No Mission Is Impossible (15 page)

After the debacle of the Arab armies in 1967, several terrorist organizations have stepped into the vacuum and try to harm Israel by a succession of hijackings, bombings and assassinations. The major terrorist group is Yasser Arafat's Palestine Liberation Organization, and its secret striking force is named Black September.

R
eginald Levy, the pilot of Sabena Airlines' Boeing 707 flying from Brussels to Tel Aviv, felt a surge of pleasant anticipation. Today was May 8, 1972, his fiftieth birthday, and he was going to celebrate it with his wife, Deborah, presently sitting in first class behind him. Levy, a former RAF pilot, born in Blackpool to a Jewish father, felt a special bond to the land of Israel, and Jerusalem was undoubtedly the best setting for marking this significant milestone in his life.

The Boeing was flying high over Yugoslavia when he suddenly felt the brutal thrust of a gun barrel against his neck. He couldn't see his aggressor, but glancing sideways, he noticed his copilot, Jean-Pierre Arins, slumped in his seat, a mustached man pointing a gun at his head. They were being hijacked.

As he soon realized, his plane had been taken over by four Palestinian terrorists who had boarded in Brussels with forged Israeli passports. The other passengers couldn't guess that “Zeharia Greid” was actually Abd Aziz el Atrash, “Sara Bitton” was Rima Tannous, and “Miriam Hasson” was Theresa Halsa. Their commander, who would
soon introduce himself as “Captain Rif'at,” was Ali Taha Abu-Sneina. The four hijackers were members of Black September, the new, deadly terrorist organization secretly created by Yasser Arafat. This was their first operation against Israel.

Before taking over the plane, the four hijackers had successively used the plane's bathrooms to take out the weapons they had concealed on their bodies: two handguns, two hand grenades, two explosive belts weighing two kilograms each, detonators and batteries.

Now Rif'at and Atrash were standing in the cockpit, their guns pointed at the pilots. “You will fly to Tel Aviv,” Rif'at ordered Levy, his voice clipped, heavy with emotion. “No tricks! We've got explosives and hand grenades.”

“But I am flying to Tel Aviv,” Levy stammered.

“Yes, you are. But now you'll be following my orders.”

In tourist class, a pretty black-haired girl in a flower-patterned mini-dress gracefully slipped into an aisle seat beside the elderly Hershel and Ida Norbert, who were on their way to meet their relatives in Israel after twenty years of separation. They gaped in bafflement at the young woman, who held a round black box tied to her wrist by a length of wire.

In the cockpit, Rif'at grabbed the microphone. “Attention! Attention, all passengers! Stay in your places and don't move. I am Captain Kamal Rif'at, of Black September. We represent the Palestinian people. The plane is now in our command. You must obey orders!”

Shouts and crying echoed throughout the plane. Hershel Norbert stared in horror at the girl in the flowered dress, who jumped from her seat, brandishing her box over her head. “God, a disaster!” Ida moaned. Behind her, a middle-aged Israeli woman fainted in her seat. Another woman, Breindel Friedman from Jerusalem, shrieked in fear as she saw two figures emerge from the cockpit. One of them, wearing a nylon stocking over his head, looked to her like a monster. He held a handgun and a grenade in his hands. The other hijacker was shorter, narrow-shouldered, with sallow skin and a black mop of hair that Breindel decided was definitely a wig.

Another female hijacker appeared in the aisle, wearing a light-colored
pantsuit; she collected the passengers' passports in a large bag. She suddenly picked up the flight attendant's microphone and shouted, “If the Israelis don't give us what we demand—we shall blow up the plane. Everybody will die—everybody!” Some of the passengers burst into tears. “Help us, God!” a woman shouted in Hebrew. “This is the end!”

T
he news of the hijacking reached Defense Minister Moshe Dayan while he was on a helicopter tour of Israeli positions along the Suez Canal. “Fly straight to Lod!” he said to the pilot. But the first one to reach Lod airport (later named Ben-Gurion) was the commander of the Central Military District, General Rehavam (“Gandhi”) Ze'evi.

Like Yitzhak Rabin, Haim Bar-Lev and many other senior officers, Ze'evi was a former member of the Palmach, the paramilitary underground during the British Mandate that became the elite corps of the IDF during the Independence War. Skinny to the point of looking like a skeleton, he appeared one Friday night in the dining room of his kibbutz, head shaved, torso naked and a towel wrapped around his waist; the resemblance to the Mahatma was striking, and he won the nickname “Gandhi” for the rest of his life. He had an odd sense of greatness; on becoming commander of the Central Military District, whose emblem was a lion, he brought to his compound two lion cubs that he kept in a cage at the entrance to his office.

And yet, he was an excellent soldier, daring, smart and resourceful. Two years before, several terrorists had hijacked four American airliners, landed them in Jordan and Egypt and blown them up. Gandhi had gathered his staff officers, and amid their smirks and ironical grins had asked them for a response to the hypothetical landing of terrorists in Lod aboard a plane and the taking of hostages. Undeterred by his officers' attitude he had devised a plan, Isotope, to stop the plane and later overpower the hijackers. When Moshe Dayan and Transport Minister Shimon Peres reached the airport, Isotope was already partly implemented. Commando units were in place and orders had been given to direct the plane to Runway 26, “the silent runway,” which was situated far from the main terminal.

Several senior IDF officers arrived in haste and crowded the tiny
third-floor room that had turned into an improvised command headquarters. Beside the new chief of staff Dado Elazar stood the Head of Operations Israel Tal, IAF Commander Motti Hod, Head of Intelligence Aharon Yariv and a few members of Shabak, the Internal Security Service, in civilian clothes. Dayan maintained permanent contact with Prime Minister Golda Meir and kept her informed of the developments.

The plane landed at 7:05 P.M. The hijackers' scheme was a daring gamble. The very landing in Lod, in the lion's mouth, was a challenge to Israel's formidable might. By threatening to blow up the plane with its innocent passengers, the terrorists were placing a gun at Israel's head that should force her to accede to their demands. But their smart and daring plan had one flaw: they did not realize that Moshe Dayan and his colleagues could not afford to be defeated by terrorists who challenged Israel on its very soil, with the whole world watching.

Using the plane radio, Captain Rif'at stated his demands: Israel would release 317 Palestinian terrorists held in its jails; they would be flown to Cairo immediately. The Sabena plane would wait in Lod airport until the Palestinians landed in Cairo. Then it would fly to Cairo, and there the hijackers would free the hostages.

Dayan, cold and cynical, assumed control of the operation. His main goal was to draw out the negotiations and wear down the terrorists; a military operation should be planned, but only as a last resort. General Yariv was charged with the negotiation with Rif'at. Soon he was joined by Victor Cohen, the head of the Shabak Investigation Department, who spoke fluent Arabic. Yariv politely asked Rif'at, “How much time do you give us to satisfy your demands?”

“Two hours,” Rif'at snapped. “If you don't comply in two hours—we shall blow up the plane.”

“But in two hours I could barely get fifteen people over here,” Yariv protested.

Actually, the IDF had gotten more than fifteen people over, but they were not the people Rif'at had in mind. The newcomers were the members of the legendary Sayeret Matkal (Unit 269)—the best commando team of the IDF, a unit where only the most
qualified and the most daring soldiers could serve. The Sayeret had been created in 1957. Its members and commanders were never identified, its missions never disclosed, and its very existence was protected by rigid censorship. The soldiers serving in the Sayeret were discreetly handpicked, subjected to a variety of tests, then trained at a secret base. The Sayeret was a rumor, a mirage. At its head, in 1972, was a daredevil, Colonel Ehud Barak.

Raised in kibbutz Mishmar HaSharon, the young soldier had soon been noticed for his creative mind and his bravery. He was a gifted piano player, known for his passion for taking apart and assembling clocks and watches. He had soon become the most decorated soldier in the IDF, for his courage and military feats, some of which remain secret to this very day. He left the army to study physics and mathematics at Hebrew University, earned another degree at Stanford University, in the U.S., worked for a while at the Weizmann Institute and finally reenlisted. In 1971, he was appointed commander of the Sayeret.

On the night of May 8, while Yariv and Cohen were negotiating with Rif'at, the Sayeret was at a remote area of the airport rehearsing a surprise attack on a Boeing 707, placed at their disposal by Israel Aircraft Industries. Under the dazzling light of powerful arc lamps, the commandos were rehearsing a simultaneous penetration into the plane through the pilot's cockpit and the emergency exits. In the shootout that would ensue, the terrorists would be neutralized before they had time to trigger their explosive charges.

As night fell, Dayan's major concern was to immobilize the hijacked aircraft on the ground and prevent it from taking off. Benyamin Toledo, an El Al veteran mechanic, escorted by Barak and another soldier, sneaked to the back of the plane. Toledo crawled to the aircraft's belly and expertly removed the valve controlling the hydraulic system of the landing gear. The oil immediately started to spill on the runway. A few moments later Toledo quietly laid the valve in front of Dayan.

Still, Dayan was not fully satisfied. Five minutes later, Toledo and another mechanic, Arieli, were crawling under the Boeing again. This time their objective was the plane tires. As the compressed air started hissing its way out, the plane sank down a few inches without anybody
noticing. Only Captain Levy saw the hydraulic oil warning light engage. He called the control tower and reported the problem. A moment later he reported trouble with the tires.

“Tell those guys,” Dayan told Levy, “that they can't take off.”

“I already have,” Levy said, and asked that somebody come to repair the hydraulic gear. Dayan answered that this would take time, as the airport authorities would have to bring over an expert from Tel Aviv. Captain Rif'at tacitly agreed to wait, but now he demanded to talk immediately with the Red Cross representatives in Israel. Their arrival was also delayed. At 1:30
A.M
., Rif'at lost patience and threatened the Israelis that if the plane was not repaired in one hour, he would blow it up; to which Cohen calmly answered that the aircraft could not be repaired during the night. Finally, Rif'at agreed to wait until 8:00
A.M
.

Under the cover of darkness, the Sayeret fighters surreptitiously approached the plane. They felt they were ready to attack it right then, but Dayan chose to wait a little longer. Yet, he told General Elazar, “Starting from now, you must be ready for action.”

At about 3:00 A.M., a momentary lull descended upon the airport, and several of the Israeli officers fell asleep in their chairs. Dayan had found refuge in the air controllers' room, but was soon driven out by the flushing and gurgling of a nearby toilet. He finally stretched out on a sofa in the children's playroom, flanked by a plastic-foam giraffe and a rubber effigy of Popeye.

W
ith sunrise the Red Cross officials arrived and were allowed to visit the plane. At 9:00 A.M., they were back at the terminal and told Moshe Dayan that the situation in the plane was unbearable. The food and water had run out, the air-conditioning didn't work, the passengers were exhausted and the hijackers were tense and nervous. “Will you release the prisoners?” the Red Cross envoys asked Dayan, but he stuck to his delaying tactics. “We agreed to negotiate,” he said.

There was something absurd in the situation. It was a glorious sunny day, and Lod airport was carrying on its routine activity: planes were taking off and landing, crowds of passengers filled the terminal halls,
arriving and departing. And in full sight of all, at the distant end of a runway, a hundred hostages were held in an explosive-rigged plane that could blow up any moment.

Captain Levy was alone in the cockpit when one of the hijackers, Atrash, walked in. Levy felt it was now or never. He threw himself on the Palestinian, grabbed his gun, aimed it at him and pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened.

He pulled the trigger again. Nothing.

Only now did he realize that the safety catch was on.

Atrash jumped him and wrung the gun out of his hand. He then released the safety catch and aimed the weapon at Levy's head.

Levy begged for his life. “Don't shoot!” he managed. “Don't! If you kill me, that would be the end of everything!”

To his great surprise, a lopsided grin spread on Atrash's face. “I should have killed you,” he slowly said, “but you might be right, and we'll still need you to get out of here.”

Captain Rif'at entered the cockpit. He suspected that the Israelis were delaying the negotiation because they didn't believe he could blow up the plane. He stuck a small plastic bag in Levy's hands that contained some of the explosive he had brought on board. He ordered him to get off the plane and meet “the people in the control tower.” He didn't mince words. “Tell them that the plane is rigged with this stuff, and that we have enough of it to blow up not one but five planes. If you return with a negative answer or do not return at all, we'll blow up the plane.”

A Red Cross car took Levy to Dayan. The pilot carried out his mission calmly. A quick examination by two officers proved that the contents of the plastic bag were indeed a powerful explosive. In the meantime word came from Shabak analysts who had discovered Rif'at's true identity. The man was a serial plane hijacker. He had hijacked an El Al plane to Algeria in 1968 and a Lufthansa plane to Aden in February 1972.