in his haste to say good-bye to Donovan.
Donovan, however, was unconcerned. Mossad had gotten out of Halim what they needed. The focus now switched to Meshad. Since Meshad was an administrator under Khidhir Hamza in Atomic Energy, the Israelis were convinced he was an integral part of Iraq’s secret atomic bomb program as well. Mossad decided that if Meshad could not be recruited,
other
arrangements would have to be made—they might even have to show him a “better world,” the
katsa
euphemism for an assassination.
In June 1980, Meshad returned to Paris to check on equipment and ensure that the uranium France was obligated to ship to al-Tuwaitha was enriched 93 percent. After a week at Sarcelles and a detour to the French countryside, he returned to Room 9041 at his favorite hotel, the Meridien, at around seven o’clock in the evening on Friday, June 13. Late the next morning a housekeeper again passed the DO NOT DISTURB sign that had been hanging on the room’s doorknob throughout her entire morning shift. Anxious to clean the room and finish the floor, she slipped the key quietly into the lock and pushed the door open a crack, calling out,
“Allo, Allo.”
Stepping in, she spotted Meshad’s body lying on the floor beside the bed in a pool of blood, his throat slit.
The French papers in the following days reported that a hooker had propositioned Meshad in the elevator on his way to his room. Later on, the woman told inspectors she had heard men’s voices as she stood outside the door to Meshad’s room, though it was not clear if she had been asked by the Iraqi to come back later in the evening. The police concluded it was a professional job: someone—a business partner, a competitor, or even a foreign intelligence agent—wanted to get their hands on some papers in the Iraqi scientist’s room. This person, or group, had hired the prostitute to confront him outside his chamber and delay him. But Meshad had refused the proposition, then walked in on the perpetrators and been killed.
The truth, though, was very different. Meshad, in fact, had made a date with Marie-Claude Magalle that night. He had been seeing the prostitute on every visit to France since the night Halim had first introduced him to her months earlier. Mossad, who had tapped Meshad’s phone, knew that the Iraqi scientist had a date with the high-priced call girl later that night at the Meridien. According to Ostrovsky, before Magalle arrived, an Arabic-speaking
katsa
named Yehuda Gil had knocked on the door to Meshad’s room. The physicist cracked the door, leaving it chained. Gil quietly informed him that he had been sent from a “power” that would pay “a lot of money” for some information concerning the scientist’s work for Iraq’s Nuclear Research Center. Outraged, Meshad swore at Gil and told him to leave before he called hotel security. Gil, who was instructed only to make the offer, discreetly left the hotel.
Within minutes Marie-Claude arrived at Meshad’s room. Indeed, she may have overheard Gil and Meshad arguing at his doorway. But it did little to spoil the Iraqi scientist’s evening. The two had sex—Meshad, it turned out, had a weakness for S&M—and later that night Marie-Claude left Meshad sleeping peacefully in his hotel room bed. Shortly thereafter, a team of Israeli
kidon,
trained assassins, used a duplicated hotel passkey to silently slip into the scientist’s suite. Without fanfare, they slit Meshad’s throat and left him on the floor of his room, his life running out in a puddle beneath him. The prostitute, Magalle, was not in on the Mossad scheme. In fact, she did not even know that the mysterious men who called her were Israeli secret service. They were simply men who paid her generously to service customers they assigned her to and to provide information about the men afterward. She had her suspicions about who her mysterious employers might be, but what they asked for seemed harmless enough—mostly where
Donovan, however, was unconcerned. Mossad had gotten out of Halim what they needed. The focus now switched to Meshad. Since Meshad was an administrator under Khidhir Hamza in Atomic Energy, the Israelis were convinced he was an integral part of Iraq’s secret atomic bomb program as well. Mossad decided that if Meshad could not be recruited,
other
arrangements would have to be made—they might even have to show him a “better world,” the
katsa
euphemism for an assassination.
In June 1980, Meshad returned to Paris to check on equipment and ensure that the uranium France was obligated to ship to al-Tuwaitha was enriched 93 percent. After a week at Sarcelles and a detour to the French countryside, he returned to Room 9041 at his favorite hotel, the Meridien, at around seven o’clock in the evening on Friday, June 13. Late the next morning a housekeeper again passed the DO NOT DISTURB sign that had been hanging on the room’s doorknob throughout her entire morning shift. Anxious to clean the room and finish the floor, she slipped the key quietly into the lock and pushed the door open a crack, calling out,
“Allo, Allo.”
Stepping in, she spotted Meshad’s body lying on the floor beside the bed in a pool of blood, his throat slit.
The French papers in the following days reported that a hooker had propositioned Meshad in the elevator on his way to his room. Later on, the woman told inspectors she had heard men’s voices as she stood outside the door to Meshad’s room, though it was not clear if she had been asked by the Iraqi to come back later in the evening. The police concluded it was a professional job: someone—a business partner, a competitor, or even a foreign intelligence agent—wanted to get their hands on some papers in the Iraqi scientist’s room. This person, or group, had hired the prostitute to confront him outside his chamber and delay him. But Meshad had refused the proposition, then walked in on the perpetrators and been killed.
The truth, though, was very different. Meshad, in fact, had made a date with Marie-Claude Magalle that night. He had been seeing the prostitute on every visit to France since the night Halim had first introduced him to her months earlier. Mossad, who had tapped Meshad’s phone, knew that the Iraqi scientist had a date with the high-priced call girl later that night at the Meridien. According to Ostrovsky, before Magalle arrived, an Arabic-speaking
katsa
named Yehuda Gil had knocked on the door to Meshad’s room. The physicist cracked the door, leaving it chained. Gil quietly informed him that he had been sent from a “power” that would pay “a lot of money” for some information concerning the scientist’s work for Iraq’s Nuclear Research Center. Outraged, Meshad swore at Gil and told him to leave before he called hotel security. Gil, who was instructed only to make the offer, discreetly left the hotel.
Within minutes Marie-Claude arrived at Meshad’s room. Indeed, she may have overheard Gil and Meshad arguing at his doorway. But it did little to spoil the Iraqi scientist’s evening. The two had sex—Meshad, it turned out, had a weakness for S&M—and later that night Marie-Claude left Meshad sleeping peacefully in his hotel room bed. Shortly thereafter, a team of Israeli
kidon,
trained assassins, used a duplicated hotel passkey to silently slip into the scientist’s suite. Without fanfare, they slit Meshad’s throat and left him on the floor of his room, his life running out in a puddle beneath him. The prostitute, Magalle, was not in on the Mossad scheme. In fact, she did not even know that the mysterious men who called her were Israeli secret service. They were simply men who paid her generously to service customers they assigned her to and to provide information about the men afterward. She had her suspicions about who her mysterious employers might be, but what they asked for seemed harmless enough—mostly where
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