other-side-of-deception-victor-ostrovsky

I'm here and you're there. It wouldn't take much to have our rolesreversed. , vou , know."There was a short silence on the line. "I'm sorry if I sound likethat. It's just that-""Just say your piece, and let's get this conversation over with."He said that now that the London station was cleaned up, it wastime, according to Ephraim, to hit the Paris station. He also said thatthe London station would have to work for the next few months froma new safe house and not from the embassy because they couldn't justsend in a new batch of case officers all at once; they'd have to do itgradually. They believed they'd have the station back in operation byJanuary 1989.We talked over what was to be said to the French and how thecontact should be made."I think that you should do this one," I said to Eli."What are you talking about?""You speak French, don't you?""Yes.""I don't. I'll call Ephraim later and tell him what I think. I mean,what difference will it make? You talk to them.""You're crazy," he said, but I could detect a tone of anxiety in hisvoice.Later that day, I talked to Ephraim, who explained that if Eli wascaught, it would mean an execution because he was in active service. Itwould be a much worse scenario than if I was caught. After all, I wasalready outside the organization. His explanation didn't hold water,but since I'd raised the matter only to irritate Eli, I let it drop. I didask, though, not to have to talk to Eli again.On Wednesday, July 6, I called the French embassy in Washingtonand managed to talk to the person in charge of security. Having donethis several times before, I was becoming trained in the matter, and bythe end of the week, I had a visitor from Washington. After severalhours of conversation, he said he'd get back to me but wanted toknow if I was willing to take a short trip to France.I arrived in Paris on July 28 and was met at the airport by a veryfriendly Frenchman who reminded me of the French comedianBourvil. After finding my luggage, the man had my passport stampedin a small office away from the crowd. Then he took me in his smallRenault to Paris.I lodged in a hotel by the name of Jardin de Eiffel, next to a localpolice station. The small but charming hotel was within walking distanceof the Eiffel Tower.! I THE OTHkK 5IDF U t 1)tCEPTIOX / 241For the next week, I was driven each morning from the hotel towhat looked like an abandoned two-story office building outside thetit); thirty minutes away. The building was attached to a small listeningbase somewhere north of Sarcelles-not far, I understood, fromwhere Madame Pompidou has her country estate. The drive there waslike a ride on a roller coaster. I grew up in Israel, where driving is amartial art, but this was crazy.At the "farmhouse," I spent the day with the Bourvil look-alikeand three other people. I knew they were from the French secret service,nicknamed "Le Pisson." They were extremely courteous and hadapparently prepared a long list of questions in anticipation of myarrival. We'd break for lunch every day at the same time, walk over tothe listening base, and have a great meal served to us in a small butelegant dining room. The commander of the base almost always joinedus for lunch, and the opening of the wine bottles that someone differentbrought every day was a ceremony. Over the week, I developed agood relationship with one of the hosts in particular; he'd be my contactafter I left. Since we both smoked more than the others, he earnedthe code name Cendrier.First, we mapped out the departmental chart of the Mossad. Therewere many sections that they knew about and others they were curiousabout. They were mainly interested in the ~omemiutel andTsafririm departments.Before long, they were versed in the structural tree of the organizationand they could see the logic of the flowcharts, which must be verysimilar from one organization to another. They found it extremelyhard to believe the lack of compartmentalization in the Mossad. Butafter a while, they realized that the quantity and the quality of theinformation I was giving them was indicative of a lack of compartmentalization,since I knew so much.The second day was almost entirely spent viewing photographs ofMossad people. It was there that I learned that Mousa was stationedin Brussels. There were so many Mossad officers in their books that Ifelt naked. There was a photo of Oren Riff walking down a street inParis with two other Mossad members. The three were totallyunaware of the fact that they were under surveillance. I wondered whothey were going to meet and how many agents and Jewish helpers theyburned in that one visit to Paris. Then there were piles of photos taken1. Komemiute: New code name for Metsada (department for clandestine operations).