"Our options are good to excellent," Musad said. "As you both will recall, the Turks were willing to appear reluctant to accept two squadrons of F-20s, insisting they preferred more advanced aircraft. This in turn caused Washington to offer favorable terms in exchange for Turkey accepting the Tigersharks. Since the U. S. extended trade credit in order to allow the Turks to complete the agreement, it is satisfactory to all concerned. Deliveries are scheduled to begin later this year, but Ankara has made it clear the F-20s are only an interim measure. Once economic conditions permit, the Turks will press for F-l5s. Under that condition, we have applied to be the ultimate user in a contingency, but should an emergency develop we shall buy the Tigersharks in any case."
Fatah allowed himself a moment's admiration of the man. Musad had been an indifferent pilot but had shown an exceptional capacity for Machiavellian politics. His behind-the-scenes contribution to his nation's defense far outweighed his service in the cockpit two decades ago.
Aziz caught Fatah's attention, pursuing Musad's line of thought.
"We have assured Ankara that our purchase of the aircraft will be at least eighty percent of the contract price. But since the Turks will not be paying in full anyway, the arrangement actually could be profitable for them. They will continue to fly their Phantoms and other machines, so there should be little attrition among the F-20s should we need them."
Fatah wrote a memo on his notepad. Without raising his eyes, he said, "Good. Now what about the Moroccans?"
Musad leaned back, at ease and confident. "That situation is even better. The end-use certificate specifies that those F-20s may only be transferred or sold to a nation already flying the type. It's different from the Turkish contract, since there exists the possibility that Greece might buy some Tigersharks. Between Turkey and Morocco, we can maintain a twenty to thirty percent reserve for our own F-20 force. And I have established contacts with both air forces-and perhaps the Sudan or South Korea-for extra spare parts in the event of an embargo."
Still writing, Fatah asked, "And what is the projected U. S. reaction if we exercise these options before an arms embargo? That is a possibility we must consider."
Musad's face was passive, in contrast to Aziz's. "I should say it depends upon relations between the Americans and the Israelis at the time. You may have heard that Israel provided Skyhawk parts to Argentina during the Falklands War, and Phantom parts to Iran in order to keep the pressure on Iraq. Neither exchange, to my knowledge, was approved by Washington. Yet there was almost no criticism. "
"But you know the Jewish influence in America." Aziz's voice had a brittle edge. "It is endless, there is no bottom to it."
Musad was about to reply that he could not blame any nation or group that acted from self-interest. It was the way of the world. Fatah looked up from his notes. "Yes, that is so. The Israelis can do almost anything they wish where the U.S. is concerned. They can spy on Americans, they can lobby against American interests in the U. S. Congress. They have even killed Americans with impunity." He looked over the top of his bifocals. "They cannot produce oil for the Americans. But we can."
Chapter 6
The intelligence offices were ever empty. Staffed around the clock every day of the year, they operated smoothly as each eight-hour shift alternated or-increasingly-overlapped. Colonel Chaim Geller flexed his legs, walking down the hall. It had been a long day in a long month. The occupation of Jordan continued to require much of his time, even with reduced military activity in that unhappy land.
Moving past the cubicles on either side, the once-sunburned archaeologist pondered his dissipating tan. He seldom got outdoors during daytime anymore. The shift had changed two hours ago and, working overtime, he noted with mild surprise the lamp on young Bar-El's desk remained on. Looking closer, he realized the reserve lieutenant was still there.
"Levi." The young man glanced up, "Here I thought we had said good-bye hours ago. Your active duty ended this afternoon."
Levi Bar-EI shifted slowly in his army issue chair. Geller realized his protege ached as much as himself. "Oh, yes sir. You know how I'm obsessed with this Saudi case." I'm leaving today, he thought to himself. No need to be diplomatic. Not until next year.
The section chief walked over, peering at the papers on the desk. He could not suppress a pleased grin. "By God, Levi, you may not be entirely objective yet, but you're hell for persistence." He made a special effort to pat the lad on the shoulder. "Something new?"
Holding up a report, the lieutenant said, "Our friend John L. Bennett was in America for almost two weeks and now is en route back to Arabia. Evidently the graduation of his first class from groundschool allowed him a short vacation."
Geller scanned the related papers from the file. "It seems they're serious about building this F-20 force. Well, for better or worse they'll probably have time to make it operational. I've not revised my estimate of six months ago."
Bar-El stretched his arms, slumped back, and mussed his curly black hair. "I remember. You said a relatively quiet two years or more. The Air Force staff thinks they will have to deal with these Saudi F-20s eventually."
The colonel dropped the file on the desk. "At least there's time to make plans. The Islamic fundamentalists still have to sort out their internal problems, consolidate their gains, and try to decide how to take us on. I believe their newfound unity has bought us a breathing space. If in fact they are consolidating their national and religious objectives to apply mass against us-"
"The correct procedure," Bar-El interjected.
A teacherlike wave of the finger. "You're learning. But if they are in fact consolidating and planning along those lines, it will take much effort in Iran, Iraq, Syria, and Lebanon."
"So you think they'll continue harassing us, building their military strength, and working diplomatically as well."
Geller said, "Absolutely. The imams must know by now they cannot afford another major loss. But some of them are dogmatic enough to think twice about dealing with the Soviet infidels. It may take time to overcome that attitude about unbelievers, especially after Afghanistan. But eventually pragmatism will win. Next time they'll choose the proper moment and try to do it right."
Bar-El scratched his head. His eyelids felt heavy. "Then what can we hope for in the meantime?"
There was the faintest trace of a smile at the corners of Geller's mouth. "I myself would prefer a miracle. A change of human nature. But lacking that, you know sometimes miracles are the product of a lot of hard work."
Bar-El's face was expressionless. Sometimes he did not understand his chief at all.
"More bickering among Sunni and Shiite, perhaps even some shooting along the South Yemen border." An eloquent shrug. "We’ll just have to wait and see."
Bar-El cocked his head to one side. The colonel thought he looked just like a curious puppy. "Do you mean we-"
"Levi, Levi, my young friend. Surely you realize I mean nothing. And in our line of work, even nothing can be highly significant. You've heard the phrase 'negative intelligence.' " The colonel winked, then heartily clapped Bar-El on the arm. "Enjoy yourself in Ashqelon, and save some fish for me."
Levi Bar-El stared at the retreating form of his section chief, pondering the myriad meanings of mere words.
Ed Lawrence rapped on the door at 1030 hours.
"Come in."