Deaken’s War

38

Levy’s concern was entirely for the boy, refusing to let Karen even look at his bloody cuts or the bruising until she had repeated and then repeated again his instructions on how to guide the police to the villa where Azziz was held.

“Sure you’ve got it right?” he said.

“Positive,” she said. “Now let me clean you up.”

Levy shook her off, his voice far away as if he couldn’t believe what he had done. “I had to leave him handcuffed to some piping in the cellar of some empty bloody house. He was crying, asking me to help him, and instead 1 walked away!”

Levy snatched the Browning automatic from the waistband of his trousers and slammed it onto a chest near the bedroom door. “I never want to see a bloody gun again,” he said.

“He’ll be all right,” said Karen. “I’ll see to it he’s all right. Please let me help you.”

“I haven’t time,” said the Israeli. “The ship’s due.”

“You can’t drive like that,” she said. “It was a wonder you weren’t stopped by the police coming here.”

He allowed her to lead him to a chair near the bed, where she eased off his bloodstained jacket and examined the deepest cut.

“It should be stitched,” she said. “It’s very deep.”

“Just bind it-try to stop it bleeding.”

Karen poured water into a bowl from the pitcher and set it down at his feet, aware as she cleaned away the caked blood how pale Levy’s face was; it made the bruising around his cheek and eye appear even more prominent. “Poor darling,” she said. “My poor darling.”

“Stop it!” he snapped. “After what I did to that kid, stop it.”

Karen made a pad from a clean handkerchief and then tore the sheet on her bed for a strip to tie against the gash. Almost at once it began to stain from the unstaunched blood.

She smiled feebly, close to tears. “You look odd,” she said. “Like someone dressed up for a fancy-dress party.”

“It doesn’t feel like a party to me,” he said.

She snatched out, cupping his face between her hands. “Don’t go!”

He snorted at the absurdity of her plea. “They might expect me to do that; Leiberwitz at least.”

“You’ll be killed,” she blurted, eyes flooding. “If not here, back in Israel.”

Levy shook his head. “Israel would never turn the army against its own people! It couldn’t do that and survive. It’ll be compromise, like politics always is.”

He stood, pulling her to her feet. “I have to handcuff you,” he said. “The police will cut you free, once we’ve unloaded the ship and I’ve told them where you are…”

Levy took the wrist bands from his coat and stood staring down at them. “I can’t,” he said.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does,” he insisted. “There mustn’t be anything against you… any suspicion.”

He looked around the room and said, “The bed frame, I suppose.”

Karen sat demurely, offering her arm. He clamped on the handcuffs, running his finger round the inner rim to ensure it wasn’t tight. “Just wait until they cut it off,” he said. “Azziz moved around-that’s why he got sore.”

When he had connected the other band to the metal bedhead he said, “I have to leave you now.”

Karen bit her lip, not wanting to break down but knowing she was going to. She reached out for his hand, not able to speak.

“I meant it,” he said. “About finding a way.”

“Yes.”

“It’ll take time.”

He bent to kiss her and the tears broke, flooding uncontrolled down her face.

“I love you,” he said.

Which was what Deaken heard as he came through the door.

The fury surged through him, so strong there was a brief moment of faintness. And then he saw the discarded gun.

“Get away from her!”

Deaken moved as he screamed out the demand, plunging into the room and snatching up the automatic.

“Get away!” he said again. There was no hysteria in his anger. He was icily controlled-illogically almost detached-the gun he didn’t know how to use steady and unwavering in his hand. They were very close, only feet apart, and the man seemed to fill Deaken’s vision, magnifying his impression of a strained, scratched and bruised face, the shirt splattered with blood. She had obviously put up a fight.

“No!” said Karen, her voice jagged.

“It’s all right, darling. All right,” said Deaken, eyes fixed upon Levy. “I’m here now. It’s going to be all right.”

“No,” shouted Karen. “Leave him.”

“I’d like to kill you,” said Deaken. He aimed the gun with both hands at Levy. “But I want to hurt you more than that. I’m going to see you locked up forever. I’m going to invoke every law and every statute under every international or national legal convention. I’m going to see that you spend the rest of your life living through the sort of agony you’ve put her through… put me through…”

“I love him.” Karen didn’t raise her voice. It was a calm, positive assertion.

He stared at her, not understanding.

“I love him and I’m going to have his child.”

Deaken blinked against another spasm of faintness, bringing his other hand to steady the gun. God, how he’d make this bastard suffer if her breakdown was permanent.

“And I love her,” said Levy.

“What?” said Deaken. His voice was suddenly weak and unsure.

“We’re going to have a baby,” said the woman. “We’re going to stay together somehow.” Karen hesitated and then she said “I don’t want to be with you anymore, Richard.”

Deaken never remembered making a positive decision; even any contraction of his fingers. There was a sudden, blasting roar and the gun kicked wildly in his hand so that he almost dropped it. The shot caught Levy fully in the chest, kicking him backwards onto the bottom of the bed and then onto the floor.

Karen’s cry was beyond hysteria, animallike. She threw herself sideways, jerked short by her handcuffed wrist, fingers of her free hand clawing out as she tried to touch Levy’s crumpled body. She threw herself again and again until the blood began to drip from her stripped arm and then she stopped, whimpering in her frustration at not being able to reach him.

She stared up at her husband.

“Bastard!” she said. “You bastard!”