Love Among the Unicorns

The problem began when the relatively small Jewish population of Palestine underwent a dramatic increase after the Holocaust. The influx of new Jewish arrivals set off the Palestinians, who were the current proprietors of the land - and there were armed confrontations over property rights.

Britain, which had the mandate for Palestine, couldn't handle the chaos, especially after the Hagenah blew up the King David Hotel, which was chock full of Brits. So, they shuffled the problem off to the United Nations.

The UN had just come into existence and the liberal ideals that it was founded on didn't take ethnic hatred seriously enough. So, in typical Western colonial fashion - meaning the UN didn't bother to ask the actual residents -- it decided to partition Palestine into two States. One would be Jewish, and one would be Arab, with Jerusalem as an international city... that neither the Jews nor the Arabs controlled.

This was fine in concept. But the problem was that the occupants of that place REALLY hated each other and by the time the Brits scampered home neither the Jews, nor the Palestinians had actually formally agreed to the deal. Both parties thought the "two state solution" screwed them over land rights. Which, of course, left a concrete solution dangling in thin air.

Hence, when the Jewish leadership declared the new State of Israel in May of '48 - based on the putative UN boundaries - it was immediately invaded by five Arab armies. That invasion marked the beginning of Israel's War of Independence - one at which the Jews proved to be remarkably proficient. I suppose nothing inspires a people more than having the next holocaust waiting for them in the wings. The Jews had already had experience with one final solution. They weren't going to allow another.

Fighting ended in 1949, with a cease fire. The armistice created Jerusalem as a special legal entity, to be overseen by the United Nations... which solved absolutely nothing. All it did was establish an untenable situation... which was about to blow sky high.

That was the circumstance when I landed at Lod Airport outside of Tel-Aviv -- they call it Ben Gurion now. The day was hot and sunny, which is pretty much the way it always is in April. Father Cunningham was waiting for me in the Arrivals Hall. He was sent down from Jerusalem by the Archbishop, who is more appropriately called the Latin Patriarch... that's courtesy of the last time the Christians owned the place - 800 years ago. Jerusalem has a four thousand year history.

You might be wondering why a priest was fetching me to my new assignment. Well... the spy game works on legends. Meaning you are never who you appear to be and you have all of the documentation to prove it. Back then, I was just starting out in the business and that was my very first legend. I've had so many since then that I sometimes forget who I actually am.

According to good tradecraft, your legend has to be extensive and credible. So, the Company carefully and meticulously builds a bogus background that ensures that you fit seamlessly into the role you're playing. The legend is supported by false credentials and seemingly believable personal details that you memorize like your life depends on it... and it most certainly does.

Operators are typically attached to a diplomatic mission. That's the reason why you have all of those "economic advisors" staffing local embassies. But the U.S. Consulate General to Palestine was located in East Jerusalem. So, it was under Jordanian control. Meaning I was on the wrong side of a physical boundary line. Hence, the Company cooked up a different reason for me to be there.

The reality was that I was working in a microscopic piece of real estate where two of the world's great religions were at knife point. So, the Company wanted to emphasize my neutrality -- meaning, Christian. Plus, given its historical associations, Jerusalem might have as many priests per square foot as there are in the Vatican. So, I would blend into the terrain and nobody ever thinks the guy in the cassock is a spy.

Still... they didn't need to make me a Jesuit!! That was just plain mean!!

The Jesuits are the "shock troops of the Reformation" for a very good reason. They're a military order, pledged to "go anywhere and live in extreme conditions to defend and propagate the faith." In effect, I'd vowed to, "encourage and enjoy hardship for the sake of my soul" - which was a tough ask, given that hair shirts aren't my preferred style.

To make matters worse - the Company drilled the Jesuit perspective into me through four weeks of "Spiritual Exercises." My "Spiritual Director" during that period was a real Jesuit, and he was serious about the indoctrination. I mean... the Jesuits were the main players in the Inquisition - and now I know why... it was fucking excruciating.

In fact, it was hard to tell which was worse... four weeks of "Spiritual Exercises," or the sleep deprivation and mock waterboarding that they put me through on the Farm. Nonetheless the all black Jesuit cassock was perfect cover for a CIA Birdwatcher. Plus, it gave me special status among the canonical priests.

Good tradecraft dictates that you build your network one relationship at a time. As a, "Propagator of the Faith," it was expected that I would talk to all potential converts, and likely backsliders. So, any people watching me would think that my approach to a potential asset was just me doing my job.

The thirty miles on dusty roads up to the Pontifical Biblical Institute -- read, Jesuit headquarters in Jerusalem - was in the Diocese's Citroen 2CV. If you don't know what that car looks like... it's an iconic vehicle that resembles a snail... no snotty allusions to French stereotypes intended.

Jerusalem was not what I had expected. But of course, my impressions were from movies like Ben Hur -- meaning the City of two-thousand years ago. Jerusalem sprawls out over miles of hilly, sunbaked, semi-arid terrain. The walled part -- the one that you envision from Roman, or crusader times - amounts to less than a square mile of the actual City.

Those walls are still there, built by Suleiman in 1535, not Herod. The Romans tore down the original walls back in the First Century. The existing walls mark the historical boundaries of the old city of Jerusalem. And in the modern era they are surrounded by commercial buildings, mixed with more traditional Middle Eastern architecture.

Nonetheless - the difference between Jerusalem and most other big cities was the palpable hostility. It was everywhere. The whole place was littered with barbed wire, lookout posts, gun emplacements, and hastily thrown together walls.

There was also total ethnic segregation. After the 1949 Armistice the Arab population had fled from West Jerusalem and the Jews had fled from the Jewish quarter of the Old City. Israel held West Jerusalem, and Jordan controlled East Jerusalem, which included the boundaries of the religious quarter. From time to time, firing broke out across the armistice line, known as the Green line.

The Israelis DID maintain an enclave on Mount Scopus - you know... the old Mount of Olives from the New Testament. They had managed to hold onto that place during the 1948-49 war. But the Hebrew University and the Hadassah hospital up there were just isolated dots in a sea of hostile faces and the staff were closer to hostages than they were higher education and health care professionals.

The Old City was under control of the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan and, nearly all of the three religions' most sacred holy places were located there. So, there was constant ethnic tension over those sites -- at least for non-Muslims... meaning Christians and Jews.

Jews were forbidden access. Christians were permitted to visit their holy places on religious festival days. And the only entrance to the Old City was through a single check point, known as the Mandelbaum Gate.

I was there to watch the Israeli Knesset. The Knesset is their unicameral legislature. It's sort of like the U.S. House and Senate rolled into a single ball of backstabbing and intrigue. The Knesset compound is on a hill in West Jerusalem, a short drive from the Pontifical Institute, where I was bunked. Nobody at the Institute knew what I was doing there. But mystery is something that the Church accepts as a cost of doing business.

The part of the Knesset I was targeting was the Foreign Affairs and Defense Committee since it oversaw both Israeli intelligence as well as the IDF. The Company knew that that Committee would be the one to kick off the ball if the Jews decided to make the first move. And I was there to find out what that group was thinking. So of course, THAT required access to the people doing the planning.

My aim was to dig up intel about Israeli intentions vis-à-vis the current circumstances. Hence, my first task was to get to know the bureaucrats who worked for the Defense Committee of the Knesset. It was clear that war was in the offing, But when and where, was anybody's guess.

Notwithstanding America's traditional sponsorship of Israel, there are a lot of our interests that don't involve the Israelis, in that neck of the woods... like access to cheap oil. All of that had broad political implications back home. Hence, the current occupants of elected office in the United States. wanted to make the right call, that is... if the balloon went up. Information to let them do that was what I was after.

Going into a zero knowledge situation, as I was, requires extensive "spotting" - we call it bird watching. Bird watching is target identification. That is... you identify and categorize the people who fit into your HUMINT collection profile. It's the only way to develop access agents.

Access agents build the operative's copperplate network. They can be as simple as a barber, or a bartender -- or at the other end of the spectrum... an administrator, or an academic, or member of the military. You manipulate or coopt the target into either introducing you to the people you need to talk to - or better yet into actually providing the information.

If you are going into the situation cold, as I was, the best bird watching is done at local watering holes. That's where potential targets gather in groups. Okay -- I get it... You're a little confused. I was trolling for agents-in-place by hanging out in a bar - well duh!! Yes!!! The people who staff the committees in any agency of any government need to blow off steam and what better place to do that than a lavish hotel bar.

The Hilton was the most popular spot for birdwatching In 1967 Jerusalem. The Hilton is called the Waldorf now. But it was the place where every good Israeli bureaucrat went to unwind after a long day of dealing with people who truly wanted you dead. It was just down the hill from the Knesset building.

Of course, I would have stood out from the crowd sitting around in a cassock. So Father Erik wore Harris Tweed blazer with a discrete dog collar underneath -- all in grey and black, of course. Hey!! Even a man of God needs to unwind once in a while.

Bird watching mostly involves looking inconspicuous. If that's your goal then there is nothing better than having a book propped up in front of you. You sit at a little table in the back of the place and read - while you surreptitiously watch and analyze.

You avoid getting drunk by ordering a beer every fifteen minutes and then handing the mostly full old bottle back to the waiter who brings you the new one. I was at my normal post, facing the rear wall, with a Goldstar beer, reading Aquinas's Summa Theologica -- I mean... read THAT book if you want to appear harmless. That's when SHE walked in.

Her two male companions had that tough, competent look that Sabra Kibbutzim have. They were nowhere near as big, or as muscular as I was. But they both looked like they could handle me without breaking a sweat. I was immediately on-point because everything about them screamed Mossad.

The woman was a different story entirely. There are some females who transcend comparison. Meaning - you just can't describe them in conventional terms. She was one of those. She was an exceptional blond beauty, with a body to die for. But that wasn't the first thing you noticed about her. It was her unique situational awareness.

My first assumption was that she was nothing more than a Mossad swallow. But she was too self-assured and in-command to be working sexpionage, honey traps. All three were huddled together talking. There was a waiter, who might have been Mossad as well, standing near the table. He was constantly scanning the room to make sure nobody was taking any interest.

He skipped right past me because my back was to the group, I was wearing a collar, and I was buried in a book. Of course, I was side-eying the whole tableau in the ornate mirror that was hanging on the wall just in front of my table. I had been using that trick for two solid weeks prior to the encounter.

The conversation got intense. It was clear that the woman and one of the men were on one side of the issue and the other Sabra wasn't. That was when the oddest looking fellow took the fourth seat. He was the scariest looking human I'd ever seen -- that is... if he was actually human.

He appeared to be in his late sixties, with very closely cropped white hair. He was huge without being tall, perhaps five-eleven -- but maybe two hundred and sixty pounds, all of it in his upper body, shoulders, arms, and chest - with absolutely no neck.

He sat there for a little while and listened to the argument. Then he asked the goddess a question. She nodded her beautiful head affirmatively, "Yes." That seemed to be good enough for the stranger because he said something to the rest of the table and they all got the look that you get when a final decision has been made.

They shook hands all around, and the gorilla turned to a lovely older woman who had drifted up behind him. He put his hand fondly on her shoulder and they walked out together. It was Beauty and the Beast. But it was also clear that those two old folks adored each other.

The rest of the table talked for a couple more minutes. Then the two men made for the exit, leaving the goddess behind. She really was a special beauty. I mean... I have seen a lot of pretty women in my day. But they all blend together, into a mélange of beautiful faces, tits, and asses. This was one you would remember to your dying day.

My target had all the extra cost features, face, hair, and body, but there was something in her huge wideset eyes that screamed, "in control." The sarcastic tilt to those lush lips and her knowing worldly glance, as she appraised her surroundings, told me that nobody would fool her and that nothing would ever upset, or surprise her. She was strong, intelligent, capable, and brave -- along with being a rare specimen of feminine attractiveness.

Which, of course, meant that I would have to find out who she was, and what she was up to. It wasn't like I was thinking about scoring. For one thing -- the woman was totally out of my league. More relevant however -- my legend was built around a vow of CHASTITY. Even so, it was manifestly clear that a significant decision had been made and that opened up an avenue of inquiry.

Much of the spy game depends on serendipity... chance encounters that provide important insights. Whatever this woman was up to... it was something that the U.S. government needed to know. So, I dropped an Israeli Pound on the table and made my way out of the bar.

I had assumed that my target would walk back toward the Knesset. So, I was positioned to do a front tail. Nobody follows a target like they do in the movies - that is... unless they want to be made. Hence, I was waiting around the corner on Gershon Agron street as the blond exited the Hilton.

That put me totally out of position when she turned and commenced to walk up Ben Simon Street - away from where I was lurking. She was clearly headed toward the King David Hotel, which was a short distance up King David Street. That was where all the taxis congregate at night.

I wasn't going to burn myself by rushing after her. A pro like she was, would spot that in an instant. But I thought that I could follow her from a distance. So, I bopped around the corner through Ha-Meknes Square and back up King David with my target way up the street.

It was dark by then and Jerusalem was a dangerous place in 1967, But the woman was utterly fearless. I could track her shining sheaf of blond hair, which literally appeared to glow under the street lights. But she was too far out of visual range for me to learn anything useful.

I was pretty sure that I was going to lose her at the King David. So, I was about to call it a night when, to my total astonishment, she picked up another tail! A tall, shadowy figure emerged from the trees at Pierre Silber Square and began to saunter up King David, perhaps twenty yards in front of her.

She no doubt saw him. But he did a masterful job of making it look like he was just a guest at the King David... out for a bedtime stroll. He walked casually into the entrance, while she hailed one of the cabs that loiter around that place all night.

Well -- I had lost one target but I had gained another. So I continued on to the King David. The place is designed to impress -- with the sort of obvious luxury that you would expect from a hotel that catered to the nabobs of the British mandate prior to 1948.

There are alcoves off the lobby with the kind of leather furniture you would find in a top-level English club. My target was having a cigarette sitting in one of those, while reading the Jerusalem Post. He was sipping from a snifter - perhaps cognac, or brandy. A quick scan told me that he was a formidable player.

First and foremost... the man was the equal of the new woman in his exceptional appearance. Meaning, he was unearthly handsome. He was dressed in a perfectly tailored Savile row suit with an immaculate Guards tie - taller than I was, meaning at least six-three and he was slim. But he looked absolutely lethal.

You know what I'm talking about -- instant reflexes, perfect coordination, and very hard muscles. He was carefully observing the room to see who might wander in the door after him -- for instance me. Busted!!!

So, without looking in his direction, I walked purposely past reception and turned into the little café off the lobby. I sat down and ordered coffee and kanafeh, trying to give the impression that I had dessert there every night.

I savored a slice of that sweet pastry and cheese dish, while studiously ignoring my target. He, in return, read for another fifteen minutes. Then he snubbed out the cigarette, gracefully rose from his seat and walked off toward the elevator. I knew I'd been made.

I waited another fifteen minutes and, when there was no reappearance, I sauntered into the desk area, glancing around to make sure that my target hadn't lingered. He was nowhere to be seen. So, I boldly walked up to the desk clerk who greeted me with the usual fake friendliness. I said, very casually, "I know that man in the lobby but I can't remember his name."

There are always people who want to brag about seeing celebrities at the King David. So, the clerk said in a brushoff tone of voice, "You wouldn't know him unless you are an Archaeologist." I said, triumphantly, "I knew it... It's Mortimer Wheeler!!" That guy was famous at the time, and his name had been in the papers recently for some discovery he'd made - I couldn't remember what.

People will invariably correct you If you get a name wrong. It's natural - happens without thinking. I was counting on that. The clerk said brusquely, "That's Peter McPherson, not whoever you're talking about." The clerk immediately realized he had made a mistake. So he turned his back and walked huffily into the hotel office. I had a name. I knew it was an alias. But I assumed that archaeology was his legend.