Agents of Innocence by David Ignatius Read Free Book Online Page B

links with the Americans would be the best sign of his bona fides. They would proceed with the operation only if they were confident that Jamal hadn’t blown Fuad’s identity.
    In the meantime, stressed Rogers, Fuad should live his cover. He was a Lebanese Sunni Moslem with strong leftist convictions. He had been living in Egypt but wanted to return to Beirut for family reasons. He was meeting with Fatah officials because he supported the Palestinian Revolution as the road to liberation for all the Arabs.
    If the operation was blown at any point, endangering Fuad’s status in Lebanon, Rogers pledged that he would arrange his relocation and termination in the United States. With the safety net out, Rogers felt more comfortable. He didn’t like making mistakes, especially when they put his agents at risk.
     
     
    The next step, Rogers decided, was to try for a second meeting with Jamal. If the Palestinian agreed to meet Fuad again, knowing of his links with the United States government, then they might have a live fish on the line.
    Rogers sweetened the bait for the second meeting. With permission from Hoffman and the Near East Division back home at Langley, he gave Fuad a draft of the current U.S. peace plan for the Middle East and told him to give it to Jamal.
    It was chicken feed. The same draft had already been circulated to the Lebanese, Egyptian, Jordanian, and Israeli governments. A version had even been leaked to The New York Times . Indeed, Fatah officials were already denouncing it on the grounds that it rejected their demand for an independent Palestinian state. But they hadn’t seen the text. Rogers hoped that a leaked copy of the plan would convince Jamal that the Americans were willing to take the Palestinians seriously. Among revolutionaries, Rogers had noticed, the hunger for respectability was often nearly as strong as the drive for power.
    Fuad and Jamal met this time at an Italian restaurant called Quo Vadis, near the Beirut red-light district.
    The Palestinian arrived in a red Ferrari convertible, driven by the same bosomy blonde Fuad had seen emerging from the office in Fakhani. Jamal kissed her on the mouth while the poor Shia boy who parked cars looked on enviously. Then he strolled up the stairs and into the restaurant.
    Fuad shook his head as he watched this grand arrival through the window. His Palestinian friend was not a man who seemed to value discretion. He’s going to get himself killed, Fuad thought, as he watched Jamal strut into the dining room.
    When they were seated and had lit up their cigarettes, Fuad got to the point.
    “You were right, of course, about my friends,” Fuad said quietly. He did not want to speak the word “Americans.”
    “Of course,” said Jamal. He had his eye on a brunette across the room.
    “I have a gift from my friends,” said Fuad. He took from under his arm a copy of the morning edition of the pro-Egyptian Arabic paper, Al-Anwar , and placed it on the table. Inside it was the U.S. document.
    Jamal picked up the paper and opened it enough to read the words “United States Department of State” written on the document. The Palestinian smiled like a boy with a new toy.
    “Good news!” said Jamal, pointing to the paper. He called the waiter and ordered a bottle of wine.
    They had a boisterous meal of spaghetti and veal. Jamal drank most of the bottle of Château Musar and told stories about his father’s exploits fighting the Israelis. The Palestinian seemed ebullient, and when Fuad proposed that they meet again in a week, he readily agreed.
     
     
    “What gives with this guy?” Rogers wondered out loud after debriefing Fuad later that day.
    “Either your friend Jamal is recruiting himself—jumping into our arms—or he’s running his own operation against us.”
    Rogers lit a cigarette. He had the nervous look of a man who has just realized for the first time that someone may be setting him up.
    “Jamal is flamboyant, said Fuad. “But he is not