The Angel (16 page)

As noted already, in order to overcome these problems Marwan's reports were sent in their entirety, and in their raw form, directly only to the prime minister, the defense minister, the IDF chief of staff, and the chief of IDF Military Intelligence. A fifth person in the loop, secretly, was Minister Without Portfolio Yisrael Galili, who was Golda Meir's personal confidant. Zamir himself distributed the reports; in his absence, his trusted chief of staff would do it. For integration into MI's overall assessments, MI distribution
officers would take that information and divide it into categories like Soviet-Egyptian relations, the Egyptian army, the Egyptian air force, and so on, passing it to the different branches of MI-Research and changing the code names to hide the fact that so much information was coming from a single source.

The most avid consumer of Khotel reports was certainly Moshe Dayan, who often summoned Zamir to his office for clarifications or more information. But Golda Meir was not far behind, picking them apart intensely with Galili and discussing them with Zamir in their weekly consultations in her home in Ramat Aviv. Even in these closed forums, but especially in telephone conversations, reference to Marwan was always made using an improvised code name. Dayan, for example, would often refer to the “last information I received.” During the first days of the war, this caution was somewhat dropped; according to the minutes of the top government meetings, both Bar-Lev and Meir spoke frankly about “Zvika's friend,” referring to Zamir's nickname, “Zvika.” This, too, was an improvisation that emerged from the war's heady first days, when on the one hand the need to try to understand Sadat's motives and plans was at its peak, and on the other, the circle involved in the discussions and decisions often included people out of the loop about Marwan.

And indeed, the fact that Khotel reports were given only to the four key decision makers placed a strict limit on the discussions that could be held about them and on the variety of opinions that could be voiced in interpreting them. This fact was especially worrying to MI chief Aharon Yariv. From his professional standpoint, understanding intelligence required that it first be digested, combined, and prioritized within a broader picture of all the different sources and evidence that was constantly flowing into the hands of the analysts in MI-Research; by giving decision makers the raw material from one source, it could paint a very inaccurate picture
of what was really happening in Egypt. Yariv talked to Zamir about the problem and suggested that Zamir keep sending them out in their present form, but to the prime minister alone, who was anyway the Mossad chief's direct superior. Zamir respected Yariv's opinion and the next report did not go to Dayan or the chief of staff. After Meir received it, however, she called Dayan to ask him what he thought about “what Zvika sent.” A few minutes later an outraged Dayan called Zamir, demanding to know why he hadn't received his copy. Zamir tried to explain that Yariv had thought it wiser to stop sending them to him for fear that they might skew the defense minister's intelligence analysis. Dayan cut him off. Using the Hebrew acronym for Military Intelligence, “Aman,”
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he simply said, “Aman, schmaman. Send it to me.” With this, the attempt to limit distribution of Marwan's raw intelligence material, for all its professional merits, met a swift end.
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A
nwar Sadat's decision to appoint Marwan as his personal liaison for a very specific, crucial assignment—namely, handling relations with Libya and Saudi Arabia—fit well with Sadat's overall approach to managing the country's affairs. While he had at his disposal all the traditional tools of rule, such as the army, foreign ministry, and intelligence agencies, he rarely relied on them in crafting his policies. He had little patience for rambling policy papers or long meetings aimed at striking a compromise among competing ministries plying contradictory policies. His most important decisions usually followed a period of seclusion. He would cut himself off from advisers and reports, sit alone, and find the answer. The result was that instead of taking measured steps and walking a fine line, Sadat preferred bold, often risky moves. This was his methodology when he offered an agreement for a partial Israeli withdrawal from the Suez Canal in February 1971; when he had his opponents arrested rather than trying to cut a deal with them three months later; when he went to war in October 1973 against a clearly superior enemy; or when, in November 1977, he went to Jerusalem and addressed the Knesset without first reaching
clear understandings with Israel or the United States about the peace negotiations that were about to begin. Every one of these decisions could have ended his political career. Sadat, however, was blessed not only with excellent political intuitions, but—at least until 1981—no small amount of luck as well.

Sadat's tendency to cut through bureaucracy rather than work with it made his use of exceptionally loyal assistants crucial for his ability to function. In this sense, Ashraf Marwan fit Sadat like a glove. He was part of no hierarchy and had no other loyalties. Sadat believed that Marwan would remain true to him personally, not just as head of state, but also because Sadat was the man who had elevated him. Marwan brought with him his boundless ambition, cleverness, networking skills, charm, and above all the incandescent glow that came with being a member of the Nasser family.

From Marwan's perspective, it was his ambition, youth, and lack of a power base in the Egyptian establishment, alongside his lust for money and love of intrigue, that turned his life into an ongoing drama. In the decade between his rise in 1971 and his political downfall and departure from Egypt in 1981, he held a number of senior positions, made many personal enemies, engulfed himself in scandals, faced public accusations—usually to no effect—of various forms of corruption, enmeshed himself with the most intimate aspects of the Sadat family, and amassed a sizable fortune that, according to critics, reached £400 million in 1981.

WHAT REALLY ENABLED
Marwan to forge fruitful ties between the Egyptian president, on the one hand, and the Saudi royals and Libyan revolutionaries, on the other, were his relationships with two people in particular: Kamal Adham and Abdessalam Jalloud.

Kamal Adham was born in 1929, the son of an Albanian father and a Turkish mother, scion of one branch of Saudi royals. Adham's family moved to Saudi Arabia when he was just a year old. His half
sister, Iffat, became the beloved wife of Crown Prince Faisal. In 1961, Faisal, who was already the regime's strongman, appointed Kamal to negotiate with a Japanese consortium called the Arab Oil Company on the rights to produce oil in the neutral zone between Saudi Arabia and Kuwait. In return Adham, who had won Faisal's confidence, received 2 percent of the sales of any oil the company produced. The Saudi oil minister at the time, Abdullah al-Tariki, correctly estimated that the value of that appointment was in the billions of dollars, and he informed Faisal of his opposition to it. In response, the prince fired Al-Tariki. Adham was soon a billionaire and became known in Middle Eastern business circles as “Mr. Two Percent.”

In 1964, following the death of King Saud and the ascent of Faisal, Adham was officially appointed adviser to the new king. Among his other duties, Adham created the Mukhabarat al a-amah, the kingdom's central intelligence agency, and led it for many years. The decision to create it arose from the need to find an effective solution to the problem of Nasserite infiltration into the Arabian Peninsula, which had worsened because of the Yemenite civil war, in which Egypt had taken the opposite side from the Saudis. An additional responsibility of the agency was to raise the profile of Saudi Arabia around the world, especially in the United States. This would be achieved mainly through bribery.

According to the Saudi way of doing things, stopping Nasserite agitation in Saudi Arabia meant, among other things, building positive relationships with members of Nasser's inner circle. For Adham that meant befriending Jehan Sadat, wife of the man who at the time was chairman of the Egyptian National Assembly. According to journalist Bob Woodward, in 1970 Sadat received a regular stipend from the Saudis, with the implication that the various business projects conducted between Jehan and Kamal were little more than cover for the bribes. Given Kamal's close ties with the
CIA, the Americans clearly were aware of the relationship; whether they were also behind some of the bribes remains unclear.

The connection between Adham and Jehan Sadat became especially important after Nasser's death. Saudi-Egyptian relations had substantially improved after the Six-Day War and Egypt's withdrawal from Yemen, and the Saudis had begun giving Egypt significant economic aid as compensation for the loss of income from the Suez Canal, Sinai oil fields, and tourism. Once Anwar Sadat took power, those relations strengthened even more. Faisal picked Kamal Adham to be his personal liaison to the new Egyptian president. Adham secretly visited Cairo with the aim of sounding out Sadat on new understandings between the two countries. He expressed the Saudis' concern about Soviet influence on the region and emphasized that the Soviet presence in Egypt was forcing the Americans to support Israel much more than they wanted to. Sadat answered that he needed the Soviet units on Egyptian soil so long as there was the risk of war. But he stressed that if the Americans were to pressure Israel to find a solution to the Sinai problem, even just a partial accord, he would gladly send the Soviets home. These words made their way to Washington, where they were leaked to the press by Senator Henry “Scoop” Jackson, one of the Senate's leading opponents of the Soviet Union. The leak embarrassed the Kremlin and did little to improve ties between Moscow and Sadat. But the dialogue that had begun between Sadat and Adham became the central channel of communication between the United States and Egypt, which had severed diplomatic ties during the Six-Day War. Through this channel, Adham relayed messages between the two sides, including assurances from National Security Adviser Henry Kissinger that if Egypt were to end its strategic alliance with the Soviets and send the advisers home, the United States would help it get the Sinai back.
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The tight connection between Adham and Sadat bore fruit in
the darker aspects of Egyptian-American relations, as well. According to Mohamed Hassanein Heikal, when Sadat came to power the intelligence agencies told him about a secret operation called Dr. Birdie (
doktor asfour
). In this operation, which according to Heikal was known to no more than ten people in Egypt and was carried out during 1967 or early 1968, listening devices were planted in the American interests section in Cairo, which had been housed in the Spanish embassy after relations were cut. The operation had been approved by Nasser himself, and he had received regular surveillance reports. Soon after taking power, Sadat told Adham about the devices. Heikal, who learned of the conversation from Sadat himself, and who had influence on the program, was shocked that the new president would tell a known CIA informant about so incredibly sensitive an operation. Whatever Sadat's motives were, the result of his conversation with Heikal was swift: The operation was stopped and the devices turned off.
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Ashraf Marwan and Kamal Adham had been close even before Sadat picked Marwan to handle relations with Saudi Arabia. The introduction had been made by mutual friends, including Jehan Sadat, as well as Sheikh Abdullah al-Sabah and his wife, Souad. According to one source, it was Adham who had pressured Sadat into picking Marwan to replace Sami Sharaf in May 1971. Sadat quickly found himself having to strictly limit Marwan's role. Practically, however, by leaving him in charge of relations with the Saudis in general and King Faisal in particular, he had turned Marwan's relationship with Adham into the central channel of communication between the two states, circumventing the traditional channels of diplomats and embassies. Whatever advantage this may have given their states' respective leaders, Marwan and Adham learned very quickly how to turn it to their own personal advantage as well.

In the Saudi political and business culture of the time, the concept of a conflict of interests had yet to be introduced. On the
contrary, taking advantage of your position to build your estate was an accepted, even admired, norm. And it was a norm that suited Marwan's personality well. Kamal Adham, who proved his aptitude with his famous 2 percent, but also through other deals involving oil, aircraft (mostly through deals with Boeing), and weapons, was a perfect business partner for the shady deals Marwan started making soon after he ascended to power in Sadat's government.

Their first joint venture was in real estate. Marwan purchased, in the name of his wife, Mona, a twenty-three-acre plot of land in the Kardassa region, near the pyramids at Giza. He paid 150,000 Egyptian pounds ($60,000). Later he took advantage of his status as adviser to the president in order to raise the value of the land and sold it at a large profit. A few months later, Marwan used that money to buy another, larger piece of land, again in Mona's name. Again he sold it for a huge gain. This time around, the buyer was Kamal Adham.

When Marwan's rivals learned of the deal, they made sure to bring it to public light. A journalist named Jalal al-Din al-Hamamsi accused Marwan of a range of corrupt activities. How was it, Hamamsi asked, that a public servant's family, no matter how senior, got its hands on that kind of money? How did the land appreciate so dramatically in so short a time? Amid the public outcry, Sadat had no choice but to have his attorney general launch an investigation of the first real estate deal. Marwan answered that he got the money from selling the cars his wife had received as a gift from one of the other Arab governments because she was Nasser's daughter, and that she was the one who had sold the land. The excuse was accepted—in part because of the public's abiding loyalty to Nasser's family—and the case was closed. Calls for an investigation of the second deal went nowhere. Years later, Marwan admitted he had lied about the source of the money but denied taking advantage of his position. “I borrowed money from a friend and we bought the
land together,” he said. “We were lucky, and the value multiplied five times in two years.”
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Another time when he was asked how he began to make his money, he said that it was from a real estate deal in Abu Dhabi. What made it succeed, he claimed, were not any special gifts of his own but dumb luck.
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It may be fair to assume that the “friend” who lent Marwan the money to make the first purchase was Kamal Adham. Whether because he wanted to buy political influence in Sadat's regime, or out of sincere friendship, he did everything he could to make Marwan wealthy—including buying the land at a high price in the second deal. There is another possibility, however: that the financing for the first purchase came not from Adham but from the Mossad. In that case, Adham merely made it possible for Marwan to parlay it into something much bigger.

Marwan's close relations with Kamal Adham offered him not only financial opportunities but also a key to new social circles. The most important of these included graduates of Victoria College in Alexandria, the most elite secular institution of higher learning in the Arab world. Since its founding in 1902, Victoria counted many alumni who went on to power and leadership. As with the elite schools in other countries, students maintained friendships for years, even decades, after graduating. Adham, too, was an alumnus, and his circle included King Hussein of Jordan; Hussein's prime minister, Zaid al-Rifai; and the brothers Adnan and Essam Khashoggi, sons of the Saudi king's personal physician, who became global tycoons. He introduced Marwan to his friends, and the young Egyptian took full advantage of the connections for business (as with Adnan Khashoggi) or political advancement (as with Mansour Hassan, the Egyptian information minister who was one of the strongest people in the President's Office as well as a friend of Jehan Sadat). At other times, it was the Victorians who leveraged their connection with Marwan to advance their
projects with the president. In September 1978, for example, King Hussein met with Marwan in London, asking him to pass along a secret message to Sadat saying that he wanted to join the peace conference about to be held at Camp David together with Israeli prime minister Menachem Begin and US president Jimmy Carter. Despite Hussein's efforts, which included a phone call to Sadat at Marwan's encouragement, Sadat refused the king's request.
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AND THEN THERE WERE
the Libyans. The Libyan issue was especially complex because of the volatility, messianism, and rash behavior of the country's young leader, Col. Muammar Gaddafi, who led a military coup in September 1969. Gaddafi was an avowed Nasserite who wanted to put his country on a path to social and economic progress, while at the same time emphasizing its Islamic, anti-imperialist, and pan-Arab qualities. As part of this worldview, he repeatedly tried to bring about the unification of Libya and Egypt—a permanent headache for Sadat. Sadat, however, saw good relations with Libya as an important goal, both because of the latter's newfound wealth resulting from renegotiated oil deals with the major companies and because it was the major conduit through which the Egyptian air force could purchase fighter planes with enough range to attack Israeli air bases.