Starting from the 1960s, Iraq began reaching out to France, hoping to collaborate on nuclear infrastructure projects.
France, of course, knew such cooperation wasn't easily granted. They dangled the carrot, luring Iraq along—offering promises and minor benefits without making any real moves.
Still, even a little bait came with rewards. In exchange for access to Iraq's oil resources, France did give them a taste—like allowing Iraqi physicists to conduct research at nuclear energy facilities.
Avdol Ibn Kaplimo was the most prominent among this group of Iraqi physicists.
After the collapse of Saddam's regime, these scientists were left stranded in France. With no ties and no support, they quickly caught the attention of both the CIA and the Mossad.
But their interests differed—while the CIA aimed to bring the scientists in for research, Mossad saw them as a threat that needed to be eliminated. After all, these experts had spent years working in France. They were now fully capable of building a nuclear bomb.
At the top of Mossad's list was Avdol Ibn Kaplimo.
Their plan was simple: take down Kaplimo first. Ideally, they'd flip him, using his role as team leader to uncover the whereabouts of other scattered Iraqi scientists throughout Europe—and then sweep them all up in one operation.
This mission was code-named: Operation "Sphinx."
The team selection? Unexpected. Twenty of Mossad's most stunning female agents were deployed.
Kaplimo lived in a villa on the southern outskirts of Paris. One unit from the "Sphinx" operation rented a flat across the street for round-the-clock surveillance.
Another unit was tasked with covert entry—bugging the house, planting surveillance equipment.
One early morning, a Mossad agent disguised as a German cosmetics saleswoman rang the doorbell of the Kaplimo residence. His wife, Samira, intrigued by the promotional offer, welcomed her in.
Within minutes, the two women were chatting like old friends. Samira shared her frustrations and daily woes without reservation.
During their talk, Samira mentioned she'd soon be returning to Baghdad—her mother needed surgery.
The "Sphinx" team saw this as a golden opportunity.
With Samira gone, Kaplimo would be left alone in a foreign land. Years of isolating scientific work had already strained their marriage, and the couple hardly spent any time together. A seduction operation was now more likely to succeed.
That's when Unit Three was sent in.
Unit Three consisted entirely of beautiful women—specialists in "honey trap" operations, just like the Soviet KGB's legendary "Swallows."
Kaplimo, ever cautious, stuck to public transport. Before coming to Europe, Iraq's security bureau had drilled into him the importance of safety: take buses and trains, transfer often, stay unpredictable—only then could you shake off potential tails.
Every morning after Samira left, Kaplimo would walk to a bus stop near the Jewish quarter. Almost every time, he'd spot a stunning brunette waiting there, chestnut curls spilling over her shoulders, dressed to turn heads.
She always arrived a few minutes earlier than his bus and often caught a ride instead.
Just before the bus arrived, a red Ferrari would roar up. A glamorous blonde behind the wheel would scoop the brunette up and speed off.
Both women had caught Kaplimo's attention.
He'd never spoken to either of them, but their images had taken up residence in his mind.
Then one day, the chestnut-haired woman beat the Ferrari to the stop. She waited, scanning the road. When the Ferrari didn't show, she shrugged and boarded the bus.
Moments later, the red Ferrari screeched to a halt in front of Kaplimo. The blonde looked around, clearly searching for someone.
Kaplimo chuckled and called out, "She already left on the bus."
The blonde blinked, confused. "Sorry?" she said in English. "I'm from England. I don't speak French."
So Kaplimo repeated himself in English, still smiling.
She laughed, giving him a playful look. "Thanks for the heads-up. Where are you headed? If it's on my way, I could give you a lift."
He told her, and—how convenient—it just so happened to be along her route.
Invited warmly, and sensing no danger, Kaplimo got into her car.
The fish has taken the bait.
During the drive, the blonde proved talkative and charming. She introduced herself as Elena, from London, working in international imports and exports.
As they parted ways, Elena asked, "Interested in visiting my country villa this weekend?"
Something in Kaplimo's chest tightened. Her eyes seemed just a little too eager.
"Sorry," he replied, cautious. "Work's been a bit hectic. I can't say for sure right now."
Elena seemed to realize she'd pushed too hard. She smiled. "No worries. Maybe another time."
The next morning, Elena returned to the bus stop, this time with the chestnut-haired woman in tow—and waved warmly at Kaplimo.
In the days that followed, Kaplimo saw the red Ferrari again, but the brunette never showed. Elena invited him for another ride.
He hesitated, then accepted.
This time, their conversation was even more relaxed. Elena handed him a business card and invited him to visit her company sometime.
Still, something gnawed at him. Two stunning women just happened to frequent the same bus stop as him every day? And one of them had already invited him to her villa?
Something didn't add up.
When he looked at Elena's card and saw her office was near the Arc de Triomphe—one of the priciest real estate areas in Paris—he decided to check it out.
To his surprise, it was all real.
Elena's company occupied an entire office floor. The nameplate was gold-plated, the decor extravagant.
And the chestnut-haired woman? Her name was Emma. She was Elena's secretary.
Kaplimo's doubts melted away.
Soon, every weekend, he found himself spending time with the two women—dining in high-end restaurants, clubbing, drinking alcohol (strictly forbidden in Iraq), and growing ever more relaxed in their company.
Not long after, Elena invited him to the Sofitel Hotel on Saint Dominic Street, along with the company's PR manager.
This PR manager, Mary Claude Magiani, was a stunning Parisian in her thirties.
She was also a Mossad agent.
After a luxurious meal, Elena received a call—urgent business. She had to leave but had already booked a deluxe room for them to rest.
Soon after, Kaplimo found himself under Magiani's spell—and quickly became a regular visitor to her bed.
One day, Emma mentioned to Elena that the company had just imported a specialized container and needed a professional to verify its specs to avoid being scammed by suppliers. However, all the experts she'd contacted charged exorbitant fees.
Kaplimo took the bait.
"I could help out," he offered.
Elena waved him off with a smile. "You don't need to get involved—I need a scientist."
"I am a scientist," he said, grinning. "I don't know much about this specific container you mentioned, but I have a friend who probably does."
Elena's eyes lit up. "Really? Could you get me his contact info?"
Just as he was about to respond, a thought hit him. His colleagues' identities were classified. Would giving that away cause trouble?
He hesitated, then changed the subject. "Let me think about it. I'll check with him first."