the plan. Most of these were accepted. As the meeting
progressed
it became apparent that confidence between the British and Israeli representatives was growing, the mutual suspicion which characterized the earlier stages having largely disappeared.

When the outline had been agreed, the Chairman said, ‘I think we have a pretty thorough grasp of what has to be done. There are, of course, a number of imponderables. These will have to be dealt with as they arise.’ He turned to Barlov. ‘Can you now tell us where the warhead is?’

Barlov said, ‘I’ll ask Shalom Ascher to answer that.’

The Chairman said, ‘Mr Ascher?’

The Israeli put down his pencil, leant back in his chair. ‘Number Thirty-Nine Spender Street,’ he said. ‘Not far from Covent Garden. On the ground floor. We have two offices in the building across the road, Number Fifty-Six – on the first floor.’

‘Thank you.’ For some moments the Chairman considered the wall-map of London. ‘It’s certainly well sited. Let’s get on with the detail. Please be as brief as possible.’

They were, and when the clock over the mantelpiece showed twenty past ten the Chairman was able to say,
‘Now, gentlemen’ – he saw Ruth Meyer’s grimace, thought what an attractive girl she was, and added – ‘and lady.’

‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘I’m used to it.’

The Chairman smiled an apology. ‘I think it might be helpful if I were to recap the allocation of responsibility before closing the meeting.’

There were murmurs of ‘Agreed.’

He looked at his notes. ‘Mr Watt will make the necessary arrangements with the local authorities – the water, gas, fire brigade and ambulance people.’

The Director-General of the GLG nodded. ‘That is correct, Chairman.’

‘Mr McGann will provide the Special Branch men.’ The Chairman fixed Dugald McGann with a parade-ground stare.

‘Yes,’ said the Head of Special Branch. He was a man of few words.

‘Sir George Isaacson will be responsible for the scientists, technicians and their equipment.’

The Principal Scientific Adviser looked up from the pad on which he was making notes. ‘Yes, indeed, Chairman.’

‘Sir Brian Parkes will see to our uniformed police
requirements
, the communications system and the mobile command vehicle.’

The Commissioner signified his assent, looked at his watch and frowned from long habit. There never seemed enough time to do the things which had to be done.

‘Colonel Barlov will be with us in the command vehicle.’

Barlov said, ‘Yes, sir.’

‘The Israeli Intelligence agents – that is, Mr Ascher and his colleagues – will be at Fifty-Six Spender Street with the Special Branch people detailed for duty there, plus a Porton Down boffin and a Water Authority man. Final point – most important – we
must
begin the operation not later than three o’clock tomorrow morning. All personnel and equipment to be in position by two o’clock. Now … any questions? If so, please keep them brief. We have very little time.’

‘Helicopters, Chairman.’ The Principal Scientific Adviser pushed heavy horn-rimmed glasses back on to the bridge of his nose. ‘Some of the men and equipment we need can’t get here by two o’clock without them.’

‘RAF,’ said the Chairman. ‘I’ll arrange it with the duty staff at MOD as soon as this meeting ends.’

‘If fast cars with fast drivers are needed, I’ll supply them,’ said the Commissioner.

‘Good.’ The Chairman looked round the table. ‘You all know where to apply. Any more questions?’

‘Yes,’ said Ruth Meyer. ‘Where will the Aldermaston and other scientific and technical people and their
equipment
be – and the additional Special Branch men – during the run-up period? There won’t be room for them in our office in Spender Street.’

The Chairman aimed his pencil at the Principal Scientific Adviser. ‘Sir George?’

‘They’ll all be in the Water Authority vehicles. I thought I’d made that clear.’

‘Not quite,’ said the Chairman, gallantly covering for Miss Meyer. ‘Any more? No. Then the meeting is closed.’

He gathered his papers, stood up, stretched and yawned. ‘Now let’s get on with it and – by the way – good luck to you all.’ His eyes were on Ruth Meyer as he said it.

The Prime Minister’s address to the Nation that night was brief and unilluminating. Prefacing what he had to say with a further call for calm, order and confidence in the
authorities
, he announced that the search for the nuclear warhead had been called off as from ten o’clock that night. Further consideration was, he said, being given to the terms of the ultimatum, and he would speak to the Nation again at ten on the following morning.

‘I hope then,’ he said, ‘to have news which, while possibly unpalatable in certain aspects, will remove altogether the intolerable and barbaric threat to which Londoners have been submitted during these difficult days. Finally, I give
you once more my assurance that the Government is both determined and obliged to preclude by all and every means within its power the detonation of the warhead. On that score you may rest assured.’

Later the Prime Minister’s critics were to say that this was an ambiguous and misleading statement. It may have been, but every word of it happened to be true. To the great majority of those many millions who heard it, what he said amounted to an admission that the Government was about to capitulate – that he would at ten o’clock the next morning announce acceptance of the ultimatum – the course of action the US President and the Chairman of the Soviet Union had by implication advised in their communiqués broadcast an hour before the Prime Minister spoke.

It was, too, precisely what he wanted his listeners to think – particularly those in 39 Spender Street.

At midnight the offices of Ascher & Levi, music agents of 56 Spender Street, were unusually crowded. In addition to the four Israeli agents, there were two Special Branch men – Chief Superintendent McFagan and Inspector Moynihan, the latter a fluent Arab speaker – a scientist from Porton Down, Herbert Joliffe, a small man with steel-rimmed glasses, watery eyes and a head as bald as polished marble, and a technician from the Thames Water Authority.

The Special Branch men had been the first to join the Israelis. They’d come in through the back having forced the lock of the door which gave on to Tanswill Lane. Those who came after them used this route. It was to serve for all concerned with the operation that night, both for entering and leaving. A Special Branch man was on duty on the ground floor inside the entrance.

A black-out curtain had been hung over the Venetian blinds in Ascher & Levi’s main office so that the lights there could not be seen from the street. Levi and Kagan were watching the Mocal premises from the window of the adjoining storeroom which was in darkness.

A good deal of additional equipment had been installed in Number 56 including three VHF two-way radio sets: one for communication with the mobile command vehicle – with which a landline telephone link had also been established – another on the same frequency for communication with what had been designated the Ground Force; a third on the frequency of the Metropolitan Water Authority.

The Special Branch men and the Israelis wore
shoulder-holsters
with hand-guns. In a corner there were two snipers’ rifles with silencers and telescopic sights, a box of hand
grenades and another of tear gas bombs. Nobody was quite sure under what circumstances these were to be used, but the General had felt the operation would be incomplete without them.

A sheet of white cardboard, headed
OPERATION WHISKY
BRAVO
, was fixed to a wall with Sellotape. It gave the R/T call signs to be used during the operation, commencing with:

Listed beneath these were the call signs of the other units involved.

One of the R/T speakers in Ascher & Levi’s office bleeped: ‘Whisky Bravo Five calling Whisky Bravo One.’

There was an answering, ‘Go ahead, Whisky Bravo Five.’

‘Contact entered Sea-Bee one-seven-three-nine. I repeat one-seven-three-nine. Over.’

‘Roger, Whisky Bravo Five.’

A new voice came on the air: ‘Tango Victor calling Whisky Bravo One.’

‘Go ahead, Tango Victor.’

‘We have read Whisky Bravo Five. Will do. Over.’

‘Roger, Tango Victor.’

The Chief Superintendent said, ‘That was the tail
reporting
to command vehicle. He’s just seen Barakat go into call-box one-seven-three-nine. That’s a Police/GPO identity tag. Tango Victor is the GPO tracing section. They’ll put a tap on that call right away, punch-tape it and squirt it back to the command vehicle.’

Ascher pulled at his beard. ‘I like that.’

‘Useful routine,’ said the Chief Superintendent. ‘Good for counter-espionage.’

‘We must remember that, Ruth.’ Ascher lifted a quizzical eyebrow and they smiled privately.

The Chief Superintendent grinned. ‘Yes. You’ll have to watch it, won’t you?’

‘Not to bother,’ said Ascher. ‘Our cover’s blown. We won’t be operating in the UK again.’

McFagan looked at them speculatively. ‘I suppose so.’

Ascher said, ‘Nothing like a change of scene.’

‘Good for the health,’ said Ruth Meyer.

A few minutes later Whisky Bravo Five was reporting again … Contact leaving Sea-Bee … walking west on New Coventry Street … gone left into Whitcomb Street … contact entering Centrepark garage in Whitcomb Street …

The VHF speaker continued faithfully to relay the story of Whisky Bravo Five’s vigil: Raining hard … Volvo emerging from garage … left into Panton Street … left into the
Haymarket
… left into Orange Street … crossing Whitcomb Street now, travelling east …

The command vehicle interrupted, ordered Whisky Bravo Five to abort task and return to base. The time was 1.54 am and it was raining.

Moynihan, the Special Branch Inspector who spoke Arabic, wiggled his earphones, tapped Ascher on the shoulder, held up a warning finger.

Ascher, concentrating on the conversation in 39, raised a thumb in acknowledgement.

IBRAHIM SOUREF
: Well, he had to call Brussels at
one-forty
. It’s fifteen minutes past two. He’s got to pick up and park the Volvo. It takes time. I’m hungry. That’s my trouble.

HANNA NASOUR
: Here, try this apple. You greedy man.

SOUREF
: Thanks. Be careful, Eve. You tempt me. (Laughter)

NAJIB HAMADEH
: It’s nearly twelve hours now we’ve had that thing. It gives me the creeps.

SOUREF
: You mean Abdul. I keep imagining I hear him tick.

HAMADEH
: Not possible, Ibrahim. Anyway he’s not switched on yet. Must be your heart.

HANNA
: Ibrahim hasn’t got one. I wish Zeid was back. What can he be doing? Oh don’t, Ibrahim. That hurts.

SOUREF
: Sorry. Don’t worry. He’ll be here in due course.

HANNA
: He’d better be. We could need that Volvo.

HAMADEH
: You’re nervy, Hanna. That’s not until eleven. Another nine hours, nearly. Anyway, we can always take a taxi.

HANNA
: How far can we get in one hour? (Nervous laughter)

HAMADEH
: You’ve asked that before. Far enough. But we aren’t going to need it. You heard the British Prime Minister. Search called off. No explosion. Unpalatable but reassuring news in the morning. They’re going to accept, Hanna. It stands out like a camel in the desert.

HANNA
: Oh God, I hope you’re right. I hate the idea of the alternative.

SOUREF
: Yes. Of course I’m right. It’s obvious. You can be sure it’s been arranged with the President and Brezhnev. Why do you think their communiqués were issued an hour before he spoke. I think …

HAMADEH
: Ka’ed knew this. He said the US and Britain would jump at a really good excuse for an independent Palestine and ditching Israel.

HANNA
: Ka’ed is a fantastic man. He’s always right. But what a cynical world. Where else can …

HAMADEH
: We can thank Allah for this cynicism if it gives us back our lands.

SOUREF
: Thank Abdul, you mean. Listen to that rain.

HANNA
: Pouf. It’s a terrible climate. No wonder they look so serious. Come on, Zeid. (Whistling) You should have got back by now.

HAMADEH
: Give him a chance. The Brussels call could be responsible. Perhaps the British Government has
communicated
with Ka’ed. Maybe Ka’ed wants Zeid to contact the authorities here right away. Could be anything. Who knows?

SOUREF
: That’s most unlikely. He’ll be back in time.
Your hands are cold, Hanna. What’s wrong. There’s nothing to fear.

HANNA
: Of course there’s something to fear. (Sounds of coughing) Of course I’m scared. I may be the one. I’m scared to death. Anybody who isn’t at this moment isn’t human.

SOUREF
: There isn’t going to be any need for ‘the one’.

HAMADEH
: Portrait of an inhuman man. (Laughter) Come and dance with me, Hanna. I’m not afraid. Let us celebrate the new Palestine. (Sounds of a scuffle and a man and woman giggling)

SOUREF
: (Shouting) Keep away from that flex, you fool.

HAMADEH
: Okay. No need to get excited. I was watching it.

SOUREF
: You weren’t. You were messing about with Hanna.

HAMADEH
: Look who’s jealous.

HANNA
: Don’t be like that, Ibrahim. We were just fooling.

SOUREF
: This is no time to fool. If you fall on that it’ll be the last thing you do.

HAMADEH
: You forget the locking device.

SOUREF
: Never mind the locking device. Zeid warned us. If the flex is wrenched out there can be a short circuit. Then you’ll have something to celebrate.

HANNA
: Sorry, sorry, dear Ibrahim. We are all too excited. I’m just a bundle of nerves tonight.
Twenty-three
minutes past two. I wonder what has happened to Zeid?

HAMADEH
: Remember what I said about the Brussels calls.

SOUREF
: I’m tired. (Sounds of yawning) What about some sleep?

HANNA
: Sleep. I’m too worked up. (More sounds of yawning)

HAMADEH
: We must get sleep. Tomorrow is already here, but we’ve still got seven hours of darkness. It’s going to be a long day.

While Ascher listened, Moynihan gave the Chief
Superintendent
a brief summary of the conversation. There was a lot of discussion about what ‘the one’ meant, and in the end agreement.

The mobile command vehicle was parked in a deserted loading bay off Henrietta Street, a relic of Covent Garden’s former glory as a market. The small armoured windows set high on the rain-drenched sides of the big six-wheeler were blacked out, the driving cab door locked.

From the outside there was no sign of life in the vehicle. Inside things were different. It was brightly lit and much alive. One end was dominated by the communications system, the other by the operations table. From a console the controller could select frequency channels, switch
transmitters
and receivers, activate loud-speakers, handle
landlines
to the telephone exchange, and oversee transcribers. Between the two ends there were built-in desks with
cupboards
beneath, bookshelves over; yacht-like settees found space along the sides, and vertical map screens with sections of London stood on either side of the operations table. On it there was a large-scale plan and blown-up aerial photo of Spender Street and its immediate surroundings.

The five members of the Operations Sub-Committee and Barlov sat round the table, the General at its head. They were supported by Commander Barrington, Head of the Yard’s bomb squad, two Special Branch inspectors, a Metropolitan Police inspector, a scientist with burn scars on a face which had neither eyebrows nor lashes, and an official from the Thames Water Authority, Bob Yale, an ebullient Yorkshireman with a complexion like raw beef. The low voices of those in the command vehicle, the
intermittent
chatter of loud speakers and the hum of
petrol-driven
generators, wove a distinctive, never-ceasing pattern of sound.

The console operator tore a transcriber tape against the cutter bar and passed it to the General. ‘From GPO Tracing
Section, Sir, by landline. Transcript of the Brussels
conversation
.’

The General read it against the steady buzz of R/T chatter. Gale was talking by radio to Whisky Bravo Seven – one of the three Thames Water Authority vehicles standing by in the area. The man with the facial burns was murmuring technical jargon into a hand-mike. At another Dugald McGann was talking by telephone to 56 Spender Street. The Special Branch inspector was still handling Whisky Bravo Five.

One way and another a lot was happening.

The General passed the transcriber tape to George Isaacson. ‘It’s in French. Barakat’s Brussels chat. Brussels wanted to know local, US and Soviet buyers’ reactions to the terms of sale. Barakat said favourable. He expects a firm offer in the morning. He asked Brussels if there were any changes in the original terms of sale. The Brussels man said, “No, no changes.” Barakat said, ‘Still the lots?’ and Brussels replied, “Yes. I’m afraid that’s essential. There is definitely no change, but from what you say they’re not going to be necessary.” He wished him good luck, said goodbye and that was that.’

Isaacson said, ‘Is your French good?’

‘I hope so. I was military attaché in Paris for two years. In Brussels with NATO for another two.’

‘Sorry,’ said Isaacson. ‘Mine isn’t highly reliable. I wanted to make sure. It’s evident they expect acceptance. That exchange on top of the chat just recorded in Fifty-Six. What do you make of the reference to “lots”?’

‘Most interesting bit of the conversation, I thought. Might be a code word.
Lots
could be used in the context of a sale.’

‘It’s possibly more basic than that.’ Isaacson blinked at the General through thick lenses. ‘Brussels said, “I’m afraid that’s essential”.
Afraid
?
Isn’t that an expression of regret?’ The Principal Scientific Adviser leant forward on the operations table. ‘They’re a fatalistic people. It could mean drawing lots, something unpleasant. Sacrificial.’

‘You may well be right. Fits in with Hanna and Souref’s references to “the one”.’

‘
One
remains behind.’ Isaacson made a steeple with his fingers. ‘I seem to recall your belief, General, that there would be a period immediately before the expiry of the time limit when all the Palestinians would have gone. You thought our bomb disposal people could then go in and make it safe.’

‘I was wrong,’ said the General. ‘Nice of you to remind me.’ He turned to Barlov. ‘Ask Ascher what he makes of “the one”.’

Barlov called Ascher on the landline and put the question.