Gideon's Spies

In between, the three men still had much to study and memorize: the roads to the Iranian Cultural Center, the routes from across the city, the area where they could find a lock-up garage, the location of the dead-letter box where the explosives had been left for them to kill Imad Mughniyeh. The material would be placed there by the Beirut sayanim. How and when he did so would remain one of the secrets of the operation moving to its climax.

Meir Dagan had tasked Israel’s own spy satellite, Trescas, to mount surveillance in the area of Damascus where the Iranian Cultural Center was situated. Mossad had priority over all the country’s military agencies for such an operation.

Day by day images were downloaded and studied by photo interpreters in the Kirya, the IDF headquarters in Tel Aviv, looking for any sign of Mughniyeh. There were several “possibles,” but none that matched the photo in the file Reuben had sent. The silent search from outer space continued. Dagan had “a gut feeling” the terrorist would be going to the Iranian celebration at the cocktail party, he told his Director of Operations.

On Saturday, February 9, 2008, the three kidon made their way to Tel Aviv airport to catch their flights to Vienna, Paris, and Frankfurt. A week before, Reuben had received the file from his informer and transmitted it to Tel Aviv. By nightfall, the three kidon were in their airport hotels waiting for their flights to Damascus the following day.

On their cell phones was a close-up of Mughniyeh’s face, which had been altered in that former Stasi clinic near the River Spree.

On Sunday morning, February 10, 2008, Pierre boarded Air France Flight AF 1519 at Charles De Gaulle airport for the journey to Damascus. The sun was setting over the city when he arrived. From Madrid, Manuel had flown on Jordanian Airways Flight RJ 110 to Amman and then on to the Syrian capital. An hour later, Ludwig’s Alitalia Flight AZ 7353 had left Milan’s Malpensa airport in mid-afternoon and arrived in Damascus at 6:30 P.M. local time.

Shortly after, the three men—untroubled by Syrian immigration and customs officers—stowed their carry-in bags in the trunk of the hired car and, with Pierre at the wheel, drove into the city. By late evening they had driven past the dead-letter box and located the lock-up garage which the Beirut sayanim had said would suit their purpose. Satisfied that neither the dead-letter box nor the garage were under surveillance, they picked up the explosives, the small portable radio, and the key to the lock-up garage left in the box. Behind the door of the garage, they worked to prepare the bomb, which would be concealed inside the radio and placed in the car’s headrest on the passenger side. By dawn they had finished.

Taking turns to stand watch, the three kidon slept in the car for most of the day. Late that afternoon, they drove around the city finally passing the Iranian Cultural Center. It was bigger than the sayanim’s photographs had suggested. It stood on a road with exit routes close by. The plan they had devised would work. Satisfied, the team returned to the lock-up garage. There was no sign that anyone had disturbed its door by dislodging the piece of cigarette paper placed at the bottom.

What they did for the next twenty hours would remain a mystery.

At 7 P.M. on Tuesday, February 12, the team was back outside the Iranian Cultural Center. Ludwig took up position at one street corner, Manuel another. Pierre drove the hired car further down the street from where the oncoming traffic was approaching. He activated the bomb placed in the headrest. Inside the radio, the timer began to tick. It had a four-hour clock. It was now 7:30.

Guests for the Iranian celebration of the Khomeini Revolution were steadily making their way into the Center. At 8 P.M., the Iranian ambassador arrived and hurried inside. None of the guests resembled the face on the cell phones of the three kidon.

At 9 P.M. a silver Mitsubishi Pajero turned into the street and parked close to where Ludwig and Manuel were standing on opposite sides. For a moment the driver and his passenger sat checking the street.

Then the passenger door opened and Imad Mughniyeh emerged. He wore a dark suit and his beard had been neatly trimmed. He started to walk up the street toward where the hired car was parked. He was level with the vehicle when there was a huge explosion, which blew the car into pieces and beheaded Mughniyeh. Later, some of his body parts were found twenty meters away.

Which of the kidon was the first to trigger the bomb would remain unknown. But before the first screaming guests ran from the Iranian Cultural Center reception, and the police and ambulances arrived, the three assassins had vanished.