Read Online Striking Back: The 1972 Munich Olympics Massacre and Israel's Deadly Response by Aaron J. Klein - Free Book Online
Authors: Aaron J. Klein
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arrival, and then they’ll understand how major this crisis is for Israel, and that doesn’t help us at all. It will only make them raise their price and maybe rattle them enough to harm more hostages. You should stay in Israel.”
The room fell silent as all heads turned to Cohen. Dayan’s decisions were not often questioned in public. Dayan nodded. “You’re right, Victor. You and Zamir should go. I’ll notify Golda.”
A few hours later Cohen and Zamir boarded a rented plane for the three-and-a-half-hour flight to Munich. They touched down at Munich International Airport as the last flicker of twilight played on the plane’s metallic wings. A secret service car took them straight to the Olympic Village.
Concurrently, Golda Meir spoke to a reporter in her office. Why wasn’t Israel willing to bargain with the terrorists? the reporter asked. “If we should give in,” she replied, “then no Israeli anywhere in the world will feel that his life is safe.” After a few beats of introspection, she added, “It’s blackmail of the worst kind.”
10 IN THE HOSTAGES’ ROOM
MUNICH, OLYMPIC VILLAGE, 31 CONNOLLYSTRASSE, APARTMENT 1 TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 5, 1972, 1705H
Issa agreed to extend the deadline three times. First, under pressure from Schreiber, Troeger, and Touni, he gave them one hour. Merck and Genscher were then able to squeeze two more delays of two hours each, making the new deadline at 1700 hours . The Germans explained that the postponements were merely bureaucratic: the Israelis had not yet been able to locate all 234 prisoners; there were difficulties obtaining the approval of one minister; Tel Aviv traffic is stifling. Their excuses, some plausible, some less so, were meant to give the impression that negotiations were progressing, strings were being pulled, prison doors were sliding open on well-oiled tracks. The end of the crisis was near—a bit more patience and the terrorists would be parading through the joy-filled streets of Beirut, held aloft by a throng of supporters.
With each delay, Issa became more impatient and volatile. When the third extension was requested he threatened to execute two of the Israeli hostages. He vowed to drag the athletes to the doorway and shoot them in front of the cameras. Across the globe a billion viewers were glued to their televisions, watching the crisis unfold in real time. Tension peaked in the minutes leading up to each of Issa’s deadlines. In those nerve-racking moments, the German negotiation team would walk to the entrance of 31 Connollystrasse. Issa would huddle with the group. The viewers could see but not hear. The conversation over, the Germans would move slowly away from the building. The world held its breath waiting for the TV announcer to broadcast the verdict from the West German officials. With the approach of each deadline the athletes’ families watched helplessly as the delegation’s fate was discussed.
As the crisis on Connollystrasse boiled and simmered, athletes in the village soaked up the sun. Two hundred yards from the Israeli delegation’s building, sunbathers lay on the banks of an artificial pond. The Olympians chatted about the competition and exchanged training techniques, while just two minutes away their fellow competitors were being held at gunpoint, their lives in peril.
The scene at the village was surreal. The Munich police estimated that seventy thousand spectators, alongside thousands of reporters, television crews, and photographers with long-range lenses, tried to get close to the action. Athletes and troops shared the same ground, the former chatting and staying loose, wary of taking their minds off the prize of Olympic competition; the Olys, police, and soldiers stood by armored personnel carriers, focused on the looming possibility of a gunfight.
At 1635 hours, close to twelve hours of static negotiations ended when
The room fell silent as all heads turned to Cohen. Dayan’s decisions were not often questioned in public. Dayan nodded. “You’re right, Victor. You and Zamir should go. I’ll notify Golda.”
A few hours later Cohen and Zamir boarded a rented plane for the three-and-a-half-hour flight to Munich. They touched down at Munich International Airport as the last flicker of twilight played on the plane’s metallic wings. A secret service car took them straight to the Olympic Village.
Concurrently, Golda Meir spoke to a reporter in her office. Why wasn’t Israel willing to bargain with the terrorists? the reporter asked. “If we should give in,” she replied, “then no Israeli anywhere in the world will feel that his life is safe.” After a few beats of introspection, she added, “It’s blackmail of the worst kind.”
10 IN THE HOSTAGES’ ROOM
MUNICH, OLYMPIC VILLAGE, 31 CONNOLLYSTRASSE, APARTMENT 1 TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 5, 1972, 1705H
Issa agreed to extend the deadline three times. First, under pressure from Schreiber, Troeger, and Touni, he gave them one hour. Merck and Genscher were then able to squeeze two more delays of two hours each, making the new deadline at 1700 hours . The Germans explained that the postponements were merely bureaucratic: the Israelis had not yet been able to locate all 234 prisoners; there were difficulties obtaining the approval of one minister; Tel Aviv traffic is stifling. Their excuses, some plausible, some less so, were meant to give the impression that negotiations were progressing, strings were being pulled, prison doors were sliding open on well-oiled tracks. The end of the crisis was near—a bit more patience and the terrorists would be parading through the joy-filled streets of Beirut, held aloft by a throng of supporters.
With each delay, Issa became more impatient and volatile. When the third extension was requested he threatened to execute two of the Israeli hostages. He vowed to drag the athletes to the doorway and shoot them in front of the cameras. Across the globe a billion viewers were glued to their televisions, watching the crisis unfold in real time. Tension peaked in the minutes leading up to each of Issa’s deadlines. In those nerve-racking moments, the German negotiation team would walk to the entrance of 31 Connollystrasse. Issa would huddle with the group. The viewers could see but not hear. The conversation over, the Germans would move slowly away from the building. The world held its breath waiting for the TV announcer to broadcast the verdict from the West German officials. With the approach of each deadline the athletes’ families watched helplessly as the delegation’s fate was discussed.
As the crisis on Connollystrasse boiled and simmered, athletes in the village soaked up the sun. Two hundred yards from the Israeli delegation’s building, sunbathers lay on the banks of an artificial pond. The Olympians chatted about the competition and exchanged training techniques, while just two minutes away their fellow competitors were being held at gunpoint, their lives in peril.
The scene at the village was surreal. The Munich police estimated that seventy thousand spectators, alongside thousands of reporters, television crews, and photographers with long-range lenses, tried to get close to the action. Athletes and troops shared the same ground, the former chatting and staying loose, wary of taking their minds off the prize of Olympic competition; the Olys, police, and soldiers stood by armored personnel carriers, focused on the looming possibility of a gunfight.
At 1635 hours, close to twelve hours of static negotiations ended when
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