Those around the table decided a car bomb would once more be the most effective way to carry out the assassination. But there were problems. Mossad’s previous car bombing of Mughniyeh’s associates would undoubtedly have made him cautious about traveling anywhere in his own car. There was a possibility he would use the vehicle of one of his bodyguards. But there was no firm intelligence of who they were or what type of cars they used. The information the Mossad agent had acquired that Mughniyeh was back in Damascus looking “very different” would need time to be checked so a plan could be properly developed.
It was Meir Dagan who brought the discussion to a halt. He reminded others that in nine days time, February 12, a historic event would be taking place in Tehran and other Arab countries. It would mark the twenty-ninth anniversary of Ayatollah Khomeini’s Iranian Revolution. In Syria a day of celebration would be marked by a reception at the city’s Iranian Cultural Center, given by the newly appointed Iranian ambassador to Syria, Hojatoleslam Ahmad Musavi. It would be a fitting time for him to be introduced to Imad Mughniyeh. In Dagan’s view there was more than “a good chance” Mughniyeh, if he were back in Damascus, would attend the function. To refuse such an invitation would not only offend his Syrian hosts who had given him shelter, but also the Tehran mullahs and their ambassador that would bask in the reflected glory of being in the presence of such an exalted figure who had done so much damage to the West.
Meir Dagan had spoken the words he had used before at other meetings to order an assassination.
“We do it.”
By Monday, February 4, 2008, the kidon brigadier-general had chosen the three operatives he would use for the assassination. Each had been assigned a code name, which matched the one-off passport he would have. The documents would be specially prepared by the Mossad travel department from the stock of passports in storage. Other documents provided details of their home address and occupation. “Pierre,” the French passport holder, had an address in Montpelier, France, and was identified as a car mechanic. “Manuel,” the holder of the Spanish passport, had a home in Malaga and was described as a tour guide; “Ludwig” ’s German passport described him as living in Munich where he worked as an electrician.
The names, addresses, and job backgrounds were genuine, those of sayanim, the Jewish volunteers upon whom Mossad often depended on for its more dangerous operations. Among the tasks the volunteers fulfilled was that of providing cover for agents by allowing them to assume their identity.
While the documents were being prepared by the forgers working in the basement of Mossad headquarters, in the Negev Desert the three kidon memorized their “legends”—the stories they would tell if challenged by immigration, police, or the security officers of Syria. Each story was kept as simple as possible: Pierre could talk knowledgably about car engines; Manuel about his work escorting tourists around the south of Spain; Ludwig memorized the intricacies of being an electrician.
In the meantime the travel department checked the flights into Damascus. In his briefing, the brigadier-general had told the head of the department the kidon should travel separately and arrive at different times in the Syrian capital, and the flights should be on Air France, Jordanian, and Alitalia airlines. Each ticket should have a selection of return flights booked. All the seats should be in Economy. Pierre should arrive first and have a prepaid hired car waiting for him at Damascus. Like the other two, the purpose of his visit should be given as “holiday.”
In the next week a Mossad sayanim in Beirut, a man who had made the journey several times, drove north to Damascus. His familiar figure and the reason for his journey—to explore with the Syrian Ministry of Tourism the possibility of creating twin holidays to Lebanon and the historic ruins of Syria—aroused no suspicion. The sayanim visited the Ministry, made his pitch and drove around Damascus. Among the many photographs he took were several of the Iranian Cultural Center and the surrounding streets. By nightfall he was back in Beirut. That evening the photos had been transferred onto a disk and transmitted to a travel agency, a front for Mossad in downtown Tel Aviv. From there it was couriered to their headquarters in the city.
Day after day the planning for the assassination continued. Instructors at their desert base checked every detail with the kidon: the language they would speak, the clothes they would wear, the reason why they had come to Syria out of season. The answer to that, given in different ways, was they each wanted a quiet holiday and one they could afford. Like the rest of their cover stories, it was believable from the way they dressed and spoke.
