Haggai Harmon - The Chameleon Conspiracy

“This is where U.S. and Israeli interests join. You want to get those bastards who collapsed some of your banks, and we both want to stop the money flow which finances terror organizations that murder our and your citizens. As nine eleven has shown the world, terror does not stop in the Middle East. May I remind you all,” he said, just a touch theatrically, “that many people maybe haven’t noticed, but World War III has already begun. It’s the terrorists against the rest of the world.” Benny sat down.

Kyle looked at his watch. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it’s already four thirty. Let’s break now and meet at eight o’clock for dinner.”

We went outside to get fresh air before dinner. “Come,” Benny said. “Let’s have coffee.” We got in his car and went to Giverny. He stopped near Musee d’Art Americain and entered Terra Cafe. “Let’s go outside,” he said.

We walked to the beautiful porch and sat under a wooden pergola. I ordered a quiche, and Benny had just coffee. I knew Benny had something on his mind, so I just waited for him to start. When he didn’t, I asked, “You just gave us a theory, but no evidence or even a direction. Where does it lead us? Where is the touch point to the money trail?”

“Our longtime clandestine cooperation with the Kurds in Iran and Iraq has yielded interesting results,” said Benny with a smile like that of the cat that just ate the canary.

I knew what he meant. Israel had always thought it would be a fatal mistake not to extend its defense lines hundreds of miles away from its physical borders. It wanted to know when its enemy left its bases to attack Israel, rather than to be awakened when the enemy was at Israel’s door. A close relationship with the Kurds in Iraq and Iran had given Israel an observation point and a human early-warning system. Since as early as 1965, Israel had been training and supporting Kurdish commandos fighting for Kurdish independence. That enabled Israel to run covert operations inside Kurdish areas of Iran, Iraq, and Syria, primarily for intelligence-gathering operations.

Benny continued. “Together with Kurdish commandos, our agents have entered Iran and installed sensors and other intelligence-gathering devices that, for the most part, target suspected Iranian nuclear facilities.”

It had already been known for some time. Not all communications are transferred by the Internet, definitely not military and intelligence data, unless heavily encrypted. That is particularly true with respect to countries, such as Iran, which aren’t there yet in terms of computer sophistication. So Benny’s men were milking information from the Iranians by somehow listening to Iranian communication lines.

“As an observant Jew, I believe in the wisdom of our sages, which has taught us that we must study Torah not for a reward in the present or in the afterlife, but just for the sake of study. By studying Torah, a reward will come.”

“So?” I asked impatiently, champing at the bit.

“Here is a present-day application of that wisdom. Our devices were meant to alert us to Iran’s nuclear capabilities. But unexpectedly we benefited from these listening devices and unearthed loads of information about Iranian covert operations in support of terror organizations.”

“Go ahead,” I urged him. Of course, shrewd operator that he was, I fully realized that he would tell me only as much as he intended to tell me, but that didn’t make me any less eager to hear what he had to say.

“We know that there were extensive top-secret communications in Iran in connection with the U.S. The word Atashbon, Farsi for the guardians of fire, was very frequently used. We assume it to be a code name.” He gave me a clever look and started returning to his car, leaving me puzzled. But I knew Benny-more info was forthcoming. We returned to the chateau.

After dinner I joined Benny and Nicole Blair for a visit to Monet’s gardens and the Musee d’Art Americain, but their gates were already closed.

On the following day, we convened again in the dining room. Kyle and Benny summed up the conference. We were divided into four working groups and were taken to separate smaller rooms to continue talking. We finally talked shop and specifics.

I had breakfast with Benny before he left. He ate only bread and yogurt, knowing that the food served there wasn’t kosher.

“Do you know what’s next?” I asked. “The conclusion of the evening last night was somewhat vague. Is the cooperation on Iran’s terror financing between Israel and the U.S. across the board?” I asked.

Benny nodded. “I think we’ll have an agreement to cooperate in the operations discussed. However, each operation will be independently approved. Intel gathering ops will be separate. In other operations, there will be no mixed teams. To avoid problems resulting from disparity in political cultures and translations, each organization will be assigned a different piece of the action, and there will be a coordination meeting every two weeks-or sooner, if developments warrant it. “One good thing happened last night,” he concluded. “I wasn’t preached to.”

“What?” I didn’t get it.

Benny glanced at me from above his eyeglasses. “Our agenda is to eliminate our worst enemies, while most of the Free World still wants to turn a blind eye-as long as their countries remain intact-and preach to us to see the good side of our enemies.” He chuckled. “That is hypocrisy at its best, or rather, at its worst. Last night I was with people who think like me.”

“Are you going back to Israel?”

“Shortly. I’ll see you soon,” he said.

“You never finished the story about Atashbon. Was it on purpose?”

“Yes.”

“But do you know more than you told me?”

Benny looked at me with his intelligent brown eyes, studying my face. “Some.”

“Then tell me,” I said, taking the bait.

“Later,” he promised. He was firm. There was no point in arguing.

Kyle approached my table. “Specific assignments to teams have been prepared. Here are your instructions.” He handed me a piece of paper with a Paris address. “You can go there-it’s a safe apartment.”

After I packed my stuff, I joined Nicole for a ride to Paris. The journey was short, just about an hour. We were dropped off in the 16th arrondissement, the posh quarter on the west end of the French capital. I knew the area well. Whenever I’d come to Paris for more than two days, I would stroll in this quarter and behave like a tourist. We passed the commercial district of Passy, next to avenue Mozart in Auteuil, a small market community with a strong Provencal feel. Within minutes we stopped in front of a building on rue St. Didier. The building looked rather old and inconspicuous, but as all realtors say, what counts is location, location, location. Being in the 16th meant everything.

We lurched to the third floor in a squeaky elevator. But when Nicole opened the door of the apartment, I was in awe. It was massive. We entered a room with a twenty-foot-high ceiling and huge windows with wooden shades. Against one wall stood a long, upholstered sofa and an antique cocktail table. In the corner were two armchairs. On the other side of the living area, the dining area was set up with a simple, yet enormous, rectangular wooden table with carved wooden chairs. An additional sofa was placed in the alcove behind the dining area. Next to the dining area was a fully furnished kitchen that was modern in the fifties. A wooden stairway led us to the upper floor with its master bedroom and bathroom, two additional bedrooms, another bathroom, and a comfortable gallery designed around a balcony overlooking the living room. We looked inside the master bedroom: it had a king-size bed, a chest, and a vanity table. “That’s my bedroom,” announced Nicole, as if we were in the gold-rush era, when husky men were claiming property by the force of their guns.