Deaken's War Page 5

  “That was the arrangement.”

  “By then we’ll have discovered what’s happened in Marseilles. You’ll stay aboard tonight.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Thank you,” said Deaken, who hadn’t considered what he was going to do. “But I haven’t got anything,” he said.

  “That’s not a problem,” said Azziz.

  Deaken was suddenly overwhelmed with fatigue. He looked at his watch and saw it was 3 A.M. But he didn’t think he’d sleep.

  “It was an intelligent exposition,” said Azziz. He had stayed with coffee but Grearson sat with a brandy balloon cupped before him in both hands.

  “Unless he’s involved, in which case it would have been simple,” said the lawyer.

  “Then he’s directed us to his accomplices, which doesn’t make sense,” said the Arab. “I believe him. I think his wife has been taken. Just like Tewfik.”

  “I would have expected a cash demand,” said the lawyer, sipping from his glass.

  Azziz nodded. “It’s definitely a complication.”

  “A clever one,” said Grearson, fingering his spectacles. “If we default on the shipment, the word will get around very quickly. We exist by reputation. And reliability.”

  “I know.” said the Arab. His head was forward on his chest, a familiar attitude of concentration. It was a long time before he spoke. “We can’t afford to lose that reputation,” he said. There was another pause. “Or Tewfik.” His head came up. “I don’t want an army,” he said positively. “I want a small, compact group. But they’ve got to be the best. I don’t want a bunch of has-beens, fat on beer and boasting about the black women they raped in the Congo.”

  “Green Beret or British SAS?”

  “Just the best.”

  “Williams was a Green Beret,” reminded Grearson.

  “He was a mistake,” said the Arab. “I don’t want any more.”

  “There won’t be,” promised Grearson, whose life until now had been a comparatively easy one of creating contracts with people who were always the willing buyers and who enjoyed the comforts with which Azziz surrounded himself. He didn’t want anything to change.

  “We’ll use this man Deaken,” said Azziz. “And if necessary his wife—they’re our advantage; they’re expendable.”

  One deck above where Azziz sat, but farther to the stern, Deaken stared around a suite only slightly smaller than the apartment he occupied in Geneva, reaching out to touch first the smooth wood of the bulkhead and then letting his hand drop to the silk covering of the bed. He supposed the word was bunk, but it wasn’t appropriate: this was a bed, big enough for two. The thought hit him like a blow.

  “Oh, my darling,” he said aloud. “Poor darling. I’ll get you back. I promise I’ll get you back.”

  Tewfik Azziz waited a long time, twice almost drifting off to sleep, only to jerk awake, irritated at himself for the weakness it showed. He was extremely careful, crouching for a long time near the door, tensed for sounds, waiting for the conversation and then the footsteps to cease, for the house to sleep. Even then he waited for the stir of guards placed outside. There was no movement to indicate the precaution.

  He had rehearsed the walk, like everything else, so he crossed silently to the window, the wom five franc piece hot where he had held it for so long in his hand. He purposely kept the light off, so it was difficult locating by touch alone the screws which bolted the bars in place. The round edge of the coin fitted only in the centre and there was little leverage on the small disc. Azziz thrust hard down upon it to get the maximum purchase, hands quivering with the effort of making the turn. The coin twisted free, twice, sharp enough to have cut him if he hadn’t had the forethought to protect his hands with a handkerchief; his captors might have become curious about such finger cuts. Azziz bit back the groan at the effort, feeling the blood pump through his head. When the screw gave, it was an abrupt, jerking movement which threw the coin wide again. He groped out, feeling for the screw, rubbing his thumb across the head to ensure he hadn’t milled the cross-cut sufficiently for them to detect it if they made a check while he wasn’t in the room. Then he fitted the coin in yet again, having to put a thumb and forefinger either side to keep the coin in place, and slowly succeeded in unscrewing it completely. Azziz stopped, panting, his clothes glued to him with sweat. For several moments he hunched in the darkness, with the screw held tightly in the palm of his hand like the prize it was. Then, carefully, he reinserted it and tightened it, so it would be undetectable. By the time he became aware of the greyness of dawn edging in through the shutters, Azziz had succeeded in releasing six of the eight screws holding the inner bar into position across one of the windows. When he lay down, he realized his fingers were so numb he could hardly feel them.

  7

  Karen slept badly, several times waking abruptly, knowing immediately where she was, and tensed for the sound or presence that had startled her. On each occasion there was nothing. She got up finally, before it was properly light, taking a long time to wash and dress. She had been careful to wind her watch, wanting always to be aware of the time. It was seven when she heard movement about the house. It was far away, downstairs in the kitchen or the big room, she supposed. She wished they would come for her. Karen moved impatiently but aimlessly around the bedroom, consciously avoiding that part where the portable lavatory stood. It embarrassed her, so much so that she didn’t look at it, which was a stupid reaction but one she couldn’t stop.

  At the window she reached out, pulling at the bars without any purpose. It wasn’t with any purpose, she realized, shocked. Until now, this very moment, the idea of escape hadn’t occurred to her. She had been too frightened, too confused, to think of it after being tricked from the apartment. And really terrified, during the ride into France, when she realized what had happened and believed that the big man who kept pressing himself against her really would harm her if she didn’t do everything she was told. But then she had accepted it. Everything had taken on an air of unreality, like some grown-up game she had been tricked into joining and didn’t want to admit she was afraid of playing. She didn’t want to play: she wanted to get back to Richard. Back to sanity. Back to worrying about money and why she wasn’t pregnant at thirty. She pulled at the bar, harder this time; it didn’t move. She would have to think of something, make a plan. Not sink into apathetic acceptance and wait until someone else did something for her. Wasn’t that the attitude that irritated her so much about Richard, the change from the fervent, ever moving, change-the-world man into an acquiescent halfoptimist. She felt suddenly ashamed. That had been a secret thought, until now, hidden always in a corner of her mind, consciously unformed because to form it would make it into a criticism of the man she loved. And she did love him, as much as she ever had. She knew how he felt, because they had talked it through. Richard hadn’t sacrificed any ideals. He had just stopped being manipulated, just as the movements themselves were so often manipulated by the very people or authorities they sought to correct or improve. He was right then. Honest. Why did she argue so much with a man who had done the right and honest thing?

  Karen heard them coming and hurried from the window, not wanting them to find her there. It was Levy who came into the room.

  “You’re ready?” The man seemed surprised.

  “I didn’t sleep much.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  There was even an unrealitv to the conversation. Karen thought. “I made a list,” she said. It had occupied an hour the previous night, before she had attempted to sleep.

  Levy took it without reading it, putting it immediately into his pocket. “Shall we go down?”

  Tewfik Azziz was already in the large downstairs room when Karen entered. He stood politely, and she smiled. The Arab waited until she was seated before sitting himself. He passed her a wicker basket of croissants and bread. Richard got them yesterday, she thought; she’d behaved like a stupid child, reducing them to crumbs in her petulance. She shook her head,
helping herself instead to coffee.

  “What happens now?” Azziz demanded.

  “We should hear something today,” said Levy.

  “And we’ll be freed?” asked Karen.

  “That depends,” said Levy.

  “Don’t you know?” said Azziz sarcastically.

  “We’ll know soon enough,” said Levy.

  Karen looked around the room. Two men, who only spoke to Levy in what she presumed to be Hebrew, lounged casually at the door leading out into the garden, and she could see three more moving around in the kitchen. They were making no effort to conceal their identities.

  “Mrs Deaken will exercise first,” announced Levy.

  The men who had brought her from Switzerland emerged from the kitchen. Levy crossed to them and she got the impression that they were arguing. She was aware of Azziz close to her.

  “You must run if you get the opportunity,” the boy whispered softly. “Forget what he said about one being a hostage for the other.”

  She had, Karen realized guiltily. “What about you?”

  “They won’t hurt me.”

  “They might.”

  “Run,” repeated Azziz urgently as Levy turned.

  “May I walk with you?” he said.

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “Of course.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  Karen stopped directly outside the door, putting her head back so that she could feel the sun fully on her face, breathing deeply; only outside the farmhouse was she fully aware of how stale her bedroom had been. There was a man positioned on the far side of the garden, at the gate through which they had entered. They moved off to the left where the garden was most extensive. It was L-shaped, with a low barbered hedge down the middle, like a dividing line. Beyond the bordering fence she could see trees and patchwork fields. On the skyline a group of men were gathering crops around a slowly moving machine. Everything looked peaceful.

  “What were you and Azziz talking about?” said Levy.

  “He told me not to be afraid.”

  Levy looked at her but said nothing. He was only slightly taller than she was, Karen realized. He wore jeans and a short-sleeved shirt; his arms were matted with hair.

  “You haven’t got a gun,” she said.

  “No.”

  “What would you do if I ran?”

  “Catch you.”

  “What if you didn’t?”

  “I told you yesterday that you’re hostages for one another.”

  “I don’t think you’d hurt him,” she challenged.

  “Don’t put it to the test.”

  She saw his hands were gripped tightly at his sides, as if he was angry or tense. “Will you speak to Richard?”

  “Why?”

  “I want him to know I’m all right. That I love him.”

  “No,” he said. “Not me. But he’ll be told you’re all right.”

  “Would you hurt me, if Azziz got away?”

  “He isn’t going to.”

  “That isn’t an answer.”

  “You’d better hope it is.”

  They came to a high hedge, as neatly clipped as the dividing line behind them. The lane that led into the village would be on the other side, Karen decided. She tried to remember how far away the village was. From inside the car it had seemed quite close. She strained, listening for any sound that might be coming from it. She heard cooing and looked back towards the farmhouse.

  There was a dovecote on the roof of one of the outbuildings. Pure white birds were preening and parading along the walkway.

  “The books and games I promised will be here this afternoon,” said Levy.

  “I don’t feel like reading. Or playing games.”

  “It’ll be a way of passing the time.”

  “Don’t be so bloody patronizing!” The helpless anger burst from her. “Who the fuck do you think you are! What gives you the right to treat me like this … to treat anyone like this? To tell me when to sleep and when to wake and when to eat and when I can breathe fresh air instead of air stinking of my own shit!”

  Levy winced at the tirade and at her crudity. “I don’t have to justify myself to you.”

  “You supercilious sod!” She lashed out, surprising herself as well as him. Her palm slapped across the side of his face, so hard that he stumbled sideways. It hurt her hand, the physical pain making her realize what she had done. She stepped backwards, slack-armed, not trying to protect herself as he swung in retaliation. Levy pulled back at the last moment, but his slap still made her ears ring.

  “You stupid bitch!”

  “Bastard!”

  They stood confronting each other, like bantam cocks waiting to be released for the fight. Karen saw his hand move, a sideways gesture, and flinched, then recognized he was waving away the man who had been posted at the gate and who had started moving towards them. She tried to prevent it but the tears began to flow down her cheeks.

  “Any of the others would have shot you.”

  “Does that make you any different?”

  “Of course it does.”

  “Shit!” she said. “You’re all the same. Thugs.”

  “We believe in what we’re doing.”

  “Fucking thugs.”

  “What do you call Azziz?”

  “What’s it to do with me?”

  “Nothing,” said Levy. “We’re using you. And the boy. Neither of you will suffer …” He hesitated, putting his hand to his still-red face. “… providing you behave sensibly.” He made a shooing motion for her to move ahead of him. “Back to the house.”

  She didn’t move at once, wanting to give the impression of some independence, however futile. He seemed to understand her need, holding back from any further movement until she was ready. She turned eventually, walking shoulders squared in front of him. She wasn’t apathetic or acquiescent. She felt proud.

  It was clear that the gate guard had relayed an account of what happened in advance of their return. There were five men, grouped inside the room, regarding her blank-faced as she re-entered the farmhouse.

  When Levy spoke it was in what she had earlier presumed to be Hebrew. The exchanges were sharp, staccato almost. The Israeli looked beyond her, to Azziz.

  “You’re a silly boy,” said Levy.

  “I’m not a boy.”

  “You blistered your fingers,” said the Israeli. “It was obvious at breakfast this morning.”

  Karen looked towards Azziz’s hands but he pulled them instinctively behind his back.

  “We’ve found the screws loosened,” continued Levy. “We’ve put more in—heavier gauge.”

  Karen was conscious of Azziz stiffening. It was anger, she decided.

  “Teach this little bastard a lesson,” said Leiberwitz.

  Levy walked to the Arab, holding his hand out. “Give it to me,” he said.

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I want whatever it was you used to undo them,” said Levy.

  “I didn’t touch them.”

  Levy slapped Azziz, open-handed like he’d struck the woman earlier, but this time he didn’t pull back. Karen gasped at the crack as the heel of the Israeli’s hand caught Azziz high on the right cheek. Azziz swayed, head jerked back by the force, but he didn’t move. He didn’t make a sound either.

  “Give it to me,” said Levy.

  Azziz said nothing.

  “If I have them search you,” said Levy nodding behind him, “they’ll hurt you. Maybe badly.”

  “Let me,” said the bearded man, moving forward.

  “Give it to him!” said Karen.

  “Shut up,” said Azziz.

  Levy hit him again, palm first against the other side of his face. Azziz had been looking towards her, so the blow caught him more in the mouth this time. His lip split in a burst of blood. The Arab looked fully at Levy, letting it run unchecked down his chin.

  “Very heroic,” said Levy. He hit the youth again. This time Azziz s
taggered. Quickly he recovered.

  “Stop it!” She knew Azziz wasn’t being hit for whatever he had done, not entirely: Levy was taking out upon the Arab the irritation he’d felt at her. She went to them before anyone else could stop her. “Stop it, I say!”

  The Israeli swept her aside, causing her to fall over the slightly raised edge of a flagstone. She fell backwards, too quickly and too surprised to put out her hands to save herself: she landed hard on her coccyx, which was agony, and then fuller on to her back, driving the wind from her body. Because of the pain it emerged as a scream. She rolled over, grabbing her skirt down, knees against her chest, groaning the breath back into herself, face against the coldness of the stone. Her cut-off view was of legs. She was aware of people moving towards her. “Stay away,” she wheezed. “Stay away from me.” The legs stopped moving. She hated them seeing her as defenceless as this.

  “I want it, whatever it is. If you don’t give it to me I’ll have them strip you, in front of the woman. We’ll turn out your clothes and find it. And beat you.” She knew it wasn’t Levy’s voice; it was the man who’d tricked her from the Geneva apartment.

  Breathing easier now, Karen raised her head, so that she could see the room again. Azziz was still confronting Levy defiantly but there wasn’t the initial stiffness in the way he held himself.

  “What’s the point?” she said. Her voice wavered, uncertain.

  Azziz thrust into his pocket, taking out the coin. Instead of giving it to the Israeli, he threw it on the ground. It clattered against the stone, and rolled away, describing diminishing circles until finally it settled on its side. For a moment Levy looked steadily at Azziz. Then he picked up the coin, studying the edge for the score marks which would confirm it was what Azziz had used. He went back to the Arab and said, “All right, everything else in your pockets out onto the table.”

  Sullenly Azziz emptied his pockets.

  “Now pull all the linings out,” said Levy.

  Some of the watching men laughed as Azziz obeyed.

  “Tonight you’ll sleep with your ankle handcuffed to the bed,” said Levy. Briefly he looked sideways at Karen. “She was right—there wasn’t any point. No point at all.”