Deaken's War

by Brian Freemantle

  “I said let me see!”

  Azziz reluctantly extended his right hand, the wrist supported in the palm of his left. The index finger was bent awkwardly, broken, and the one alongside was already swelling, blackly discoloured.

  “You can’t leave me like this,” said the boy.

  “I’ve got to,” said Levy.

  They were all nervous and excited, laughing too easily and too loudly; only Leiberwitz showed any control, remaining with her in the main living room after Levy had gone. Karen knew he wanted her to make some request, like being allowed into the garden, so that he would have the pleasure of refusing her. Instead, Karen got up from the table and started to walk towards the stairs. “Where are you going?” said the bearded Israeli.

  “To my room.”

  “You didn’t ask.”

  “Please may I go to my room?” she said with weary disdain.

  Leiberwitz considered for a moment, for effect, then said, “OK.”

  Karen sat slump-shouldered on the bed, staring down at the floor. It seemed inconceivable that soon, in hours or maybe days, she would be reunited with Richard; be kissed by him, having to pretend she wanted him.

  She wouldn’t pretend, she decided; couldn’t pretend. She’d tell him as soon as they met. Apologize for the hurt. Beg his forgiveness even. But she wouldn’t pretend. Maybe he wouldn’t be too surprised, not for long anyway. There had been too many arguments over the last few months for him not to know she was fed up. Inevitable that they would separate. Peculiar though the circumstances might be, what had happened was just bringing it all to a head. She looked up at movement from the doorway.

  “I know his wife,” said Leiberwitz. “I know Rebecca.”

  “I suppose you would.”

  “I’m godfather, to Yatzik.”

  “He’s told me about Rebecca. And the children,” said Karen.

  “He’s sacrificed the right to expect to be in charge.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “I want you to know what you’ve cost him.”

  “But he is still in charge, isn’t he?”

  “Here maybe,” said Leiberwitz. “He might not be later.”

  Four miles away, in the Grand Hotel du Cours in the town of Sisteron, Deaken looked angrily at Swart and said, “They’re moving, for Christ’s sake! The freighter’s gone and now they’ve got lorries at the villa. How much longer are we going to wait?”

  “Soon now,” soothed the South African, unhappy at the way they were using the man.

  Mitri came with his customary discreet quietness into the stateroom to give Azziz the message that had been relayed from the Hydra Star. The Arab scanned it, then looked up at Grearson and Marinetti. “They’ve received instructions,” he said. “They’ve got to go to Toulon. A berth has been scheduled for them there.”

  “They won’t do anything until they’re sure the boy’s OK,” said Marinetti. “They’re the best trained group of guys I’ve come across.”

  Grearson turned at the sound of the departing tender.

  “Carole and the other girls talked about spending a couple of days ashore shopping,” said Azziz. “I thought it best to get them out of the way.”

  Grearson hoped Carole wouldn’t be gone too long; after this was over, he wanted to relax.

  35

  Kahane was facing the door and saw him first, starting up with concern, then the others turned and Greening said, “What happened?”

  On the way back to Sisteron the cut over Levy’s eye had begun to bleed again and he had completed the journey with a handkerchief over the wound.

  “He made a break,” said Levy.

  “So you needed help there too?” said Leibenwitz.

  “He’s where he should be, waiting to be freed,” said Levy, irritated by the constant challenging. Azziz had started to cry when he had realized that he was to be left alone without help, the defiance going at last. Levy couldn’t shake off the feeling of sickness at abandoning him. His only concern was to hurry now, so that the boy could be released.

  “Everything’s ready,” said Kahane. “Lorries gassed up … everything.”

  “Where’s the woman?”

  “She’s safe and untouched,” said Leiberwitz. He paused and then said, “No one else wanted to.”

  Levy moved forward, instantly aware of Leiberwitz tensing, wanting a physical confrontation. He stopped, fighting for control. Leiberwitz smiled, as aware as everyone else in the room of the retreat.

  “She’s necessary for what is to happen,” said Levy.

  “We know how necessary she is,” sneered Leiberwitz.

  It was a childlike exchange but he was losing ground. Levy realized, and there was already sufficient disarray among them. “The freighter is coming into Toulon,” he announced.

  There was a stir among the group, breaking the tension between Levy and Leiberwitz.

  Levy went on, “We only want the small arms, rifles, the rockets and the launchers. According to Underberg, the Marriv is at berth thirty-eight. There’ll be people there waiting. Underberg’s people. The guns are coming into berth twenty.”

  The attention upon him now was absolute and Levy decided they were back under control—everyone except Leiberwitz.

  “Will there be any resistance?” asked Greening.

  Levy shook his head. “That’s why the boy’s been moved; and why only the girl is going to know where he is. Azziz has been warned that you don’t know anything … that it would be pointless putting up a fight, because only his son will suffer.”

  “You know,” said Leiberwitz. “Aren’t you coming to the docks?”

  “Not immediately,” said Levy. “But I’m coming. 1 don’t want anything to start until I get there.”

  “So who decided you wouldn’t break under pressure?”

  “Haven’t we other people to fight?” said Levy. There was so much more to do and already he felt very tired.

  “Sure you’ll still be able to?” persisted Leiberwitz.

  “Yes,” snapped Levy. “I’ll be able to.” Already the boy had been chained in the house at Allauch for three hours. “Let’s get going,” he said, trying to indicate an energy he didn’t feel.

  Obediently they all stood, except Leiberwitz.

  “Aren’t you up to it?” said Levy, scoring.

  The other man hurried to his feet. “We’ll see soon enough,” he said.

  “Remember,” warned Levy, stopping them at the door. “I don’t want any approach to the freighter until I get there.”

  Leiberwitz looked to Levy, towards the stairway and then back to Levy again. “I’ll be there,” he said. “Will you?”

  Levy remained in the downstairs room while the lorries reversed out onto the road and then accelerated away. At the foot of the stairway he halted, hand against the balustrade, thinking back to Leiberwitz’s question. Throughout all the planning and preparation he had never had any doubts. But now he did. He wasn’t sure he wanted to fight.

  Levy sighed and began climbing the stairs.

  “This is it!” said Swart, as soon as he learned of the lorries’ departure. The people with him were already briefed, moving at once to their cars. The man he had sent for Deaken caught up with Swart in the car park.

  “He’s not in his room, and I can’t find him anywhere in the hotel.”

  “Damn!” said the Director.

  “His wife’s still at the house,” said the observer who had returned with the news about the lorries. “Just one man with her, as far as we could guess.”

  “We’ve still got a car at the house?” said Swart.

  “Yes.”

  “It’s the weapons shipment that’s important. That’s what we’re here for.”

  “What about Deaken?”

  Swart only hesitated for a moment.

  Then he said, “Leave him. Nothing can happen to her if we’ve got the house covered.”

  36

  Deaken decided he had been stupid to believe
their promises. They’d never intended to help him. They just wanted to use him, like every other bastard had wanted to use him since the whole thing began. No one gave a damn about Karen. Not Azziz or Grearson or his father or Muller or Swart. No one. Bastards, all of them. He didn’t need them; didn’t need any fucking one of them.

  Despite the burning anger, Deaken still moved carefully along the road, sure that once Swart noticed his absence from the hotel he would try to intercept, to prevent any interference with their plan of campaign. Bugger them.

  There was only one thing that mattered, that had ever mattered. Getting Karen back. He had much to apologize to her for, he knew. The ridiculous, unnecessary delays—days when he should have acted instead of letting other people take control.

  He walked, alert to the slightest danger, twice jumping sideways and concealing himself behind the bordering hedge to avoid being spotted by any passing car. On the third occasion a whole cavalcade roared by and when Deaken risked a glance it was too late to confirm whether it was the South Africans looking for him.

  He wished he had a gun; but he didn’t imagine any of the people he had seen issued with them would have been careless enough to leave one lying around. But then he didn’t know how to use a gun. He didn’t know anything about safety catches and cocking mechanisms or automatic firing. So how was he going to get her away? Deaken was forced to accept that he didn’t know. Just that somehow he would.

  The ground dipped and then rose again to provide a vantage point from which to observe the hollow where the house lay. Trees obscured it up to the roofline. The road and the distant knoll from which he knew the South Africans kept observation were completely hidden; but Deaken realized that by cutting away from the road he would be able to make his approach without being visible to anyone. And the gathering darkness would help too.

  He hurried, stumbling through the grass, anxious now that he was so close, and slowing only when he got to the ditch and the hedge towering above it. He had to move with the utmost care now, not to make any noise. He didn’t risk jumping, slithering instead down one side and then clawing up the other. He was glad the ditch bottom was clean and summer-dried.

  Wincing against the sudden snap of a twig beneath his feet, he parted the foliage. Fear stabbed into him when he realized the driveway was empty of lorries. Then he saw the solitary car, and the pendulum swung: if they were moving her, they would be more likely to use the car than the lorries. The lorries had to be for the guns.

  He was at the side of the house, the drive and the road beyond to his left, the house almost immediately in front, the rear and the outbuildings to his right. He moved sideways, following the hedge, conscious as he moved that the garden curved to provide even greater concealment from the house. The bank rose again and had it not been so dark Deaken guessed the view of the surrounding countryside would have been impressive. The hedge was sparse here and he had no difficulty pushing through. Deaken bent against the slope of the hill, not wanting to drop noisily downwards into any unseen dip; lights in an upstairs room guided him through the gloom of the garden. His toe stubbed against the edge of the patio at the rear of the house and he slowed further, edging his feet forward, tensed against any noisy collision. At the house he pressed his ear against a darkened downstairs window, listening for sounds. Everything seemed quiet, deserted.

  A double door was alongside. Deaken pressed against it to lessen any sound, then cautiously turned the handle. There was the faintest sound, the creak of wooden frames parting from wooden surrounds, and then the door gave.

  The Russian looked regretfully around the luxury room at the Bristol Hotel and then for the last time out over the harbour, towards the glittering outline of the Scheherazade. He left abruptly, carrying his own luggage down into the foyer. He paid his bill and went through the ritual of assuring the receptionist that he had enjoyed his stay and would come again, wishing it were true. On the front he paused, savouring the warm, scented, nighttime air, and then got into the rented car for the journey along the Corniche. He had purposely left three hours before his flight, wanting to enjoy the drive. He was looking forward to going home.

  37

  It was the old part of the commercial docks, scheduled for redevelopment and therefore being run down, some wharves and their container sheds already abandoned, cranes like decaying skeletons where they had been half disassembled for their scrap-metal value. Marinetti drove, only using sidelights, even though many of the road lights were out and hadn’t been replaced, foot depressed lightly on the throttle so there was only the faintest hum from the engine.

  “Could fight a war with cover like this,” said Marinetti.

  “We aren’t going to fight anything or anyone until we get the boy back,” reminded Grearson.

  “Twenty,” identified Marinetti

  Grearson strained, just able to pick out the berth number painted on the slanted roof of the wharf shed. It had to be one of the last operational moorings in this part of the docks, he decided. Only three of the five arc lights set into the shed roof were working and in front of them three cranes stood sleeping.

  “No stevedores,” said Marinetti.

  “It’s supposed to be engine trouble, with engineers not needed until tomorrow,” reminded Grearson, remembering the instructions that had been relayed by Evans from the Hydra Star.

  Marinetti reversed the vehicle into a shed a full berth away from that designated for the returning freighter, manoeuvring it into the shadow of a high wall. He killed the lights and then wound down the window.

  “Put yours down too,” he ordered the lawyer.

  “What for?” said Grearson.

  “Noises,” said the soldier. “You can always hear before you can see.”

  Grearson did what he was told. Far beyond the waiting berth there was the glow of the active section of the docks and he could just detect the distant whine of machinery and the water slapping gently against the sea wall. Unseen in the darkness there was a scuffling movement and Grearson shifted uncomfortably, knowing it was foraging rats.

  Marinetti saw the lorries first. “There!” he said softly, pointing.

  Leiberwitz was in the lead lorry, with Kahane and Greening beside him in the cab. Katz, Sela and Habel were in the second vehicle immediately behind.

  “It’s not here yet,” said Kahane unnecessarily.

  “It’s not scheduled for another two hours,” said Leiberwitz. He had got in the parting shot but the anger still burned through him over the confrontation with Levy.

  “Nice and quiet,” said Greening. “It’ll be easy to unload.”

  Kahane peered at his watch. “Wonder how long it’ll be before Shimeon gets here?”

  “Depends how difficult it is for him to get out of bed,” said Leiberwitz.

  “Haven’t we had enough of that?” said Kahane wearily.

  “He doesn’t seem to.” said Leiberwitz.

  All three reacted nervously to the noise, then relaxed when they realized it was Katz and Sela, who had drawn up behind in their lorry and were now standing on the dock.

  Leiberwitz wound down the window.

  “What happens if Levy doesn’t show up?”

  “We go ahead,” said Leiberwitz.

  “That isn’t what was agreed,” said Katz.

  “Have you got a better idea?”

  There was no challenge from either Katz or Kahane.

  Katz moved away from the lorry, going farther towards the water’s edge. From their vantage point Marinetti said, “I count five but 1 think one stayed in that second lorry.”

  “Tewfik?” said Grearson.

  “No,” said Marinetti. “The arrangement set out on the tape was a clever one. 1 don’t think it was a bluff. It would be too much of a risk for them to take, bringing him with them.”

  “I wonder if there’s been any contact with the ship,” said the lawyer.

  “More people,” hissed Marinetti, ignoring the question.

  “Where?” said Gr
earson, squinting into the darkness.

  “In the shadows, by the shed. See that broken crane,” said Marinetti. “They’re very good—they know how to use cover.”

  Swart was in the lead car with four men, the rest of the group in the one that followed. They had had to move too quickly for any consultation with Muller, and Swart was uneasy at having to make the decision on the spot. And Deaken’s disappearance was an additional complication. The order had been to stop the lawyer doing anything that might embarrass his father. He was glad that at least he had covered the house where the woman was being held. He gazed across the intervening water towards the lorries and the men beside them.

  “This is where we intercept,” said Swart.

  “What about the French authorities?” asked one of the men in the back.

  “They’ve let out two shipments,” said Swart. “I’m not risking a third.”

  Where the Israelis expected the ship to dock, Katz, who was nearest the water, realized that what he had imagined to be stationary navigation lights were moving. He hurried back to the first lorry and said, “Something’s coming.”

  “Where’s Shimeon?” said the loyal Kahane nervously.

  “Where do you think!” said Leiberwitz. He never gave up.

  “He said to wait,” insisted Kahane.

  Aboard the freighter, Harvey Evans stepped from the bridge ladder onto the foredeck. The assembled men turned at his approach and Sneider said, “Looks quiet enough ashore.”

  “There’s plenty of time yet,” said Evans.

  “Wonder where Marinetti is?” said Melvin, peering towards the deserted dockside. “Unless he’s got the boy, there won’t be any action.”

  “The money’s just as good,” said Sneider. “Why get our asses shot off if we don’t have to?”

  “There’s an awful lot of crew around,” said Evans.

  “According to my count,” said Bartlett, “we’re each of us being covered by at least two.” He spoke looking towards the hatch area, where twelve crewmen were attempting to look busy heaving tarpaulin off the metal hatch covers.