"No harm will come to you. We are not here to hurt you in any way. I am going to step out, into the open, just to prove that I trust your judgment".
Slowly he got up and started walking across the field. His path crossed the line of sight between the Russians and the upcoming moon. They could see him walking calmly toward the small hill, his Uzi slung casually across his shoulder.
For a short moment he presented a perfect target. The Russian raised his Uzi and followed Danny, trying to get him in the sights. He was too slow or maybe not quite resolute. Soon enough Danny was out of the moon and back in the comfort of darkness. He knew they were shocked and about to crack. They just realized they were surrounded and could be killed at any moment. They saw their enemy and they didn't shoot him, thus vindicating his rationale.
For Danny all this was textbook psychological warfare. In their minds he was still exposed, since they "knew" where he was, cool and confident. In fact he didn’t feel cool at all; it was Avri's life he was gambling on. He pulled out a small walkie-talkie from his hip pocket and whispered into it, "Avri, go ahead now, it's Danny".
Then he spoke again to the Russians:
"Before we get out of here, we will take with us the guard you've shot. For your own sake I advise you to give us his Uzi, too. This way you will not have to explain why you didn’t put up any further resistance. I am sure some very wise and brave general will ask such questions. I promise you that we will not mention any of it in our report”.
As he was speaking, he could see lights shining up on the antenna structure once again. Avri and his guys were back at work, at full speed. He had to keep the Russians busy, focus their attention onto himself and keep them contained. He had to tell them interesting things.
"There are fifty five of us here. We will be leaving in four helicopters and we will take most of your radar station with us. Our government will not make public any information regarding this operation - or even the fact that it ever took place. Every effort will be taken to avoid embarrassment to the USSR and Soviet people. Your presence here will never be mentioned".
Avri and his crew were still busy up on the antenna and Danny had to continue his monologue. "I am sure that once you consider the armed conflicts, the wars that have been going on in this region for decades now, this operation will seem unimportant in comparison, just one addition to the endless conflict. Whether you feel sympathetic to whatever cause placed you here or not, you must realize one important fact - there is nothing in this operation which is intended to be against you personally".
He thought he heard a short chuckle from the Russians. He was tempted to ask his captive audience whether they had any questions, but he didn't. There was still the wounded guard to take care of. Danny decided it was time to take his chance on that.
"I'm going to take care of the guard you've shot. It will do you no good at all to kill either him or me. The price you’ll pay will be much too high, and especially if you miss. Won’t it?"
He walked in the darkness toward where he expected the guard to be. He halted for a second and listened. He heard short, fast breathing coming from the left. It was very faint. A few steps further he listened again. And then he found him. The young paratrooper was hit in the abdomen; his pulse was low but not too weak. His breathing was short but steady. He’ll survive, he thought as he pulled him onto his shoulder and preceded stooping low, toward the shelters.
The two helicopters from the bottom of the hill landed on the side clearing. The troops rushed in and they took off immediately.
The cargo helicopters showed up with perfect timing. They hovered above the shelters as the slings were being hooked up, shuddering as the cables tightened. The engines roared at full throttle and the hill was amidst a sandstorm. Gravel and sand were flying everywhere and everything was drowned under a cloud of dust.
A few minutes later they were gone, carrying the whole Russian radar station.
Danny, supporting Avri on the helicopter floor, looked satisfactorily at the barren Egyptian radar base and waved do sveddenie to the Russians. Avri looked at Danny and said tiredly, "that jammed plug almost got us killed".
A medic jabbed a syringe into his arm and he was out cold before he could hear Danny’s tired reply - "you and your damned plug".
* * * * *
Now his message to Danny, "a jammed plug", seemed clear and prudent. It should convey that his life was in danger, that Russians are involved, and that technical matters are at hand. Avri was happy with his choice, if he could only be sure it would reach Danny...
CHAPTER TEN
The bright morning matured slowly into a warm summer’s day. There was not much Avri could do now but wait - and he wasn’t very good at doing that. He was getting restless and impatient.
What if Danny couldn't come? Maybe he couldn’t be reached. Maybe he was out of the country. Did Ruth pass the message to him? Maybe she was distracted by something, anything, and forgot all about it. Danny surely had some superiors to answer to. What if they wouldn’t let him go to Greece on what could be considered a private rescue mission?
Life by the waterfront was gentle and calm like the water in the bay, as they had been for hundreds of years. Colorful fishing boats were bobbing casually in their moorings. Fishermen were at work on their boats, while the elders were mending the fishing nets, their thick fingers threading invisible yarns through transparent mesh holes.
Avri imagined himself to be one of them, content with his lot, with not a worry on his mind. The contemplation was a pleasant diversion, but it didn't last long.
"Hello again, old chap," a British-accented voice startled him from behind.
He turned his head, too quickly, he thought. My strain must be obvious.
The 'British accent' was sitting at the other table, across the entrance. He was alone, except for the three empty beers and a small shopping bag. He was wearing a very ordinary and commonplace sailor's working garb - blue jeans and a worn out short-sleeve shirt. His smile was all of his own though, wide and cheerful, crinkling his eyes down to mere slits, the little of them that was still showing was shining bright.
Avri felt ridiculous for being startled so quickly, but the Englishman gave no indication of noticing it.
"Hello," Avri answered with a vague hand wave.
"Care to join me?" He asked, holding up a can of Lager.
"Too early for me," Avri answered "but I'll have another coffee," he said, pointing to his empty cup.
"Coffee please," he called to the taverna keeper and joined the Brit at his table.
"Avri Keren, from the Galatea," he introduced himself as he extended his hand across the table.
He was met with a strong, broad but gentle hand, which delivered a very amiable shake.
"Jim Oakeley. I own the Jay Bee over there,” he said with that smile again, nodding his head toward the east quay.
Avri followed his nod, but could not make out the boat. His companion noticed the puzzled look and gestured again.
There was something alarming, or at least strange about this Oakeley. While Oakeley pointed out his boat amongst the towering masts along the quay Avri tried to figure out what is it that alarmed him.
The Jay Bee was a dark blue Yawl and, from this far, she seemed to be a forty-five or forty-seven footer.
The taverna keeper called from inside, asking about the sugar in the coffee, and Avri seized the opportunity, got up, and walked in.
The guy looks like an imposter, he thought. No, he actually seems very ordinary. What is it then? It's his accent. That’s it, it's too stereotypical. They don't talk like this any more in England.
He sounded like someone trying to imitate an Englishman.
That's it. He is a phony! But then why should anyone want to pretend to be British? Unless he doesn’t want to be recognized for what he really is. And what could that possibly be? Why should he want to conceal his nationality?
Unless ... unless maybe… maybe he is a Russian. That’s it. It must be it. He
is a goddamn Russian.
Come now, be calm. Cool it, don't get excited, he told himself, but then he realized that he had already tipped his hand by jumping like a startled cat earlier when this ‘Oakeley’ first addressed him.
He walked back, carrying his coffee and wearing a smile which he hoped looked common. He was now utterly sure that Jim Oakeley was associated with the submarine. Avri had no idea what to expect next, much less what to do about it. But knowing the score though made him feel much better.
"She seems solid and fast,” he said as he sat down, pointing toward the Jay Bee.
"She is solid, very solid indeed," Oakeley responded with a pride reserved only for offspring and boats. "We have been through many waters and a lot of winds together. The old girl hasn’t let me down yet, the beauty".
Oh boy, what an act, Avri thought. If this is typical K.G.B. training, the guy has no chance sailing through Christmas. Looking again at the boat, he said "The masts seem to be made of wood. She is not a fiberglass boat, is she?"
"No, no, she is all wood. We don't make many fiberglass boats Down Under, mostly well-crafted woodwork".
"Down Under?" Avri repeated, puzzled.
That friendly smile readily returned as Oakeley explained loudly, "Australia, my old mate. That's Down Under, isn’t it now."
Avri smiled back, this time genuinely cheerful, relieved. It was like entering a port just ahead of a storm.
"Australia. That's great Jim, really great," he repeated, relieved. "Escaping the winter back home, are you?"
"Yeh," Jim laughed, "But we've been cruising for almost two years now, the whole family. The wife, a daughter and a son. They all went home last week for Joanne's matriculation examinations. They'll return in a couple of months, and meanwhile I'm stranded around here".
"Why stranded?" Avri managed the conversation much more fluently now.
"Well, you see, the Jay Bee is too big to be sailed single-handed. So it seems that I’m marooned like a fish in an aquarium until my crew returns".
Their morning conversation flowed easily, as most waterfront conversations do. Oakley’s yarns were as pleasant as his smile. He was an accomplished sailor and he had tales of many seas. It was definitely a pleasant way to wait for Danny, should he ever arrive. They had lunch together aboard the Jay Bee (the Jay was for Jim and the Bee for Beverly, his wife, as he explained). Later they went over to the Galatea for a few beers and the second half of their mutual survey of each other's boat.
At three o'clock that afternoon the daily ferry sailed in, carrying a deck full of tourists who stayed on board while she unloaded supplies. There were no tourist attractions in Port Vathi or on Samos Island, at least none of interest for vacationers who have been sailing for a half a day now from Piraeus, by way of Hiros, on their way to the famous island of Mikonos.
Avri and Oakeley idly watched the activity on the ferry. People were assembled on the dock, waiting for the cargo to be unloaded before they climbed onboard. They had luggage of all sizes and sorts, some carrying merchandise for trade, some personal belongings. There were idle onlookers, colleagues and friends gathering at the great open gateway.
Only three passengers disembarked after all the trucks had rolled off. A young woman carrying a child was greeted warmly by a man, probably her husband. The two others were men, definitely not locals and apparently not related to each other.
They carried expensive looking luggage and appeared to be accustomed to traveling. Avri hardly noticed them as they walked into the taverna.
Even though it was too early for Danny to show up, Avri could not help searching for him around the ferry. His gaze wandered in that direction almost against his own will.
The ferry sailed out at half past three, leaving a smooth wake behind her stern, and no solace for Avri.
The afternoon advanced slowly, bearing long shadows that veered to the east. As time was nearing six o'clock, Avri excused himself from the easy companionship of his new Australian friend explaining that he had some letters to write. Writing letters is considered a very personal moment amongst sailors. It's the opportunity to reconnect home, family and friends, staying in touch with the past or providing for the future. Most often it is the time for the voyagers’ eternal question: "what the hell am I doing here?”
Avri was now assured of a solitary evening.
Back on the Galatea, tucked in the forward corner on the Starboard side of the cabin, he turned on the small overhead reading light. He leafed listlessly through the pages of a SAIL magazine. The radio played, mournful Greek music, its downbeat tone did little to calm his turbulent mind.
His thoughts swirled like lost fish in a whirlpool, a dizzying mix of the Russian antenna, the western equipment it was meant to track, the possible implications of his collision, the consequences it may have on his own country... and, of course, Danny. Would Danny show up... did he get the message... was he right in entrusting it to Ruth? Maybe she could be reliable if he communicated more often. Maybe she could still be his wife had he navigated the stormy waters of their marriage with greater skill.
Somewhere through this tempest of reflections he dozed off, his thoughts yielding to an unruly dream of wild pursuit, of Russians chasing him, Russians hunting Danny, Americans chasing both of them... It was one big jumble that, nonetheless, as dreams often do, made perfect sense of their own.
* * * * *
Avri snapped out of his dream, instantly aware that someone was boarding the boat. He could hear his heart pounding wildly although he was trying very hard to stay cool. It wasn't like him at all. Usually, be it in reality or in a dream, anybody could climb on board his Galatea to be greeted with a welcoming smile.
He took a deep breath and stepped boldly out into the cockpit. Indeed he did have visitors. Two men were climbing up the gangway and onto the boat. One of them was carrying a large toolbox and wearing a blue cap with a white logo - "VOLVO PENTA". The other man was Danny.
Avri was just about to shout a cheerfully irreverent greeting when he caught Danny's hand gesture and a warning expression in his look. Both signals were indiscrete and almost unnoticeable in the dim light.
"So, you are the gentleman with the engine trouble?” Danny said in a booming voice and reasonable American accent.
Avri greeted them aloud, "Yeh, that's me. Welcome aboard".
There were two more toolboxes ashore and Avri helped them haul them in. He was confused by Danny's act. He didn't know what game they were playing and what his role was in it, so he offered them some coffee and busied himself in the galley.
"Avri, this is Amikam," Danny announced with an extravagant gesture and stepped out into the cockpit.
Avri nodded to Amikam, a tiny smile creased the corner of his mouth. He saw Danny walking to the stern pulling the gangway halyard and lifting the board a few inches above the deck. He then bent the line taut on a cleat. A clever ploy, Avri thought. Now we have a basic alarm system. Anyone stepping up the gangway would bang it against the concrete dock, giving us a bit of warning. He was somewhat surprised at this level of caution - although it made sense. It made him realize how professional Danny was, how caution had become second nature with him.
Somehow he had envisioned this reunion quite differently - a cheerful hug, a few loud greetings, some smart remarks about thinning hair and thickening waistlines and an endless night of stories and tales. In the morning, he figured, Danny would be on his way to somewhere, carrying the Russian antenna, adding another anecdote to their memoirs.
Danny returned and joined them in the cabin. The three of them sat around the table, coffee in hand. Danny, as usual, spoke first.
"Avri, Amikam is one of us. I keep no secrets from him, so let's hear your problem first. We'll socialize later, if we have time for it".
Avri had a strange feeling that Danny knew a bit more than he, Avri, assumed. It made him feel uneasy, but he ploughed on, describing the Galatea's encounter with the Russian navy. He was about to retrieve the antenna fr
om behind the water tanks but Danny stopped him.
"It won't do us much good to look at it," he said. "After all, you are the expert. Now, has anything unusual happened since the collision?"
So Avri told them about the repair job at Agathonissi bay, the encounter with the Turkish Coast Guard, his phone call to Ruth and meeting Jim Oakeley. Danny and Amikam listened intently until he was done.
"Your message about the jammed plug was very clear, and, I see how appropriate too." Danny smiled faintly and eased the tension a little. "Unfortunately, you are stuck with the antenna for a while longer. You see," he explained in answer to Avri's thrown look, "I have some good reasons to believe that we didn't enter Greece unnoticed, not this time. So it may be very unwise of us to attempt to transport the device. You, on the other hand, are a mere tourist as far as the Greeks are concerned. They know nothing about Russian submarines and the ELINT antennae."
This was much unexpected. Avri was surprised and he didn’t disguise it. Danny pushed on, not giving him the chance to protest. Avri felt uneasy, slightly exploited. He had a strong feeling that, rather than friendship, Danny was primarily here in a professional capacity.
"What I suggest, Avri, is this. You go on with your cruise, following your original plan. When you get back to Rhodes, that’s Galatea's home port, isn't it?" he glanced at Avri for approval, "call Olympic Airlines for your flight confirmation. Ask for Lydia. She is a reservation clerk. Give her your full name. Pack the antenna in with your regular luggage. Don't put it in the hand luggage, the one you carry with you on the plane. We will be waiting for you at Lod airport so you won't have any customs problems back home". It sounded all too easy, over simplified.
"Look Danny," he protested reasonably. "This is not my line. I have no ambitions to join the Mossad. I'm not good at these things. You better find another way. I'm sure the Mossad has more ingenious ways of smuggling things across borders than using an engineer on his summer vacation".
The Chase: One Courageous Skipper Battling The Perilous Evil Out To Destroy Him. (Sea Action & Adventure) Page 8
