“Do you want me?”
“You know the answer to that.”
“Do you want me?”
“Yes.”
“But you want Rebecca as well?”
He humped his shoulders, a gesture of helplessness. “It’s more than that,” he said. “There’s the protest about the settlements. There’s got to be the protest.”
“But it’s Rebecca as well, isn’t it?” she persisted. “You love her, don’t you?”
“Yes,” he said shortly. “Shit! Why’s it got to be like this?”
“I don’t want to go back to Richard,” she said. “It’s not his child; it’s yours. I won’t go back to him.” Karen knew she was being irrational, ridiculous. But everything that happened to her was irrational and ridiculous. She refused to be shaken awake from the dream.
“I don’t want you to go back to Richard.”
“So tell me the alternative.”
“There’s no way we can stay together, not immediately anyway.”
She snatched at the straw. “Not immediately?”
“You didn’t think I was going to abandon you, did you?”
Karen was near to tears. “Something like that,” she said.
He raised his hand to caress her cheek. “Fool,” he said softly.
She bit at his fingers, enjoying his touch. “I love you so much,” she said.
“I don’t know how, not yet,” he said. “Or how long it will take. But it won’t end tomorrow or the next day. I’ll make something work.”
Karen smiled. Whatever it was he decided, however difficult, she would go along with it. She was consumed by him, indifferent to anything or anyone else.
Four hundred yards from where Karen sat, her husband drove slowly by the house, straining through the darkness to make out its shape, managing only to locate the tiny squares of light at various windows.
“There’s no purpose in everyone losing sleep,” decided Swart. “The observation will be in shifts; the rest of us can try to get some rest in Sisteron.”
“All right,” said Deaken. He screwed around in the seat for a final look. Soon, my darling, he thought, very soon now.
The maps and the blackboard were still in place, but only Deaken’s father was in the room with Muller. The intelligence chief tapped his pointer against the map and said, “The Bellicose seems to have stopped off Benguela: the last reconnaissance report says she’s turned back upon herself and is steaming in circles.”
“Waiting for contact?”
“That’s what it seems like.”
“There’s to be a final meeting, but the consensus in the cabinet is for a preemptive strike-an interception at sea.”
“I know,” said Muller.
“Nothing more from Europe?”
“Not since the other freighter sailed.”
“The timing is important, isn’t it?” said Piet Deaken. “If we have to intercept the Bellicose in advance of any exchange in Europe, my daughter-in-law could be killed.”
“Yes,” admitted Muller.
The old man turned away from the dais, looking out over the South African capital. “My vote is for interception,” he said.
The South African intelligence service had established their electronic eavesdropping headquarters at Ondangua, as near to the Angolan border as possible, with equipment sufficiently sophisticated and powerful to intercept all commercial wavelengths, as well as dial searches for clandestine transmissions. Edward Makimber’s contact with the Bellicose was on a normal commercial link, giving them perfect reception.
“Victory,” muttered Muller when the coded message was brought to him. He looked up, shaking his head at the theatricality. There was going to be a victory, but not the sort they imagined.
Evans knocked politely at the door, looking through the glass for Papas’s nod of agreement before going out onto the bridge. The captain of the Hydra Star stood in front of the helmsman, close to the radar screen. “We should be approaching Algiers soon after dawn,” he said.
“And then we wait,” said Evans.
“I control this ship at all times,” said the captain firmly.
“You made that clear from the start.”
“I’m making it clear again, so there’ll be no misunderstandings.”
“There won’t be.”
“I know what sort of men you are,” said Papas. “Know what you do. I’m not having my ship endangered, no matter what instructions I get from Athens.”
Evans hoped Papas wasn’t going to become a nuisance.
33
The interception of the guerrilla communique to the Bellicose reached the South African cabinet towards the end of its discussion when the decision had already been practically made, but the confirmation of SWAPO involvement made the vote unanimous. The order to the Army, Navy and Air Force was accorded top-security classification and a second cabinet meeting was scheduled for the afternoon to consider the country’s reaction to the inevitable international protest.
By the time the order reached Admiral Hertzog, he already had two freighters and a cruiser carrying a helicopter squadron of marine commandos off Mocmedes, but well outside any recognized limit of territorial jurisdiction. He immediately signalled the speed to be increased from cruising to full and for the course to be altered northeast.
The air and army strength in Namibia was already high because of the conflict, but three additional detachments of commandos were airlifted into Walvis Bay in C-130s, on standby readiness. The Air Force had maintained a permanent high-altitude reconnaissance over the Bellicose but now an additional and specially equipped C-130 was sent into position. It was, in fact, a flying laboratory, utilizing technology developed by Israeli scientists and capable of completely immobilizing the electrical capability of any given target. The target was the Bellicose.
Captain Erlander frowned at the radar screen which he had been watching for the approach of Makimber’s launch and said, “Bloody thing’s fogged.”
Edmunson, who had been attempting visual sighting from the wing, came back into the bridge housing, but before he reached the screen the rear door opened from the radio shack and the operator said, “Trouble, sir. Radio is out.”
“What about the secondary set?” demanded the first officer.
“That too.”
“A sunspot?” suggested Erlander.
“Don’t see what else it could be,” said the radio operator. “Indications aren’t the same, though.”
Edmunson looked briefly at the snowed image. “Never seen a sunspot do that either,” he said.
Both men stared in the direction of the unseen Angolan coast. The skyline was hazed with dawn mist, the sea flat and unbroken. “Think there will be repair facilities ashore?” said Edmunson.
“We don’t know the port,” reminded Erlander.
“It’s got to be Benguela, surely?”
“Then why all this nonsense of cruising off and awaiting the arrival of a launch?” said the captain. “Why couldn’t we have gone straight in?”
“What time did Makimber give?” asked the first officer.
