Deaken’s War

37

It was the old part of the commercial docks, scheduled for redevelopment and therefore being run down, some wharves and their container sheds already abandoned, cranes like decaying skeletons where they had been half disassembled for their scrap-metal value. Marinetti drove, only using sidelights, even though many of the road lights were out and hadn’t been replaced, foot depressed lightly on the throttle so there was only the faintest hum from the engine.

“Could fight a war with cover like this,” said Marinetti.

“We aren’t going to fight anything or anyone until we get the boy back,” reminded Grearson.

“Twenty,” identified Marinetti

Grearson strained, just able to pick out the berth number painted on the slanted roof of the wharf shed. It had to be one of the last operational moorings in this part of the docks, he decided. Only three of the five arc lights set into the shed roof were working and in front of them three cranes stood sleeping.

“No stevedores,” said Marinetti.

“It’s supposed to be engine trouble, with engineers not needed until tomorrow,” reminded Grearson, remembering the instructions that had been relayed by Evans from the Hydra Star.

Marinetti reversed the vehicle into a shed a full berth away from that designated for the returning freighter, manoeuvring it into the shadow of a high wall. He killed the lights and then wound down the window.

“Put yours down too,” he ordered the lawyer.

“What for?” said Grearson.

“Noises,” said the soldier. “You can always hear before you can see.”

Grearson did what he was told. Far beyond the waiting berth there was the glow of the active section of the docks and he could just detect the distant whine of machinery and the water slapping gently against the sea wall. Unseen in the darkness there was a scuffling movement and Grearson shifted uncomfortably, knowing it was foraging rats.

Marinetti saw the lorries first. “There!” he said softly, pointing.

Leiberwitz was in the lead lorry, with Kahane and Greening beside him in the cab. Katz, Sela and Habel were in the second vehicle immediately behind.

“It’s not here yet,” said Kahane unnecessarily.

“It’s not scheduled for another two hours,” said Leiberwitz. He had got in the parting shot but the anger still burned through him over the confrontation with Levy.

“Nice and quiet,” said Greening. “It’ll be easy to unload.”

Kahane peered at his watch. “Wonder how long it’ll be before Shimeon gets here?”

“Depends how difficult it is for him to get out of bed,” said Leiberwitz.

“Haven’t we had enough of that?” said Kahane wearily.

“He doesn’t seem to.” said Leiberwitz.

All three reacted nervously to the noise, then relaxed when they realized it was Katz and Sela, who had drawn up behind in their lorry and were now standing on the dock.

Leiberwitz wound down the window.

“What happens if Levy doesn’t show up?”

“We go ahead,” said Leiberwitz.

“That isn’t what was agreed,” said Katz.

“Have you got a better idea?”

There was no challenge from either Katz or Kahane.

Katz moved away from the lorry, going farther towards the water’s edge. From their vantage point Marinetti said, “I count five but 1 think one stayed in that second lorry.”

“Tewfik?” said Grearson.

“No,” said Marinetti. “The arrangement set out on the tape was a clever one. 1 don’t think it was a bluff. It would be too much of a risk for them to take, bringing him with them.”

“I wonder if there’s been any contact with the ship,” said the lawyer.

“More people,” hissed Marinetti, ignoring the question.

“Where?” said Grearson, squinting into the darkness.

“In the shadows, by the shed. See that broken crane,” said Marinetti. “They’re very good-they know how to use cover.”

Swart was in the lead car with four men, the rest of the group in the one that followed. They had had to move too quickly for any consultation with Muller, and Swart was uneasy at having to make the decision on the spot. And Deaken’s disappearance was an additional complication. The order had been to stop the lawyer doing anything that might embarrass his father. He was glad that at least he had covered the house where the woman was being held. He gazed across the intervening water towards the lorries and the men beside them.

“This is where we intercept,” said Swart.

“What about the French authorities?” asked one of the men in the back.

“They’ve let out two shipments,” said Swart. “I’m not risking a third.”

Where the Israelis expected the ship to dock, Katz, who was nearest the water, realized that what he had imagined to be stationary navigation lights were moving. He hurried back to the first lorry and said, “Something’s coming.”

“Where’s Shimeon?” said the loyal Kahane nervously.

“Where do you think!” said Leiberwitz. He never gave up.

“He said to wait,” insisted Kahane.

Aboard the freighter, Harvey Evans stepped from the bridge ladder onto the foredeck. The assembled men turned at his approach and Sneider said, “Looks quiet enough ashore.”

“There’s plenty of time yet,” said Evans.

“Wonder where Marinetti is?” said Melvin, peering towards the deserted dockside. “Unless he’s got the boy, there won’t be any action.”

“The money’s just as good,” said Sneider. “Why get our asses shot off if we don’t have to?”

“There’s an awful lot of crew around,” said Evans.

“According to my count,” said Bartlett, “we’re each of us being covered by at least two.” He spoke looking towards the hatch area, where twelve crewmen were attempting to look busy heaving tarpaulin off the metal hatch covers.

Evans nodded. “And I’ve just had another lecture from the captain about the safety of his ship.”

“Always had him pegged as a sneaky little bastard,” said Sneider.

Evans looked to Hinkler and Bartlett. He said, “I want you two against the offshore rail. Just watch our backs. If we have to move and there’s any attempt to stop us, give them a burst over their heads. I don’t want to kill anyone-just frighten them.”

“What happens if they don’t stop?” said Hinkler.

“No one is to be killed,” repeated Evans. “Take them out at the legs.”

“There she goes,” said Jones. The mooring lines snaked out from the ship, to be collected by the escort tender and ferried in to the shore bollards. Fore and aft the engine whined, bringing the freighter gently in against the quay wall. There was an imperceptible bump and they rocked slightly. Hinkler and Bartlett picked up their gunny sacks and moved away to the far rail, and Evans watched as four of the hatchmen detached themselves and followed. He decided the Greek captain was a bloody fool.

Ashore Kahane could not quell a sense of deepening anxiety.

“It’s early,” he insisted. “It wasn’t due for another hour… more than another hour.”

“What the hell does that matter?” said Greening. “It’s here. And Shimeon isn’t.”

“He said wait,” said Kahane.

“You want a vote!” said Leiberwitz. “So let’s vote. I say we move.”

“With you in charge?” demanded Kahane.

“Somebody’s got to be,” said Leiberwitz. “Somebody who accepts responsibility.”

“I say move,” supported Greening.

Leiberwitz stared at Katz and Sela. The men looked at each other, clearly feeling uncomfortable, and Katz said, “I don’t see why we should wait; it seems pointless.”

Sela shrugged. “The quicker we get it over, the quicker we can be away.”

“You’re outnumbered,” said Leiberwitz to Kahane.

“Habel hasn’t voted,” said Kahane. He knew it was pointless but it would mean a further delay, no matter how slight.

To Sela Leiberwitz said, “Go and tell him what’s happened… what we’re deciding.”

Ahead of them the freighter’s derrick stirred into action, swinging the gangway over the side and then manoeuvring it into position through the split rail.

“They don’t want to wait,” said Leiberwitz.

“They don’t have a choice,” said Kahane.

“Neither do we!”

Sela came back to the first vehicle and said, “He thinks we should wait.”

“Four against two,” said Leiberwitz. He looked contemptuously to Kahane and said, “If you want to sit here wetting yourself, you’re welcome.”

He climbed out of the lorry, leaving the door ajar for Greening to follow. On the quayside the four of them stood for a moment, uncertain what to do next, looking to Leiberwitz for a lead.

“Let’s go,” he said.

Three hundred yards away Swart raised his hand and said, “Not yet, not yet… let them get far enough away from the lorries…”

The driver sat hunched forward, fingers ready on the ignition key.

“Now!” said Swart.

The two cars accelerated away, tires howling, headlights glaring, anxious for maximum surprise before the men on the quay could recover.

The four Israelis stood transfixed, immobile with shock. Kahane responded first, thrusting the Uzi machine gun through the cab window and squeezing off a short burst that went hopelessly wide, ricocheting off the concrete quayside.

“What the hell’s happening!” screamed Grearson. “They were told not to shoot!”

“It’s not coming from the ship,” said Marinetti. “They’re firing from the dockside.”

Aboard the freighter, Evans shouted, “It’s a setup; I don’t know what’s happened, but it’s a setup. We’ll have to fight our way out.”

The men snatched their weapons from gunny sacks and holdalls. Hinkler and Bartlett immediately sprayed warning shots over the heads of the crew who had begun to move when they saw what was happening.

“Face them off,” Evans told Melvin.

On the quayside, the Israelis moved into action at last, trying to shield their aim from the blaze of the approaching lights, firing with their handguns. Kahane’s second burst was better than his first, shattering the windscreen of the second South African car. The inrush of glass blinded the driver who was also shot through the shoulder. He still had the instinct to haul the wheel to the left, to swerve away from the hurtling approach to the quay edge and the oily sea below. They smashed into the second Israeli lorry, the impact so violent that Habel was hurled out of the vehicle and shattered his skull against the bordering wall. The driver died instantly, together with the man beside him and one in the rear. The fourth broke his neck but retained consciousness, screaming out in immediate agony and then continuing wail after agonized wail.

The mercenaries were positioned well, protected by the metal of the freighter rail. Sneider sprayed the quay with automatic fire, which was taken up by Evans as soon as Sneider’s ammunition clip was exhausted. By the time Evans ran out for Jones to begin firing, Sneider had reloaded, ready to resume an uninterrupted hail of highcalibre bullets. Behind him Evans heard more shooting, close from Melvin, and then farther away from Hinkler and Bartlett. And then screams as the crew were brought down. The captain was a stupid bastard, he thought agaih. One of Jones’s bursts caught the protruding Israeli lorry, shattering the windscreen and decapitating Kahane. Then one of the rounds penetrated the fuel line, and the vehicle erupted in a violent white and orange explosion.

Swart’s car had slewed around thirty yards from the Israelis, and everyone had got out, using it for protection to shoot at the four men who were trying to crab sideways from their totally exposed position towards the comparative safety of the shed. Two had turned to answer the concentrated and calculated fire from the freighter, and as he watched Swart saw one, then the other, literally blasted off the ground from the avalanche of bullets.

And then the French ambush erupted.

The blackened quay was suddenly flooded with blinding white light as the supposedly broken shed lights and then at least ten more ancillary search beams were switched on.

Car and lorry headlights in a solid, practically unbroken line came on in unison to encircle the berth. In the sudden break in the shooting the clatter of squads of soldiers running was momentarily the only sound. From the sea as well as from inland a flurry of helicopters arrived, with more lights focusing downwards upon the fighting. And then the announcements demanding surrender, amplified metallic voices in French, then in English, saying that they were completely surrounded by police, antiterrorist squads, CRS and a French army detachment.

Calling Hinkler and Bartlett to the shore rail to join with Melvin and Sneider, Evans scurried with Jones, bent double, towards the bridge ladder. A crewman saw them and moved to intervene. The black man shot him almost carelessly, the automatic rifle balanced in his right hand. He waited until Evans had climbed to the top, then scrambled up after him. Side by side they dashed into the bridge housing. Papas was crouched rigid against the storm rail, staring down at the quayside battlefield. Evans snatched at his shoulder.

“Cast off!” he yelled. “Cut the line and get us out of here!”

Papas blinked, like a man awakening from a deep sleep.

“I said get us out of here!” repeated Evans. “Cut the mooring lines.”

“You’re mad,” said the Greek, broken-voiced. “Utterly mad. Don’t you imagine they’ll have sealed the harbour entrance against us. They’ve got helicopters overhead, soldiers on land. I can’t go anywhere.”

Evans swung around, absorbing at once the stupidity of his demand. Below, his men had started shooting again, but at once were answered by equally professional, coordinated fire, blasting out simultaneously from at least five different spots and scything into the ship’s side. Even with the protection of their elevation, Evans saw Hinkler clutch upwards and then fall backwards, his face pulped red. As he stood crying, Bartlett was hit.

“They’ve got a tripod-mounted cannon down there!” said Jones. “Nine-millimetre, at least.”

A phosphorous flare, then another, exploded lazily from a helicopter hovering directly above and floated gently down, completely illuminating the deck. At once, still from above, automatic fire rained down on them. Sneider and Melvin died instantly. And the already wounded and dying crewmen twitched and jumped under the relentless downpour.

“Bastards!” screamed Evans. He ran out onto the bridge wing, conscious of Jones behind him. Squinting against the light still above them, they both began firing, using the recoil blast of the overhead guns as markers. Suddenly there was an explosion more violent than that of the Israeli lorry, as their bullets caught a helicopter fuel tank. There was a red and black roar, a searing, skin-scorching blast of heat and then the helicopter plunged downwards, lodged for a moment at the very stem of the freighter and then toppled, hissing, into the sea.

Far below the two remaining Israelis ran forward, arms high above their heads in surrender. Leiberwitz was caught in the stomach by a blast from one of the French machine-gun emplacements, practically cutting him in two, before anyone realized what they were doing.

To the men around him beside the car, Swart shouted, “Stop firing. Stay down but keep your hands visible.”

On the bridge, Jones aimed at the quay but only managed a short burst before a second helicopter arrived, flattening them against the deck with its downdraught. It released a flare, which blinded them, so neither Evans nor Jones ever saw the momentary black flecks of the three dropped grenades set to five-second time fuses. The explosion killed both of them as well as Papas, and split the bridge wing from its main housing.

Grearson obeyed Marinetti’s instruction, keeping his hands visible and stretched out against the car dashboard when they were surrounded. Black, hooded figures hauled open the doors to drag them out.

Seconds before it happened, the lawyer said, distant-voiced, “What happened? For God’s sake, what happened?”

“We lost,” said Marinetti.