“You don’t have to ask me that!”
“I think I do.”
Levy hesitated, then said, “Yes, my promise.”
To the rest of them Suslev said, “Shimeon has been involved in this since the beginning; it’s as much his action as it is mine. I’m not interested, morally, in what’s happened—only that nothing interferes with the success of the operation. I’m prepared to accept his assurance.”
Levy relaxed slightly.
Only Leiberwitz had spoken in open criticism, realized Suslev. Deciding to take the risk, he said, “Should there be a vote on it?”
“Yes,” said Leiberwitz at once.
“In favour of Shimeon remaining in command?” proposed Suslev. He raised his hand as he spoke. Kahane and Sela responded immediately. Katz hesitated and then he came out in favour. Seeing the direction of the feeling, Habel finally raised his hand in support.
“Against?” said Suslev.
Leiberwitz and Greening voted simultaneously.
“Shimeon remains in charge,” said Suslev.
“It’s a mistake,” insisted Leiberwitz.
“The matter is closed,” said Suslev.
But the tension between them increased when Suslev asked to be left alone with Levy for the handover briefing. The Russian produced a map to ensure that Levy knew the identity of the place, then passed over the keys and a photograph of the villa where the boy was to be left.
“It’s miles from anywhere” said the Russian. “No one will find him accidentally.”
“I don’t like the idea of abandoning him like this,” protested the Israeli.
“There’s a good reason.”
“I understand that,” said Levy. “And it’s good. I just don’t like the idea of leaving him.”
“If Azziz is sensible, it’ll only be for an hour or two,” assured the Russian He left the Sisteron villa thirty minutes later, the developed proof in his pocket. The internecine squabbling was a definite advantage, decided Suslev. Not that he was taking any chances. There was a freighter called the Marriv due in port on the twelfth. There wasn’t anyone in Haifa named Hanan Cohen, though. It didn’t matter; he was sure they wouldn’t think of double-checking. There was no reason for them to do so. They trusted him.
* * *
Edward Makimber determined against telling the rest of the SWAPO command of the difficulties involving the Bellicose. That had all been resolved, so the only effect would be to make them uneasy. And they were nervous enough as it was.
“From what I saw in Marseilles, I estimate it will take two days to unload,” he said. “It didn’t take that long to put the stuff aboard in France, but the port facilities were better there. 1 think we should truck them directly inland, to the dispersal points. If we allow three days for that, then we can commence on the fifteenth and launch the attack on the seventeenth.”
“Exactly on schedule,” said Arthur Kapuuo, the overall military commander.
“It’s going to be a spectacular success,” said Makimber confidently. He wished he could understand why the Russians had warned him about the interception in Dakar. He would have thought it more in their interest to let the consignment be turned back, to prove the unreliability of outside suppliers. It was the only uncertainty in an otherwise perfect operation. And Makimber didn’t like uncertainties.
Karen sat silently listening to Levy’s account of the argument in the downstairs room. When he finished she said, “I’m sorry for causing difficulties.”
He smiled, reaching out to touch her face. “It isn’t your fault,” he said. “Don’t be silly.”
“Is it a problem?”
“No,” said Levy at once. “Leiberwitz has always been jealous of my being in command. He thinks he should have been chosen in Israel.”
“Why wasn’t he?”
“He’s too impulsive. He doesn’t think things through.”
“Just like us,” said Karen.
31
The package was brought aboard on the evening mail run from the harbour master’s office, the two photographs protected by hard cardboard and carefully sealed. Grearson unwrapped them and laid them before his employer. The boy was holding the newspaper, staring straight at the camera; the woman was looking to one side, obviously distracted by something or someone. From the drawer of one of the large bureaux Azziz took out the first ransom picture, putting it next to the new ones for comparison. He leaned forward as if caught by something, groping into the drawer for a magnifying glass and adjusting it over the prints.
“He’s thinner,” said Azziz. “And they’ve beaten him.” He offered the lawyer the glass. “Look,” he said. “There’s bruising on his face.”
“It’s very faint,” said Grearson. “It might be some fault in the printing.”
“Beaten,” insisted Azziz. “The pigs have kept him short of food and beaten him.”
“But at least we know he’s alive,” said Grearson. He indicated the copy of Nice Matin. “And close.”
“Not close enough,” said Azziz. He brought the photographs together like a man collecting playing cards. “The navigating officer had made the calculations,” he said. “According to the supposed speed of the Bellicose, it should be just north of Casablanca. That’s about a day and a half from Algiers.”
“Time for the Hydra Star to sail?” said Grearson.
Azziz nodded. “Are Evans and his people ready?”
“Absolutely.”
“Evans knows to expect a message off Algiers?”
“Yes,” said Grearson. “There’s no radio-telephone communication, so it will have to be by cable. There’s no way they will be able to know it isn’t Deaken replying.”
Azziz looked at the collection of tapes. “On your next contact we should get the handover instructions then?”
“Right.”
“I want you to be the one who collects him,” said Azziz. “Personally.”
Grearson hesitated and then said, “Of course.”
“You’ll need someone to act as a liaison,” said Azziz suddenly. “There can’t be any response from the men on the boat until we’ve got the boy back.”
“Evans would be the obvious candidate,” said Grearson.
Azziz shook his head. “There needs to be a command on the boat. Take one of the others.”
“I’ll arrange it,” said Grearson.
Azziz looked down at the most recent pictures showing the fading traces of his son’s beating, then up at the lawyer. “I want them hurt,” he said quietly. “Make sure Evans understands that. They’ve hurt my son and now I want them hurt in return.”
They were all assembled at the villa on the Aubagne road when the lawyer arrived. He took the photographs, wanting them all to know what the boy looked like if the handover was made anywhere near the supposed weapons’ exchange. Evans studied them first, then passed them round to the assembled group.
“Do you think they’re marks of a beating?” asked Grearson.
“Could be,” said Evans.
“Mr. Azziz wants retribution.”
“Sure,” said Evans. “You’ve already made that clear.”
“There was to be half payment in advance,” reminded Marinetti, forever practical.
Grearson unclipped the briefcase and passed around the envelopes. To Marinetti he said, “There’ll be little need for any expert explosive use?”
“It wouldn’t seem so,” said Evans.
“So I’ll have Marinetti as the liaison,” decided the lawyer. “He can come back with me to the yacht and be with me when we exchange the boy.”
Marinetti smiled around at the others. “I’ll be thinking of you guys cramped up in that shitty old barge,” he said.
“Getting the boy back safely is the most important part of the operation,” said Grearson.
The smile was wiped from Marinetti’s face. “We’ll get him back,” he said.
Evans stood, a signal for the rest. As they started to file from the room Grearson sai
d, “Good luck.”
“Luck hasn’t got anything to do with it,” said Evans.
The photographs had to be developed, so it was not until evening that they were brought to the Hotel Negresco. By then there had already been protracted telephone conversations with Muller, in Pretoria, about the location of the kidnap house and of the second arms-carrying freighter. Aware of Deaken’s concern, Swart let him examine them first. Deaken stared down at Karen, blinking the mistiness from his eyes. Neither picture was perfectly in focus and each was obscured by the blurred foliage in the immediate foreground of the shubbery through which they were taken. Karen didn’t look as Deaken had expected her to. He had anticipated that the strain of captivity would show; that she would look as rigid-faced as the boy. Instead she appeared relaxed, almost carefree.
He looked up at Swart, white-faced, and said, “The promise was to help me get her out.”
“Not yet.”
“What do you mean, not yet!”
Swart nodded towards the telephone. “My instructions are to find out a little more first … we don’t understand enough.”
The difference of interest, remembered Deaken. “Fuck understanding enough,” he said. “We know where she is … where they both are. Let’s get them out.”
“No.”
“I don’t need you,” said Deaken.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Swart. “You can’t do anything by yourself. You’d be killed … and get your wife and the boy killed as well.”
“Help me, then!”
“We will,” said Swart. “But not yet. We know she’s all right … that they’re both all right. Wait.”
“How the hell can you expect me to wait?”
Swart looked at the photographs of his own family. “No,” he said distantly. “How can I expect you to?”
Deaken was about to speak when the telephone rang. It was a short conversation. As he replaced the receiver, Swart said, “The ship has sailed from Marseilles. Some men went aboard at the last moment. And then it sailed. Half an hour ago.”
32
They maintained the separation of Rixheim, Levy taking his meals with Karen and the boy, while everyone else ate in the kitchen. That night Azziz said he felt too unwell to eat, so it was just the two of them at dinner, a subdued, awkward meal, with long silences between them.
“What is it?” said Karen at last. She pushed her plate away, revolving her wine glass between her hands.
“1 hope he isn’t going to become ill again,” said the Israeli.
“I don’t think he is.” Karen hadn’t told him about her escape conversation with Azziz. If the boy got away it would upset whatever it was they were planning, possibly extend the time she could be with the man she loved.
He looked at her curiously. “Why do you say that?”
“I looked in,” she said. “There’s no fever.” She paused then and said, “It’s not just the boy. is it?”
“No,” he admitted.
“What then?”
“There was some other discussion today, apart from the row. Everything is almost ready.” He couldn’t look at her.
“When?”
“Tomorrow. We’ve got to be ready for tomorrow.”
She felt sick and a weakness seemed to permeate her body, numbing her legs. “What’s going to happen?”
“The weapons we’re getting from Azziz are on a boat. It’ll be here very soon now. When we get the shipment, the boy is to be returned to his father.”
“What about me?”
“Both of you,” said Levy. He reached out to grasp her hand.
“What are we going to do?”
He didn’t answer. She took her hand away. “Tell me what we’re going to do.”
“I don’t know,” he said, empty-voiced and still not looking at her.
“Do you want me?”
“You know the answer to that.”
“Do you want me?”
“Yes.”
“But you want Rebecca as well?”
He humped his shoulders, a gesture of helplessness. “It’s more than that,” he said. “There’s the protest about the settlements. There’s got to be the protest.”
“But it’s Rebecca as well, isn’t it?” she persisted. “You love her, don’t you?”
“Yes,” he said shortly. “Shit! Why’s it got to be like this?”
“I don’t want to go back to Richard,” she said. “It’s not his child; it’s yours. I won’t go back to him.” Karen knew she was being irrational, ridiculous. But everything that happened to her was irrational and ridiculous. She refused to be shaken awake from the dream.
“I don’t want you to go back to Richard.”
“So tell me the alternative.”
“There’s no way we can stay together, not immediately anyway.”
She snatched at the straw. “Not immediately?”
“You didn’t think I was going to abandon you, did you?”
Karen was near to tears. “Something like that,” she said.
He raised his hand to caress her cheek. “Fool,” he said softly.
She bit at his fingers, enjoying his touch. “I love you so much,” she said.
“I don’t know how, not yet,” he said. “Or how long it will take. But it won’t end tomorrow or the next day. I’ll make something work.”
Karen smiled. Whatever it was he decided, however difficult, she would go along with it. She was consumed by him, indifferent to anything or anyone else.
Four hundred yards from where Karen sat, her husband drove slowly by the house, straining through the darkness to make out its shape, managing only to locate the tiny squares of light at various windows.
“There’s no purpose in everyone losing sleep,” decided Swart. “The observation will be in shifts; the rest of us can try to get some rest in Sisteron.”
“All right,” said Deaken. He screwed around in the seat for a final look. Soon, my darling, he thought, very soon now.
The maps and the blackboard were still in place, but only Deaken’s father was in the room with Muller. The intelligence chief tapped his pointer against the map and said, “The Bellicose seems to have stopped off Benguela: the last reconnaissance report says she’s turned back upon herself and is steaming in circles.”
“Waiting for contact?”
“That’s what it seems like.”
“There’s to be a final meeting, but the consensus in the cabinet is for a preemptive strike—an interception at sea.”
“I know,” said Muller.
“Nothing more from Europe?”
“Not since the other freighter sailed.”
“The timing is important, isn’t it?” said Piet Deaken. “If we have to intercept the Bellicose in advance of any exchange in Europe, my daughter-in-law could be killed.”
“Yes,” admitted Muller.
The old man turned away from the dais, looking out over the South African capital. “My vote is for interception,” he said.
The South African intelligence service had established their electronic eavesdropping headquarters at Ondangua, as near to the Angolan border as possible, with equipment sufficiently sophisticated and powerful to intercept all commercial wavelengths, as well as dial searches for clandestine transmissions. Edward Makimber’s contact with the Bellicose was on a normal commercial link, giving them perfect reception.
“Victory,” muttered Muller when the coded message was brought to him. He looked up, shaking his head at the theatricality. There was going to be a victory, but not the sort they imagined.
Evans knocked politely at the door, looking through the glass for Papas’s nod of agreement before going out onto the bridge. The captain of the Hydra Star stood in front of the helmsman, close to the radar screen. “We should be approaching Algiers soon after dawn,” he said.
“And then we wait,” said Evans.
“I control this ship at all times,” said the captain firmly.
“You made that clear
from the start.”
“I’m making it clear again, so there’ll be no misunderstandings.”
“There won’t be.”
“I know what sort of men you are,” said Papas. “Know what you do. I’m not having my ship endangered, no matter what instructions I get from Athens.”
Evans hoped Papas wasn’t going to become a nuisance.
33
The interception of the guerrilla communiqué to the Bellicose reached the South African cabinet towards the end of its discussion when the decision had already been practically made, but the confirmation of SWAPO involvement made the vote unanimous. The order to the Army, Navy and Air Force was accorded top-security classification and a second cabinet meeting was scheduled for the afternoon to consider the country’s reaction to the inevitable international protest.
By the time the order reached Admiral Hertzog, he already had two freighters and a cruiser carrying a helicopter squadron of marine commandos off Moçmedes, but well outside any recognized limit of territorial jurisdiction. He immediately signalled the speed to be increased from cruising to full and for the course to be altered northeast.
The air and army strength in Namibia was already high because of the conflict, but three additional detachments of commandos were airlifted into Walvis Bay in C-130s, on standby readiness. The Air Force had maintained a permanent high-altitude reconnaissance over the Bellicose but now an additional and specially equipped C-130 was sent into position. It was, in fact, a flying laboratory, utilizing technology developed by Israeli scientists and capable of completely immobilizing the electrical capability of any given target. The target was the Bellicose.
Captain Erlander frowned at the radar screen which he had been watching for the approach of Makimber’s launch and said, “Bloody thing’s fogged.”
Edmunson, who had been attempting visual sighting from the wing, came back into the bridge housing, but before he reached the screen the rear door opened from the radio shack and the operator said, “Trouble, sir. Radio is out.”
“What about the secondary set?” demanded the first officer.
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