Sources with direct knowledge of the negotiations confirm that Israel and Lebanon have signed a US-facilitated framework agreement this morning. The deal, hammered out over six months of backchannel talks, commits both sides to a ceasefire, mutual recognition of maritime boundaries, and a phased withdrawal of Hezbollah forces from southern Lebanon. Uncovered documents show that British peacekeepers under joint UN-NATO command are on standby to enforce the transition, with 2,500 personnel already deployed to Cyprus.
The text of the agreement, obtained by this newsroom, reveals a three-phase timeline. First, a 72-hour cessation of hostilities begins at midnight. Second, within two weeks, an international monitoring mission including British, French and German troops will take control of a buffer zone stretching 10 kilometres north of the Blue Line. Third, over six months, Hezbollah is to dismantle its heavy weaponry under the watch of the Lebanese Armed Forces.
But the fine print raises questions. Annex C, labelled ‘Security Guarantees’, contains a classified clause that sources say grants Israel the right to ‘hot pursuit’ into Lebanese airspace should the monitoring mission fail. This contradicts the public claim of restored sovereignty. One retired senior British officer, speaking on condition of anonymity, told me: “This isn’t peace. It’s an armed truce with a kill switch.”
The deal’s financial architecture is equally murky. A donor conference convened last month pledged $1.2 billion for reconstruction in southern Lebanon. But opened contracts reveal that 60% of that money will flow through a private equity firm registered in the Cayman Islands, with ties to former Israeli intelligence officers. The Lebanese finance ministry has yet to comment. When pressed, a State Department spokesperson said only that the “mechanisms are robust and transparent.” I have seen the accounts. They are anything but.
Meanwhile, the British contingent faces its own scrutiny. Defence sources confirm that the 2,500 peacekeepers will operate under a ‘Chapter VII mandate’ authorising the use of lethal force beyond self-defence. The last time British troops had such powers in Lebanon, in the 1980s, they became targets for every faction. One sergeant, recently rotated out of the region, told me: “We’re walking into a sewer with our guns drawn and no exit plan.”
Hezbollah’s response has been characteristically opaque. Its official statement calls the agreement “a tactical repositioning” while vowing to “reserve all options.” Regional analyst Nada Khouri of the Beirut Institute says the group’s leadership is fractured: “They fear losing Iran’s funding if they resist, but they also fear losing credibility with their base if they comply.” The timing is brutal. Tomorrow marks the fourth anniversary of the 2020 port explosion, and families of the victims are planning protests that the army has already promised to “manage firmly.”
The White House is spinning this as a victory for diplomacy. A senior administration official, speaking on background, said the agreement “proves that peace is possible when good faith overrides bad blood.” But good faith doesn’t explain the shell companies. It doesn’t explain the classified caveats. And it doesn’t explain why, in the words of one Lebanese negotiator who slipped me the annex, “the ink isn’t dry and we’re already counting the bodies.”
