Chapter 58
“On June 5, 1968, the American senator Robert Kennedy won the California primary election,” began the Syrian. “Arguably, it virtually handed him the presidency, but June 5 was also the anniversary of the outbreak of the Six-Day War. And that night, a Jerusalem-born Muslim named Sirhan Bishara Sirhan assassinated your beloved Bobby. Sirhan was immediately arrested, and eventually put on trial, sentenced, and sent to one of your maximum-security jails. The story does not end there,” explained Jamil Laham.
D’Angelo was intrigued by Laham’s story. The fact was, he didn’t know Kennedy was killed on the anniversary of the war.
“Yitzhak Rabin, then Israel’s Ambassador to the United States, was scheduled to meet with Senator Kennedy. Rather than meet about Israel’s future, he was left to contemplate the impact of Senator Kennedy’s death. He later wrote in his memoirs that Americans, so dazed by what everyone considered the ‘senseless act of a madman,’ couldn’t begin to recognize the real political significance.
“And what, my friend, might that have been?” It was a rhetorical question. “No matter what your historians report, Sirhan was not a madman. He planned the act. At his trial he even proclaimed, ‘I killed Robert Kennedy willfully, premeditatedly, and with twenty years of malice aforethought.’”
“Twenty years?” D’Angelo asked.
“From 1948 through 1968. The year 1948 being when Israel declared nationhood.”
The CIA agent listened intently.
“I have become something of an expert on the assassination. You’ll soon see why. Just after Robert Kennedy graduated from Harvard University, he reported from Israel for The Boston Post. Why is this significant? He was there when the Zionists established their state. He was there through the earliest days of their war for independence. And he was there when his brother, John Kennedy, visited with a congressional delegation in 1951. From that day on, the Kennedys resolved to help Israel ‘bear any burden.’”
“That was many years ago.”
“Indeed it was, yet still relevant. Robert Kennedy supported Israel from its birth. As president, he would have furthered the cause of the Jewish state. Many Muslims saw him as a threat. Sirhan Sirhan pulled the trigger for them all. To your people, he was an assassin — to us a hero who deserved to be free.”
“I understand that. But….”
“Patience. I’m getting to what you must really grasp. In March 1973, a group known as Black September stormed the Saudi Embassy in Khartoum. They took a United States Ambassador hostage, along with others. What was one of their principal demands?”
D’Angelo shrugged his shoulders, embarrassed he didn’t have the answer.
“The release of Sirhan Sirhan,” Laham asserted. “The release of the hero.”
“My God!”
“President Richard Nixon refused to consider the demand. No negotiation. A foolish decision? You decide. All of the hostages, including the ambassador, were executed. Each of them was shot to death. I can recite their names and the names of their family members if you wish. I’m sure that’s more than any American can do.
“You will recognize the name of another man in my story,” Laham said resuming the saga. “A man who — according to Israeli intelligence and your infamous NSA — issued the order.”
“Who?”
“I did start by saying that this is history your own texts have forgotten.”
“Yes, you did.”
“The order, according to many, came from the head of the Black September terrorist group.” He stopped to see if that sparked a recollection. It did not.
“Yasser Arafat.”
“Arafat!” exclaimed D’Angelo. “I never—”
“Your government and your media chooses not to remember,” explained Laham quite correctly. “Of course, Arafat publicly disassociated himself from the murders, but there were reports that he discussed the assassinations during a private dinner with Romanian dictator Nicolae Ceausescu. A defector also at the dinner claimed that Arafat bragged about the Khartoum operation. That report was published in The Wall Street Journal. I can give you the date if you wish.”
“Just go on.”
“Eventually, a Palestinian analyst for the National Security Agency went public with charges that Arafat’s role in planning the kidnappings and execution had been suppressed. Other reports to surface even include the exact single-side band radio frequency he used to communicate with his aide. Would you like that? 7150 kHz. Or the text of the message?”
D’Angelo interrupted. “Look, nothing you’ve said directly links Sirhan Sirhan to Black September or confirms that he took orders from Arafat.”
“Perhaps. But in turn, I must ask why would Black September make Sirhan’s release a condition of the hostages’ freedom?”
“Publicity?”
“Perhaps. The United States did not have a counter-terrorism force at that point. Maybe they thought it would work. But what if it was not for publicity? What if they really believed their actions could return a hero to the Palestinians?”
D’Angelo vowed to read the reports when he returned home.
“Now for the connection that I believe you’re most interested in,” Laham stated. “While the United States did not make a punitive strike against Black September, Israel did. They sent a squadron of F-4 Phantoms, armed with Shrike and Maverick missiles into Palestinian camps in Jordan and Syria. Little is known about this attack except that more than one hundred men, women, and children were killed. In addition to the missiles that destroyed the camps, another air-to-ground rocket went astray into a nearby town. Forty-five more people died, including an old couple visiting their son, his wife, and their newborn granddaughter. The baby’s father escaped the blast. He was buying food for dinner at the souk. He came back to the devastation and found his family. They were all dead. His wife and parents were burned to death in the fire. His daughter was blasted through the house and impaled on the front gate. He lifted the girl off the iron rail and gently laid her down in front on a carpet remnant. He went back to what was left of the house and carried his wife out, then his parents. When help came the man was sitting on the ground, gently rocking his daughter to her eternal rest. His tears were gone by then. Those who tell the story have said he was quite composed. He thanked everyone for their concern, but he explained he would take care of things in due time. They thought he was talking about burying his family. But there was more to his statement. In that one hour of his life, he vowed revenge against the Zionists, against the State of Israel, and against the American presidents who supported them. He changed that day into the man you seek. Into Ibrahim Haddad.”
“This is all personal,” D’Angelo concluded.
“I’m afraid you’re right.”
“Which explains his utmost patience. He’s put more than thirty years into his hatred. How can anyone live like that?”
“For the Muslim world, that hatred is fueled every day the Zionist flag flies.”
“That won’t change.” D’Angelo instantly wished he hadn’t said that, but it was too late. Laham broke eye contact and shook his head. He raised his head to the heavens and uttered a quiet prayer. Oh God, You are Peace. From You comes Peace. To You returns Peace. Revive us with a salutation of Peace. And lead us to your abode of Peace.
D’Angelo recognized Mohammad’s Prayer for Peace and Laham’s sincere hope that the world would find it. “I’m sorry.”
Laham, still with his eyes to the sky, nodded. “I wouldn’t be talking to you if I didn’t recognize the Jewish state as permanent. But peace should be just as permanent, and yet it is hardly evident.” He lowered his head and stared deeply into D’Angelo’s eyes. He saw sincerity. “I hope our conversation will help.”