Triple (1991)

by Ken Follett

  There was very little light at the stem end, and Dickstein!s boat had to get very close to the Coparelli's starboard ladder. Gibli, the team leader, found it difficult to keep the boat in position. Dickstein found a boat hook in the well of the launch and used it to hold the boat steady, pulling toward the Copareftl when the sea tried to part them and pushing away when the boat and the ship threatened to collide broadside. Gibli, who was ex-army, insisted on adhering to the Israeli tradition that the officers lead their men from in front, not from behind: he had to go first. He always wore a hat to conceal his receding hairline, and now he sported a beret. He crouched at the edge of the boat while it slid down a wave; then, in the trough when boat and ship moved closer together, he jumped. He landed well and moved upward. On the edge, waiting for his moment, Feinberg said, "Now, then-I count to three, then open my parachute, rightr, Then he jumped.

  Katzen went next, then Raoul Dovrat Dickstein dropped the boat hook and followed. On the ladder, he leaned back and looked up through the streaming rain to see Gibli reach the level of the gunwale then swing one leg over the rail. Dickstein looked back over his shoulder and saw a faint band of lighter gray in the distant sky, the first sign of dawn. Then there was a sudden shocking burst of machine-gun fire and a shout. Dickstein looked up again to see Gibli falling slowly backward off the top of the ladder. His beret came off and was whipped away by the wind, disappearing into the darknes& Gibli fell down, down past Dickstein and into the sea. Dickstein shouted, "Go, go, got" Feinberg flew over the rail. He would hit the deck rolling, Dickstein knew, then-yes, there was the sound of his gun as he gave covering fire for the other&-- And Katzen was over and there were four, five, many gum crackling, and Dickstein was scampering up the ladder and pulling the pin from a grenade with his teeth and hurling it up and over the rail some thirty yards forward, where it would cause a diversion without injuring any of his men already on deck, and then Dovrat was over the rail and Dickstein saw him hit the deck rolling, gain his feet, dive for cover behind the stern superstructure and Dickstein yelled, "Here I come you fuckers" and went over in a high-jumper's roll, landed on hands and knees, bent double under a sheet of covering fire and scampered to the stem. "Where are they?" he yelled. Feinberg stopped shooting to answer him. "In the galley," be said, jerking a thumb toward the bulkhead beside them. "In the lifeboats, and in the doorways amidships." "All right." Dickstein got to his feet. "We hold this position until Badees group makes the deck. When you hear them open fire, move. Dovrat and Katzen, hit the galley door and head below. Feinberg, cover them, then work'your way forward along this edge of the deck. I'll make for the first lifeboat. Meantime give them something to distract their attention from the port stem ladder and Badees team. Fire at will.

  Hassan and Mabmoud were interrogating the sailor when the shooting started. They were in the chartroom, aft of the bridge. Ile sailor would speak only German, but Hassan spoke German. His story was that the Coparell! had broken down and the crew had been taken off, leaving him to wait in the ship until a spare part arrived. He knew nothing of uranium or hijacks or Dickstein. Hassan did not believe him, for-as he pointed out to Mahmoud-if Dickstein could arrange for the ship to break down, he could surely arrange for one of his own men to be left aboard it. The sailor was tied to a chair, and now Mahmoud was cutting off his fingers one by one in an attempt to make him tell a different story. They heard one quick burst of firing, then a silence, then a second burst followed by a barrage. Mahmoud sheathed his knife and went down the stairs which led from the chartroom. to the officers! quarters. Hassan tried to assess the situation. The Fedayeen were grouped in three places--the lifeboats, the galley and the main amidships superstructure. From where he was Hassan could see both port and starboard sides of the dock. and if he went forward from the chartroom to the bridge he could see the foredeck. Most of the Israelis seemed to have boarded the ship at the stern. The Fedayeen, both those immediately below Hassan and those in the lifeboats at either side, were firing toward the stern. There was no firing from the galley, which must mean the Israelis had taken it. They must have gone below, but they had left two men on deck, one on either side, to guard their rear. Mahmoud's ambush had failed, then. The Israelis were supposed to be mown down as they came over the rail. In fact they had succeeded in reaching cover, and now the battle was even. The fighting on deck was stalemated, with both sides shooting at each other from good cover. That was the Israelis! intention, Hassan assumed: to keep the opposition busy on deck while they made their progress below. They would attack the Fedayeen stronghold, the amidships superstructure, from below, after making their way the length of the 'tweendecks gangways. Where was the best place to be? Right where he was, HasSan decided. To reach him the Israelis had to fight their way along the 'tweendecks, then up through the officers' quarters, then up again to the bridge and chartroorn. It was a tough position to take.

  'Mere was a huge explosion from the bridge. The heavy door separating bridge and chartroorn rattled, sagged on its hinges and fen slowly inward. Hassan looked through. A grenade had landed in the bridge. The bodies of three Fedayeen were spread across the bulkheads. Ali the glass of the bridge was smashed. The grenade must have come from the foredeck, which meant that there was another group of Israelis in the prow. As if to confirm his supposition, a burst of gunfire came from the foeard crane. Hassan picked up a submachine gun from the floor, rested ft on the window frame, and began to shoot back.

  Levi Abbas watched Porush's grenade sail through the air and into the bridge, then saw the explosion shatter what remained of the glass. The guns from that quarter were briefly silenced, and then a new one started up. For a minute Abbas could not figure out what the new gun was shooting at, for none of the bullets landed near him. He looked at either side. Sapir and Sharreft were both shooting at the bridge, and neither seemed to be under fire. Abbas looked up at the crane. Porush-it was Porush who was under fire. There was a burst from the cabin of the crane as Porush fired back. The shooting from the bridge was amateurish, wild and inaocurate-the man was just spraying bullets. But he had a good position. He was high, and well protected by the walls of the bridge. He would hit something sooner or later. Abbas took out a. grenade and lobbed it, but it fell short. Only Porush was close enough to throw into the bridge, and he had used all his grenades--only the fourth had landed on target. Abbas fired again, then looked up at the control cabin of the crane. As he looked, he saw Porush come toppling backward out of the control cabin, turn over in the air, and fail like a dead weight to the deck. Abbas thought: And how will I tell my sister? The guriman in the bridge stopped firing, then resumed with a burst in Sharrett's direction. Unlike Abbas and Sapir, Sharrett had very little cover: he was squeezed between a capstan and the gunwale. Abbas and Sapir both shot at the bridge. The unseen sniper was improving: bullets stitched a searn in the deck toward Sharrett's capstan; then Sharrett screamed, jumped sideways, and jerked as if electrocuted while more bullets thudded into his body, until at last he lay still and the screaming stopped. The situation was bad. Abbas's team was supposed to command the foredeck, but at the moment the man on the bridge was doing that. Abbas had to take him out. He threw another grenade. It landed short of the bridge and exploded; the flash might dazzle the sniper for a second or two. When the bang came Abbas was on his feet and running for the crane, the crash of sapies covering fire in his ears. He made the foot of the ladder and started firing before the sniper on the bridge saw him. Tlien bullets were clanging on the girders all around him. It seemed to take him an age to climb each step. Some lunatic part of his mind began to count the steps: seven-eight-nine-ten- He was hit by.a ricochet. The bullet entered his thigh just below the hip bone. It did not kill him, but the shock of it seemed to paralyze the muscles in the lower half of his body. His feet slipped from the rungs of the ladder. He had a moment of confused panic as he discovered that his legs would not work. Instinctively he grabbed for the ladder with his hands, but he missed and fell. He turned partly over and landed
awkwardly, breaking his neck; and he died. The door to the foeard store opened slightly and a wideeyed, frightened Russian face looked out; but nobody saw it, and it went back inside; and the door closed.

  As Katzen and Dovrat rushed the galley, Dickstein took advantage of Feinberg's covering fire to move forward. He ran, bent double, past the point at which they had boarded the ship and past the galley door, to throw himself behind the first of the lifeboats, one that had already been grenaded. From there, in the faint but increasing light, he could make out the lines of the amidships superstructure, shaped like a flight of three steps rising forward. At the main deck level was the officers' mess, the officers' dayroom, the sick bay and a passenger cabin used as a dry store. On the next level up were officers' cabins, heads, and the captain's quarters. On the top deck was the bridge with adjoining chartroom. and radio booth. Most of the enemy would now be at deck level in the mess and the dayroom. He could bypass them by climbing a ladder alongside the funnel to the walkway around the second deck, but the only way to the bridge was through the second deck. He would have to take out -any soldiers in the cabins on his Own. He looked back. Feinberg had retreated behind the galley, perhaps to reload. He waited until Feinberg started shooting again, then got to his feet. Firing wildly from the hip, he broke from behind the lifeboat and dashed across the afterdeck to the ladder. Without breaking stride, he jumped on to the fourth rung and scrambled up, conscious that for a few seconds he made an easy target, hearing a clutch of bullets rattle on the funnel beside him, until he reached the level of the upper deck and flung himself across the walkway to fetch up, breathing hard and shaking with effort, lying against the door to the officers' quarters. "Stone the bloody crows," he muttered. He reloaded his gun. He put his back to the door and slowly slid upright to a porthole in the door at eye level. He risked a look. He saw a passage with three doors on either side and, at the far end, ladders going down to the mess and up to the chartroom. He knew that the bridge could be reached by either of two outside ladders leading up from the main deck as well as by way of the chartroom. However, the Arabs still controlled that part of the deck and could cover the outside ladders; therefore the only way to the bridge was this way. He opened the door and stepped in. He crept along the passage to the first cabin door, opened it, and threw in a grenade. He saw one of the enemy begin to turn around, and closed the door. He heard the grenade explode in the small space. He ran to the next door on the same side, opened it, and threw in another grenade. It exploded into empty space. There was one more door on this side, and he had no more grenades. He ran to the door, threw it open, and went in Bring. There was one man here. He had been firing through the porthole, but now he was easing his gun out of the hole and turning around. Dickstein's burst of bullets sliced him in half- Dickstein turned and faced the open door, waiting. The door of the opposite cabin flew open and Dickstein shot down the man behind it. Dickstein stepped into the gangway, firing blind. There were two more cabins to account for. The door of the nearer one opened as Dickstein was spraying it, and a body fell out One to go. Dickstein waited. The door opened a crack, then closed again. Dickstein ran down the gangway, and lacked open the door, sprayed the cabm. There was no return fire. He stepped inside: the occupant had been hit by a ricochet and lay bleeding on the bunk. Dickstein was seized with a kind of mad exultation: he had taken the entire dock on his own. Next, the bridge. He ran forward along the gangway. At the far end the companionway led up to the chartroom and down to the officere mess. He stepped on to the ladder, looked up, and threw himself down and away as the snout of a gun poked down at him and began to fire. His grenades were gone. The man in the chartroom was impregnable to gunfire. He could stay behind the edge of the companionhead and fire blind down the ladder. Dickstein had to get on the ladder, for he wanted to go up. He went into one of the forward -cabins to overlook the deck and try to assess the situation. He was appalled when he saw what had happened on the foredeck: only one of the four men of Abbas!s team was still Bring, and Dickstein could just make out three bodies. Two or three guns seemed to be firing from the bridge at the remaining Israeli, trapping him behind a stack of anchor chain. - Dickstein looked to the side. Feinberg was still well afthe had not managed to progress forward. And there was still no sign of the men who had gone below. The Fedayeen were well entrenched in the mess below him. From their superior position they were able to keep at, bay the men on deck and the men in the 'tweendeeks below them. The only way to take the mess would be to attack it from all sides at once-including from above. But that meant taking the bridge first. And the bridge was impregnable. , Dickstein ran back along the gangway and out of the aft door. It was still pouring rain, but there was a dim cold light in the sky. He could make out Feinberg on one side and Dovrat on the other. He called out their names until he caught their attention, then pointed at the galley. He jumped from the walkway to the afterdeck, raced across it, and dove into the galley.

  They had got his meaning. A moment later they followed him in. Dickstein said, "We have to take the mess." "I don't see how," said Feinberg. "Shut up and I'll tell you. We rush it from all sides at once: port, starboard, below and above. First we have to take the bridge. I'm going to do that. When I get there ru sound the foghorn. That will be the signal. I want you both to go below and tell the men there." "How will you reach the bridge?" Feinberg said. Dickstein said, "Over the roof."

  On the bridge, Yasif Hassan had been joined by Mahmoud and two more of his Fedayeen, who took up firing positions while the leaders sat on the floor and conferred. 'They can't win," Mahmoud said. "From here we control too much deck. They can!t attack the mess from below, because the companionway is easy to dominate from above. They can't attack from the sides or the front because we can fire down on them from here. They can't attack from above because we control the down companion. We just keep shooting until they surrender." Hassan said, "One of them tried to take this companion a few minutes ago. I stopped him." "You were on your own up herer "Yes." He put his hands on Hassan's shoulders. "You are now one of the Fedayeen," he said. Hassan voiced the thought that was on both their minds. "After thisr' Mahmoud nodded. "Equal partners." They clasped hands. - Hassan repeated, "Equal partners." Mahmoud said, "And now, I think they will try for that companionway again-its their only hope." "IT cover it from the chartroom," Hassan said. They both stood up; then a stray bullet from the foredeck came in through the glassless windows and entered Mahmoud's brain, and he died instantly. And Hassan was the leader of the Fedayeen.

  Lying on his belly, arms and legs spread wide for traction, Dickstein inched his way across the roof. It was curved, and totally without handholds, and it was slick with rain. As the CoparelU heaved and shifted in the waves, the roof tilted forward, backward, and from side to side. All Dickstein could do was press himself to themetal and try to slow his slide. At the forward end of the roof was a navigation light. When he reached that he would be safe, for he could hold on to it. His progress toward it was painfully slow. He got within a foot of it, then the ship rolled to port and he slid away. It was a long roll, and it took him all the way to the edge of the roof. For a moment he hung with one arm and a leg over a thirty-foot drop to the deck. The ship rolled a little more, the rest of his leg went over, and he tried to dig the fingernails of his right hand into the painted metal of the roof. There was an agonizing pause. The Coparelli rolled back. Dickstein let himself go with the roll, sliding faster and faster toward the navigation light. But the ship pitched up, the roof tilted backward, and he slid in a long curve, missing the light by a yard. Once again he pressed his hands and feet into the metal, trying to slow himself down; once again he went all the way to the edge; once again he hung over the drop to the deck; but this time it was his right arm, which dangled over the edge, and his machine gun slipped off his right shoulder and fell into a lifeboat. She- rolled back and pitched forward, and Dickstein found himself sliding with increasing speed toward the navigation light. ibis time he reached it. He grabbed with both
hands. The light was about a foot from the forward edge of the roof. Immediately below the edge were the front windows of the bridge, their glass smashed out long ago, and two gun barrels poking out through them. Dickstein held on to the light, but he could not stop his slide. His body swung about in a wide sweep, heading for the edge. He saw that the front of the roof, unlike the sides, had a narrow steel gutter to take away the rain from the glass below. As his body swung over the edge he released his grip on the navigation light, let himself slide forward with the pitch of the ship, grabbed the steel gutter with his fingertips, and swung his legs down and in. He came flying through the broken windows feet first to land in the middle of the bridge. He bent his knees to take the shock of landing, then straightened up. His submaebine gun bad been lost and he bad no time to draw his pistol or his knife. There were two Arabs on the bridge, one on either side of him,, both holding machine guns and firing down on to the deck. As Dickstein straightened up they began to turn toward him their faces a Picture of amazement. Dickstein was fractionally nearer the one on the port side. He lashed out with a kick which, more by luck than by judgment, landed on the point of the man's elbow, momentarily paralyzing his gun arm. Then Dickstein jumped for the other man. His machine gun was swinging toward Dickstein just a split second too late: Dickstein got inside its swing. He brought up his right hand in the most vicious two-stroke blow he knew: the heel of his hand hit the point of the Arab's chin, snapping his head back for the second stroke as Dickstein's band, fingers stiffened for a karate chop, came down hard into the exposed flesh of the soft throat Before the man could fall Dickstein grabbed him by the jacket and swung him around between himself and the other Arab. The other man was bringing up his gun. Dickstein lifted the dead man and burled him across the bridge as the machine gun opened up 'Me dead body took the bullets and crashed into the other Arab, who lost his balance, went backward out through the open doorway and fell to the deck below. There was a third man in the chartroom, guarding the companionway leading down. In the three seconds during which Dickstein had been on the bridge the man had stood up and turned around; and now Dickstein recognized Yasif Hassan. Dickstein dropped to a crouch, stuck out a leg, kicked at the broken door which lay on the floor between himself and Hassan. The door slid along the deck, striking Hassan!s feet. It was only enough to throw him off balance, but as he spread his arms to recover his equilibrium Dickstein moved. Until this moment Dickstein had been like a machine, reacting reflexively to everything that confronted him, letting his nervous system plan every move without conscious thought, allowing training and instinct to guide him; but now it was more than that. Now, faced with the enemy of all he had ever loved, he was possessed by blind hatred and mad rage-