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 staggered. 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.”
“Pig,” said Azziz. His lips were already swelling, making it difficult for him to enunciate clearly.
“We told you that at the beginning,” said Levy. “You should have believed me “
Because it was essential to the operation the man called Rupert Underberg insisted upon a seafront room at the Bristol, with a balcony overlooking the harbour. It was here that he breakfasted off yoghurt and eggs and fruit: he couldn’t stand the continental crap. He looked beyond the squared basin, with its clutch of yachts, to where the Scheherazade rode at deep-water anchor. As he watched, the rotors of the helicopter suddenly began revolving and then the machine lifted, banked and flew off parallel with the coastline. Westwards, Underberg noted; he wondered how the occupants had entered without his being aware of it.
It must be wonderful to be rich enough to own yachts and helicopters, he thought, returning to his breakfast; to eat like this everyday. Would his wife enjoy it? He wished she was with him, so he could have given her a chance. He had wanted so much for it to be better, during his leave. She didn’t think he understood, but he did. He would make it up to her, very soon. In a month or two she would realize that it had all been worthwhile.
8
Deaken emerged from his cabin unable to remember the direction from which the steward had led him the previous night. He went to his right, at once aware of the wind chop of the helicopter take-off. He found a door out onto the deck in time to see it pick up the flight path along the coast. Towards France, he decided, staring directly towards the shore and establishing his directions. Monaco was displayed before him, in pinks and yellows and ochres. The sun was already strong, silvering the water, and he had to squint to pick out the palace, with its flag showing the Prince was in residence, and then the casino. Between him and the shore, yachts squatted at their moorings like nesting seabirds. Deaken strained, trying to locate the telephone kiosk he had to use, but it was too far, merging into an obscure whitish blur.
He heard voices and moved towards them, realizing when he got nearer that he was going to the stern of the vessel. He stopped at the rail, gazing down, isolating first the helicopter pad, with its white-ringed landing pattern. The pool was higher, on the next deck up. Three girls were in the water, giggling and laughing. A fourth was spread on her back, on a lounging chair. The three in the water were topless; the one sunbathing was completely
