ticket stubs left at Cairo T W A check-in.
We have him as the organiser, and the woman just as the courier. That man is one and the same as the joker on the fence at Vicenza. The prints match. That bastard is up in a big bird right now, Prime Minister, he's going to Andrews base then a tight little military cell. That's why you can join me in celebration.'
'Remarkable,' the Prime Minister said softly.
'You'll remember what the President said. He said to these swines, 'You can run, but you cannot hide'. That's what we're proving. It's the first time we're able to put deeds to words, make action out of talk. We reckon this to be the turning point in the war against international terrorism. You're not cold, Prime Minister…?'
'Not cold.'
'It's the first time this has happened, and it's the first time that counts. Sam leads the way, Sam is first in, that's our celebration.'
'A fine stroke of luck,' the Prime Minister said distantly.
'In this game you earn your luck. Look, we've known for a year this man was in and out of Lebanon, in Damascus or in the Beqa'a valley. We went through all the military evaluations about getting a force into the Beqa'a to drop him there. Can't be done, no way. The Beqa'a would swallow a marine division, that was our best advice, and even if we got in we'd never get out.'
'You're very well informed.'
'Secondhand, my number three here was in Beirut previously… we would have faced the risk of prisoners being paraded through Damascus, hell of a mess. Going into Lebanon wasn't on that's diversion. It's being the first that matters. Prime Minister, not at your expense of course, but we're feeling very comfortable at this moment, very bullish. You see, what really matters is not just confronting these people, it's putting them into court. Assassination is small beer when set against the full rigour of a court of law.'
The Prime Minister smiled congratulation, and walked away down the steps to the car. The engine coughed, the doors slammed shut. The car pulled away, trailed by the back-up.
The Prime Minister's age showed, the tiredness of office and responsibility. There was a long sigh of weariness.
'Inform my office to have the Director General stand by. I'll be calling him from Downing Street as soon as I get there.'
The Prime Minister sagged back in the seat. The Branch man in the front passenger seat relayed the instruction.
'What have you to do?' the private secretary asked quietly.
'I just have to cancel something. Nothing for you to worry about.'
He had been dreaming of the fish he would catch, in the sleeping recesses of his mind was the recollection of the conversation he had had in the guest house bar with a tractor driver from the Kibbutz Kfar Giladi. Not a fast river to fish in, but a fish farm pond, not flies nor lures for bait, but worms from a compost heap. And to hell with tradition. Percy Martins dreamed of tight lines… until the bell exploded in his ear, like a big rainbow jumping.
He groped, he found the light. He lifted the telephone.
'Martins.'
'Is that a secure line?'
'No.'
' D G here.'
'God… good evening, sir.'
'Good morning, Percy. Our friends, where are they?'
'Gone.'
'Can you reach them?'
'No.'
'Why not?'
Martins sat straight up in his bed. 'Because sir, they have no, ah, telephone. As it is they are carrying in excess of eighty pounds weight. I would hazard, sir, that you or I could barely lift eighty pounds weight, let alone walk a long way with it.'
'Thank you, Percy. That's all the detail I need. Just confirm for me that you've some means of communicating with them in case you wanted them back in a hurry.'
'That's not on, sir. In fact it's quite out of the question. We've no means at all.'
'Thank you, Percy. Keep up the good work. And goodbye.'
Martins replaced the telephone. He switched off his light.
He could not find again for his mind the pleasure of an arching rod. He thought of two men struggling through the night, moving further from safety, and he was damned pleased those two men carried no radio transmitter/receiver, were beyond recall.
Slowly, like a cat beside a fireplace that is minutely disturbed, Major Zvi Dan opened his eyes. He looked from just above his hands across the room.
The girl, Rebecca, sat on the one easy chair in the room, a new book was in her hands.
'Message?'
She shook her head.
He grimaced. 'There is nothing more I can do. If I go higher then I antagonise.'
'You have to wait. Coffee?'
He moved his hand, declined. They would not be drinking coffee, Noah Crane and Holt who were heading towards the Beqa'a.
'If they hit the tent camp, I quit. If they bomb that camp, they'll have my resignation.'
She looked at him curiously, 'Why does it matter to you?'
'Because… because… ' Major Zvi Dan rubbed hard to clear his eyes of sleep. He coughed at the phlegm in his throat. 'Because. .. because of that boy, because of Holt. He shouldn't be there, he is not equipped to be there. It would be a crime if we screwed up their effort.'
He let his head fall back to his hands. His eyes closed.
Beside him the telephone stayed silent.
'Prime Minister, they cannot be recalled because they have no radio transmitter/receiver. Each of them, without a radio transmitter/receiver, is carrying in excess of eighty pounds weight. I would hazard that you or I could barely lift eighty pounds weight, let alone walk across country with it.'
The Prime Minister sat in a thick dressing gown before the dead fire in the private sitting room. The Director General had lit his pipe, was careless of the smoke clouds he gusted around the small room.
'They are not carrying a radio because a radio and reserve batteries would have increased each man's weight burden by at least 10 pounds. In addition, radio transmissions, however carefully disguised, alert an enemy… Am I permitted to ask you what has under-mined your enthusiasm for this mission?'
The Prime Minister fumbled for words, stumbled in tiredness. The conversation with the American ambassador was reported. The Prime Minister slumped in the chair.
'I want them called back.'
'And you cannot have what you want.'
Four o'clock in the morning. The chimes of Big Ben carried on the squalling wind, bending around the great quiet buildings of Whitehall.
'I was talked into something that I should never have allowed myself to accept.'
'We are an independent country, we are not beholden to the opinions of the United States of America.'
'I was beguiled into something idiotic, by you.'
'You told me that then you would claim my head.'
The Director General had no fear of the head of government. A wintry smile. 'Would it be your head you are nervous for?'
'That's impertinent.'
'Prime Minister, it would distress me to think that the sole reason for your authorising this mission was to enable you to brag to our cousins over the water.'
'You have made me a hostage.'
'To what?'
