“Leiberwitz said it was over, sneered at me.”
“I said I’d find a way.”
“Hurry back.”
“Sure.” He reached out awkwardly, touching her hand, and then appeared to change his mind, turning abruptly from the house. She stayed alone for several moments, then followed to the doorway. The lorries prevented her seeing which car he had gone to. It was only when it reversed out onto the road that she saw he was alone with Azziz and remembered the boy’s determination to escape.
“Stop!” she called, but Levy was too far away to hear. The car turned left, heading towards the coast road.
Azziz sat uncomfortably, his left wrist handcuffed to the securing clip of the car seat belt, his right hand clenched into a fist of frustration. There was a Browning automatic pistol in the luggage shelf in front of Levy instead of the earlier Magnum.
“By tonight it should all be over; you’ll be with your father,” said Levy.
“He’ll get you,” said Azziz. “He won’t be beaten by you.”
“Maybe he’ll try.” said Levy. But the Arab wouldn’t succeed; it was an extremely clever idea, to sail to Haifa. They had been fortunate, establishing links with Underberg so early in the protest movement.
Beside him Azziz was concentrating upon the road. He saw the sign to Pertuis and then, almost at once, the turning towards Aix-en-Provence and felt a stab of satisfaction at having guessed where they were during his conversation with Karen. “How much farther?” he said.
“Not far,” said Levy. He looked quickly to the boy, then away again. “You’re going to be left by yourself,” he said. “When we’ve got what we want, your father will be told where you are. You won’t be in any danger. I promise you he’ll be told.”
Levy skirted Aix, slowing at the signposts for the indication to Allauch that Underberg had identified at his briefing. He found it at last, turning to the left and driving with the directions Underberg had given him held against the wheel. The villa was to the right, just off the road, the high wall and metal gates exactly as the man had described. The padlock on the gate was well oiled and opened easily to the key Underberg had provided. Carefully Levy took the car through and then locked the gate behind him. The house was just visible, at the end of the curving drive.
“I could die, left here,” protested the boy.
“1 said your father would be told.”
“What happens if something goes wrong?”
“It won’t.”
The driveway curved smoothly up to the villa, which was shuttered and closed. Levy was still reluctant to leave Azziz by himself. He tried to suppress the doubt, realizing there was nothing he could do to alter arrangements now. He took the Browning from the front compartment and got out of the car, leaving the driver’s door open. He tossed two keys separately onto the seat and said, “The first unlocks the handcuffs-release yourself. The second is to the front door.”
Azziz twisted across the car, freeing himself. He got out of the vehicle massaging his wrist, the handcuff still dangling from it.
“Into the house,” said Levy, gesturing with the gun.
Azziz looked at him contemptuously and then moved ahead towards the villa. He fumbled at the door, appearing to have difficulty inserting the key, and then pushed into the house.
Levy followed too quickly and it was then that the boy made his move. As Levy came in, Azziz slammed the door back abruptly, so that the edge caught the Israeli’s gun hand. Levy felt a moment of agony in his wrist, then numbness. The gun skittered away across the darkened hallway. Azziz was already on the attack, the handcuff chain between his fingers, swinging the free armlet as a weapon. He caught Levy high on the forehead, a glancing, insubstantial blow but sufficient to bring tears to his eyes, blinding him. He lashed out, hitting Azziz in the shoulder. The Arab staggered, momentarily off-balanced, but recovered almost at once. He was fit, from the sports regime at the Ecole Gagner. He swept the handcuff towards Levy again but it was a feint. As Levy tried to dodge, Azziz swung with his right hand, all the anger and frustration of the past days put into the punch. It caught Levy high on the side of the head and he grunted from the stinging pain that reverberated through his skull. He crashed back against the door, causing it to slam shut. The action shut off any immediate chance of escape for Azziz but put the hallway in greater darkness.
Through his blurred vision Levy saw Azziz staring wildly around, trying to locate the gun. As the boy moved, Levy lashed out with his foot. It was a desperate but lucky kick, thumping in just below the boy’s knee. Azziz screamed with pain, stumbling, but kept going towards the gun. Levy could see it now, right against the stairway which arced up around the wall of the high-domed vestibule. Azziz reached it seconds ahead of Levy, his fingers actually grasping the butt before the Israeli dived on him, seizing his wrist. Azziz tried to use the dangling handcuff again as a weapon, but they were too close now, rolling and grappling over the tiled floor, clawing and gouging at each other. Azziz tried to bring his knee up into Levy’s groin, but missed, striking his thigh instead. Sensation was returning to Levy’s numbed arm. He thrust upwards, getting the heel of his hand beneath the boy’s chin, forcing his head upwards, at the same time clutching the wrist of the gun hand; he could feel Azziz’s teeth grating under the pressure. The boy clubbed wildly with the handcuff, pounding Levy on the neck and shoulders and twisting desperately to free his upthrust chin. When he did so he snapped down, trying to bite Levy’s fingers. The Israeli rolled away to avoid the teeth, and his grip momentarily loosened on Azziz’s wrist. Levy found himself trapped against the bottom step, his shoulder caught beneath its lip. The boy had secured his hold upon the gun and was bringing the barrel around towards him. Levy slashed out with a chopping motion that knocked the gun against the step. And with unthinking ferocity he used his foot again, stamping down on the tightly clenched hand. He heard the crunch as Azziz’s fingers splintered between his heel and the metal of the automatic. The boy screamed. The gun clattered back against the marble and Levy grabbed it, rolling farther away and then swivelling back to point it at the Arab.
“Fool!” he gasped. “You stupid bloody little fool.”
Azziz was crouched doubled over, trying not to cry, his crushed hand pressed against his stomach. “You’ve broken it,” he groaned. “You’ve broken my hand.”
“Let me see.”
Azziz stayed bent over.
“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.