Triple (1991)

by Ken Follett

  When they had shaken hands and poured sherry, they sat down in the garden and Ashford said, "What brings you back to England so soon?" Hassan told the truth. -rm chasing Nat Dickstein." They were sitting by the river in the little comer of the garden that was cut off by the hedge, where Hassan had kissed the beautiful Eila so many years ago. Ile comer was sheltered from the October wind, and there was a little autumn sunshine to warm them. Ashford was guarded, wary, his face expressionless. "I think you'd better tell me what's going on." Hassan observed that during the summer' the professor had actually yielded a little to fashion. He had cultivated sidewhiskers and allowed his monkish fringe of hair to grow long, and was wearing denim jeans with a wide leather belt beneath his old tweed jacket. -ru tell you," Hassan said, with an awful feeling that Rostov would have been more subtle than this, "but I must have your word that it will go no farther." 6 .'Agreed. "Dickstein is an Israeli spy.9' Ashford's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. Hassan plunged on. "The Zionists are planning to make nuclear bombs but they have no plutonium. They need a secret supply of uranium to feed to their reactor to make plutonium. Dickstein's job is to steal that uranium---and my job is to find him and stop him. I want you to help me." Ashford stared into his sherry, then drained the glass at a gulp. 'There are two questions at issue here," he said, and Hassan realized that Ashford was going to treat this as an intellectual problem, the characteristic defense of the frightened academic. "One is whether or not I can help; the other, whether or not I should.. The latter is prior, I think; morally, anyway. Hassan thought: I'd like to pick you up by the scruff of the neck and shake you. Maybe I can do that, at least figuratively. He said, "Of course you should. You believe in our cause! It's not so simple. I'm asked to interfere in a contest between two people, both of whom are my friends." "But only one of them is in the right." "So I should help the one who is in the right-and betray the one who is in the wrong?" "Of course." "Tbere isn't any 'of course' about it ... What will you do, if and when you find Dickstein?" "I'm with Egyptian Intelligence, professor. But my loyalty-and, I believe, yours-lies with Palestine." Ashford refused to take the bait. "Go on," he said noncommittally. "I have to find out exactly when and where Dickstein plans to steal this uranium." Hassan hesitated. 'Ttie Fedayeen will get there before Dickstein and steal it for themselves." Ashford's eyes glittered. "My God," he said. "How marvelous." He's almost there, Hassan thought. He's frightened, but he's excited too. "It's easy for you to be loyal to Palestine, here in Oxford, giving lectures, going to meetings. Things are a little more difficult for those of us who are out there fight. ing for the country. I'm here to ask you to do something concrete about your politics, to decide whether your ideals mean anything or not. This is where you and I find out whether the Arab cause is anything more to you than a romantic concept. This is the test, professor." Ashford said, "Perhaps you're right." And Hassan thought: rve got you.

  Suza had decided to tell her father that she was in love with Nat Dickstein. At first she had not been sure of it herself, not really. The few days they had spent together in London had been wild and happy and loving, but afterward she had realized that those feelings could be transient. She had resolved to make no resolutions. She would carry on normally and see how things turned out. Something had happened in Singapore to change her mind. Two of the cabin stewards on the trip were py, and used only one of the two hotel rooms allotted to them; so the crew could use the other room for a party. At the party the pilot .had made a pass at Suza. He was a quiet, smiling blond an with delicate bones and a delightfully wacky sense of humor. The stewardesses all agreed he was a piece of ass. Normally Suza would have got into bed with him Without thinking twice. But she had said no, astonishing the whole crew. Thinking about it later, she decided that she no longer wanted to get laid. She bad just gone off the whole idea. All she wanted was Nathaniel. It was like . . . it was a bit like five years ago when the second Beatles album came out, and she had gone through her pile of records by Elvis and Roy Orbison and the Evefly Brothers and realized that she did not want to play them, they held no more enchantment for her, the old familiar tunes had been heard once too often, and now she wanted music of a higher order. Well, it was a bit like that, but more so. Dickstein's letter bad been the clincher. It had been written God knew where and poited at Orly Airport, Paris. In his small neat handwriting with its incongruously curly loops on the g and y be had poured out his heart in a manner that was all the more devastating because it came from a normally taciturn man. She had cried over that letter.

  She wished she could think of a way to explain all that to her father. She knew that he disapproved of Israelis. Dickstein was an old student, and her father had been genuinely pleased to see him and prepared to overlook the fact that the old student was on the enemy side. But now she planned to make Dickstein a permanent p.~rt of her life, a member of the family. His letter said "Forever is what I want," and Suza could hardly wait to tell him, "Oh, yes; me, too." She, thought both sides were in the wrong in the Middle But The plight of the refugees was unjust and pitiful, but she thought they ought to set about making themselves new homes-it was not easy, but it was easier than war, and she despised the theatrical heroics which so many Arab men found irresistible. On the other hand, it was clear that the whole damn mess was originally the fault of the Zionists, who had taken over a country that belonged to other people. Such a cynical view had no appeal for her father, who saw Right on one side and Wrong on the other, and the beautiful ghost of his wife on the side of Right It would be hard for him. She had long ago scotched his dreams of walking up the aisle with his daughter beside him in a white wedding dress; but he still talked occasionally of her setding down and giving him a granddaughter. The idea that this grandchild might be Israeli would come as a terrible blow. SO, that was the price of being a parent, Suza thought as she entered the house. She called, "Daddy, I'm home," as she took off her coat and put down her airline bag. There was no reply, but his briefcase was in the hall: he must be in the garden. She,put the kettle on and walked out of the kitchen and down toward the river, still searching in her mind for the right words with which to tell him her news. Maybe she should begin by talking about her trip, and gradually work around- She heard voices as she approached the hedge. "And what will you do with him?" It was her father's voice. Suza stopped, wondering whether she ought to interrupt or not. "Just follow him," said another voice, a strange one. "Dickstein must not be killed until afterwards, of course."

  She put her band over her mouth to stifle a gasp of horror. Then, terrified, she turned around and ran, soft-footed, back to the house.

  "Well, now," said Professor Ashford, "following what we might call the Rostov Method, let us recall everything we know about Nat Dickstein." Do it any way you want, Hassan thought, but for Gods sake come up with something. Ashford went on: "He was born in the East End of London. His father died when he was a boy. What about the motherr "Shies dead, too, according to our files." "Ah. Well, he went into the army midway through the war-1943, I think it was. Anyway he was in time to be part of the attack on Sicily. He was taken prisoner soon afterward, about halfway up the leg of Italy, I can't remember the place. It was rumored-you'll remember this, I'm sure-that he had a particularly bad time in the concentration camps, being Jewish. After the war he came here. He-~ "Sicily," Hassan interrupted. "Yes?" "Sicily is mentiobed in his file. He is supposed to have been involved in the theft of a boatload of guns. Our people had bought the guns from a gang of criminals in Sicily." "If we are to believe what we read in the newspapers," said Ashford, "there is only one gang of criminals in Sicily." Hassan added, "Our people suspected that the hijackers had bribed the Sicilians for a tip-off." "Wasn"t it Sicily where he saved that man's life?" Hassan wondered what Ashford was talking about He controlled his impatience, thinking: Let him ranible-thaes the whole idea. "He saved someone's life?" "The American. Don't you remember? Ive never forgotten it Dickstein brought the man here. A rather brutish G.I. He told me the whole story, right
here at this house. Now were getting somewhere. You must have met the man, you were here that day, don't you remember?" "I can't say I do," Hassan muttered. He was embarrassed . he had probably been in the kitchen feeling Eila up. "It was . . . unsettling," Ashford said. He stared at the slowly moving water as his mind went back twenty years, and his face was shadowed by sadness for a moment, as if he were remembering his wife. Then he said, "Here we all were, a gathering of academics and students, probably discussing atonal music or eidstentialism while we sipped our sherry, when in came a big soldier and started talking about snipers and tanks and blood and death. it cast a real chill: thafs why I recall it so clearly. He said his family originated in Sicily, And his cousins had fated Dickstein after the life-saving incident Did you say a Sicilian gang had tipped off Dickstein, about the boatland of guns?" "It's possible, that's all." "Perhaps he didn't have to bribe them." Hassan shook his head. This was information, the kind of trivial information Rostov always seemed to make something of-but how was he going to use it? "I don't see what use all this is going to be to us," he said. "How could Dickstein's ancient hijack be connected with the Mafia?" "The Mafia," said Ashford. "Mat's the word I was looking for. And the mazes name wag Cortone-Tony Cortone-no, Al Cortone, from Buffalo. I told you, I remember every detail." "But the connectionT' Hassan said impatiently. Ashford shrugged. "Simply this. Once before , Dickstein used his connection with Cortone to call on the Sicilian Mafia for help with an act of piracy in'the Mediterranean. People repeat their youth, you know: he may do the same thing again." Hassan began to see: and, as enlightenment dawned, so did hope. It was a long shot, a guess, but it made sense, the chance was real, maybe he could catch up with Dickstein again. Ashford looked pleased with himself "It's a nice piece of speculative reasoning- wish I could publish it, -with footnotes.", "I wonder," said Hassan longingly. "I wonder." "It's getting cool, let's go into the house." As they walked up the garden Hassan thought fleetingly that he had not learned to be Me Rostov; he had merely found in Ashford a substitute. Perhaps his former proud independence had gone forever. There was something unmanly ,about it. He wondered if the other Fedayeen felt the same way, and if that was why they were so bloodthirsty.

  Ashford said, 'The trouble is, I don't suppose Cortone will tell you anything, whatever he knows." .Would he tell you?" "Why should he? HaT hardly remember me. Now, if Eila were alive, she could have gone to see him and told him somestory... Vell . . .- Hassan wished Eila would stay out of the conversation. ITU haveto try myself." They entered the house. Stepping into the kitchen, they saw Suza; and then they looked at each other and know they had found the answer.

  By the time the two men came into the house Suza had almost convinced herself that she had been mistaken when, in the garden, she thought she heard them talk about killing Nat Dickstein. It was simply unreal: the garden, the river, the autumn sunshine, a professor and his guest ... murder had no place there, the whole idea was fantastic, like a polar bear in the Sahara Desert. Besides, there was a very good psycbological explanation for her mistake: she had been planning to tell her father that she loved Dickstein, and she had been afraid of his reaction-Freud could probably have predicted that at that point she might well imagine her father plotting to kill herlover. Because she nearly believed this reasoning, she was able to smile brightly at them and say, "Who wants coffee? rve just made some." Her father kissed bw cheek. "I didn't realize you were back, my dear." "I just arrived, I was thinking of coming out to look for you." Why am I telling these lies? "You don't know Yasif Hassan-he was one of my students when you were very small." Hassan kissed her hand and stared at her the way people always did when they had known Eila. "Yotere every bit as beautiful as your mother," he said, and his voice was not flirtatious at all, not even Battering: it sounded amazed. Her father said, "Yasif was here a few months ago, shortly after a contemporary of his visited us-Nat Dickstein. You met Dickstein, I think, but you were away by the time Yasif came."

  "Was there any oonnee-connectionr she asked, and silently cursed her voice for cracking on the last word. The two men looked at one another, and her father said, "Matter of fact, there was." And then she knew it was true, she had riot misheard, they really were going to kill the only man she had ever loved. She felt dangerously close to tears, and turned away from them to fiddle with cups and saucem "I want to ask You to -do something, my dear," said her father. "Something very important, for the sake of your mother's memory. Sit down." - No more, she thought; this ean!t get worse, please. She took a deep breath, turned around, and sat down fac. ing him. He said, "I want you to help Yasif here to find Nat Dickstein." From that moment she hated her father. She knew then suddenly, instantly, that his love for her was fraudulent, that he had never seen her as a person, that he used her as he had used her mother. Never again would she take care of him, serve him; never apm would she worry about how he felt, whether he was lonely, what he needed ... She realized, in the same flash of insight and hatred, that her mother had reached this same point with him, at some time; and that she would now do what Ma had done, and despise him. Ashford continued, 'Mere is a man in America who may know where Dickstein is. I want you to go there with Yasif and ask this man. She said nothing. Hassan took her blankness for incomPrehension, and began to explain. "You see, this Dickstein is an Israeli agent, working against our people. We must stop him. Cortone-the man in Buffalo-may be helping him, and if he is he will not help us. But he will remember your mother, and so he may cooperate with you. You could tell him that you and Dickstein are lovers." "Ha-hah!" Su2Ws laugh was faintly hysterical, and she hoped they would assume the wrong reasons for it. She controlled herself, and managed to become numb, to keep her body still and her face expressionless, while they told her about the yellowcake, and the man aboard the Coparelli, and the radio beacon on the Stromberg, and about Mahmoud and his hijack plan, and how much it would an mean for the Palestine liberation movement; and at the end she was numb, she no longer had to pretend. Finally her father said, "So, my dear will you help? Will you do it?" With an effort of self-control that astonished her, she gave them a bright air-hostess smile, got up from her stool, and said, "TVs a lot to take in in one go, isn't it? I'll think about it while rin in the bath." And she went out.

  It all sank In, gradually, as she lay in the hot water with a locked door between her and them. So this was the thing that Nathaniel had to do before be could see her again: steal a ship. And then, he had said, he would not let her out of his sight for ten or fifteen years . Perhaps that meant he could give up this work.- But, of course, none of his plans was going to succeed, because his enemies knew all about them. This Russian planned to rain Nat's ship, and Hassan planned to steal the ship first and ambush Nat. Either way Dickstein was in danger; either way they wanted to destroy him. Suza could warn him. If only she knew where he was. How little those men downstairs knew about herl Hassan simply assumed, just like an Arab male chauvinist pig, that she would do as she was told. Her father assumed she would take the Palestinian side, because he did and he was the brains of the family. He had never known what was in his daughter's mind: for that matter, he had been the same with his wife. Eila had always been able to deceive him: he never suspected that she might not be what she seemed. When Suza realized what she had to do, she was terrified all over again. There was, after all, a way she might find Nathaniel and warn him. "Find Nat" was what they wanted her to do. She knew she could deceive them, for they already aisumed she was on their side, when she was not. So she could do what they wanted. She could find Natand then she could warn him. Would she be making things worse? To find him herself, she had to lead them to him.

  But even if Hassan did not find him, Nat was in danger from the Russians. And if he was forewarned, he could escape both dangers. Perhaps, too, she could get rid of Hassan somehow, before she actually reached Nat What was the alternative? To wait, to go on as if nothing had happened, to hope for a phone call that might never come ... It was, she realized, partly her need to see Dickstein a
gain that made her think like this, partly the thought that after the hijack he might be dead, that this might be her last chance But there were good reasons, too: by doing nothIng she might help frustrate Hassan's scheme, but that left the Russians and their scheme. Her decision was made. She would pretend to work with Hassan so that she could find Nathaniel. She was peculiarly happy. She was trapped, but she felt free; she was obeying her father, yet she felt that at last she was defying him; for better or worse, she was committed to Nathaniel. She was also very, very frightened. She got out of the bath, dried herself, dressed, and went downstairs to tell them the good news.

  At four A.M. on November 16, 1968, the Caparelli hove to at Vlissingen, on the Dutch coast, and took an board a port pilot to guide her through the channel of the Westerscbelde to Antwerp. Four hours later, at the entrance to the harbor, she took on another pilot to negotiate her passage through the docks. From the main harbor she went through Royers Lock, along the Suez Canal, under the Siberia Bridge and into Kattendijk Dock, where she tied up at her berth. Nat Dickstein was watching. When he saw her sweep slowly in, and read the name Co. Parelli On her side, and thought of the drums of yelloweake that would soon fill her belly, he was overcome by a most Peculiar feeling, like the one he had when he looked at Suza's naked body... yes, almost like lust He looked away from berth No. 42 to the railway line, which ran almost to the edge of the quay. There was a train on the'line now, consisting of eleven cars and an engine. Ten of the cars carried fifty-one 200-liter drams with sealed lids and the word PLumBAT stenciled on the side; the eleventh car had only fifty drums. He was so close to those drums, to that uranium; he could Woll over and- touch the railway cars-he already had done this once, earlier in the morning, and had thought: Wouldn't it be terrific just to raid this place with choppers and a bunch of Israeli commandos and simply steal the stuff. The Coparellf was scheduled for a fast turnaround. The port authorities had been convinced that the yelloweake could be handled safely, but all the same they did not want the stuff hanging about their harbor one minute longer than necessary. Ilere was a crane standing by ready to load the drums on to the ship. Nevertheless, there were formalities to be completed before loading could begin. 'The fint person Dickstein saw boarding the ship was an official from the shipping company. He had to give the pilots their pourboire and secure from the captain a crew list for the harbor police. The second person aboard was Josef Cohen. He was here for the sake of customer relations: he would give the captain a bottle of whiskey and sit down for a drink with him and the shipping company official. He also had a wad of tickets for free entry and one drink at the best nightclub in town, which be would give to the captain for the officers. And he would discover the name of the ship's engineer. Dickstein had suggested he do this by asking to see the crew list, then counting out one ticket for each officer on the list. Whatever way he had decided to do it, he had been successful: ashe left the ship and crossed the quay to return to his office he passed Dickstein and muttered, "Me engineer's name is Same," without breaking stride. It was not until afternoon that the crane went into action and the dockers began loading the drums into the three holds of the Copareffl. IMe drums had to be moved one at a time, and inside the ship each drum had to be secured with wedges of wood. As expected, the loading was not completed that day. In the evening Dickstein went to the best nightclub in town. Sitting at the bar, close to the telephone, was a quite astonishing woman of about thirty, with black hair and a long, aristocratic face possessed of a faintly haughty expression. She wore an elegant black dress which made the most of her sensational legs and her high, round breasts. Dickstein gave her an almost imperceptible nod but did not speak to her. He sat in a comer, nursing a glass of beer, hoping the sailors would come. Surely they would. Did sailors ever refuse a free drink? Yes. The club began to fill up. The woman in the black dress was propositioned a couple of times but refused both men, thereby establishing that she was not a hooker. At nine o'clock Dickstein went out to the lobby and phoned Cohen. By previous arrangement, Cohen had called the captain of the Coparelli on a pretext. He now told Dickstein what he had discovered: that all but two of the officers were using their free tickets. Ile exceptions were the captain himself, who was busy with paperwork, and the radio operator-a new man they had taken on in Cardiff after Lars broke his leg-who had a head cold. Dickstein then dialed the number of the club he was in. He asked to speak to Mr. Same, who, he understood, would be found in the bar. While he waited he could hear a barman calling out Same's name: it came to him two ways, one directly from the bar, the other through several miles of telephone cable. Eventually be heard, over the phone, a voice say, "Yes? Hello? This is Same. Is anybody there? Hello?" Dickstein bung up and walked quickly back into the bar. He looked over to where the bar phone wa& The woman in the black dress was speaking to a tall, suntanned blond man in his thirties whom Dickstein had seen on the quay earlier that day. So this was Same. The woman smiled at Same. It was a nice smile, a smile to make any man look twice: it was warm and red-lipped, showing even, white teeth, and it was accompanied by a certain languid half-closing of the eyes, which was very sexy and looked not at all. as though it bad been rehearsed a thousand times in front of a mirror. Dickstein watched, spellbound. He had very little idea how this sort of thing worked, bow men picked up women and women picked up men, and be understood even less how a woman could pick up a man while letting the man believe he was doing the picking up. Same had his own charm, it seemed. He gave her his smile, a grin with something wickedly boyish in it that made him look ten years younger. He said something to her, and she smiled again. He hesitated, like a man who wants to talk some more but cannot think of anything to say; then, to Dickstein's horror, he turned away to go. Ile woman was equal to this: Dickstein need not have worried. She touched the sleeve of Same's blazer, and he turned back to her. A cigarette had suddenly appeared in her hand. Same slapped his pockets for matches. Apparently he did not smoke. Dickstein groaned inwardly. The woman took a lighter from the evening bag on the bar in front of her and handed it to him. He lit her cigarette. Dickstein could not go away, or watch from a distance; he would have a nervous breakdown. He had to listen. He pushed his way through the bar and stood behind Same, who was facing the woman. Dickstein ordered another beer. The woman's voice was warm and inviting, Dickstein knew already, but now she was really using it. Some women had bedroom eyes, she had a bedroom voice. Same was saying, '9rhis kind of thing is always happening to me." "Me phone call?" the woman said. Sarno nodded. "Woman trouble. I hate women. All my fife, women have caused me pain and suffering. I wish I were a homosexual." Dickstein was astonished. What was he saying? Did he mean it? Was he trying to give her the brush-off? She said, "Why don't you become one?" 'I don't fancy men." "Be a monk." "Well, you see, I have this other problem, this insatiable sexual appetite. I have to get laid, all the time, often several times a night. Ifs a great problem to me. Would you like a fresh drinkr' Ah. It was a line of chat. How did he think it up? Dickstein supposed that sailors did this sort of thing all the time, they had it down to a fine art. It went on that way. Dickstein had to admire the way the woman led Same by the nose while letting him think be was making the running. She told him she was stopping over in Antwerp just for the night, and let him know she had a room in a good hotel. Before long be said they should have champagne, but the champagne sold in the club was very poor stuff, not like they might be able to get somewhere else; at a hotel, say; her hotel, for example. They left when the floor show started. Dickstein was pleased: go far, so good. He watched a line of girls kicking their legs for ten minutes, then he went out. He took a cab to the hotel and went up to the room. He stood close to the communicating door which led through to the next room. He heard the woman giggle and Same say something in a low voice. Dickstein sat on the bed and checked the cylinder of gas. He turned tke tap on and off quickly, and got a sharp whiff of sweetness from the face mask. It had no effect on him. He wondered how much you had to breathe before it worked. He had not
had time to try out the stuff properly. The noises from the next room became louder, and Dickstein began to feel embarrassed. He wondered how conscientious Sarne was. Would he want to go back to his ship as soon as he had finished with the woman?.That would be awkward. It would mean a fight in the hotel corridor-unprofessional, risky. Dickstein waited-tense, embarrassed, anxious. The woman was good at her trade. She knew Dickstein wanted Sarne to sleep afterward, and she was trying to tire him. It seemed to take forever. It was past two A.M. W.hen she knocked on the communicating door. The code was three slow knocks to say he was asleep, six fast knocks to say he was leaving. She knocked three times, slowly. Dickstein opened the door. Carrying the gas cylinder in one hand and the face mask in the other, he walked softly into the next room. Same lay flat on his back, naked, his blond hair mussed, his mouth wide open, his eyes closed. His body looked fit and strong. Dickstein went close and listened to his breathing. He breathed in, then all the way out-then, just as he began to inhale again, Dickstein turned on the tap and clapped the mask over the sleeping man's nose and mouth. Same's eyes opened wide. Dickstein held the mask on more firmly. Half a breath: incomprehension in Sarne's eyes. The breath turned into a gasp, and Same moved his head, failed to weaken Dickstein's grip, and began to thrash about. Dickstein leaned on the saffor's chest with an elbow, thinking: For God's sake, this is too slowl Sarno breathed out. The confusion in his eyes had turned to fear and panic. He gasped again, about to increase his struggles. Dickstein thought of calling the woman to help hold him down. But the second inhalation defeated its purpose; the struggles were perceptibly weaker; the eyelids fluttered, and closed; and by the time he exhaled the second -breath, he was asleep. It had taken about three seconds. Dickstein relaxed. Sarne would probably never remember it, He gave him a little more of the gas to make sure, then he stood up. He looked at the woman. She was wearing shoes, stockings, and garters; nothing else. She, looked ravishing. She caught his gaze, and opened her arms, , offering herself: at your service, sir. Dickstein shook his head with a regretful smile that was only partly disingenuous. He sat in the chair beside the bed and watched her dress: skimpy panties, soft -brassiere, jewelry, dress, coat, bag. She came to him, and he gave her eight thousand Dutch guilders. She kissed his cheek, then she kissed the banknotes. She went out without speaking. Dickstein went to the window~ A few minutes later he saw the headlights of her sports car as it went past the front of the hotel, heading back to Amsterdam. He sat down to wait, again. After a while he began to feel sleepy. He went into the next room and ordered coffee from room service. In the morning Cohen phoned to say the first officer of the Coparelli was searching the bars, brothels and flophouses of Antwerp for his engineer. At twelve-thirty Cohen phoned again. The captain had called him to say that all the cargo was now loaded and he was without an engineer officer. Cohen had said, "Captain, it's your lucky day." At two-thirty Cohen called to say he had seen Dieter Koch aboard the Coparelli with his kitbag over his shoulder. Dickstein gave Sarno a little more gas each time he showed signs of waking. He administered the last dose at Six A.M. the following day, then he paid the bill for the two rooms and left.