“Do we all sail?” asked Levy.
Suslev nodded. “It’s the obvious way to get back,” he said. “When you disembark in Haifa, I’ll be waiting.”
“It sounds remarkably simple,” said Kahane admiringly.
“It is,” said Suslev with a grin. “Like I said, it’s going to be a perfect operation.”
“How about the exchange, the boy and the woman?” said Levy, immediately aware of the concentrated attention upon himself.
“Nothing can go wrong here either,” said Suslev. Succinctly he explained how the return was to be made, in a way to protect all of them, conscious as he talked of the tension forming among the men.
“That entrusts everything to Levy,” complained Leiberwitz.
The Russian frowned. “Levy’s in command; that was the arrangement we made before we left Israel.”
“I don’t think he should be any longer,” said Leiberwitz, making an open challenge.
There was no place in any contingency plan for these people to argue among themselves and Suslev felt a spurt of uncertainty. “Why not?” he said.
“I don’t think he’s impartial any more,” said Leiberwitz.
“Nothing is going to endanger our mission,” said Levy. “We’ll get the weapons as we intended-and we’ll stage the protest as we intended.”
“What about the woman?” demanded Leiberwitz.
Suslev saw Levy flush, and began to understand.
“You’ve heard the arrangements,” said Levy tightly. “She’s returned, like the boy.”
“Why shouldn’t she be?” said Suslev to Leiberwitz.
The huge man sneered towards Levy and said, “I’m not sure he’ll be able to part with her.”
Suslev made a quick assessment and decided that the situation didn’t present a danger to his plans-as a distraction for them, it could even work to his advantage.
“Well?” He looked questioningly at Levy.
“It needn’t concern anyone in this room,” came the reply. “It’s not going to cause any problems.”
“Was it wise?” Suslev said, feeling he should be seen to take some position.
“I don’t have to account to you or anybody else,” said Levy, tight-lipped.
“What about your wife?” said Leiberwitz.
“That’s my business,” snapped Levy. The flush had gone; now the man was pale with anger.
The Russian looked round him trying to gauge the feeling of the other men. To Levy he said, “Do I have your promise this won’t end stupidly?”
“You don’t have to ask me that!”
“I think I do.”
Levy hesitated, then said, “Yes, my promise.”
To the rest of them Suslev said, “Shimeon has been involved in this since the beginning; it’s as much his action as it is mine. I’m not interested, morally, in what’s happened-only that nothing interferes with the success of the operation. I’m prepared to accept his assurance.”
Levy relaxed slightly.
Only Leiberwitz had spoken in open criticism, realized Suslev. Deciding to take the risk, he said, “Should there be a vote on it?”
“Yes,” said Leiberwitz at once.
“In favour of Shimeon remaining in command?” proposed Suslev. He raised his hand as he spoke. Kahane and Sela responded immediately. Katz hesitated and then he came out in favour. Seeing the direction of the feeling, Habel finally raised his hand in support.
“Against?” said Suslev.
Leiberwitz and Greening voted simultaneously.
“Shimeon remains in charge,” said Suslev.
“It’s a mistake,” insisted Leiberwitz.
“The matter is closed,” said Suslev.
But the tension between them increased when Suslev asked to be left alone with Levy for the handover briefing. The Russian produced a map to ensure that Levy knew the identity of the place, then passed over the keys and a photograph of the villa where the boy was to be left.
“It’s miles from anywhere” said the Russian. “No one will find him accidentally.”
“I don’t like the idea of abandoning him like this,” protested the Israeli.
“There’s a good reason.”
“I understand that,” said Levy. “And it’s good. I just don’t like the idea of leaving him.”
“If Azziz is sensible, it’ll only be for an hour or two,” assured the Russian He left the Sisteron villa thirty minutes later, the developed proof in his pocket. The internecine squabbling was a definite advantage, decided Suslev. Not that he was taking any chances. There was a freighter called the Marriv due in port on the twelfth. There wasn’t anyone in Haifa named Hanan Cohen, though. It didn’t matter; he was sure they wouldn’t think of double-checking. There was no reason for them to do so. They trusted him.
Edward Makimber determined against telling the rest of the SWAPO command of the difficulties involving the Bellicose. That had all been resolved, so the only effect would be to make them uneasy. And they were nervous enough as it was.
“From what I saw in Marseilles, I estimate it will take two days to unload,” he said. “It didn’t take that long to put the stuff aboard in France, but the port facilities were better there. 1 think we should truck them directly inland, to the dispersal points. If we allow three days for that, then we can commence on the fifteenth and launch the attack on the seventeenth.”
“Exactly on schedule,” said Arthur Kapuuo, the overall military commander.
“It’s going to be a spectacular success,” said Makimber confidently. He wished he could understand why the Russians had warned him about the interception in Dakar. He would have thought it more in their interest to let the consignment be turned back, to prove the unreliability of outside suppliers. It was the only uncertainty in an otherwise perfect operation. And Makimber didn’t like uncertainties.
Karen sat silently listening to Levy’s account of the argument in the downstairs room. When he finished she said, “I’m sorry for causing difficulties.”
He smiled, reaching out to touch her face. “It isn’t your fault,” he said. “Don’t be silly.”
“Is it a problem?”
“No,” said Levy at once. “Leiberwitz has always been jealous of my being in command. He thinks he should have been chosen in Israel.”
“Why wasn’t he?”
“He’s too impulsive. He doesn’t think things through.”
“Just like us,” said Karen.
31
The package was brought aboard on the evening mail run from the harbour master’s office, the two photographs protected by hard cardboard and carefully sealed. Grearson unwrapped them and laid them before his employer. The boy was holding the newspaper, staring straight at the camera; the woman was looking to one side, obviously distracted by something or someone. From the drawer of one of the large bureaux Azziz took out the first ransom picture, putting it next to the new ones for comparison. He leaned forward as if caught by something, groping into the drawer for a magnifying glass and adjusting it over the prints.
“He’s thinner,” said Azziz. “And they’ve beaten him.” He offered the lawyer the glass. “Look,” he said. “There’s bruising on his face.”
“It’s very faint,” said Grearson. “It might be some fault in the printing.”
“Beaten,” insisted Azziz. “The pigs have kept him short of food and beaten him.”
“But at least we know he’s alive,” said Grearson. He indicated the copy of Nice Matin. “And close.”
“Not close enough,” said Azziz. He brought the photographs together like a man collecting playing cards. “The navigating officer had made the calculations,” he said. “According to the supposed speed of the Bellicose, it should be just north of Casablanca. That’s about a day and a half from Algiers.”