PUTS FICTION TO SHAME* “Dramatizes a true life spy story that puts fiction to shame” —ALLENTOWN CALL, PENNSYLVANIA “Compelling reading” —BUFFALO COURIER EXPRESS “Elie Cohn made the spies of fiction look like amateurs” —NATIONAL JEWISH MONTHLY “Recommended” —LIBRARY JOURNAL OUR MAN IN DAMASCUS ELIE COHN by Eli Ban-Hanan STEIMATZKY, CITRUS HOUSE, TEL-AVIV This book is dedicated to the memory of a man of great accomplishment, no longer with us, and to his wife (may she live long and happily) whose personality contributed so much to his extraordinary accomplishments. All Rights Reserved PRINTED IN ISRAEL Foreword This book is based on facts and events which took place on the dates and in the places indicated. The dialogs and some of the names have been changed in order to complete the picture, and so as not to prejudice persons still living among us. I have no doubt that all this book reveals about the personality and deeds of Elie Cohn, Our Man in Damascus, is merely a drop in the ocean of his outstanding achievements; the rest we will learn only years from now, if at all. —ELI BEN-HANAN PREFACE I knew, something inside of me whispered, that the day my husband would become a public personality was rapidly approaching. I said good-bye to him in the last days of November, 1964, with a clear feeling that this would be our last meeting. When they informed me two months later that he had been caught —my heart ached, but I was not surprised. “Your husband was a hero,” they said in May. “His exploits will go down in history.” When the Six-Day War ended I knew that indeed that’s what he was, and now I see that history will also remember him. To you, the writers of history—my thanks. —NADIA COHN Contents 01 The End and the Beginning 02 Agent 888 03 Training Missions 04 The First Mission 05 Important Contacts in Argentina 06 Into the Lions’ Den 07 Nazi-Hunting in Damascus 08 Entertaining the Syrian Top Brass 09 Elie’s Friend Becomes President of Syria 10 Caught! 11 The Interrogations 12 The Trial—First Phase 13 The Trial—Second Phase 14 The Trial—Conclusion 15 Appeals, Appeals 16 The Execution of Elie Cohn “Against the Arab you mustn't defend yourself. You have to attack . . . ” —ELIECOHN 1 The End and the Beginning Powerful arras grasped him by the elbows and dragged him off to his cell. His senses were numb and when they tossed him inside his head struck the concrete floor and a stream of blood streamed from his forehead. Elie Cohn gave a feeble groan and passed out. “The swine,” grumbled one of the guards. “Nothing works. He’ll never open his mouth.” “Don’t worry, Lieutenant,” said the other guard. “A few electric treatments and a couple of swings in the cradle and he’ll be singing like a bird.” The lieutenant went up to the prisoner, pulled him over on his back, and wiped the blood from his face with a rag soaked in alcohol. “Tie him up good, Hatif, and don’t let him get any rest tonight Let him sleep on the cold floor, without mattress and blankets; in the morning you’ll see how he’s going to talk.” “Leave him to me. He’ll talk.” The lieutenant got up and started to leave the bleak cell. When he reached the door he stopped for a moment and looked back. “Hatif,” he said. “I’m relying on you. But don’t get overenthusiastic. The brass want him in good shape for the trial.” Hatif smiled. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll handle him with kid gloves.” Then the two of them went out and Hatif slammed the door brusquely. Elie Cohn lay twisted on the floor, groaning quietly. The blow to his head had not increased the pain. On the contrary, it had shaken him out of his enforced apathy, that apathy for defense purposes that he had been taught in Tel Aviv. When he opened his eyes a pain shot, like a dazzling light, into his brain. But after a few moments he got used to it and lay quiet. His legs felt like two sticks of ice and his nostrils filled with the sour, fetid smell of dry rot mixed with urine. He wanted to finger the bruise he received when he fell, but his hands were tied behind his back and linked to his legs by a chain. His circulation had stopped, which explained why he felt so cold. He tried to raise his head to examine his situation, but the slightest movement tightened the steel chain and pulled back his shoulders. The pain was excruciating. For a moment he decided to forego all effort and stay where he was, perhaps even to go to sleep for an hour or two. But the cold made sleep impossible. “No,” he stammered to himself. "I cannot do it.” He fixed his eyes on the peeling wall in front of him and his thoughts darted rapidly. When his head cleared he suddenly noticed that his chest was rising and falling convulsively. Each time he inhaled he got a stabbing pain in his right side. A few minutes later he discovered he could dispel the pain, or at least weaken it, by breathing carefully and filling his lungs only halfway full. “Remember!” Yitzhak’s voice suddenly rang in his ears. “Everything you learn here may come in handy someday. Take it seriously.” Yitzhak’s face had grown grim for a moment. Then he added, “Let’s hope you never have occasion to see that I’m right.” Elie Cohn knew the boss had been right. Now more than ever before. There was no sense denying the fact that he was an Israeli agent. He smiled when he remembered the moments that had led him to the fateful decision. As he lay there—bound and paining and cold—everything came back to him like a stark detective movie. It all began casually on a spring morning in I960, when he was working as an accountant in the Supply Department of Central Distributors. That morning someone had knocked on the door of his office and asked if he could come in. “Please do. Have a seat,” Elie said, motioning to a chair beside his desk. The man nodded agreeably. Then he put out his hand. “My name is Zalman. The second name is not important.” He smiled at Elie’s look of amazement. “I don’t know if I can speak here,” he whispered, leaning forward. “I work for the Ministry of Defense. I am an Intelligence officer.” “Intelligence officer?” The man nodded. “It’s a rather unusual job, which involves a lot of traveling. I’d say it’s rather interesting.” “What do you want from me?” Elie asked. “I’ve been asked to offer you a position in our service,” the man said placidly. “What kind of position?” “Interesting work, which includes trips to Europe. Most likely you’ll get to visit Arab countries as well.” Elie was silent for a moment. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to accept your offer,” he said. “You probably know that I recently got married. I want to stay with my wife. Besides, I’ve had enough wandering to last me three lifetimes.” “Even if we double your present salary?” Elie shook his head. “It won’t help. I get along with what I have.” The man got up and shook hands politely. At the door he turned and said, “Thank you for giving me a few minutes of your time. I don’t want to force anything on you. In any case, try to forget me and don’t tell anyone of my visit. Not even your wife, Nadia.” Elie nodded. “I understand. You can trust me.” After the man left, Elie spent a long time in thought. No doubt his visitor knew a good deal about him. The fact that he had mentioned his wife’s name said a lot. Later he tried to forget the whole affair. When he came home that evening he did not mention the meeting to anyone. Elie Cohn’s life went on as usual. Three, four weeks passed after that curious conversation in Elie’s office. On the tenth of the month, as usual, he got his paycheck; with it, though, was an envelope. He quickly ripped it open and found this notice: As a result of cutbacks in the departments of Central Distributors, the management is compelled to dismiss you along with five other experienced employees. Thank you for your devoted service. We hope that the day we again expand our staff, we will see you in our ranks once again. Elie blinked, and a strange gleam came into his eyes. Once again within a short period he was jobless. The burden of supporting the family would again fall on Nadia. He went down the stairs and out into the noisy street. True, he had been given a ten-day extension, but as far as he was concerned it was the end. From that day on Elie was not the same man. He became immersed in himself—abstracted, brooding about the host of practical problems he faced. Nadia tried not to trouble him with unnecessary questions. She knew what was bothering him. Two days later, he was leaning over his electric calculating machine, when Zalman appeared in the doorway again. “Good morning, Mr. Cohn,” he said. “May I sit down?” Elie extended his hands in invitation. Zalman came to the point at once. “You probably think we’ve been impolite and interrupted your work here in order to make you work for us.” Elie did not answer. “Well, the truth is that I heard about it only yesterday and by accident, and decided to come to your assistance. You understand that the Ministry of Defense does not have to have five people fired in this department to force you to work for us. But my offer still stands.” Elie lifted his hands. “All right, Mr. Zalman. There's no need to apologize. Our world and our lives are controlled by a combination of coincidences. I’m afraid you've come at the right time.” “I’m certain that your new position will satisfy you, and your wife will be able to quit working. We’ll pay you 350 pounds a month. We’ll teach you the trade, and then you can take it or leave it, as you wish. In questions of conscience no one can apply pressure.” “You’re repeating yourself, Mr. Zalman,” Elie said. “I already told you I accept!” Zalman got up. “Well, we’ll contact you within the next few days. Until then, treat this conversation as if it never took place.” The notice to begin work on his new job was given over the phone. “Come to the center on Allenby Street tomorrow at seven, and find some cover for what you’re doing,” the voice on the other end said. “Try to think of something convincing. The preparations are likely to take a few weeks.” Elie replaced the receiver. Then he stretched back in the padded chair. For a minute he played with the ivory keys of the electric calculating machine, and smiled at the result. The next morning he kissed his wife good-bye before leaving. “When do you think you’ll be back?” Nadia asked. Elie shrugged. “I know when I’m going out. It’s hard to say when Til be back. They said they had an interesting job outside the city. It’ll take a bit of time.” She blew him a kiss and Elie hurried down the street to catch the bus for Tel Aviv. Not far from the central post office on Allenby Street, on the second floor of a faded lemon- colored building two men waited for this first interview. Elie looked around. The office seemed like a thousand others he had seen. The clerks reminded him of those in any bank or similar institution. Even the girls were familiar types. All the fertile imagination he had activated for his fateful encounter with the mysterious Ministry of Defense had evaporated the minute he entered. Someone came up to Elie and invited him into one of the rooms on the second floor. Elie went in and met a friendly chap with a high forehead and deep blue eyes. The man shook his hand heartily and introduced himself. “Yitzhak. That’s the name. It just so happens it’s my real one.” Elie smiled. “Unfortunately, we have to be terribly practical around here. So you’ll forgive me if I don’t prepare the background for what you’ll be learning and doing here, but get right down to business.” He got up, walked over to the cabinet behind him, and took out a number of common objects. Then he tossed them on the table and said briefly: “First I’d like to give you a little aptitude test, one which you probably had in childhood.” He watched the effect of these words on Elie and then continued. “Here are a number of objects. Observe them for one minute, then close your eyes and try to recall what you’ve seen.” Elie looked at the objects scattered haphazardly on the table. There was a pencil, an eraser, pins, paperclips, and a few other everyday office items. He shut his eyes and read off from memory' what he had seen. Yitzhak, who sat facing him, was highly impressed. Not only had Elie remembered every item, but he had even been able to state its location on the table. “Your memory' is phenomenal,” Yitzhak stated. “Did you inherit it?” “Perhaps,” Elie said, shrugging. He recalled that as a child he was in the habit of remembering lists of things and surprising his playmates with his amazing powers. Often a quick glance at a passing car would be enough for him to recognize the make and year. From then on Yitzhak asked him to make a mental note of documents, everyday scenes, and any suspicious activity around him. When he passed the first test with flying colors, Yitzhak suggested that they take a walk through the streets of Tel Aviv. “To be able to blend in with a crowd is one of the chief characteristics of a good spy,” he said as they were walking. Elie eyed him curiously. “What do you mean?” Yitzhak waited a moment, glanced to either side, and then said in a whisper: “The moment we left the office two men came out and started following us. Even if they were standing in front of you here, at the bus stop, or in front of that shop window, you wouldn’t be able to spot them. They don’t look like secret service agents and they’re not carrying anything that could give away their identity. But they’ve been tailing us ever since we left the building.” Elie looked around searchingly, but could see no one among the hurrying passersby watching them. “Are you sure someone’s following us? Right now?” he asked. “Two persons, to be exact,” Yitzhak said. “How can I spot them in all this crowd?” “It’s simple. Stop and look in a window to see if someone stops opposite you or looks in your direction. You can also do this at the bus stop, while you read your evening paper, or at a newsstand. That’s the classic method.” Elie nodded. The mysterious world of espionage was no less real than the detective novels he had read. He went to the newsstand across the street, bought an evening paper, and pretended to be busy reading. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted a tall character with wavy hair who flashed him a quick glance and then slipped away into a comer. Elie smiled in satisfaction. That was one of them. He tried to locate the other but without success. Back at the office, Yitzhak asked Elie if he had identified the men. “I think I spotted one of them,” he said, a quiver of pride in his voice. “The tall fellow with wavy hair. But where was the other?” Yitzhak spread out a series of photos taken with a Praktina camera as they were walking in the street. “These pictures,” he explained, “were taken with a special microfilm camera and developed on the spot. Take a good look. Here you’re smiling in surprise,, apparently looking for the two men. Here you’re reading the paper, but your eyes are looking out for someone. Now have a good look at this one,” Yitzhak said, taking a magnifying glass out of the drawer. “The man standing beside you reading the paper is the guy you’re looking for.” Elie opened his eyes wide. “You sure that’s him?” Yitzhak chuckled. “He should be back in another ten minutes. It’ll be a pleasure to introduce you.” 2 Agent 888 It was the lunch break. Elie stayed in the office and munched the sandwiches he had brought from home. He ate with gusto. The new job excited him. He was starting to like the espionage business. The first day at least. After lunch Elie was summoned to the office of the code man, a fellow by the name of Yehuda, who was to teach him something of the theory of clandestine broadcasting, document coding, and other techniques of communication. Elie was especially interested in everything connected with codes operating according to predetermined systems. “You don’t have to remember everything by heart,” Yehuda told him. “At least not in the first stage. I hear you have a remarkable memory. That’s good. Because in this system of broadcasting, even the slightest error can be disastrous for both sides.” He pulled out a thick, leather-bound book from his desk drawer. “Have a look at this. It’s a list of one-time code tables you’ll be given when the time comes. There’s a parallel book at Headquarters.” “When you code a message, you first have to transcribe it in a fixed numerical code, which you will memorize. Then you’ll destroy it. To destroy code tables we have a special chemical substance consisting of a mixture of metallic potassium and metallic sodium; it ignites on contact with water. The message coded by memory is then recorded on a tape machine connected to the transmitter. When the transmitter is switched on the tape starts turning, and the recorded message is transmitted automatically.” Elie scrutinized the code tables closely, wrinkled his forehead, and tried to understand how they worked. For the moment the explanation was recorded in his memory. Later on, he thought, he would sit down and analyze it, step by step. “If I understand you correctly, by coding a message-like this I can create meaningless sentences and then give them meaning by using a fixed numerical code,” he said. Yehuda nodded. “You're the first person who’s managed to get the idea after one lesson.” Elie smiled broadly. “What are you grinning about?” “The truth is I don't understand a damn thing. But I once learned that if you think about confusing things in a manner just as confusing, people think you understand it. Isn't that funny?” Yehuda grimaced. “No. Not at all,” he growled. As Elie's first day of training came to a close, Yitzhak came up to him and said, “I want to see you in my office early tomorrow morning. You can tell your wife you got a job in the Ministry of Defense, but you'd better not say anything more than that.” As the days went by Elie went through a series of sports tests, medical checkups, and exercises designed to test his endurance under every conceivable situation. Often he was deliberately flunked by his employers, but generally his performance earned their full approval. He was one of the outstanding trainees, and there was nothing to prevent him from becoming the best of them all. Then, after two months of exhaustive training, the fateful day arrived. Elie was summoned to Yitzhak's office, where in the presence of two of the boss's assistants he was told: “As you realize, you've completed most your training. You've acquired a great deal of useful knowledge and shown a phenomenal sense of orientation.” Yitzhak paused. “Now comes the big test.” Elie scratched his head. “Is there any reason why I should be apprehensive about this?” “To a large extent it depends on you,” Yitzhak said. “Not far from here, at a travel agency, the address of which Shim'on will give you later, you’ll meet a young secretary by the name of Marcelle. After you identify yourself by a prearranged sign, she will hand you a French passport issued in the name of an Egyptian Jew who emigrated to South Africa and is here on a visit to Israel. ” “With this passport you will go to Jerusalem, by any means you choose. You’ll remain there ten days. You’ll speak French and Arabic only. And, of course, you’ll have to get accustomed to your new identity. From now on your name will be Marcel Couban.” “Don’t forget that you’re a tourist and have a different name. If someone recognizes you, try not to get excited. Tell him he’s mistaken, and continue as if nothing had happened. Like any other tourist, try to make contacts. Meet people and make them like you. And always keep in mind that you may be followed. Carelessness on your part is liable to flunk you.” Elie nodded. “When do I begin?” “Tomorrow morning, Agent 088. Tomorrow morning.” Elie smiled and turned to go. At the door he stopped. “Excuse me. I completely forgot,” he said in a soft voice. “As you probably know, my wife is in her ninth month. Couldn’t we wait till after she has the baby?” “Births are unreliable. You may have to wait a day, a week, or even a month. We can’t delay the whole operation until she gives birth.” Elie shrugged helplessly and opened the door. Yitzhak hurried after him and tapped him affectionately on the shoulder. “We’ll contact you the moment we know whether it’s a boy or a girl. Get going and stop thinking like a midwife. Nature runs its course with or without a fathers moral support.” When he got home that day, earlier than usual, Nadia was in the kitchen making supper. He came up to her from behind and kissed the back of her neck. Then he turned her around, looked at her abdomen, and began shaking his head slowly. “When do you think it’ll be over, Nadia?” She smiled and ran her hand over her belly. “I hope you’ll be a father by the end of the month.” “This time keep your promise! For two weeks you’ve been telling me you’ll make me a father but I’m still only a husband.” She ran her long fingers through his wavy hair. “Don’t worry, Elie. I want it to come a whole lot faster than you think. Did you ever try to imagine what it’s like to carry something like this around inside of you?” He shrugged. “It’s hard for a man to imagine.” He went into the bedroom and tossed a few shirts and a couple of changes of underwear into a small suitcase. Afterward, when they sat down at table, he decided to tell her his plans. “Tomorrow I’m going to Jerusalem. I have to make some arrangements there, and I don’t think I’ll be able to be back before I finish.” He looked at her face and at her brown eyes. “I wanted very much to be with you at this time. But there’s no choice.” Nadia stabbed the meat with her fork. “You’re not saying anything?” “What do you want me to say?” she asked, her voice choked with grief. “Do you want.me to cry to keep you here with me?” “You’re exaggerating. It’ll be a week or ten days. Mother will come to help you, and I’ll be back in time for the birth of our son.” “Couldn’t you get a few days’ leave?” “They've promised me some time off as soon as I finish the job in Jerusalem,” he said, trying to soothe her. Nadia said nothing and they continued eating in silence. The next morning, earlier than usual, Elie made his way to the taxi stand. A taxi, he said to himself, would strengthen the impression of a well-to-do tourist. On the way to the capital he thought about the recent past. It was strange, the way he had happened onto the world of espionage, how he had chosen this dangerous and intriguing profession. Though he did not know exactly where they were planning to send him, he suspected that at the end of his training he’d be assigned as an agent to one of the Arab countries. He hoped it would be Egypt. There the risk was greatest, but there too he had once had friends, and if he was going to take risks—he said to himself—then at least let it be on the altar of revenge. Through his mind flashed kaleidoscopic scenes from the nineteen fifties, the time of trial of the Martyrs of Cairo. It had happened at the end of the summer of 1954. Information arriving from London caused Israeli leaders a considerable amount of worry. It seemed that the elderly Churchill—under Egyptian pressure and pressured by frequent acts of terrorism—had decided to withdraw the British forces from their bases in the Suez Canal area. For the ruling junta in Egypt this was a considerable accomplishment, but as far as Israel was concerned the British presence in the canal area was vital. It was clear to the Israeli Government that as long as the British remained there they occupied the attention of the Arab masses, and served as the target for, all their undirected hatred and energy. The more official reason was that the British presence in such a potentially inflammable area would likely cool down Egypt’s hawks, especially those officers thinking out loud about a “second round” in the war with Israel. The best solution seemed to be a series of sabotage attempts and open provocations, to be carried out by hired terrorists, secretly trained in sabotage and espionage since 1951 by Israeli agents. Some of the terrorists had even received “scholarships” for advanced training in Israel, which they had reached via France. Among those who came to Israel were two of Elie Cohn’s good friends—the dentist Ezra Marzouk and the teacher Shmuel Azar. After extensive training they returned to Egypt, where they worked in coordination with the Israeli agents Av-raham (John Darling) Dar and Dr. Max Benet. This underground nucleus attracted a group of inexperienced but patriotic Jewish youths. None of them was over thirty, and they were divided into two groups, one in Cairo, the other in Alexandria. The men, who knew one another, were well aware of the importance of their task. If any one of them was caught, the entire outfit would collapse like a house of cards. Elie Cohn knew about the organization. He had even assisted it, though indirectly. Then, in the months of May and June, 1954, Israel decided to activate the group decisively. Instructions were received at the headquarters calling for sabotage in public buildings, cinemas, post offices, and railroad stations.