Leon Uris (17 page)

Her head began to throb and she lay back but she could not close her eyes. She studied Bill’s grizzled face for many moments.

“Bill ... why are you here?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re an American. It’s different with Jews in America.”

“Everybody is trying to make something noble out of me.” He patted his pockets and pulled out some cigars. They were ruined by the water. “The Aliyah Bet came around and saw me. They said they needed sailors. I’m a sailor ... been one all my life. Worked my way up from cabin boy to first mate. That’s all there is to it. I get paid for this.”

“Bill ...”

“Yeah ...”

“I don’t believe you.”

Bill Fry didn’t seem to be convincing himself either. He stood up. “It’s hard to explain, Karen. I love America. I wouldn’t trade what I’ve got over there for fifty Palestines.”

Karen propped up on an elbow. Bill began pacing the tent and groping to connect his thoughts. “We’re Americans but we’re a different kind of Americans. Maybe we make ourselves different ... maybe other people make me different ... I’m not smart enough to figure those things out. All my life I’ve heard I’m supposed to be a coward because I’m a Jew. Let me tell you, kid. Every time the Palmach blows up a British depot or knocks the hell out of some Arabs he’s winning respect for me. He’s making a liar out of everyone who tells me Jews are yellow. These guys over here are fighting my battle for respect ... understand that?”

“I think so.”

“Well, damned if I understand it.”

He sat beside Karen and examined the lump on her head. “That don’t look too bad. I told those Limey bastards to take you to a hospital.”

“I’ll be all right,” she said.

Later that night the Palmach staged a raid on the Atlit camp and another two hundred of the refugees escaped through a gaping hole blown in the barbed wire. Karen and Bill Fry were not among the escapees.

When the full report of the
Star of David
episode reached Whitehall the British realized they had to change their immigration policy. To date, the illegal runners had brought in loads of a few hundred. This ship had carried nearly two thousand, and the greater part of them had escaped in the beaching at Caesarea and the subsequent raid on Atlit. The British were faced with the fact that the French government openly supported the Jews and that one out of every six Jews in Palestine had entered illegally.

And so the British were caught in a tangle. They were as far away from a final answer on the Palestine problem as they ever had been, and so it was decided that the Jews must be turned away from Palestine and not kept at Atlit. The camps on Cyprus were established as a direct result of the pressure of illegal immigration and specifically of the success of the
Star of David
expedition.

Karen Hansen Clement was sent to the island of Cyprus on a British prison ship and interned in the Caraolos camp. But even as the
Karpathos/ Star of David
lay wedged in the rocks off the shore of Caesarea and the surf pounded her to bits, the Mossad Aliyah Bet speeded up their operations, planning for more ships and larger numbers of refugees to follow in the wake.

For six more months the young girl stayed in the swirling dust of Caraolos and worked among her children. Her time in the succession of DP and internment camps had done nothing to harden or embitter her. She lived only for the moment when she could once again see Palestine ... Eretz Israel ... The magic words became an obsession for her too.

Many hours had passed when Karen finished telling her story to Kitty Fremont. During the telling a rapport had been established between them. Each detected the loneliness and the need for companionship of the other.

“Have you heard anything further about your father?” Kitty asked.

“No. Not since La Ciotat, and that was very long ago.”

Kitty looked at her watch. “Goodness ... it’s past midnight.”

“I didn’t notice the time,” Karen said.

“Neither did I. Good night, child.”

“Good night, Kitty. Will I see you again?”

“Perhaps ... I don’t know.”

Kitty stepped outside and walked away from the building. The thousands of tents were still now. A searchlight from the watchtower swept over the waves of canvas. Dust kicked up and blew around her feet and she tightened her coat. The tall figure of Ari Ben Canaan walked toward her and stopped. He handed her a cigarette, and they walked silently over the bridge out of the children’s compound. Kitty stopped a moment and looked back, then continued on through the old people’s area to the main gate.

“I will work for you on one condition,” Kitty said, “that that girl does not go on the escape. She stays in this camp with me.”

“Agreed.”

Kitty turned and walked toward the sentry house quickly.

T
HE PLAN WHICH
D
AVID
had romantically called Operation Gideon moved into action. At Caraolos a large batch of bills of lading and British army identification cards were forged by Dov Landau and given to Kitty Fremont. She carried them from the camp and turned them over to Ari Ben Canaan.

The delivery of the bills of lading enabled Ben Canaan to complete the first phase of his scheme. During his survey of Cyprus he had become familiar with a large British supply depot on the Famagusta road near Caraolos. It was a fenced-in area containing several acres of trucks and other rolling stock and a dozen enormous warehouses. During the war the depot had been a major supply base for the Allies in the Middle East. Now some of the stock was still being shipped to British forces in that part of the world. Other stock had been declared surplus and had been bought up by private consignees. There was always some measure of movement from the depot to the Famagusta harbor.

Mandria’s Cyprus-Mediterranean Shipping Company was the agent for the British Army on Cyprus. In that capacity Mandria had a stock list and numbers of all the materials stored at the depot. He also had a very adequate supply of bills of lading.

On Thursday at 8:00
A.M
., Ari Ben Canaan and thirteen Palmachniks, all dressed in British uniforms and carrying British papers, pulled to a halt before the main gate of the depot in a British truck. Zev Gilboa, Joab Yarkoni, and David Ben Ami were in the “working party.”

Ari, who was carrying papers as “Captain Caleb Moore,” presented a list of requisitions to the depot commander. Ari’s “working party” had been detailed to gather the listed material and take it to the Famagusta docks for shipment aboard the SS
Achan
.

The forgeries were so perfect that the depot commander did not for a moment remember that Caleb was a spy for Moses in the Bible and that the
Achan
, a nonexistent ship, carried the same name as the man who stole the treasury at Jericho.

The first item the bills of lading called for was twelve trucks and two jeeps. They were rolled out of their parking area and checked out to “Captain Caleb Moore.” The “working party” then moved from warehouse to warehouse, loading their twelve new trucks with everything that would be needed for the
Aphrodite/ Exodus
to make her trip to Palestine with three hundred escapee children.

Joab Yarkoni, who was in charge of fitting the ship, had drawn up a list of things which included a late-model radio receiver and transmitter, canned foods, medical supplies, flashlights, small arms, water cans, blankets, air-conditioning units, a loud-speaker system, and a hundred other items. Joab was very sad because Ari had insisted he shave off his big black mustache. Zev’s mustache met the same fate, for Ari feared this would identify them as Palestinians.

In addition to supplies for the
Exodus
, David took a few tons of the things most urgently needed in Caraolos.

Zev Gilboa nearly went to pieces when he saw the British arsenal. In all his years in the Palmach they had always needed arms, and the sight of so many lovely machine guns and mortars and carbines was almost more than he could stand.

The “working party” moved with clocklike precision. Ari knew from Mandria’s lists where everything was located. Joab Yarkoni rounded out the afternoon’s work by taking a few cases of scotch and a few of brandy and a few of gin and a few of wine—for medicinal purposes.

Twelve brand-new trucks crammed with supplies supposedly headed for the Famagusta harbor, where both supplies and trucks would be put aboard the SS
Achan
. Ari thanked the British commander for his excellent co-operation, and the “working party” left six hours after it had entered.

The Palmachniks were flushed with the ease of their initial victory, but Ari did not give them time to rest or be too proud of themselves. This was but a beginning.

The next stop of Operation Gideon was to find a base for the trucks and material they had stolen. Ari had the answer. He had located an abandoned British camp on the outskirts of Famagusta. It had apparently been used once by a small service unit. The fence was still up, two wooden office shacks and the outhouses remained. Electric wiring from the main line was still in.

During the night and for the next two nights all the Palmachniks from Caraolos came to this camp and labored feverishly pitching tents, cleaning the area, and generally making it appear to be once again in service.

The twelve trucks and two jeeps were painted the khaki color of the British Army. On the doors of each vehicle Joab Yarkoni drew an insignia which could be mistaken for anyone of a thousand army insignias and the lettering: 23rd Transportation Company HMJFC.

The “company” office had enough actual and forged British papers and orders strewn about to give it an authentic look.

In four days the little camp with the twelve trucks looked quite natural and unimposing. They had taken enough British uniforms from the depot to dress the Palmachniks adequately as soldiers and enough of everything else to stock the camp completely.

As a finishing touch Joab Yarkoni put a sign over the entrance gate which read: 23rd Transportation Company HMJFC. Everyone sighed with relief as the sign raising officially dedicated the encampment.

Zev looked at the sign and scratched his head. “What does HMJFC stand for?”

“His Majesty’s Jewish Forces on Cyprus ... what else?” Joab answered.

The pattern of Operation Gideon was set. Ari Ben Canaan had had the utter audacity to form a fake unit of the British Army. Wearing a British uniform, he had established Mossad Aliyah Bet headquarters in broad daylight on the Famagusta road, and he was going to execute the final phases of his plan using British equipment. It was a dangerous game, yet he held to the simple theory that acting in a natural manner was the best cover an underground agent had.

The next phase of Operation Gideon became fact when three Americans from a merchant freighter landed in Famagusta and jumped ship. They were Mossad Aliyah Bet men who had received training during the war in the United States Navy. From another ship came two exiles of Franco Spain. Often former Spanish Loyalists worked Aliyah Bet ships. Now the
Exodus
had a crew, the balance of which would be filled out by Ari, David, Joab, and Zev.

Hank Schlosberg, the American skipper, and Joab set to the task of refitting the
Exodus
into an immigrant runner. Larnaca was a small port and Mandria certainly knew the right way to produce silence over any unusual activity around the
Aphrodite
at the end of the pier.

First the cabins, holds, and deck were stripped clean of cabinets, bins, shelves, furnishings, and trimmings. The ship was turned into a shell from stem to stern.

Two wooden shacks were constructed on deck to serve as toilets: one for the boys and one for the girls. The crew’s mess hall was converted into a hospital room. There would be no formal mess hall or galley. All food would be eaten from cans. The galley was converted into an arsenal and storeroom. Crew’s quarters were taken out. The crew would sleep on the small bridge. The loud-speaker system was hooked up. The ancient engine was overhauled thoroughly. An emergency mast and sail were constructed in case of engine failure.

There were Orthodox children among the three hundred, and this posed a particular problem. Yarkoni had to seek out the head of the Jewish community on Cyprus and have “kosher” food especially processed and canned for them according to dietary law.

Next an exact cubic measurement of the hold was taken, as well as a surface measurement of deck space. Shelves seventeen inches apart were built in the hold. These would serve as bunks and allow each child room to sleep on his stomach or back but not the luxury of rolling over. They computed an average height for the children and allotted four feet, eleven inches per child and marked it off down the shelves. The balance of the deck space in the hold and topside was also marked off, allowing a child just enough room to move an inch or two in each direction while asleep.

The lifeboats were repaired. Large holes were cut into the sides of the ship and wind pipes constructed so that air would be driven into the hold by electric fans. The air-conditioning units taken from the British depot were also fitted in. Air had to be circulated at all times in the packed quarters to prevent mass vomiting.

The work moved along smoothly. The sight of a half dozen men working on the old salvage tub appeared quite natural in the Larnaca harbor.

Loading supplies would pose another problem. Ari did not want to risk sending the khaki-colored trucks onto the dock, as he felt they were certain to attract attention. When the majority of the refitting had been completed the
Exodus
stole out of Larnaca each night to a rendezvous cove a few miles away in the Southern Bay. Here trucks from the 23rd Transportation Company HMJFC would come filled with supplies taken from the British depot. A constant stream of rubber boats moved from shore to ship all night until the
Exodus
was filled, inch by inch.

At the children’s compound at Caraolos, Zev Gilboa carried out his part of Operation Gideon. He carefully screened three hundred of the strongest boys and girls and took them in shifts to the playground, where they were toughened up by exercises and taught how to fight with knives and sticks, how to use small arms and to throw grenades. Lookouts were posted all over the playground, and at sight of a British sentry a signal would change the games of war into games of peace. In three seconds the children could stop practicing gang fighting and start singing school songs. Groups not working out on the playground would be in the classroom learning Palestinian landmarks and the answers to mock questionings of “British Intelligence.”