The Levanter (30 page)

He started to speak but I stopped him.

“No, Captain, don’t say it. There is no need. The only orders you will ever get from me are those that the representative of a ship’s owner is properly entitled to give. I might make certain requests, but that is all they would be - requests that can be granted or refused at your discretion. That is understood.”

He took a swallow of beer. “What do they want, Mr. Howell?”

I took the chart from my
briefcase and spread it out before him.

“That’s what they want.”

He stared at it a long time. It was a relief to have him staring at something other than me.

I had expected an explosion of some sort, but none came. When at last he spoke it was to ask a question.

“Why six knots?”

I gave him what I thought was the safe answer. “I don’t know, Captain. I assume -
only
assume, because I have not been told - that there is to be a rendezvous with a vessel from the Israeli coast.”

“To take off the passengers?”

“I don’t know.”

“To take on others from the shore?”

I shrugged my lack of knowledge.

“Mr. Howell, if the intention were a rendezvous with a boat from shore, surely a position for the rendezvous would be indicated. There is nothing like that here. Instead, we are asked to steam at six knots for almost two hours.”

“Those are the orders as I was given them.”

He reached for his beer again. “Who are these passengers?”

“Palestinian
fedayeen.
That much is certain. The name of the leader was given as Yassin. He is said to be an important man.”

“Will these passengers be armed?”

“Probably.”

“Will they be carrying other arms - arms to be put ashore?”

“Nothing was said about that.”

There was a silence, then the brown eyes studied me again.

“You spoke of certain requests that you might make, Mr
.
Howell. What would they be?”

“First, that you make the course change indicated on the chart as far as the turn opposite Caesarea. Second, that, except for the slowdown to six knots, you ignore the rest of the orders and steer a course along the Israeli coast which will keep you not less than ten miles from it. No closer at any time. Third, that you do this without informing the passengers.”

“Making them miss this rendezvous you spoke of?”

“That’s right.”

“I thought you said these dogs had teeth.”

“With luck they’ll believe that the shore boat was at fault. Anyway I’ll worry about that later. Let’s just say that I don’t like being ordered about by thugs and having to impose on the loyalty of Captain Touzani.”

He thought and then nodded. “All right, Mr. Howell. I won’t refuse those requests. I can’t say that I’m happy about the third one though, not informing the passengers. If there’s a seaman among them and he knows what the original orders were, he’ll know soon enough when they aren’t carried out.”

“I don’t think any of them will be a seaman, but as a matter of interest what arms do you carry?”

“A few handguns, one rifle. The first mate has charge of the locker key.”

“Would you consider issuing the handguns to the officers or having them available on the bridge?”

“In an emergency I’d consider that, Mr. Howell. This is not another request you’re making, is it?”

“Only a suggestion, Captain.”

“I’ll bear it in mind.” He emptied his glass and then put it down carefully in the middle of the chart. “To speak plainly, Mr. Howell,” he said slowly, “I don’t think you’re telling me all you know about this business. I’m not offended. Don’t think that. I respected your father and I respect you. If you’re not being open with me now I’m prepared to believe that it’s because you think that the less I know the better off I’ll be.”

“Thank you, Captain.” It was the least I could say.

It was then that he really smiled, briefly though.

“But,” he went on, “if you don’t mind my saying so, Mr. Howell, when it comes to dealing with the kind of men you call thugs, it’s a mistake to let feelings get the better of you. I mean feelings like not wanting to be ordered about by people you despise. Naturally, a man has his pride and the Howells are a proud family, but if what you’re asking me to do is just to satisfy pride, I’d advise you, for your own sake, to think again.”

Arrogance was Ghaled’s word for it. Captain Touzani was politer - pride.

“Good advice, Captain,” I said. “I wish I could take it. But there’s more than pique or personal pride involved here.”

“I’m glad of that, Mr. Howell. Pride is a bad counsellor.” He fingered the scar by his mouth. “I speak from experience. Another beer?”

“Thank you. Perhaps we should talk about accommodation for these passengers, or rather the lack of it.”

“You will have my sleeping cabin.”

“That is good of you, but I don’t think I’ll be doing much sleeping. It’s these four Palestinians I’m concerned about. If possible I would like their leader, Yassin, to be given a temporary cabin of some sort amidships and have the other three forward or aft. It might become necessary to isolate them.”

“I
will try to think of something, Mr. Howell.”

“Good. Now, about embarkation and sailing. What will your orders be?”

We discussed those and one or two other matters before I said good-bye to Captain Touzani.

My call on Mr. Mourad was brief.

After the coffee had been served I handed him the passenger list for the
Amalia Howell.

When he saw my name on it he hawked twice into his bandanna, but made no other direct comment. Perhaps, for once, words failed him. With his
“Bon voyage,
Mr. Howell” when I left, he washed his hands of me.

On the evening of July the first I reported to Ghaled at the battery works. It was the last occasion on which I was to do so.

That was when I heard about the “mishap.”

Issa and Taleb were both with Ghaled when I arrived, and some sort of emergency meeting seemed to be in progress.

“But if we worked through the night, Comrade Salah,” Issa was saying, “we could make good part of the loss at least and begin delivery tomorrow. With Taleb to help me I can . . .”

“No!” Ghaled cut him short decisively. “You must learn this, Comrade Issa. When we plan we make provision for things going wrong, for misfortunes and mistakes. That is what planning is for. So that when a setback occurs we can accept and absorb it. It is when hasty improvisations are made that trouble starts. Unacceptable risks are taken and a small misfortune is allowed to become the cause of major disaster.”

“But Comrade Salah . . . ”

“No more argument. You can make your replacements for future use, but there will be no last-minute foolishness on this operation. That is all, comrades.”

They left. I got a weak smile from Taleb, but Issa ignored me. He looked very tired and close to tears.

Ghaled motioned me to sit down.

“A minor mishap,” he explained to me. “Two days ago, we have just heard, a hundred detonators were lost on the other side. Because he was the one who made them, poor Comrade Issa is naturally upset. What he forgets is that we made five hundred, and not merely three hundred, so that we could well afford to lose some. It is a pity, but I am not prepared to risk valuable couriers to send in replacements which would probably arrive too late for current use and are, in any case, not needed.”

“The need being governed by the number of flight bags available and the manpower to distribute them?”

I wasn’t really interested. If more detonators were
not
needed, that, as far as I was then concerned, seemed to be that. I could not know that what I had just heard in that room had been the sealing of my own fate.

“Exactly, Comrade Michael. You are always quick to take a point. Meanwhile I have good news for you. The schooner engine has been tested and is now in excellent running order.”

“I am glad, Comrade Salah. My own news is also favourable. Embarkation is still fixed for tomorrow at four in the afternoon. By then most of the cargo handling should have been completed. We sail early the following morning. There should be no difficulty after that in keeping to the timetable.’’

“The Tunisian is giving no trouble?”

“I
will be at his elbow to see that he does as he is told. The arrangements for embarkation are typed on this paper.” I handed it to him. “The agents are Mourad and Company. We assemble at four in their office to the Rue du Port. The ship is lying at the East Quay by number seven warehouse. The agents will take us to the ship and attend to the formalities.”

“That is satisfactory.”

“There remains the question of transport to Latakia, Comrade Salah, for you and your” - I fumbled slightly -”for you and the other comrades.”

“The front-fighters are already to our Latakia safe house waiting. I myself will join them there later tonight.”

“You have transport arranged?”

“Everything is now arranged. All you have to do now, Comrade Michael, is to report to me yourself tomorrow at this Mourad office.”

“Very well, Comrade Salah. If I may offer a suggestion?”

“Go on.”

“Neither Captain Touzani nor the Mourad office is aware of your identity.”

“What of it?”

“In that office and on board the ship we shall be among strangers. The use of a more discreet form of address might be advisable.”

“Discreet?”

“Mr. Yassin would not excite my curiosity. Comrade Salah might.”

“What are the ship’s crew? Arabs?”

“Mostly Greek Cypriots, but they speak a little coast Arabic, enough to understand.”

“Very well. From tomorrow we shall play at being civilians again. I will give the necessary orders.”

I stood up to go.

“One more task, Comrade Michael.”

“Certainly.”

“Bring a bottle of brandy with you. No, wait! Bring two bottles.”

“With pleasure, Comrade Salah.”

“We must be able to celebrate our victory.”

I won’t pretend that I did not sleep that night, but I had to take pills to make sure of doing so. If I had had any tranquillizers I would have taken those, too. I felt as if I were at school again with the threat of a beating hanging over me; no worse than that, true, but at my age it was a peculiar feeling to have.

In the morning I worked for a time with the clerk and then packed a two-night bag. That, I thought, would do me until I got to Alex -
if
I got to Alex. What might happen after that did not just then interest me.

I had borrowed a driver from the tile factory transport pool, who would return my car to the villa, and reached Mourad’s office in Latakia at three thirty. Mr. Mourad was out, and I found the task of dealing with the
Amalia’s
passengers had been delegated to his assistant. The old man clearly wanted nothing to do with us.

Ghaled arrived punctually at four. He came, sitting beside the driver, in an ancient Citröen van with the
Serinette
in its carrying case resting on his knees. He would let no one else touch it when he got out. He was wearing his white shirt and the tie.

The “front-fighters” were unimpressive. The senior of the trio, the one to whom Ghaled gave his orders, was, according to the passenger list, Aziz Faysal He wore a crumpled suit, brown with black stripes, and a blue
Koffiyeh.
The others, Hanna and Amgad, wore
Koffiyehs
too, but had no suits, only khaki work trousers and grubby singlets. All three were youngish men with something oddly similar about their faces and physique. I knew from the names that they couldn’t be brothers, and it took me a minute or two to identify the common factor. Consciously, or more probably unconsciously, Ghaled had chosen for his personal bodyguard younger men of his own physical type, earlier versions of himself.

In addition to the
Serinette
there were four pieces of baggage in the van. One of them, an old leather suitcase, belonged to Ghaled. Aziz carried that, along with a canvas hold-all of his own. I knew that there must be arms and ammunition as well as clothing in the bags, and wondered if the customs people had been squared.

They had. Mourad’s assistant took us in
the office panel truck to the ship, and we weren’t stopped once. There was no customs examination. We were not even asked to show our papers.

The
Amalla Howell
was built in a Dutch yard in the late thirties. We bought her in 1959 and since then she has had two complete refits. Still, she does look her age. When we got out of the track on the quayside and Ghaled saw her for the first time, he stopped short and put down the
Serinette.

“
That
is the ship?”

“Yes, Mr. Yassin.”

“But it is old and filthy. The paint is coming off. It cannot be seaworthy.”

“She is perfectly seaworthy, and the crew have been chipping off the old paint You can’t judge by outward appearances, Mr. Yassin.”

“You said that the
Amalia
looked like that model in your office.”

“She does.”

“Not to me.”

“Models don’t go to sea,” I said shortly and walked away. He followed after a moment.

Mourad’s assistant was waiting at the gangplank. I told him that he would not be needed any more and led the way on board.

They were still working cargo on the after well-deck but the first mate, Patsalides, had been warned of our arrival and came forward to receive us
,
or, rather, to greet me. He merely glanced at the rest.

“The Captain asks that you take your party to the saloon, Mr. Howell. The baggage can be left here for the time being.”

Although he could speak some Arabic he used Greek now. I translated to Ghaled.

“We will keep our baggage with us,” he announced firmly.

I could have done without that. Patsalides understood, of course, and his mouth tightened, but he glanced at me for guidance instead of responding as he would have liked to.

“That’s all right, Mr. Patsalides,” I said hastily. “I can see you’re busy. I know the way.”