other-side-of-deception-victor-ostrovsky

166 / VICTOR OSTROVSKY THF OTHER SIDE OF DECEPTIOX / 167The room was almost identical to the one I'd left behind in Washingtonexcept for the selection on the television. I was hoping to getIsraeli television, but it wasn't available. On the radio, however, Icould hear the Voice of Israel and almost all the other stations, includingAibi Natan's Voice of Peace.' There was a basket of fruit in theroom and the windows offered a beautiful view of the desert night.The air was warm and had a sweet taste to it. I took a shower andordered a dinner that consisted of humus and kufta, which I knew betteras kabob. I was seated at the small table the waiter had rolled inwhen there was a knock on the door.It was slightly more than one hour from the time Albert had leftme at the elevator. I got up and walked to the door. Through the peephole,1 could see Albert and another man. I unlocked the door andstepped back into the room. Albert and three other men walked in;apparently, two had been standing to one side, out of sight of thepeephole. They shook my hand, nodding and smiling, then walked inand sat around a small coffee table by the French window. After theintroductions, they all insisted I finish my dinner. I offered to ordersome food for them. They said they would eat after their friend Fadllalhad joined us.They asked if they could smoke, and within minutes the room wasfilled with the familiar cigarette smoke. It appeared they were all smokingMarlboros. I stuck to my Camels. One of the newcomers was ayoung chap of about twenty-five; he was apparently the assistant of aheavyset man in a black suit whose smile seemed to have been tattooedonto his face. The third looked like Albert's older brother, with silverhair and gold-rimmed glasses. By observing their posture and manners, Icould easily see that they were officers. I politely pushed away what wasleft of my food, explaining that I'd in fact eaten on the plane and wasn'tthat hungry. The truth was that I was very hungry, but I'd decided to getthis thing off on a good footing and eat later, when they did."So, Isa." The heavyset man turned to me, patting his mustachewith one hand. At this point, I realized that we all had mustaches, allof which were very much alike except for the one belonging to theman who looked like Albert, which was a longer, British-style mustachewith what seemed to be waxed sharp ends pointing up."I read the report Zuhir sent in," continued the man, "and 1 findthar we have so much to talk about, I just don't know where to begin.What would you recommend we do first?"1. Voice of Peace: Pirate radio station anchored outside Israeli territorial waters.1"Well." I took a cigarette out of my pack and tapped it on thetable. "What I would recommend is to see what it is I can't do foryou, so that you don't have expectations that I can't meet.""Sounds logical," the one with the sharp mustache said, looking atthe older man. "What, for example, do you think that we would liketo know and you cannot help us with?"I could see where this was going. It was a very good technique.One of the biggest dangers in questioning is letting the person beingquestioned in on what you do and don't know. They handled thistechnique well, not revealing anything about themselves."First, I assume you would like to know if the Mossad has agentsin your midst and who they are.""That would be a fair assumption," the youngest one said."Well, I can tell you that according to the reports, there are manyagents in your system, mainly in the field command. Because of theway the Mossad is constructed, I couldn't know who they are unless Iworked directly with them, in other words, unless they were myagents. I can tell you I was never in that position, so I can't help youthere. I can, however, put your mind at ease in one regard, and that isthat intelligence officers are not good targets and are rarely sought bythe Mossad.""And why is that?" the heavyset man muttered."Well, they are usually suspicious and on the lookout, they arewell aware of the techniques used, and once they have been recruited,they don't have thar much information that is vital to the big picture.They usually know more about you than about their own country. So,in other words, the results are not worth the hassle."There was a knock at the door. All eyes turned to it, and I wantedto get up and open it, but Albert stood up instead. "I'll get it. It'sprobably Fadllal.""So, you were saying," the young man said, as though he wantedto keep the conversation going. I turned to face him. "What I said wasthat I can't really help you much in the way of names."I could hear the door open and a short conversation at the door inwhat sounded to me like an angry voice that Albert was trying to calmdown. I saw astonishment in the faces of the people facing me. BeforeI could turn my head around to see what was going on, I felt somethinghard press against my head, almost at the top. A strong handgrabbed the back of my collar. The man said something in Arabic thatsounded like an order of some kind. The voice was harsh. I could feelall the blood rush out of the top half of my body and the cold sweateverywhere.