Suddenly, the turbines they had heard earlier opened up to a harsh scream. This time they were close enough for the noise to cause pain. A shape loomed out of the cloying, pungent smoke. A huge shape that towered over them like the French destroyers, but this ship was not a warship. The men on Honey’s deck had a glimpse of raked superstructure. It was a yacht - charging straight at them.
Honey’s two remaining engines rose to a roar. The unbalanced thrust from the screws rammed the boat into a vicious heel that nearly stood it on its beam end as it spun around, catapulting men into the sea. Daniel grabbed Raquel by the waist and viced his legs around a deck stanchion. The yacht missed Honey and was swallowed by the swirling clouds of dense artificial fog. There was a dull boom. Suddenly the fog glowed white like a sustained lightning flash behind a cloud. Then another boom and another flash. The flashes merged into one blinding light and the deafening reports became a continuous barrage of sound. A stack of liferafts crashed against the wheelhouse, bursting survival rations and hand-held distress flares across the deck as Honey righted herself. Daniel managed to get his arm around the stanchion while still hanging on to Raquel. He used his feet to fend off another liferaft that threatened to crash into them. Heat burst upon them of such intensity that Daniel’s first thought was that the boat was on fire.
And then the incredible happened. The fog was being sucked into the core of the white inferno. It streamed in faster and faster, dragging clear air behind it. It became hellish tendrils of light streaking towards the unearthly light and heat like a surrealist painter’s concept of a million tormented souls seeking salvation. The outline of a yacht shone through the mighty ball of energy like a biblical vision. The fog was gouting upwards - driven by the firestorm intensity of the heat - with more air screaming in at the base like the self-fuelling Armageddon of a runaway nuclear reaction.
Unseen in the holocaust, two men had fallen into the water. They were struggling with each other. ‘Unarmed you said!’ Dumas screamed, clawing at Lucky’s face. ‘Unarmed! Unarmed!’ The arms dealer dragged Lucky under. They surfaced, choking and spluttering, burning debris crashing into the water around them. Lucky dragged his .38 from his jacket. He pressed the barrel against Dumas’ face and pulled the trigger three times. Blazing oil on the surface closed around him. He sucked in a deep breath and jack-knifed underwater. He swam blindly in the direction where he thought he had seen clearer water. He surfaced, gasped for air and hung on to the first thing his fingers encountered. A smashed liferaft, but it was floating. He tried to collect his senses. His retinas were still dancing from the first impact when the Israeli boat had fired the distress rockets at the Thor at point-blank range - blasting through the bridge and spraying white-hot magnesium in all directions.
Distress rockets ....
He hadn’t thought of that.... They could be huge things.
He suddenly realized that there were other men in the water with him. They were swimming and calling out. He looked up. A boat. And then reassuring hands were lifting him out of the water.
To his surprise he found that he could stand. The sailors hauling men out of the water ignored him for the time being once he was safely aboard. He looked uncertainly round. Voices talking excitedly in Hebrew. At least, he supposed it was Hebrew. They were all looking at the burning hulk of the Thor. There were four other boats in the vicinity. All of them intact. One had blistered paintwork. He guessed it was the boat that had launched the amazing counter-attack against the Thor.
And then he saw the girl in profile. She was leaning on the rail, talking to someone. Her face was the face that he had seen through the Ami’s shattered rear window just before she hurled the blazing petrol can at the road in front of him.
Lucky remained motionless. This time his madness manifested itself as calmness and caution. This time there would be no mistakes. His hand went into his jacket pocket. The .38 was still there. Strange how he always instinctively put it back in his pocket no matter what the circumstances. His fingers worked the chamber open and explored. There was one shell left. It was all he needed. At this range he couldn’t miss. There would be plenty of time for him to take careful aim because the others were all unarmed. They would not be quick enough to stop him. He closed the chamber and rotated it. Click ... click ... click .... The shell was now lined up with the barrel. He pulled back the hammer, took the gun from his pocket and raised it... . She was talking ... laughing ... and yet he kept his madness in check ... .No mistakes this time ... .No mistakes
Suddenly a supernova exploded with a terrible force against his chest, blinding him and throwing him backwards. His gun clattered to the deck but he didn’t hear it. The light cleared from his eyes but everything was red. He put his hand to his chest and found nothing. A fair-haired man was standing a few yards away, staring at him.
They were all staring at him but this man was nearest. It was the man he had seen with the girl. He was holding something in his hand that was smoking ... the empty cartridge of a hand-held distress flare.
Lucky wanted to laugh but he had no lungs to laugh with. A distress flare ...
He hadn’t thought of that.
67
HAIFA 29 December 1969
The little fleet was fifty miles from Haifa when two Chel Ha’Avir Mirages found them. The fighters circled the boats twice, waggled their wings, and vanished eastward. Daniel watched them disappear over the horizon and tried not to be envious of the pilots.
Thirty minutes later he was able to point out the tip of Mount Carmel to Raquel but she was looking at something else. There were white flurries on the horizon. It was spray thrown up by two Group Three offshore powerboats. They circled around and paced the five speeding boats. Lenny seemed to know the crews and bellowed greetings at them with a loudhailer.
Two more fast boats appeared; their crews waving frantically. Some smaller ski boats came romping out, throwing up clouds of spray that sparkled like clouds of diamonds in the setting sun. Suddenly there were twenty boats exultantly escorting the little fleet home. They were within three miles of the harbour entrance when they were met by a huge flotilla of cabin cruisers. Hundreds of little boats jubilantly sounding their horns and getting so close to the boats that Lenny was forced to reduce the fleet’s speed. The ships’ sirens started when the first boat entered the harbour. Every cargo ship in the harbour was blaring off steam in a cacophony of sound that echoed around the bay. Nationality of the ships didn’t matter. Dutch; British; American; even a French bulk carrier - all made a contribution to the uproar.
Raquel saw that the roads snaking into the surrounding hills around the harbour were thick with vehicles. At first she thought it was a normal traffic snarl-up until what sounded like a million car horns joined in the astonishing demonstration. The quay that Lenny was nosing towards was so packed with cheering people pushing forward for a better view of the new arrivals that a disaster seemed inevitable. Hundreds of outstretched hands tried to catch the lines that the men on the foredeck tossed ashore. Police fought gamely to prevent the enthusiastic crowds from swarming on to the boat once the gangway was in position. Some they did allow on to the boat.
There were tears in Leonora’s eyes as she rushed forward. She threw her arms around Daniel’s neck and smothered him in joyous kisses. Emil was there, beaming proudly as he pumped Daniel’s hand. And Ben Patterson, clapping Daniel on the back. Carl Gless waiting his turn and grinning from ear to ear.
Raquel was forgotten. She knew she wasn’t being deliberately ignored; she could well understand the joy of these people at the return of their loved ones to this strange land.
She stood apart from the tumult and tried very hard to smile.
68
DAN HOTEL, HAIFA 30 December 1969
It was 2.00am. The riotous party looked as if it was going to last the night out. Raquel felt like a zombie with tiredness but she had managed to survive the wild traditional dancing until the disco started at 1.00am. She had danced with Daniel and v
aguely remembered being introduced to Emil but was unable to maintain a clear picture of the kaleidoscope of laughing faces belonging to the dozens who had hugged and kissed her and each other. She flopped exhausted into a deep chair, toed off her shoes and closed her eyes while the music throbbed around her. She ached for her bed but was guilty about leaving Daniel while he was still having a good time.
‘Hi there,’ drawled a Texan accent. ‘They tell me you’re from home.’
Raquel’s eyes snapped open. She found herself looking up into Daniel’s eyes. Except they weren’t Daniel’s eyes. They belonged to a lanky, good looking man wearing a smart safari suit that went well with his rugged features. She judged him to be in his late forties. Maybe a little older but not much. He was smiling down at her.
‘You must be Raquel? Ben Patterson.’ He shook her hand and pulled up a chair. ‘I won’t bore you with my rank,’ he smiled warmly. ‘I used to be Daniel’s commanding officer.’
‘Nice to meet you, Mr Patterson,’ said Raquel. She was not feeling up to small talk but this man intrigued her. Also his accent suddenly brought home to her that she was homesick for America for the first time since her arrival in London nearly three years before. ‘With an accent like that, you have to be from Texas.’
Patterson chuckled. ‘Been here close on thirty years now, so if I haven’t shaken if off by now, I guess I never will.’
The record changed to the Archies’ ‘Sugar Sugar’. The heavy, rhythmic beat encouraged a flood of couples on to the floor including Daniel and Leonora. She was wearing a pretty white dress
- short enough to be a tennis skirt, and she danced with her son with the boundless, uninhibited energy of a twenty-year-old, her glorious tress of blonde hair flailing nearby couples as she spun around.
Raquel glanced sideways at the stranger. Even his profile bore an uncanny resemblance to Daniel. She saw that he was staring intently at Leonora. Hardly surprising - nearly all the men were. ‘She’s beautiful,’ said Raquel admiringly, without envy. ‘Please God give me such looks and legs when I’m her age.’
Patterson didn’t reply. His eyes were fixed on Leonora. It was incredible; she hadn’t changed in thirty years. It was as if the gods had willed that she should remain young all these years to taunt him and to compensate her for the wrong he had done her at his housewarming party. But had he been so wrong? It was a question that had tormented him all these years. He hadn’t got her drunk - she already had had more than she could cope with when he had found her flopped out on a bed after most of the guests had left.
He had first met her in the architect’s office when he had called in to discuss a commission with the architect. Afterwards, when she had dealt with the day-to-day routine problems of the design of his house, he had grown to think of her as a sophisticated young woman who knew her way around and what was what. Certainly that was how she behaved right up until she woke up in the morning to blood-stained sheets and him beside her. That was when she had accused him of getting her drunk; that was when he learned that underneath she was really a scared kid just out of school, terrified of what her parents would say about her being out all night.
To her credit she had stuck by the kid and brought him up although she had refused to let him have anything to do with her or Daniel. She wouldn’t even accept money. She permitted him to send Daniel an occasional birthday present and that was all. The only time she had sought him out was when he had pulled a few strings to get Daniel posted to his unit when he had got his wings. She had visited him at his house - refusing to set foot inside - preferring to make a scene on the terrace in which she had accused him of trying to turn Daniel against her. Even when he had finally convinced her that he hadn’t broken his promise of silence, she still hated him.
To an easy-going, outwardly generous and forgiving man like Ben Patterson, Leonora’s capacity for sustained hatred over so many years was as incomprehensible as it was hurtful.
The disc jockey faded out ‘Sugar Sugar’ and played in Henri Manchin’s slow, romantic ‘Love Theme from Romeo and Juliet’. Daniel glanced around, caught sight of Raquel and made a move towards her but Leonora took his hand and put it around her neck. She drew him near and danced slowly, holding herself very close and possessively to him.
‘They don’t look like mother and son,’ Patterson observed, echoing Raquel’s thoughts because she too had seen Leonora’s curious gesture.
‘Mr Patterson,’ said Raquel, ‘can I ask you a personal question?’ ‘Go ahead, honey.’
‘How long did it take you to settle in Israel?’
Patterson gave the question careful thought. ‘It was Palestine in those days. I didn’t feel I belonged until I’d bought me some land and started planning a house.’
‘Do you think I would ever fit in here?’
‘Married to Daniel?’
‘Or living with him.’
‘Are you Jewish?’
‘I’m not anything,’ Raquel answered.
Patterson looked doubtful. ‘It’s best to be something in Israel.’ ‘That’s what I thought.’
‘Hey - don’t go making decisions on what I think.’ Patterson looked genuinely alarmed.
Raquel stood, pushed her feet into her shoes and smoothed the new dress that she had bought in the hotel’s shop. ‘Don’t worry. I’ve come to a decision anyway. Would you wait here for me, please?’ She ventured uncertainly on to the dance floor and approached Daniel and Leonora. They were dancing very close together. Leonora was holding Daniel in a manner that didn’t seem right for a mother to hold her son. Daniel saw her and stopped dancing. ‘Hallo, Rac. Got your second wind back yet?’
‘Daniel, I think I’ll have to be going now,’ said Raquel, conscious of Leonora’s eyes on her.
‘That’s okay, Rac,’ he replied cheerily. ‘I’ll be up myself soon.’ ‘Goodnight, Raquel,’ said Leonora, giving her a half-smile. ‘Sleep well - you’ve earned it.’
Raquel went into the lobby and asked the receptionist for her purse from the safe. Inside was her passport and two thousand dollars of Daniel’s money. She went to her room and used the hotel’s headed paper to write a long note to Daniel. She sealed it in an envelope and left it on the bed where he would be certain to find it. She returned to the disco. Patterson was still sitting in the same chair.
‘Mr Patterson, would you do me a favour, please?’
‘If I can, honey.’
Raquel looked around at the tables. Daniel was laughing and joking with Emil and Leonora. They didn’t see her.
‘Would you drive me to the airport, please?’
Patterson looked surprised. ‘Now?’
‘Right now,’ said Raquel emphatically. ‘Before I change my mind.’
AFTERMATH
Albert Heinken waited a year for his trial while the Swiss authorities pieced together the enormity of his treachery. In approximate figures he had passed to the Israelis 150,000 drawings of press tools, jigs and piece parts; 400 main airframe drawings; 50,000 instrumentation drawings; and 4000 engine drawings, in addition to some 50,000 documents covering testing and servicing specifications. In terms of sheer volume of documentation, it was the biggest espionage coup in history and will probably remain so.
In April 1971 he received a surprisingly moderate sentence of four and a half years and was released just over a year later. He went to live with his wife in Israel under a new identity - a rich man because the Israelis kept their part of the bargain.
In April 1975 he was one of the guests of honour at a special ceremony at Israel Aircraft Industries, Lod, to watch the roll-out and maiden flight of the Kfir - the Israeli-built version of the Mirage based on the drawings he supplied. The fighter was piloted by IAI’s chief test pilot, Daniel Kalen.
Raquel Gibbon finished her studies in London and returned to New York. She wrote sporadically to Daniel but all track of her was lost in 1974 after her marriage to a Maine lawyer. Leonora Kalen died suddenly on 1 June 1983. Emil survived her by a month.
The consequences of those remarkable events in the late 1960s rumble on to this day. Israel has continued the development of the Kfir and sells it throughout the world, often thwarting sanctions imposed by the major powers. In 1985 South Africa concluded a deal with Israel enabling her to build her own supersonic fighter under licence from Israel, thus giving South Africa an air superiority over neighbouring black states that they can never hope to equal. It is a fighter whose ancestry can be traced back to a brilliant design concept that Marcel Dassault had named personally.
Mirage.
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