Around two o’clock in the morning the conversation turned to the private little war the Israelis were having right in Naples over a ship named the Vesuvius, a four-thousand-ton Italian motor ship. The Vesuvius had been chartered by the Syrians to carry arms to Tyre. The cargo, purchased all over Europe, included ten thousand rifles, a million rounds of ammunition, a thousand machine guns, a thousand mortars, and a variety of other weapons.
A month ago the Vesuvius was ready to sail from Naples. The Israelis learned of the ship and cargo from a friendly Italian customs official, and the night before her scheduled departure Israeli skin divers swam along the waterfront, dived beneath the ship, and fixed magnetic mines to her sides. The mines blew three nice holes in the Vesuvius’s sides but failed to set off the explosives as they had hoped. The ship did not fully sink, but partly submerged at her berth. From that point on the Vesuvius became the center of an involved cat-and-mouse game.
Syrian Colonel Fawdzi, in charge of the multimillion dollar cargo, had the ship raised, dry-docked, and the holes repaired. He brought fifty Arab students from Rome and Paris to guard the area and replaced the twelve-man crew with Arabs. Only the captain and his first and second officers were Italians from the chartering company. The captain, however, could not have disliked the pompous Colonel Fawdzi more and secretly agreed to help the Israelis, provided they promised not to damage his ship again. Again they got word that the Vesuvius was ready to sail.
The Israelis could not allow the arms to reach Tyre-but how to stop the ship? They had promised both the Italian officials and the captain that they would not blow her up in the 528
harbor. Once on the high seas the Israeli Navy, consisting of three corvettes, could never find the Vesuvius.
Barak Ben Canaan was impressed by the importance of the situation and intrigued by the kind of knotty problem he had faced and solved many times before. Once again he conceived the inconceivable. By dawn he had worked out the details of another of his fantastic plots.
Two days later the Vesuvius moved out of the Naples harbor and, as it did, the Italian second officer was relieved of radio duty as an extra precaution by Fawdzi. Radio contact, however, was not necessary to the plotters. The Israelis knew the exact instant the Vesuvius left. The ship had barely cleared the harbor area when an Italian customs cutter raced for her with its bull horn blasting.
Fawdzi, who knew no Italian, rushed up to the steering room and demanded to know from the captain what it all meant.
The captain shrugged. “Who knows?”
“Hello, Vesuvius,” the loudspeaker boomed. “Stand by to be boarded!”
A Jacob’s ladder was dropped and twenty men wearing uniforms of the Italian customs service quickly boarded from the cutter.
“I demand to know the meaning of this!” Colonel Fawdzi screamed.
The leader of the boarding party, a giant of a man with a great red and white beard, who bore a remarkable resemblance to Barak Ben Canaan, stepped forward and spoke to Fawdzi in Arabic: “We have information that one of your crew set a time bomb in one of the holds,” he said.
“Impossible,” Fawdzi shouted.
“We happen-to know he was bought out by the Jews,” the leader asserted sincerely. “We must clear the harbor area before the ship explodes.”
Fawdzi became confused. He had no intention of being blown up with the Vesuvius, nor did he like the idea of going out of the harbor with this strange gang of Italian “customs officials” aboard. On the other hand, he could not show cowardice by demanding to be taken off the ship.
“You will line up your crew,” the man with the big beard said. “We will find the culprit and he will tell us where he has planted the bomb.”
The Arab crew was assembled and taken into the gallery for “questioning,” and while they were being questioned the Vesuvius passed outside of the three-mile limit and the customs’ cutter returned to Naples. The disguised Aliyah Bet agents then produced pistols and locked up Fawdzi and the
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Arab crew. Later that day, when they had made further distance, the crew was given a compass, a map, and a rowboat and set adrift. Colonel Fawdzi was kept aboard in his cabin. The Israelis took over as crew of the ship as it raced for open sea.
Thirty-six hours later, the Vesuvius was met by two corvettes flying skull and crossbones. The corvettes tied up on either side of the motor ship, removed the cargo and crew, and sped off after smashing the radio. The Vesuvius then returned to Naples.
Colonel Fawdzi foamed with rage and demanded a full investigation of the high-seas piracy. The Italian customs service, accused by the Arabs of lending the Jews a cutter and uniforms, said it knew nothing about the matter. All cutter movement was clearly logged for anyone to see. The Arab crew followed Arab practice of never admitting failure and twelve different stories came from the twelve men. Other officials of the Italian government assumed that if there was any piracy, they certainly were not aware of it, for the captain of the ship and the first and second officers swore that the Arab crew deserted because they found out the hold held explosives.
Soon a corps of lawyers had the affair so twisted up with contradictory stories that it was impossible to unscramble the facts. The Israelis in Naples added the final touch of confusion by planting the story that it was actually a Jewish ship stolen by the Arabs and that Fawdzi was a Jewish spy.
Colonel Fawdzi took the only course open. He faked an elaborate suicide and disappeared, never to be heard of again -apparently to the regret of nobody.
Two days after the transfer of arms, the corvettes, now flying the Star of David, brought Barak home in a triumphant entry to Israel.
CHAPTER ELEVEN: Ari Ben Canaan received orders to report to Tel Aviv. Headquarters was located in a pension in Ramat Gan. Ari was surprised at the sight of it. The Star of David flew atop the building and uniformed guards of the new army of Israel were everywhere. Identification passes were demanded by the security police before entry was permitted. Outside the headquarters were a hundred jeeps and motorcycles, and there was a military bustle and briskness all about.
Inside, the big switchboard rang constantly. Ari was led through the operations room where huge blown-up maps pinpointed the battle lines and the message center where a battery of radios communicated with the front lines and the 530
settlements. As Ari looked around him he’reflected that it was a far cry from the mobile one-desk headquarters of the Haganah.
Avidan, the former head of the Haganah, had given up official command to the young leaders in their mid-twenties and early thirties who had had experience as British officers or were seasoned, as Ari was, in long years of Arab fighting. Avidan now acted in the capacity of liaison between the Army and the provisional government, and although he held no official post he was still a power in general policy as “commander emeritus.”
He greeted Ari warmly. It was difficult for Ari to tell if Avidan was tired or had just awakened, or if he was morose or happy, for Avidan always wore the same solemn expression. As they went into his office he ordered all telephone calls or other interruptions withheld.
“This is quite a fancy store you have here,” Ari said.
“Not much like the old days,” Avidan agreed. “It is hard for me to get over it myself. I drive up here many mornings thoroughly expecting the British to sweep down and throw us all into Acre jail.”
“None of us expected you to retire yourself.”
“This army and running a big war is a young man’s job. Let me argue policy in my old age.”
“How goes the war?” Ari asked.
“Jerusalem … Latrun. There is our problem. We won’t be able to hold out too much longer inside the Old City. God knows how long the New City can stand it if we don’t get through to them soon. Anyhow … you’ve certainly done a job for us in your district.”