Agents of Innocence by David Ignatius Page A

Palestinian seemed to be signalling that he was a responsible, reasonable man, willing to do business.
    “The commando groups will respect the sovereignty of Lebanon,” the newspapers quoted Jamal as saying. “Fatah will forbid our men to circulate in Lebanese cities and villages with their arms.”
    The analysts at Langley regarded this statement as an attempt to reassure the United States and its conservative Arab friends that the commandos weren’t out to destroy Lebanon. The statement itself was demonstrably false. Fatah men were violating Jamal’s edict about carrying weapons even as he spoke the words. But it was interesting that he said it, nonetheless.
    “Because Fatah is the biggest commando organization, it has a big responsibility toward world public opinion,” Jamal said. “We study every operation very carefully and make sure that it will not affect civilians.” This seemed to be a vague promise—and not a very convincing one—that Fatah would seek to restrain terrorist operations abroad.
    Jamal was asked by someone in the audience about Fatah’s relations with Moscow. His answer was studied with special care back in Washington.
    “The commandos don’t deal with the Soviet Union as if we are affiliated with it,” he said. No one back home was sure what that meant.
     
     
    “Is this guy for real?” asked Hoffman when he read the transcript of Jamal’s speech.
    “What he said yesterday was mostly nonsense,” responded Rogers. “But the man himself is serious.”
    “How do you know he isn’t diddling us?”
    “I don’t,” said Rogers. “But my instinct tells me he wants to do business with us.”
    “Your instinct? Listen, junior, don’t tell me about instinct. Instinct can get you killed in this part of the world. Instinct isn’t worth shit. So far, from what I can see, we’re giving this guy documents and he’s making speeches.”
    Rogers tried not to sound defensive.
    “He did what we asked him to do. Which was to give us a sign of his bona fides. I’d like to try the next step.”
    “Which is?”
    “Which is to explore the kind of relationship he’s proposing, using Fuad as the intermediary.”
    “Okay, my friend,” said Hoffman. “As we say in the espionage business, ‘It’s your ass.’ ”
    Rogers nodded. He wanted to salute.
    “By the way,” added Hoffman. “In case it slipped your mind, we’re going to need clearance from headquarters for this little stunt. You may have gotten away with this Lawrence-of-Arabia crap in Oman, but not here!”
    Rogers thanked his boss.
    “Have you talked to M&S?” asked Hoffman.
    M&S was the agency’s Directorate of Management and Services, a housekeeping organization that supported agency operations. It had its own field office in Beirut, mainly to handle covert financial transactions in Lebanon’s foreign-exchange market.
    Rogers said he hadn’t.
    “Well, you’d better, because if this little plan ever goes anywhere, you’re going to need lots of help. Safehouses and surveillance equipment and couriers and travel funds. Not to mention whatever fat sum of cash it will cost to buy your little friend in Al-Fatah.”
    Rogers stared at the floor.
    “It’s an interesting scheme,” said Hoffman. “I’ll do my best to get it cleared.”

7
     
    Beirut; December 1969
     
    The climate back home was cool to new operations in the Middle East. The agency’s top officials were preoccupied with Vietnam and Laos. The senior analysts who prepared the National Intelligence Estimates regarded the Palestinian guerrillas as a passing phenomenon, irritating but ultimately irrelevant.
    The real issues in the Arab world, the old hands insisted, were the same ones that had preoccupied the agency for the last fifteen years: Nasser of Egypt, known in the agency by the cryptonym SIBLING , and his endless flirtations with Washington and Moscow; the militant regime in Syria, which the United States had tried to topple in 1956 with Operation