“Freddie, Freddie, Freddie,” Sutherland said in dismay, fighting his pipe. “There is nothing we can do to frighten those people. They are graduates of concentration camps. You remember Bergen-Belsen, Freddie? Do you think we can do anything worse to them?”
Major Alistair was beginning to be sorry that he had asked Fred Caldwell to come in with him. He showed absolutely no latitude in his thinking. “Brigadier,” Alistair said quickly, “We are all soldiers here. None the less I’d be less than honest if I reported to you that everything was peaceful at Caraolos and that I thought we’d be wise to continue to just sit and wait for trouble.”
Sutherland rose, clasped his hands behind him, and began to pace the room thoughtfully. He puffed his pipe for several moments and tapped the stem against his teeth. “My mission here on Cyprus is to keep these camps quiet until our government decides what it intends to do with the Palestine mandate. We are not to risk anything that could bring adverse propaganda.”
Fred Caldwell was angry. He simply could not understand why Sutherland chose to sit and let the Jews drum up trouble. It was beyond him.
Allan Alistair understood but did not agree. He favored a quick counterblow to upset any Jewish plans in Caraolos. None the less, all he could do was present the information; it was up to Brigadier Sutherland to act upon it. Sutherland, in his estimation, was being unreasonably soft.
“Is there anything else?” the brigadier asked.
“Yes, one more problem now, sir.” Alistair thumbed through his papers. “I would like to know if the brigadier has studied the report on this American woman, Katherine Fremont, and the correspondent, Mark Parker?”
“What about them?”
“Well, sir, we are not certain if she is his mistress, but the fact that she has gone to work at Caraolos certainly coincides with his entry into Cyprus. From past experience we know that Parker has anti-British leanings.”
“Rubbish. He is an excellent reporter. He did a splendid job at the Nuremberg trials. We made a costly blunder once in Holland and the man found it and reported it. That was his job.’
“Are we correct in assuming, sir, that it is quite possible Mrs. Fremont’s going to work in Caraolos may have something to do with helping Parker do an expose of the camp?”
. “Major Alistair, I hope that if you are ever brought to trial for murder the jury will not hang you on such evidence as you have just placed before me.”
Little red patches dotted Alistair’s cheeks.
“This Fremont woman happens to be one of the best pediatric nurses in the Middle East. She was cited by the Greek government for doing an outstanding job in an orphanage in Salonika. That is also in your report. She and Mark Parker have been friends since childhood. That is also in your report. It is also in your report that the Jewish welfare people sought her out. Tell me, Major Alistair … you do read your reports, don’t you?”
“But… sir…”
“I haven’t finished. Let us assume that the very worst of your suspicions are well founded. Let us assume that Mrs. Fremont is gathering information for Mark Parker. Let us say that Mark Parker writes a series of articles about Caraolos. Gentlemen, this is the end of 1946 … the war has been over for a year and a half. People are generally sick and tired of, and rather unimpressed with, refugee stories. What will impress people is our throwing an American nurse and
newspaperman off Cyprus. Gentlemen, the meeting is concluded.”
Alistair gathered his papers together quickly. Fred Caldwell had been sitting in cold and fuming anger. He sprang to his feet. “I say we kill a few of these sheenies and show them just who is running this show!”
“Freddie!”
Caldwell turned at the door.
“If you are so anxious I can arrange a transfer to Palestine. The Jews there are armed and they are not behind barbed wire. They eat little men like you for breakfast.”
Caldwell and Alistair walked briskly down the hall. Freddie grumbled angrily under his breath. “Come into my office,” Alistair said. Freddie flopped into a chair and threw up his hands. Alistair snatched a letter opener from his desk and slapped it in his open palm and paced the room.
“Ask me,” Caldwell said, “they ought to give the old boy his knighthood and retire him.”
Alistair returned to his desk and bit his lip hesitatingly. “Freddie, I’ve been thinking for several weeks. Sutherland has proven utterly impossible. I am going to write a personal letter to General Tevor-Browne.”
Caldwell raised his eyebrows. “That’s a bit risky, old boy.”
“We must do something before this bloody island blows up on us. You are Sutherland’s aide. If you back me up on this I’ll guarantee there will be no repercussions.”
Caldwell had had his fill of Sutherland. Alistair was a relative of General Tevor-Browne through marriage. He nodded. “And you might add a good word for me with Tevor-Browne.”
A knock on the door brought in a corporal with a new batch of papers. He gave them to Alistair and left the office. Alistair thumbed through the sheets and sighed. “As if I didn’t have enough on my mind. There is a ring of organized thieves on the island. They are so damned clever we don’t even know what they are stealing.”
General Tevor-Browne received Major Alistair’s urgent and confidential report a few days later. His immediate reaction was to recall Alistair and Caldwell to London and to call them on the carpet for what amounted to mutiny; then he realized that Alistair would not have risked sending such a letter unless he was truly alarmed.
If Tevor-Browne was to follow the advice of Alistair and make a quick raid on Caraolos to upset any plans the Jews might have, he had to move quickly, for although he didn’t know it, Ari Ben Canaan had set the day, hour, and minute for taking the children out of Caraolos.
The British announced that the new facilities near Larnaca
were ready and a general evacuation of many of the overcrowded compounds at Caraolos would begin in a few days. The refugees would be moved by truck at the rate of three to five hundred per day over a ten-day period. Ari chose the sixth day as the day.
No tunnels, no crates, no garbage dumps. Ari was just going to drive up to Caraolos and take the children out in British trucks.
CHAPTER TWENTY
DELIVER IN PERSON TO KENNETH BRADBURY CHIEF, ANS LONDON BUREAU
Dear Brad:
This letter and enclosed report from Cyprus are being delivered to you by F. F. Whitman, a pilot with British Intercontinental Airways.
D-Day on Operation Gideon is five days off. Cable me at once that you have received the report. I have used my own discretion on this thing. I feel that it can turn into something very big.
On D-Day I will send a cable to you. If my cable is signed mark that means that everything went off according to schedule and it is O.K. to release the story. If it is signed Parker then hold off because that means something went wrong..
I promised F. F. Whitman $500 for safe delivery of this to you. Pay the man, will you?
Mark Parker
MARK PARKER DOME HOTEL KYRENIA, CYPRUS
AUNT DOROTHY ARRIVED SAFELY IN LONDON AND WE WERE ALL HAPPY TO SEE HER. LOOKING FORWARD TO HEARING FROM YOU.
BRAD
Mark’s story sat safely in the London ANS bureau, to be released on signal.
Kitty moved from the Dome Hotel to the King George in Famagusta when she went to work at Caraolos. Mark decided
to stay put at the Dome in order to be on the spot in Kyrenia when the Exodus came in.
He had driven to Famagusta twice to see her. Both times she was out at the camp. Mandria confirmed what Mark suspected. The young refugee girl went to work as Kitty’s aide. They were together all day long. Mark became worried. Kitty should have more sense than to try to bring her dead child to life through this girl. There seemed to him to be something unhealthy about it. In addition there was the business of her carrying forged papers out of Caraolos.