that descended to the seawall. Late in the afternoons on such clear summer days, the sun reflected off the Mediterranean and filled the studio with a warm, rippling light that never failed to put him at ease. But today there would be no time for relaxation.
He opened the casement windows and switched on an electric fan to expel the stale air; then he went to the kitchen to fetch some refreshments from the refrigerator. On his way back, the doorbell rang. Setting the tray down silently, he approached the door noiselessly and looked out the peephole. On the other side was the swarthy agent he had passed on the street corner.
As soon as the door was locked behind them, the two men embraced in Arab fashion, kissing each other on both cheeks before exchanging formulaic greetings in Arabic. Although Prosser knew his guest would have to leave within an hour or two, he avoided showing any haste as he poured out two glasses of apple juice and offered the man a dish of salted pistachios.
“So, Abu Ramzi, tell me where you have been these past two weeks. Did you make your inspection trip to the Bekaa Valley that we talked about?”
Abu Ramzi nodded. “I did, but I saw no foreign trainees or any sign of the special operations courses that you asked me to find. Perhaps such training was going on in camps that I did not visit, but I doubt it. I think it more likely that such courses have been moved to newer camps near the Syrian border by Yanta and Deir el Achayer. I tried to go there, but it is impossible to enter without written orders from Damascus.”
Prosser picked up his notebook. “Who runs these camps?” he asked.
“Most of the training cadres are Palestinians, but they do not belong to the Palestinian Resistance. They call themselves Palestinians, but their true home is Damascus and they take their pay and their instructions from the Syrians. To my way of thinking, they are merely Syrians who speak with a Palestinian accent.”
“Surely you must know somebody who can tell you what’s going on inside.”
“Maybe so, but it will take time to find them,” Abu Ramzi replied noncommittally. “Wally,” he said, addressing Prosser by his alias, “it surprises me that you still fail to recognize that those who carry out terroristic acts are not permitted to remain within the Palestinian National Movement. Arafat prohibited aircraft hijacking and assassination by the Resistance years ago. We have no use for such tactics now that our men are able to attack the Israeli army directly in South Lebanon and the occupied homelands. Terrorist operations in the Western countries do nothing but blacken our name there and set back our struggle for diplomatic recognition. Surely you must appreciate this.”
“Arafat can boast all he wants about stopping international terrorism,” Prosser replied, “but that doesn’t mean all his people are listening. Terrorist cadres are training right here in West Beirut at bases run by Fatah and Saiqa and the Popular Front and other outfits in the PLO. Open your eyes, Abu Ramzi.”
No matter how often Prosser raised the subject of PLO involvement in international terrorism, Abu Ramzi always denied it and invariably laid responsibility at Syria’s doorstep. Irksome as this habit sometimes was, Abu Ramzi’s reporting on political and military affairs was highly accurate and rich in detail. Prosser had learned to accept Abu Ramzi’s biases and edit them out of his reporting.
Abu Ramzi had first volunteered his services to the Agency in the autumn of 1976, in revenge for Syria’s intervention against the Palestinian militias in the Lebanese civil war. A fervent Palestinian nationalist, Abu Ramzi had once told Prosser he would accept aid from Menachem Begin himself to resist Syrian domination of the Palestinian cause. His reason for joining the pro-Iraqi Arab Liberation Front was that he had lived in Baghdad from 1948, when his parents fled Haifa, until the 1967 Arab-Israeli War, when he
He opened the casement windows and switched on an electric fan to expel the stale air; then he went to the kitchen to fetch some refreshments from the refrigerator. On his way back, the doorbell rang. Setting the tray down silently, he approached the door noiselessly and looked out the peephole. On the other side was the swarthy agent he had passed on the street corner.
As soon as the door was locked behind them, the two men embraced in Arab fashion, kissing each other on both cheeks before exchanging formulaic greetings in Arabic. Although Prosser knew his guest would have to leave within an hour or two, he avoided showing any haste as he poured out two glasses of apple juice and offered the man a dish of salted pistachios.
“So, Abu Ramzi, tell me where you have been these past two weeks. Did you make your inspection trip to the Bekaa Valley that we talked about?”
Abu Ramzi nodded. “I did, but I saw no foreign trainees or any sign of the special operations courses that you asked me to find. Perhaps such training was going on in camps that I did not visit, but I doubt it. I think it more likely that such courses have been moved to newer camps near the Syrian border by Yanta and Deir el Achayer. I tried to go there, but it is impossible to enter without written orders from Damascus.”
Prosser picked up his notebook. “Who runs these camps?” he asked.
“Most of the training cadres are Palestinians, but they do not belong to the Palestinian Resistance. They call themselves Palestinians, but their true home is Damascus and they take their pay and their instructions from the Syrians. To my way of thinking, they are merely Syrians who speak with a Palestinian accent.”
“Surely you must know somebody who can tell you what’s going on inside.”
“Maybe so, but it will take time to find them,” Abu Ramzi replied noncommittally. “Wally,” he said, addressing Prosser by his alias, “it surprises me that you still fail to recognize that those who carry out terroristic acts are not permitted to remain within the Palestinian National Movement. Arafat prohibited aircraft hijacking and assassination by the Resistance years ago. We have no use for such tactics now that our men are able to attack the Israeli army directly in South Lebanon and the occupied homelands. Terrorist operations in the Western countries do nothing but blacken our name there and set back our struggle for diplomatic recognition. Surely you must appreciate this.”
“Arafat can boast all he wants about stopping international terrorism,” Prosser replied, “but that doesn’t mean all his people are listening. Terrorist cadres are training right here in West Beirut at bases run by Fatah and Saiqa and the Popular Front and other outfits in the PLO. Open your eyes, Abu Ramzi.”
No matter how often Prosser raised the subject of PLO involvement in international terrorism, Abu Ramzi always denied it and invariably laid responsibility at Syria’s doorstep. Irksome as this habit sometimes was, Abu Ramzi’s reporting on political and military affairs was highly accurate and rich in detail. Prosser had learned to accept Abu Ramzi’s biases and edit them out of his reporting.
Abu Ramzi had first volunteered his services to the Agency in the autumn of 1976, in revenge for Syria’s intervention against the Palestinian militias in the Lebanese civil war. A fervent Palestinian nationalist, Abu Ramzi had once told Prosser he would accept aid from Menachem Begin himself to resist Syrian domination of the Palestinian cause. His reason for joining the pro-Iraqi Arab Liberation Front was that he had lived in Baghdad from 1948, when his parents fled Haifa, until the 1967 Arab-Israeli War, when he
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