Agents of Innocence

9

Beirut; December 1969

The covert relationship between the CIA and Fatah’s deputy chief of intelligence put down a first frail root in late December 1969. Even by the standards of the espionage business, it was an awkward and furtive contact.

Two things mattered to Rogers in planning this opening move. The Palestinian must understand that Fuad was an agent of the CIA and that Rogers was his case officer. And the Palestinian must signal his good faith directly to Rogers-even though he refused, for now, to meet with him.

A clandestine relationship had to begin as straightforwardly as possible, Rogers felt. Otherwise it soon became hopelessly tangled in the web of confusion and deception that was inevitably part of the secret world. Rogers also wanted to see Jamal in the flesh, to look in the eyes of this twenty-seven-year-old Palestinian and assess his character.

The arrangement was simple. Jamal and Fuad would meet at the sidewalk cafe in front of the Strand Theater on Hamra Street. They would sit down at a table together and order coffee. Rogers would walk slowly past the cafe.

As Rogers approached, Fuad would signal Jamal with a prearranged phrase, and Jamal would put his arm on Fuad’s shoulder. It would be understood that this gesture would mean “Fuad is my contact” and would signify Jamal’s willingness to deal with the CIA. The two sides were agreeing in principle to share information, but there was no commitment on the details.

Jamal asked that there be no surveillance of the meeting by either side, and he brought none of his own retinue of aides and bodyguards. In fact, he had told only one person about the meeting-a figure he referred to only as “the Old Man.”

“Tough shit,” said the station chief, when informed of Jamal’s request that there be no surveillance of the rendezvous on Hamra Street.

“Tell him we agree to his condition and then screw him. If he thinks we’re flying into this one blind, he’s crazy.” Rogers protested briefly but then gave up. He recognized that deceit was part of the business. Even so, it made him uncomfortable to begin a relationship of trust with a lie.

Hoffman assigned a small team of agents to cover the area. One would be positioned at a shoeshine stand across the street. Another would be in a cafe on the corner of Hamra and Rue Nehme Yafet, just west of the meeting place. Another would be just east, in a car parked on the corner of Hamra and Rue Jeanne d’Arc. The station chief insisted on photographing the rendezvous from several angles, so that there would be physical evidence showing Rogers, Fuad, and Jamal together. He arranged to have one photographer shooting from an office window across the street and one shooting from a parked car.

“We need a little control over this guy,” Hoffman said matter-of-factly. “A little something in the bank if he ever decides to play games with us.”

The rendezvous was set for two o’clock in the afternoon. Jamal was late, and Rogers worried that the operation had been blown before it started. But Jamal arrived at 2:20 p.m., sat down at the table with Fuad, and began chatting.

The Palestinian looked as sleek as ever. He wore the collar of his leather jacket turned up against the winter chill. But he left the top buttons of his shirt undone.

As Jamal talked with Fuad, his eyes panned Hamra Street. The Palestinian seemed to be as eager to lay eyes on Rogers as the American was to see him.

Rogers began walking slowly up the street, from the corner of Rue Nehme Yafet. He gazed up at the marquee of the Strand Theater, which was showing Ice Station Zebra that week, and then turned his head down toward the cafe.

Jamal had his arm firmly on Fuad’s shoulder.

Then something happened that wasn’t in the script. Jamal stared full into Rogers’s eyes and nodded his head.

Rogers kept walking. As he rounded the corner of Rue Jeanne d’Arc, he let out a little shout of pleasure, restrained but audible.