CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.
9.00am. Athens, 10/25/02.
The address was a taverna in the Plaka district, the oldest part of Athens, on the northern slope of the Acropolis. Mike found the way with difficulty, winding through narrow streets, some so old that they followed the routes of prehistoric footpaths. Finally he went up a steep stepped street which was little more than an alleyway. He was beginning to worry when the steps suddenly opened onto a small but busy square. At the side of the taverna, beneath a wrought iron canopy covered in an ancient twisting vine, tables and chairs were set on ancient flagstones.
He sat in the shade and ordered ouzo. The order came with the inevitable mezedes. Mike sat and nibbled at the snack, and sipped his drink. He had been there for twenty minutes when he saw the sergeant coming towards him. He stood and greeted him in the Greek fashion, insisting that he join him for a glass of ouzo.
The sergeant ordered it ‘me pago’, that is with ice, and nibbled at the mezedes. Finally he spoke. ‘What your game, Mister Edge?’
‘As I explained, I’m working on the prevention of hi...’
‘Don’ give me that, Mister Edge. You are the American CIA, why try bribe my boss?’
‘I didn’t try to bribe anyone.’
‘You show large roll cash.’
Mike looked at him steadily but said nothing.
The sergeant helped him out. ‘The boss, me too, hate these hijackers, hate what they do here. The lieutenant, so he young and want high job, but me? I retire soon. What you want Mister Edge, maybe I help you out.’
Mike nodded. ‘Okay, I’m trying to pick up the trail of the guy who set up the hijacking here in Athens. He was indirectly responsible for the death of someone close to me. I want his head.’
The sergeant understood. Feuds and family vendettas were not unknown in Greece. ‘So I help you. What is copy of police file be worth?’
‘Are your investigations complete?’
‘So, so.’
‘Not finished?’
‘Is stopped.’
‘Stopped, why?’
‘Is not your business, you want file or no?’
Mike had little choice. He named a figure.
The sergeant beamed. ‘Each?’ he suggested.
Mike nodded his agreement.
The sergeant finished his ouzo and stood up to leave. He smiled. ‘Wait ’ere, I back at ten of clock,’ he said, and walked off into the crowded square.
9.00am. Sde Dov, Israel.
‘This is the aircraft we will use for the drop,’ Andy Cunningham pointed over his shoulder at a camouflage painted tactical transport plane inside the hangar. ‘We will practice boarding in darkness so that everyone knows where his seat is, who is on either side of him, and who is positioned with whom in the door-ways. This we will practice here on the ground inside the hangar. When we have it perfect we go up and practice a few night drops. I want every one of you to know your position in the free fall configuration, your altitude setting for formation break-up, your individual time count for separation and ’chute deployment, and your o’clock landing position relative to the marker lights.
Understood?’
There was a rumble of assent. They had all done it before but not for a long time. They all knew the perils of a HALO drop in the dark and in total silence. Collision with a colleague, ’chute entanglement, ’chute collapse, dispersal too soon, missing the close confines of the drop zone. A good period of practice would get every one back into the swing of things, make the whole enterprise safer and more efficient.
‘Right, no objections and no questions; once we are okay on the loading drills we will be making three jumps every night until we are perfect. Let’s get started.’ Under the leadership of Andy and Dave Prendergast they set to with a willingness that was based on a real understanding of the difficulties of the task they faced.
10.00pm. Plaka District, Athens.
At the appointed time the sergeant delivered the goods, but he took Mike to a small room at the rear of the taverna to do so. ‘Don worry, this place is family place, no one talk,’ he told Mike. ‘I tells you what’s in the file now. You want more, you ask of me here, not at polis station, okay?’
An hour later Mike sat studying the file in the back room; the sergeant had given him lots to go on. He began to make orderly notes while the sergeant’s comments were still fresh in his mind. He could see immediately that there were several lines of enquiry to start on. First, there was the mute testimony of Dimitris’s note.
‘They are Turks,’ Dimitris had written.
Secondly there were the fingerprints found on the keys of the car used by the terrorists and on the case of the cartridge which had killed Dimitris. John and Ben would have the resources to start a search of known terrorist activists and they could have the fingerprints checked.
Meanwhile here in Athens another line of enquiry beckoned. Who was this Andreas Kokalis, the man who had hired the car used by the terrorists? Mike decided to send copies of the file to John and Ben immediately, and then investigate Andreas Kokalis personally. Do a bit of digging around, and see if he could come up with more information. In Mike’s experience not everyone co-operated with the police.
He ’phoned John Henderson and found that John had already contacted a colleague in the American Embassy in Athens. This man had been instructed to give Mike any assistance he needed. Under this arrangement photographic enlargements were made of the fingerprints found on the hire car keys and on the case of the shotgun cartridge which had killed Dimitris Kosovos.
A photocopy of Dimitris’s note was appended to a written request for a search to be implemented, via the Turkish authorities, of their central fingerprint archives and the special section on terrorists. A copy of the package was sent to Ben Levy in Tel Aviv with a request that it be given the same treatment.
Satisfied that he had done all that he could to further those lines of enquiry, Mike turned his attention to the trail which, starting with the car registration number in Dimitris Kosovos’s note, had ended at the address of the hirer of the car: Andreas Kokalis. He decided to make a visit to the address and see what he could learn at first hand. He took a cab to the district the address was in and stopped a few blocks from the street.
Walking the last part of the way he was able to take in the general atmosphere of the area. It was not affluent. ‘No one would choose to live here,’ Mike thought; ‘Andreas Kokalis would have lived here through necessity rather than choice.’ Yet all terrorists had ample funds, and Mike could think of few that resisted the opportunity to live well.
He examined the building. The peeling paint, the cracked and loose exterior rendering, and the broken roof tiles combined to give an air of neglect to the place. A dog, crusted in mange, sitting scratching itself in the doorway, added a feeling of raw indifference to the surroundings.
Mike stepped into the open hallway and banged on the chipped and dirty paintwork of the first door. There was a faint sound of movement from inside. A floorboard creaked and a brief glimmer of light came through a peephole in the door, only to be cut off by someone peering through it. The man in the room having established that Mike was alone, a rough voice came through the door.
‘What you want?’ The words were rasped out in colloquial Greek.
Mike fished a high denomination Drachma note out of his pocket and let it do the talking. Bolts grated back and the door creaked open on neglected hinges. A dirty unshaven face with bloodshot eyes scowled at him and an even dirtier hand reached for the banknote.
Mike held it out of reach. ‘Information,’ he said, ‘Andreas Kokalis.’
A glimmer of understanding replaced the suspicion on the unpleasant face. The door creaked open a few more inches. A brusque jerk of the head indicated that Mike should step inside. He found himself in a room of indescribable squalor, and saw that there was a second man present. He was sitting on a filthy unmade bed, a stub of a cigarette stuck to his bottom lip, his eyes squinting against the smo
ke drifting upwards from it.
The first man closed the door and bolted it. ‘Who you?’ he rasped in heavily accented English, ‘what you want?’
Mike’s eyes narrowed as he saw the bolt shoved home. ‘I want information; I can pay.’ There was silence whilst the statement was digested.
‘What information?’
‘Andreas Kokalis, where is he?’
The man shrugged at the question but his eyes were on the banknote. ‘He go, no come back. Maybe soon I let his room.’
Mike fished another banknote from his shirt pocket and added it to the first one. He got no reaction. He pulled out a third note. The man licked his lips. Mike was being careful not to let them see how much money he had, but it was obvious that they were speculating on the possibilities. Mike gently waved the three bank notes. ’Information?’
The first man responded by calling out in Greek. A third man stepped out of a shadowy alcove screened off by a beaded curtain. Slowly, arrogantly, he stepped over to stand in front of Mike. He was a big man, tall and powerfully built, used to the fear his size and reputation had given him. The man on the bed spat his cigarette butt on to the floor and stood up. He drew a wicked looking lock-knife from his pocket and flicked it open. It didn’t take a genius to work out their intentions.
Mike drew slow deep breaths, letting perception take over from sight. He sensed the first move before it had started. The big man’s hand, held at his side, made a grab for Mike’s shirt front. He was way too late. Mike slapped the arm away and came in hard. His heel crashed down on the big man’s unprotected instep. The bones broke with an audible crack. The shrill scream seemed oddly out of place coming from such a big frame. The big man doubled forwards, his body jack-knifing in agony. There was no room for pity. To be weak would be to die. Mike put both hands on the big man’s head and slammed his face into his fast rising knee with all the force he could muster. The bone of the big man’s nose split the thin flesh covering it and then broke. His head flew backward exposing his throat. Mike hit him hard across the windpipe with the edge of a rigid hand. The big man fell forwards, a gout of vomit erupting from his mouth. Retching uncontrollably, he fell into his own mess.
The man with the lock-knife was nearly on top of Mike the wicked curved blade arcing up towards his stomach. Mike pivoted to the side, the sharp blade missed him by millimeters, and he stabbed his left-hand forward, fingers spread, driving for the man’s eyes with a ki-ai, a loud yell designed to distract. The man’s hands flew up to protect his face as Mike slammed his right fist into the solar plexus. All the breath was driven from the man’s body; he doubled up, gasping for breath. His lock-knife dropped to the floor, burying its point in the floorboards. Mike’s bunched fist crashed behind the man’s right ear, dropping him senseless.
The first man was at the door, his hand reaching for the bolt. Mike snatched the dropped lock-knife from the floor and whanged it backhanded into the door, missing the man’s wrist by an inch. The man whipped his hand away from the bolt as if it had stung him. Mike picked up the three high denomination bank notes and, his eyes like flint, stepped over the fallen thug collapsed in his own vomit. His eyes transfixed the man cowering by the door.
‘Information on Andreas Kokalis, now!’
Ducking his head repeatedly in an obsequious attempt to please, the man moved cautiously over to a cupboard against the wall.
Mike followed him, pulling the lock-knife from the door as he went. He grabbed a handful of the lank hair and jerking the man’s head back he pressed the honed blade flat against the dirty throat. ‘One bad move, I cut you.’
Dumb with fear, the man reached into the cupboard and pulled out a bundle of envelopes bound by a rubber band. His hands shaking, he handed the bundle over.
Mike threw the three bank notes onto the table. As the man reached out to grab them, he drove the lock-knife through the man’s hand, through the bank notes and deep into the table. His face white with shock, the man passed out. Mike left quietly, closing the door behind him.
2.00pm. Hotel Grand Bretagne, Athens.
As he returned to his hotel Mike stopped in surprise as Anna came to meet him. ‘What on earth..? I thought...’
‘Mike, have you seen Dawn?’
‘Dawn? No, why? I thought...’
‘She’s gone looking for Jim.’ Anna took Mike’s arm and led him to an alcove. ‘She’s very upset, I don’t think she’s fully recovered from the events at Heathrow. She’s been behaving very irrationally since you all left; I think she’s suffering from PTSD, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.’
‘Why the hell would she come here?’
‘After we received your fax she left a note saying she was going to look for Jim. The only address she had was the one we got from the return code on the fax header. Here, this hotel, I came to warn you, and to try to head her off.’
‘Hell, Jim isn’t here, he’s miles away doing other things.’
‘Well, she doesn’t know that. I might have beaten her to it. I pulled all the strings I could, to get here fast. Maybe she’s not here yet.’
‘Okay, thanks for the warning, have you checked in here?’
‘No, not yet.’
‘Well don’t, I have a suite, there’s plenty of room, and I’m registered in another name, so if she enquires here she won’t easily find either of us.’
‘But what about her, she’s in a desperate state, she’s...’
‘Okay, okay, don’t worry, you can stay here and look out for her. When she shows up you’ll have to take her back home.’
‘But… but what if she won’t go? She’s manic, not at all rational the last time I saw her.’
‘Anna, I can’t worry about that. I have other things to do that won’t wait. Come on let’s get you installed in my suite then you can work out what we‘re going to do about her.’
3.00pm. Hotel Grand Bretagne, Athens.
The bundle of mail Mike had obtained contained one very useful item of information. A letter from the Hotel Grande Bretagne, the hotel Mike was staying in. Photocopied on headed notepaper, it was a written warning to all employees about absenteeism. Any further occurrences would be punishable by instant dismissal. Andreas Kokalis, it seemed, had worked as a Concierge there. ‘Coincidence?’ Mike wondered, maybe it fitted the events as Andreas had not been seen at his address recently. Leaving Anna to rest he made his way down to the American bar, the main bar of the hotel, for a much-needed drink; reaction to earlier events was setting in. The bar wasn’t busy, and Mike chose a strategic place near to the till, the focal point of the barman’s activity. Playing it like a tourist, he struck up a casual conversation with the barman and, after a while, asked after the guy who was Concierge the last time he stayed.
‘What was his name? Began with “A”, An… something?’
‘Andreas?’ the barman offered.
‘Yeah, that was it, Andreas, a real nice guy, always helpful, he still work here?’
‘No, sir, he don’t work here no more, he leave sudden.’
‘Oh, gee, that’s a real shame, had a bundle of laughs with that guy over the years, any idea where he’s gone?’
The barman shook his head. ‘No sir, one day he don’ turn up for work, no one see him no more.’ He hesitated as if about to say more, and then shrugged and turned to serve another customer who had chosen that moment to come up to the bar.
Mike bided his time, finished his drink and picked a quiet moment to order another, and then continued his previous conversation as though he had not been interrupted. ‘Guess I ought to look him up for old-times sake, ain’t there anyone who might know where he’s at?’ A large denomination Drachma note appeared in his hand.
The barman hesitated for a fraction of a second, and then engulfed the banknote with a practiced hand.
‘You talk to Effi at GB corner, she Andrea’s girl, maybe still so.’ He looked at his watch. ‘She here now, you want speak her.’
‘Oh great; thanks, pal.’
Mike strolled from the bar to the fashionable coffee shop within the Hotel Grande Bretagne, long a popular meeting place for Athenian society. He sat at a vacant table. A petite dark-haired girl, efficient looking and smartly dressed in the hotel uniform, came over to take his order. Mike spotted her name badge and politely asked if her nickname was Effi. She nodded and agreed that it was. ‘What can I do, sir?’
‘Well, I guess I’d like you to spare me a few moments of your time. Would that be possible?’ The girl looked doubtful.
‘I’m trying to find Andreas Kokalis.’
Effi gave him a strained smile. ‘Ah, we no can sit witha da customers,’ she said. But the thought of learning something about the disappeared Andreas was too much for her to resist. ‘You sita somewhere else, I check to my boss I think isa okay.’
Mike went through to a lounge area while the young waitress went and spoke with her boss. Within two minutes she was back. ‘How I help?’ she asked as she sat down.
Mike gave her a reassuring smile. ‘Sure hope so, I’m looking for Andreas Kokalis.’ He gestured with his thumb. ‘Barman told me you may be able to help me on that.’
At the mention of the name the girl’s eyes filled with tears. She took a Kleenex from her pocket and buried her face in it, blowing her nose hard. Mike didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing.
‘I love him, he ran, the bastard, I hope he rot.’
‘What happened?’
‘So, I don’ta know lot, but Andreas he do business. He doa something for one guests here, one he know. He say he can make much money, yes, his villa it show it.’
‘His villa? I thought he rented a room.’
‘So, yes did, but before, you see?’
‘No, I guess I don’t.’
‘Well we work here and room with job, you know, but we become... Well, when we going to each other, I wanted somewhere. People in hotel they gossip. It can cost us jobs. Andreas rented a room for be together. Was secret place, not much, but ours. We hope buy a place one day. We talk about it a lot...’ The girl stopped; her thoughts on a previous time.
Mike put a sympathetic hand on the girl’s hand. ‘Tell me what happened?’ he prompted gently.
The girl sighed and then said, ‘There was man, see, guest. Andreas tella me ’bout ’im. He want Andrea’s acts for ’im, want Andreas name and address for something. I don’ like him, I thing might be drugs or something, but Andreas say is okay, the man very res... res...’
‘Respectable?’
‘Yes, issa word.’
‘So, you saw him then?’ Mike asked.
‘Oh yes, I a see him lot of time. He here many time. I look in register after, after Andreas go. After man stop coming here, customer man.’
‘Do you remember his name?’ Mike asked urgently.
‘Yes, is Liani, Georges Liani, I don’ forget.’
Mike wrote the name down. ‘And you can’t remember what it was that he wanted Andreas to do?’
‘No, I no know for sure, but he give Andreas lot of money for it. Andreas going boughta new clothes and watch he seen, and he say to buy me presents. Then he go out on me, run off and have big villa in ver’ nice place.’ There was a catch in her voice and she blew her nose hard again.
‘How do you know about the villa if you never saw him again?’
‘Was a letter, comea here to hotel for Andreas. Manager give to me for to give Andreas, but I don’ know where he gone. I think the letter to tell me where he go, so I open.’ She looked at Mike, hoping he would understand.
‘You must have been very worried, what did you find out?’ Mike asked.
‘Yes, yes was, wanta to find him, talk him, you know?’
‘Of course, that’s only natural, anyone would have done the same.’
Reassured, the girl continued with her story. ‘Was letter from agent asking if he want again lease on big villa in Politia, richa area you know, besta people live there.’
‘What did you do?’
‘Well, I takea the letter an address an went to see to find him, but was no one. He gone, because never no one in.’
‘When was the last time you went there?’
‘Two days.’
‘And the first time?’
‘One week before, after I get letter.’
‘Can you show me the letter, please?’ Mike asked.
‘No, is ina bag,’ she glanced nervously towards the GB corner. ‘I no can stay.’ She hesitated, reluctant to break this tenuous link to Andreas. ‘I am finish six on the clock. I meet you ’ere with letter.’
Mike pressed on. ‘Did you see anyone else out at this villa, the man called Liani, for instance?’
‘No, no one, no one the place empty sure.’
‘Would you know this Liani character again if you saw him?’
‘Oh yes,’ the girl was positive, ‘I don’t forget him.’
‘Could you give me a description of him?’
The girl nodded. ‘Was a man more old to you, maybe ten year. Tall, 1.6 and 1.8 meters, strong, black hair with grey on sides, black moustache, black eyes, sharp eyes, scary...’ She gave an involuntary shudder, ‘So sorry, I go, I be ’ere on six. She hurried back to work.
Mike sipped his coffee thoughtfully. Could Anna produce a likeness from a description? Mike used the phone at reception to call the suite, and spoke to Anna. ‘I need you downstairs at six. Can you bring some sketching materials and be down here then?’
‘Well, I guess... okay, sure.’
4.00pm. Hellenikon Airport, Athens.
Without the advantages Anna enjoyed via Technology To-day it had taken Dawn longer to get to Athens even given a few hours start. Dawn may have been upset, but she wasn’t stupid, and she had had plenty of time to think on her long journey. She had worried about the reception she would get from Mike. He wouldn’t be pleased to see her that was for sure. What if he was furious? What if he refused to tell her where Jim was? Perhaps she ought to be more devious, keep a low profile, just find Mike and let him lead her to Jim. Dawn also knew that she wasn’t exactly a low profile person. She tended to attract lots of attention, stares even. With these thoughts on her mind she changed planes at Heathrow. Going through the transit lounge she saw a lot of Arab families, the women covered from head to foot in long black chadors, and that gave her an idea. Covered to that degree no one would recognize her, and if spoken to she could pretend not to understand. No one would bother her. On arrival in Athens she asked the Taxi driver to take her to a seamstress.
6.00pm. Hotel Grand Bretagne, Athens.
At six o’clock Dawn, encased from head to foot in black silk material and wearing a veil, sat in an alcove and watched intently as Anna came down to join Mike in Reception. Neither of them noticed the black chador clad figure sitting quietly in the foyer.
Effi joined them minutes later in the lounge, just as Mike finished explaining the situation to Anna. Mike introduced Effi and Anna and asked Effi, ‘Can you describe the man Liani, and watch my friend sketch him as we go along?’
Effi looked doubtful.
He turned to Anna. ‘Do you have everything?’ Anna nodded and opened her bag.
Effi looked at Mike. ‘You find him?’
‘Maybe. Whatever I find, I’ll let you know.’
Effi made up her mind, she smiled sadly, ‘I don’ wanta anything bad to Andreas,’ she said, and handed Mike the letter.
Mike looked at the letter as Anna began questioning Effi about the appearance of the man known to her as George Liani. The text of the letter was in Greek, but Effi had already told him the content. Of more importance to Mike was the address of the real estate agency, and that was repeated in English on the letter heading. Mike looked out of the window deep in thought as Anna quizzed Effi.
‘Did he have a thin face or a round face?’ Anna began.
‘No thin, no fat.’
Anna tried again, ‘Well was it long, square, oval, poi
nted, what?’
Then she realized that Effi was struggling with the verbal descriptions. Her English, learned in the bar-cafe where she worked, was not adequate to this task. ‘Look, I’ll draw some shapes, you tell me which one is the nearest and the best.’ She quickly sketched out a range of facial shapes and held them out for the girl to look at.
Without hesitation Effi pointed. ‘Like that.’
‘Great, cheekbones,’ Anna pointed to her own, ‘were they prominent?’ Effi nodded, she made slanting movements with her fingers high up on her own cheeks.
‘Nose?’ Anna queried as she rapidly shaded in the cheekbones, ‘was it big?’
‘Yes, curve, an’ a big moustache.’
Anna sketched furiously for a few minutes. ‘What about the cheeks, were they full or hollow?’
Effi sucked her cheeks in, ‘So.’
‘Jaw?’ Anna pointed. Effi thought about it while Anna worked, then she used her fingers again around her own face to describe a strong jaw with a cleft chin.
Mike looked over Anna’s shoulder. The face was taking shape.
‘The hair, was it black like the moustache?’
‘Yes, but grey here.’ Effi pointed to the areas above her ears.
‘Was it long or short?’
‘Short cut, no square, like army only grow longer.’
Anna drew in what she thought the girl meant. ‘Any beard, stubble, anything like that?’
‘With shave, but strong under skin, you know, you see line here.’ With her finger she drew a line on her cheek.
‘Was he tanned or pale?’
‘Sun tan, fit, not for office man and black eyebrow an’ sharp eye.’
‘Okay,’ Anna put in some more shading around the eyes and on the cheeks, smudging the pencil marks with her finger. ‘Now, have a look.’
Effi peered at Anna’s pad. She drew in a sharp breath. ‘Yes, is him. Hair more bit lower on front, eye more deep, more shiny.’
Anna worked at the likeness putting more on the hairline and deeper shading around the eyes.
Effi looked again. ‘Is him!’
Mike walked over from the window to take a look. A very well drawn likeness stared up at him from the page, a hard direct face, gimlet eyed and uncompromising. ‘A tough looking character,’ he remarked, ‘but then he would be, wouldn’t he?’
Effi wasn’t sure what he meant. ‘That him. You know him when you find.’ She left with a grateful smile and again a request that if they found Andreas they would let her know.
Turning back, Mike saw that Anna was still working hard on her sketchpad. ‘Now what?’ he asked.
‘I’m doing different versions of this face, now that I know what he looks like, I can do some profiles and some half profiles too, the odds are that if we do see this guy it won’t be from the front.’
‘What would I do without you?’ Mike said with feeling.
Anna gave him a wry look. ‘I told you I’d come in handy if you’d let me come along,’ she chided gently.
Mike grunted a sheepish response and studied his notes. Then he took a street map of Athens from the table. He found the road the villa was in and studied the location. ‘Would it still be rented to Andreas Kokalis,’ he wondered, ‘would it be occupied, and where did the man known as George Liani fit into things?’ He decided to pose as a prospective client at the property agency. They had this villa on their books, so if he asked for a large villa to rent in Politia they would probably let him look round it. If it wasn’t empty they might tell him he had just missed it, or they had just what he needed but it wouldn’t be available for a couple of weeks. If it wasn’t available it was likely to be occupied and so would merit a more cautious approach.
‘Come and look.’ Anna called him over to see the results of her efforts. A set of faces stared up at him with more life. The faces of the man looking up at him now had the air of the fanatic. Mike knew instinctively that this man was extremely dangerous. ‘Vicious looking bastard,’ he thought. But then, to hide his thoughts from Anna, he said, ‘That’s excellent, almost as good as photographs; we should stand a much better chance of finding him now.’
11.00pm. Off Ras Beyrouth, Beirut.
The submarine stopped engines and slowed in the water. A small patch of white foam formed on the surface of the dark sea as a small black object broke the surface and rotated through three hundred and sixty degrees. Forty feet below, the commander of the Israeli submarine searched the sea surface out to the horizon in all directions. Satisfied that all was clear he gave the order. ‘Surface slowly.’ He continued his careful sweep as the range of his vision through the periscope improved with the gain in height. As the forward deck cleared the surface a hatch was opened from below and two black rubber clad figures emerged. They wasted no time. A long indistinct object was hauled through the open hatch assisted by men below, and placed across the deck forward of the conning tower. The canoe, camouflaged black and silver grey, was on deck and ready for launching. The two men checked the seals on their rubber dry suits, then settled themselves into the canoe, and fastened the watertight skirts in place. The forward hatch closed onto its seals with a muffled thud, and the hatch clips were wound home.
As the sub gently submerged, the two men launched themselves down the curve of the hull and slid into the water with a powerful thrust from their paddles. With rapid strokes they powered well away from the hull. The water along the hull of the submarine seethed white as the tanks were blown, and swirled powerfully as the massive hull began to surge forward. The two men steadied the tiny craft as the mist from the escaping air swirled round them. Then they paddled strongly away from the patch of turbulent aerated water in the direction of Beirut.
Jim and Willy covered three miles in under an hour. Ahead of them loomed the bulk of Ras Beyrouth, the rocky headland that made a huge step in the coast of Lebanon, on which the city of Beirut had grown. The lighthouse on the headland gave them a bearing for their approach.
Half a mile off the headland Jim tapped Willy twice on the shoulder. Willy stopped paddling and steadied the canoe in the water as Jim donned his oxygen re-breathing apparatus and flippers. Jim straddled the canoe and worked his way back till he could slide over the end into the inky water. Clearing the canoe, he checked his bearings, gave Willy a thumbs up and slid under the choppy surface into the claustrophobic total blackness.
From now on he would be swimming blind on compass, watch and depth gauge. Swimming along a bearing calculated from information on the charts and tide tables, making allowance for the currents round the headland, he kept faith with his compass and followed its guiding luminosity through the inky blackness. He checked the luminous depth gauge continuously, maintaining an average depth of ten feet below the surface. Only the creatures of the sea were aware of his passing, no one on land could see his approach. Suddenly a cold slimy mass engulfed his head, obstructing his facemask and dragging him to a halt. Jim instinctively pulled out his diving knife, but it was unnecessary; the mass of seaweed had not entangled him, and he backed out of it. Weed grew on rocks; he must be close in. Gradually he inched his way up. His head broke the surface in amongst the weed and he looked round ready to dive instantly if anyone was about.
Everything seemed okay. He pushed his mask up to get better vision. No lights, no movement. He pulled the tight rubber hood away from his ears, all was quiet, and there were no sounds other than the restless movement of the sea. He needed to get his bearings and work out where he was.
Headlands jutted out of the sea to his left and right. He was at the base of a rock pillar. Another pillar rose from the sea some yards away. Only one place on the coast fulfilled these criteria. He was directly in front of the Grotte aux Pigeons, a little too far north and a little too far inshore from where he wanted to be. Quickly he took bearings and, refitting his facemask, sank back into the blackness. He swam off on his new course, checking his watch for elapsed time in order to estimate distance traveled, and trying to judge when he wou
ld clear the long rock ledge to the south of the small cove. People fished from that ledge during the day. He decided to allow extra clearance in case of night- lines. When he thought he was clear he surfaced carefully again and checked. Good, he was past it. All around was dark and quiet. Nothing moved. He took another bearing and sank back again. He checked his depth gauge and swam in until he touched bottom. He carefully followed the bottom in to the point where he hoped to be. When he next broke the surface he was in a small sea-carved cleft with about six feet of water to the bottom. There were plenty of weed covered rocks between which to sink and weight a canoe. He took a good look round. No one could see him from the landward side. He pulled a waterproof torch from his kit and pointed it out to sea. At eight second intervals he pressed the rubber stud and a red glow shone out.
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