Leon Uris (8 page)

The Galilee farmer nodded.

“From now on you three boys are working for me. Find replacements for your jobs at Caraolos. Joab, how many healthy children are there in that compound between the ages of ten and seventeen?”

“Oh ... probably around six or seven hundred.”

“Zev. Pick out three hundred of the strongest. Get them in the peak of physical condition.”

Zev nodded.

Ari arose. “It will be light in another half hour. I’ll need a taxi to start out again, Mr. Mandria. I think that man I had yesterday is a little tired.”

“I will drive you around, myself,” Mandria said.

“Good. We’ll leave just as soon as it turns light. Excuse me. I want to look over some papers in my room.”

He left as suddenly as he had entered. Everyone began talking at once.

“Then the escape is going to be made by three hundred children,” Zev said.

“It certainly appears so,” Mandria said. “He is such a strange man. He expects miracles ... he doesn’t tell anything.”

“On the contrary,” David said, “he does not believe in miracles. That is why he works so hard. It seems to me that there is more to this than Ari is telling us. I have a feeling that the escape of three hundred children is only part of what is in his mind.”

Joab Yarkoni smiled. “We all have known Ari Ben Canaan long enough not to try to second guess him. We also have known him long enough to know that he knows his business. We will learn, in due time, just what Ari is up to.”

The next day Mandria drove Ari around Cyprus in what seemed to be an aimless chase. They drove from the sweeping Eastern Bay past Salamis and Famagusta clear to Cape Greco. In Famagusta he walked along the old wall and studied the harbor area. Ari barely spoke to Mandria the entire day, except to ask a pertinent question now and then. It seemed to the Cypriot that the big Palestinian was the coldest human being he had ever met. He felt a certain hostility, but he could not help admiring Ari for his absolute concentration and seemingly superhuman stamina. He must, Mandria thought, be a tremendously dedicated man—but that was puzzling because Ben Canaan seemed to show no traces of human emotion.

From Cape Greco they drove along the Southern Bay on the underbelly of Cyprus and then into the high jagged mountains where the resorts prepared for the winter season of skiing and ice sports. If Ben Canaan had found anything of interest he certainly was not showing it. Mandria was exhausted when they arrived back in Famagusta after midnight, but there was another meeting held with Zev, David, and Joab. Then Ari went into another all-night session of study.

On the morning of the fourth day after Ari Ben Canaan had swum ashore onto Cyprus, Mandria received a call from his Larnaca office to the effect that a ship had just come in from Turkey that fitted his specifications and could be purchased. Mandria drove Ari to Caraolos to pick up David and Joab, and the four of them drove off for Larnaca.

Zev Gilboa was left behind, as he was already at work selecting the three hundred children and setting up special training courses for them.

Mandria was feeling quite proud of himself as they drove along the Famagusta-Larnaca road. At a halfway point Ari was suddenly attracted by some activity taking place in a large field off to the left of the road. He asked Mandria to stop the car and stepped outside for a look. There was feverish building going on in what appeared to be military barracks.

“The British are building new detention compounds,” David said; “they’ve reached the saturation point at Caraolos.”

“Why wasn’t I told about this?” Ari snapped.

“You didn’t ask,” Joab Yarkoni answered.

“The best we can figure,” David said, “is that they’ll begin transferring the overload from Caraolos in two or three weeks.”

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 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 here—five 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 this 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 Ari! 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
.”

M
ARK 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 breath-taking 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.”

“I never want us to become far away from each other again.”

“You know,” he said, “everyone at the Dome is certain we’re shacked up.”

“Good!” Kitty said. “I’ll put a sign on my door tonight in big red letters to read, ‘I love Mark Parker madly.’ ”

They sat for another hour, then reluctantly began working their way down from the summit to descend before it turned dark.

After Mark and Kitty had returned to the hotel, Mandria drove his car into Kyrenia to the harbor and stopped on the quay. He stepped outside with Ari and they walked to the docks. Ari looked across the harbor to the tower of the Virgin Castle which stood on the sea’s edge. They crossed over and climbed up inside the tower and from this vantage point could see the entire area perfectly. Ari studied in his usual silence.

The harbor had two sea walls. One ran out from the Virgin Castle and the tower where he now stood. Opposite him were the houses on the quay, and from that side the wall ran out to the sea so that the right and left arms of the sea wall formed a near circle, almost touching each other. There was a small break which was the entrance to the harbor. The inside of the harbor was tiny, not more than a few hundred yards in diameter. It was filled with small boats.

“Do you think we can get the
Aphrodite
inside the harbor here?” Ari asked.

“Getting it in won’t be a problem,” Mandria answered, “but turning it around and getting it out again will be.”

Ari was silent in thought as the two men walked back toward the car. His eye was on the little harbor. It was beginning to turn dark as they reached the car.

“You might as well drive on back to Famagusta by yourself. I have to see someone at the Dome Hotel,” Ari said, “and I don’t know how long it’s going to take. I’ll find my own way back to Famagusta.”

Mandria would have resented being dismissed like a taxi driver, but he was getting used to taking orders from Ben Canaan. He turned the ignition key and pressed the starter.

“Mandria. You have been a big help. Thanks.”

Mandria beamed as Ari walked away. These were the first words of kindness he had heard from Ben Canaan. He was surprised and touched.

The dining room of the Dome Hotel was filled with the strains of a Strauss waltz playing softly over the drone of British voices, the clink of glasses, and the whisper of the sea outside. Mark sipped his coffee, wiped his lips with his napkin, and then stared over Kitty’s shoulder intently at the figure who had entered the doorway. A tall man was whispering into the ear of the headwaiter, and the waiter pointed to Mark’s table. Mark’s eyes widened as he recognized Ari Ben Canaan.