Ari returned to the car and they drove on. Joab Yarkoni, who declined to try to second guess his friend, could nevertheless see that Ari was definitely intrigued by the new compounds. Joab could almost hear the wheels grinding in Ari’s brain.
The car entered the narrow bending streets of Larnaca and moved onto the waterfront road, lined with its neat two-storied white houses. They stopped before the Four Lanterns Tavern where the Turkish owner of the ship, a man named Armatau, awaited them. Ari insisted they forego the round
of drinks, the fencing for price, and general bartering that was so much a part of the normal business transactions. He wanted to see the ship immediately.
Armatau led them over the street to the long pier that jutted more than a half mile into the water. As they walked past a dozen or more trawlers, launches, and sailboats Armatau kept up a constant stream of talk over his shoulder. He assured them that the ship they were about to inspect was, indeed, a queen of the sea. They came to a halt near the end of the pier before an ancient wooden-hulled salvage tug that bore the faded name on her bow: Aphrodite.
“Isn’t she a beauty?” Armatau said, glowing. Then he held his breath apprehensively as four pairs of cold eyes surveyed the old scow from stem to stern. “Of course,” the Turk continued, “she is no racing cruiser.”
Ari’s practiced eye estimated the Aphrodite at a hundred and fifty feet in length and displacing around two hundred tons. By her general build and appearance she was in the neighborhood of forty-five years of age.
“Now just who was Aphrodite?” Joab Yarkoni asked.
“Aphrodite was the goddess of Love. She was washed up in the surf just a few miles from herefive thousand years ago,” David answered.
“Well, this old girl has sure had her change of life,” Joab said.
The Turk swallowed and tried to smile at the jibes. Ben Canaan spun around and faced him. “Armatau, I’m interested in one thing. It’s two hundred miles to Palestine. She’s got to make one run. Yes or no?”
Armatau threw up both arms. “On my mother’s honor,” he said, “I have made three hundred runs between Cyprus and Turkey. Mr. Mandria owns the shipping company. He knows.”
“It is true,” Mandria said. “She is old but reliable.”
“Mr. Armatau, take my two friends aboard and show them the engines.”
When the other three had gone below decks Mandria turned to Ari. “Armatau may be a Turk but he can be trusted.”
“What kind of speed can we get out of this thing?” Ari asked.
“Probably five knots-with a gale in her back. The Aphrodite is in no hurry.”
They went on deck and looked over the topside. She was half rotted away and long past the time it would have paid to repair her. Yet, despite the obvious qualifications there was something very sound about her. A solid feeling that she knew the tricks of the sea and had won many battles against it.
In a half hour David and Joab completed their inspection.
“This ship is an absolute abortion,” David said, “but I am positive she’ll make it.”
“Can we get three hundred aboard?” Ari asked. David rubbed his jaw. “Well … maybe, with a shoehorn.” Ari turned to Mandria. “We will have a lot of refitting to do. Of course it is necessary that we don’t attract any attention.”
Mandria smiled. He was in his glory now. “I have, as you may well know, very good connections. It is merely a matter of greasing the right palms and you can be sure that nothing can be seen, heard, or reported.”
“David. Send a radio message to Palestine tonight. Tell them we need a captain and a two-man crew.” “Is a crew of three going to be enough?” “I might as well tell you. You two boys and Zev are coming back to Palestine with me on this mud scow. We’ll fill out the crew. Joab! You’ve always had a tendency toward mature women. Well, you’ve got one now. You’re in charge of getting this thing refitted and stocked up.” At last he turned to Armatau, who was still bewildered by Ari’s rapid fire questions and commands. “O.K., Armatau, you can breathe easy, you’ve sold us this monstrosity-but not at your price. Let’s go into the Four Lanterns and lock this up.”
Ari jumped off the deck onto the pier and gave Mandria a hand. “David, you and Joab find your own way back to Famagusta. Mr. Mandria is driving me to Kyrenia after we finish our business.”
“Kyrenia?” Mandria said, startled. “Doesn’t that man ever get tired? Kyrenia is on the other side of the island,” he protested.
“Is something wrong with your automobile?” Ari asked. “No … no … we shall drive for Kyrenia.” Ari started off down the pier with Mandria and the Turk. “Ari!” David called, “what shall we name the old woman?” “You’re the poet,” Ari called back. “You name her.” Joab and David watched the three men disappear at the end of the pier. Suddenly they broke out in smiles and threw their arms about each other. “That son of a gun Aril He picks a fine way to tell us we are going home.”
“You know Ari. The scorner of sentiment and emotion,” David said.
They sighed happily, and for a moment both thought about Palestine. Then they looked about the Aphrodite. She certainly was a sorry old girl.
They walked around the deck examining the ancient hulk. “I’ve got a good name for her,” Joab said, “why don’t we call her the Bevin?”
“I’ve got a better name,” David Ben Ami said. “From now on she will be known as the Exodus.”
CHAPTER NINE: Mark pulled the rented car off the road and parked it. He had driven high up in the mountains directly over Kyrenia. An enormous jagged rock several hundred feet high rose to a peak before them. On the peak were the ruins of St. Hilarion Castle. It was a fairy castle, suggesting even in semicollapse the might and splendor of Gothic power.
Mark took Kitty’s hand and led her over the field toward the peak, and they climbed the battlements until they stood on the lower wall and looked into the castle yards.
They picked their way through royal apartments and great halls and stables and the monastery and fortifications. It was deathly silent, but the grounds seemed to be alive and breathing, with ghosts of the past whispering of another day filled with love and hate and war and intrigue.
For almost an hour Mark and Kitty climbed slowly up the peak toward the summit. Then at last they stood on the very top, perspiring and breathless, dazzled at the breathtaking panorama below them. Below was a sheer cliff that fell nearly three thousand feet to Kyrenia. On the horizon they saw the coast line of Turkey, and to the left and right the lush green forests and terraced vineyards and houses hanging on cliff edges. Below, the olive orchards’ leaves turned to a shimmering silver as zephyrs played through them.
Mark watched Kitty standing silhouetted against the sky as a cloud passed behind her. How very lovely she is, Mark thought. Kitty Fremont was the one woman in his world who was different. He had no desire to make love to her. Mark Parker honored little in the world. He wanted to honor Kitty. Moreover, she was the only woman he was absolutely comfortable with, for between them there was no pretense, no impression to make, no games to play.
They sat down on a huge boulder and continued to stare at the splendor all about them. The castle, the sea, the sky, the mountains.
“I think,” Mark said at last, “this is the most beautiful vista in the world.”
She nodded.
They had been wonderful days for both of them. Kitty seemed renewed since Mark’s arrival. She had enjoyed the wonderful therapy of confession.
“I am thinking something terrible,” Kitty said. “I am thinking of how glad I am that Colonel Howard Hillings was sent
off to Palestine and I have you all to myself. How long can you stay, Mark?”
“Few weeks. As long as you want me.”