other-side-of-deception-victor-ostrovsky

202 / VICTOR OSTROVSKYthe cell. I lay back on the bed. The fan abruptly stopped working, andit was too hot to do anything about it. The cockroach on the ceilingwas gone.I thought about my predicament. It was already four days since I'dbeen thrown into this cell. The possibility that this might be "home"for the rest of my life was terrifying. To escape the horror of such aprospect, I began a fantasy of how things were working out and how Iwould soon be out of there.I think it was some time in the early afternoon when the dooropened and a large man in a light gray short-sleeve suit entered theroom. I'd just stepped out of the shower and was still half-dressed. Iwas taking a shower every few hours, and I only dressed sufficiently tobe decent, in case I had a visitor."Mr. Ostrovsky?" the large man said with a friendly smile. Hisshining bald head was well tanned and so was his face. I could tellfrom his tan line that he normally wore a T-shirt and not the V collarthat he wore now.I turned my head as if looking for someone behind me. "I guessyou must be looking for me?"His smile broadened. "I must apologize for the delay in coming togreet you."I stared at the man without a word. still in the dormant mode I'dadopted. This man could depart at any minute and not come back,leaving me to my torment all over again. I decided that I would doanything to get out of that horrible place."If you would get dressed, I'll escort you to meet some peoplewho're expecting you."I nodded and within minutes was following him down the hallinto a large conference room. At the end of the long table was a pile ofBamahanehl magazines. The room appeared to have been plucked outof a modern office building; it was fresh and clean and seemed quiteout of place in this dilapidated old structure. There was a coffeemakerin the corner, and the aroma of American-style brewed coffee hung inthe air. The big man offered me a cup and then pointed to the traywith milk and sugar. To the right was a large wall mirror. Someoneopened a door behind the mirror, causing the mirror to be transparentfor a split second. I saw several people sitting behind it and a cameraon a tripod set up in the corner.1. Bamahaneh: The word means "in the camp" and refers to the weekly magazineof the Israeli military.II_dLTHE OTHER SIDE OF DECEPTION / 203"What are the magazines for?" I asked. The man told me that theywere for me, and that I could take them to my room after we were finishedtoday. What he said had an ominous ring to it. I didn't want togo back to my "room"; I wanted out of the whole rotten place, but Ihad to keep my cool.Things began to move very fast. The Egyptians handed me a pileof photographs and asked me to identify people from the Mossad.They were not playing games as most of the other agencies had. Eachphoto had a name under it in both English and Arabic. There werefewer than five photos that I couldn't identify. And I was told thatthey were serving in Europe, so it was quite likely that I didn't knowthem. They also had a chart of the Mossad departments and the floorplan of the building on King Saul Boulevard. They wanted me to showthem where I used to sit when I worked on the Danish desk.At that point, it was clear that they'd already spoken to someonewho'd worked in the building and were quite up to date on the organization.My host became much more relaxed once he learned that Icould not name any Egyptians working for the Mossad. And he wasmore than happy to get the information about the weapons infiltrationfor the Muslim Brotherhood.He then wanted to hear as much as I could tell him about RobertMaxwell, the British newspaper magnate. His reason was that theywere aware of the constant Mossad interest in purchasing media sothat it could both influence public opinion and use journalism as acover for inserting - agents - into countries.It seemed my host was as eager to show me how much he knew ashe was to hear about things he didn't know-not a good trait for anintelligence officer. He identified Maxwell as a Mossad agent and alsoreminded me of other occasions on which the Mossad had beenbehind the purchase of newspapers in England. As an example, hegave the Eastern African, which was bought with Mossad money byan Israeli businessman. The purchase was made, he said, to assist theSouth African propaganda machine in making apartheid more palatablein the West.Suddenly, the sinister nature of what was being done withMaxwell became clear to me. In his zeal to cooperate with Israel, andeven though he was not an agent himself (as the British had madeclear when I had spoken to them in Washington), Maxwell was asayan on the grand scale. The Mossad was financing many of its operationsin Europe from moneys stolen from the man's newspaper pensionfund. They got their hands on the pension funds almost as soonas he'd made his purchases (initially wlth money lent to him by the