“That too.”
“A sunspot?” suggested Erlander.
“Don’t see what else it could be,” said the radio operator. “Indications aren’t the same, though.”
Edmunson looked briefly at the snowed image. “Never seen a sunspot do that either,” he said.
Both men stared in the direction of the unseen Angolan coast. The skyline was hazed with dawn mist, the sea flat and unbroken. “Think there will be repair facilities ashore?” said Edmunson.
“We don’t know the port,” reminded Erlander.
“It’s got to be Benguela, surely?”
“Then why all this nonsense of cruising off and awaiting the arrival of a launch?” said the captain. “Why couldn’t we have gone straight in?”
“What time did Makimber give?” asked the first officer.
“He estimated nine—said he was leaving at dawn.”
The African had kept to his timing and the departure had been monitored by the reconnaissance plane. Its signal to Walvis Bay was relayed at once to the approaching ships. The reconnaissance aircraft kept up a steady flow of information, enabling Hertzog’s navigating officers to chart both course and speed for Makimber’s launch so they could achieve the blocking position their commander-in-chief wanted.
“There he is,” said Edmunson, pointing to starboard. The captain stood alongside the first officer and watched as a black smudge on the horizon formed into the recognizable shape of a launch. It was large, maybe forty tons, and moving fast through the water. Both men went out onto the wing to look through glasses.
“Quite a deputation,” said Erlander, counting the other Africans grouped around Makimber.
“I’ll be glad when we’ve offloaded and are underway again,” said Edmunson with a sailor’s superstition. “This has been a funny trip from the very beginning.”
From inside the bridge the radio operator said, “I’ve checked right back to the radio mast itself. Can’t find anything wrong at all.”
“Check again,” said Erlander. “I don’t want to be at sea with dead electrics.” He signalled dead slow and gave the course so that the bulk of his ship would provide some lee for the smaller launch. It maintained its speed flamboyantly, finishing with a wide arc to bring itself alongside the Bellicose. Makimber led the way aboard, followed by four other Africans. Makimber was clearly pleased with himself, his face lit by a constant smile.
“You’re on time,” he said. “It is good. Very good.”
“Are there docking facilities?” asked Erlander.
“Everything,” assured Makimber.
“Benguela?”
“Dombe Grande,” said Makimber. “There’s a river anchorage.”
“I’ve got some heavy stuff,” said Erlander. “I need to be alongside.”
“Everything will be okay. Everything,” said Makimber in a voice that lacked confidence.
“What about repair facilities?”
“Repair facilities?”
“We seem to have some radio trouble,” said Erlander. “We might need some electricians.”
“Not at Dombe Grande,” said Makimber.
“We could go into Benguela afterwards,” suggested Edmunson to Erlander.
“We’d like to inspect the cargo,” said Makimber.
Erlander led the way to a lower stairway, bringing them out on the open deck again. Several of them were suddenly aware of the noise, but it was Edmunson who spoke, gesturing over the stem of the ship. “What the hell …?”
The helicopters were coming in low, practically at wavetop level and out of the rising sun, like a swarm of black insects. The formation split at the last moment, arcing out of the direct line of the freighter but pulling into a tight circle. Erlander realized the four Africans with Makimber had pistols in their hands and that two were supporting themselves against the deck rail, taking aim.
“Don’t be bloody ridiculous,” he shouted. “They’re gunships, for Christ’s sake!”
The helicopters were circling sufficiently close for the cannon to be visible through the cutaway sides, heavy-calibre weapons with their bandoliers of tracers looped at the ready. There was an operator and armourer at every opening.
One of the Africans began shooting wildly, hand bucking with the recoil from his pistol. The answering fire was deafening, timed bursts coming from each helicopter as it reached the bridge area. Shells from the first ricocheted harmlessly from the flat decking at the stem. The others were aimed intentionally wide as well, either in the air or plucking up a churn of spray from the head or sides of the vessel. Erlander and Edmunson threw themselves below the rail line.
“What can we do?” said Edmunson frantically.
“Nothing,” said Erlander. He had always known it would happen one day; he wondered how difficult it was going to be from now on.
Makimber crawled up alongside. “There are rockets in the cargo,” he said. “Get us down to the holds.”
“Don’t be stupid,” said Erlander wearily. “There are eight of them up there. Where do you think they came from? There’s obvious backup. We don’t stand a chance.”
“Look,” said Edmunson in confirmation. Through the rail venting, the warships could be seen, approaching in line-abreast formation.
“I want the rockets!” shouted Makimber.
Erlander screwed around so that he could sit with his back to the rail. “We’re in international waters,” he said. “We stand a chance if we argue. If we try to fight, they’ll blow us out of the water.”
“We’re sending men aboard,” announced a metallic voice, echoing across the water from a bullhorn. “If there’s any resistance, the next shot won’t be fired wide.”
Erlander and Edmunson stood up, and at the captain’s gesture distanced themselves from the still-crouching Africans. Six of the helicopters maintained the encirclement but the remaining two dropped low again, flattening the water with their downdraught. Erlander watched as the rubberized dinghies flopped into the water, to self-inflate before the wet-suited men splashed alongside, immediately hauling themselves aboard. It was expert and quick, outboard engines starting almost at once. Still unsure whether there would be any further firing from the Bellicose, the dinghies split wide and approached from different angles. Overhead the gunships stopped circling, hovering instead in an uneven but solid line, their cannon trained upon the Bellicose.
“Jesus!” said Edmunson, his voice a mixture of horror and admiration.
The commando group was ten strong. They came alongside the launch, occupying that first. Four spread out along its deck, covering the higher superstructure of the freighter with 9-mm. machine guns to enable the remaining six to climb up the rope ladder that Makimber and his party had used earlier.
They had kept their rubber suits on, even the hoods, so there was no designation of rank.
“My ship is in international waters,” said Erlander.
“Right,” agreed the unidentified leader, a muscular, moustachioed man.
“So you have no lawful authority for this attack. You’re committing an act of piracy.”
“Right again,” said the man.
Erlander felt a lurch of despair as he recognized the accent. “Get off my ship!” he said.
“Bollocks,” said the man.
“And so it comes to a happy conclusion!”
“I hope so,” said Grearson. Instinctively he gazed from the kiosk towards the surrounding buildings, wondering where the bastard was: he hoped he would be present at the exchange and get his ass burned by Evans.
“I’m glad you were sensible in the end and did everything we wanted.”
“Shouldn’t we be finalizing things?” said Grearson impatiently.
“We’ve got to be careful.”
“Set it out,” demanded Grearson.
“It may be that you have something in mind for the handover. A little surprise for us. So we’ve got to take precautions against that. We’re going to split them up, Tewfik and the woman. He’
s going to be taken to an address and left there. He’ll be quite safe and unharmed— just unable to move about. Only the girl will know the address. The people who come to meet the freighter won’t, so there’ll be no point in seizing them. If the exchange goes according to plan, then you’ll be told where the girl is. Get to her and then you get to the boy.”
“No,” said Grearson at once. “That doesn’t give us any guarantee at all.”
“It gives you what you want, the boy back. But on our terms. And they’ve always been our terms, haven’t they?”
Azziz wasn’t going to like this tape, the lawyer knew. The pendulum had swung, greatly to his disadvantage. “How soon after the exchange?” he said.
“As soon as we’ve made sure that the weapons are there … that there’s no stupidity, then you’ll get the address of the woman, the same way as you got the two sets of photographs, through the harbour master’s delivery. She’s quite close, maybe an hour away. You should have the boy back two hours after we get what we want.”
He didn’t have a choice, realized Grearson. “All right,” he said.
“No stupidity,” repeated the man. “The boy is going to be shackled in the cellar of an empty house. It’s in its own grounds, so he wouldn’t be heard, even if he were able to call out—which he won’t be, because he’ll be gagged. Behave properly and he’ll be free in two hours. Do anything silly and he’ll starve to death. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” said Grearson. “I understand.”
“It’s been a pleasure doing business with you,” said the Russian, replacing the telephone. He had other calls to make. He still hadn’t sent the instructions to the ship off Algiers.
And when everything was arranged, there were the French police to be alerted.
“We’re sure the Bellicose didn’t get a message out before the seizure,” said Muller.
“Thank you,” said Piet Deaken.
“So your daughter-in-law should still be safe.”
“How long can you keep it under wraps?” asked the old man.
“As long as we want,” said the security chief. “Days, if necessary.”
“I hope to God it doesn’t go on for days,” said Deaken. “That girl must be going through hell.”
34
The noise of revving engines beyond the shuttered windows awoke Karen. She lay momentarily disoriented and then turned sideways, realizing that she was alone in the bed; she hadn’t been aware of Levy leaving. She was dressed and waiting when Leiberwitz came for her, gloatingly hostile.
“It’s over,” he said.
Karen stared back, saying nothing. Levy would keep his promise not to abandon her—she was sure of it. She wished he had woken her up earlier.
“You’re to come now,” said Leiberwitz.
Azziz was already at the table when she got downstairs, with Kahane standing guard at the door. It was open and through it she could see lorries lined in the driveway.
“They’re taking me somewhere,” said Azziz.
“What?”
“Another house,” said the boy.
“Why?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Levy entered hurriedly from the garden, flushed and obviously excited; his demeanour altered when he saw her and she got the impression that he was embarrassed. He said something to Kahane and Leiberwitz which she didn’t catch and then came farther into the room.
To the boy he said, “Ready?”
The Arab stood uncertainly, and Kahane called from the doorway, “We’ll take you to the car.”
Levy waited until Azziz had left with the two men and then said to her, “I’ll be back.”
“When?”
“Soon. Maybe an hour.”
“Leiberwitz said it was over, sneered at me.”
“I said I’d find a way.”
“Hurry back.”
“Sure.” He reached out awkwardly, touching her hand, and then appeared to change his mind, turning abruptly from the house. She stayed alone for several moments, then followed to the doorway. The lorries prevented her seeing which car he had gone to. It was only when it reversed out onto the road that she saw he was alone with Azziz and remembered the boy’s determination to escape.
“Stop!” she called, but Levy was too far away to hear. The car turned left, heading towards the coast road.
Azziz sat uncomfortably, his left wrist handcuffed to the securing clip of the car seat belt, his right hand clenched into a fist of frustration. There was a Browning automatic pistol in the luggage shelf in front of Levy instead of the earlier Magnum.
“By tonight it should all be over; you’ll be with your father,” said Levy.
“He’ll get you,” said Azziz. “He won’t be beaten by you.”
“Maybe he’ll try.” said Levy. But the Arab wouldn’t succeed; it was an extremely clever idea, to sail to Haifa. They had been fortunate, establishing links with Underberg so early in the protest movement.
Beside him Azziz was concentrating upon the road. He saw the sign to Pertuis and then, almost at once, the turning towards Aix-en-Provence and felt a stab of satisfaction at having guessed where they were during his conversation with Karen. “How much farther?” he said.
“Not far,” said Levy. He looked quickly to the boy, then away again. “You’re going to be left by yourself,” he said. “When we’ve got what we want, your father will be told where you are. You won’t be in any danger. I promise you he’ll be told.”
Levy skirted Aix, slowing at the signposts for the indication to Allauch that Underberg had identified at his briefing. He found it at last, turning to the left and driving with the directions Underberg had given him held against the wheel. The villa was to the right, just off the road, the high wall and metal gates exactly as the man had described. The padlock on the gate was well oiled and opened easily to the key Underberg had provided. Carefully Levy took the car through and then locked the gate behind him. The house was just visible, at the end of the curving drive.
“I could die, left here,” protested the boy.
“1 said your father would be told.”
“What happens if something goes wrong?”
“It won’t.”
The driveway curved smoothly up to the villa, which was shuttered and closed. Levy was still reluctant to leave Azziz by himself. He tried to suppress the doubt, realizing there was nothing he could do to alter arrangements now. He took the Browning from the front compartment and got out of the car, leaving the driver’s door open. He tossed two keys separately onto the seat and said, “The first unlocks the handcuffs—release yourself. The second is to the front door.”
Azziz twisted across the car, freeing himself. He got out of the vehicle massaging his wrist, the handcuff still dangling from it.
“Into the house,” said Levy, gesturing with the gun.
Azziz looked at him contemptuously and then moved ahead towards the villa. He fumbled at the door, appearing to have difficulty inserting the key, and then pushed into the house.
Levy followed too quickly and it was then that the boy made his move. As Levy came in, Azziz slammed the door back abruptly, so that the edge caught the Israeli’s gun hand. Levy felt a moment of agony in his wrist, then numbness. The gun skittered away across the darkened hallway. Azziz was already on the attack, the handcuff chain between his fingers, swinging the free armlet as a weapon. He caught Levy high on the forehead, a glancing, insubstantial blow but sufficient to bring tears to his eyes, blinding him. He lashed out, hitting Azziz in the shoulder. The Arab staggered, momentarily off-balanced, but recovered almost at once. He was fit, from the sports regime at the Ecole Gagner. He swept the handcuff towards Levy again but it was a feint. As Levy tried to dodge, Azziz swung with his right hand, all the anger and frustration of the past days put into the punch. It caught Levy high on the side of the head and he grunted from the stinging pain that reverberated through his skull. He crashed back against the door, causing it to slam shut. The act
ion shut off any immediate chance of escape for Azziz but put the hallway in greater darkness.
Through his blurred vision Levy saw Azziz staring wildly around, trying to locate the gun. As the boy moved, Levy lashed out with his foot. It was a desperate but lucky kick, thumping in just below the boy’s knee. Azziz screamed with pain, stumbling, but kept going towards the gun. Levy could see it now, right against the stairway which arced up around the wall of the high-domed vestibule. Azziz reached it seconds ahead of Levy, his fingers actually grasping the butt before the Israeli dived on him, seizing his wrist. Azziz tried to use the dangling handcuff again as a weapon, but they were too close now, rolling and grappling over the tiled floor, clawing and gouging at each other. Azziz tried to bring his knee up into Levy’s groin, but missed, striking his thigh instead. Sensation was returning to Levy’s numbed arm. He thrust upwards, getting the heel of his hand beneath the boy’s chin, forcing his head upwards, at the same time clutching the wrist of the gun hand; he could feel Azziz’s teeth grating under the pressure. The boy clubbed wildly with the handcuff, pounding Levy on the neck and shoulders and twisting desperately to free his upthrust chin. When he did so he snapped down, trying to bite Levy’s fingers. The Israeli rolled away to avoid the teeth, and his grip momentarily loosened on Azziz’s wrist. Levy found himself trapped against the bottom step, his shoulder caught beneath its lip. The boy had secured his hold upon the gun and was bringing the barrel around towards him. Levy slashed out with a chopping motion that knocked the gun against the step. And with unthinking ferocity he used his foot again, stamping down on the tightly clenched hand. He heard the crunch as Azziz’s fingers splintered between his heel and the metal of the automatic. The boy screamed. The gun clattered back against the marble and Levy grabbed it, rolling farther away and then swivelling back to point it at the Arab.
“Fool!” he gasped. “You stupid bloody little fool.”
Azziz was crouched doubled over, trying not to cry, his crushed hand pressed against his stomach. “You’ve broken it,” he groaned. “You’ve broken my hand.”
“Let me see.”
Azziz stayed bent over.
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