He walked to the door. As they moved into the corridor the man who wore the leather jacket laid his hand on the sleeve of Martins's shirt and he shook it away.
There was one of the men ahead of him and one behind. He walked free of them. He felt a great tiredness, a great sadness. They went out into the fresh air, onto the fire escape. Martins understood. If he had been the man in the leather jacket he would have done the same.
He was driven to the base camp at Kiryat Shmona There was a standard procedure used. He had ducked into the back seat of the car and been waved across towards the far door. He knew the door would have a locking device. The man with the leather jacket sat beside him. He thought that this was the way a traitor or a dangerous criminal or a sex offender would be dealt with. He stared straight ahead of him. He shook his head when the man in the leather jacket offered him a cigarette.
Once in the camp he was taken into a small, bare room. He sat at a table. He stared across the surface of the table at Major Zvi Dan. Two men sitting on hard chairs separated from each other by a narrow plastic-topped table. He heard the door close behind him.
Martins thought he had never stared into eyes so filled with contempt.
"Are we to be taped?"
"Of course."
"I don't think that's really appropriate."
"Mr Martins, in your position you should not presume to tell me what is appropriate."
"I should not be treated as an enemy agent." He felt the confidence slowly ebbing back to him. He sat straighter in his chair.
"That is how we view you."
"That's preposterous."
Major Zvi Dan spoke very quietly, he spoke as though he were nervous that he might lose control of his temper.
"You have behaved like an enemy agent. You have endangered lives."
"Rubbish. I was merely foolish. I drank too much."
"You endangered the lives of Holt and Noah Crane and at the very least you put their mission at risk."
"Quite ludicrous. I was drunk, men get drunk. I was indiscreet, it happens. Whatever I said would have been gobbledygook to that Scandinavian, he wouldn't have understood a word of it."
"You passed information of vital importance to the enemy."
"The enemy?" Martins snorted. "Your sense of the theatrical does you credit, Major. I was talking merely to a private soldier of the NORBAT… "
"To an agent of the enemy." There was the appearance on Major Zvi Dan's face that he thought he was talking to an idiot, a retarded creature. He spelled out each word. "A bomb exploded in the central bus station in Tel Aviv, you may remember. Holt and Crane will not have forgotten. Two terrorists were responsible.
The terrorists travelled into Israel via the Beqa'a valley in Lebanon… "
"Don't give me a yesterday's newspaper lecture."
"… in Lebanon. They were brought through the UNIFIL sector, through the security zone, across the border, hidden in United Nations transport."
"So?"
"Your private soldier drove that transport."
"God… " The breath seeped from Percy Martins.
"Your private soldier, to whom you confided the existence of an infiltration team, is an agent of the enemy."
"Christ… " Martins slumped. He felt the looseness in his bowels, a feebleness in his legs. "I don't suppose
… he didn't understand… "
"It is our belief that the information you provided him with is already en route to Damascus."
Martins said, "You cannot know that."
With great deliberation, Major Zvi Dan lifted from the floor a brown paper envelope. From the envelope he spread out on the table a series of photographs.
His finger settled on one, and he pushed it towards Martins.
Martins saw the back of the head of the UNIFIL private soldier. He saw a man leaning forward to kiss the cheek of Olaffson.
"It is how they show their gratitude," Major Zvi Dan said.
"I couldn't have had any idea," Martins said.
"You were drunk, you knew nothing." The savage reply.
"What can I do?"
"If you are not too proud to pray, you can pray. You came here in your naivete to play a game of political chess. You came here to further your career. Now all you can do is to pray for the lives of the men you have criminally endangered."
"Will you tell them in London?"
"That they sent an idiot here? Maybe they are all idiots in London, maybe they all seek to play games."
"What do you propose to do with me?"
"You will be confined in the camp area, where you can do no further damage."
"And afterwards?"
"Afterwards you will live with your shame."
"What have I done?"
"You have confirmed to the Syrians that there is a mission. You have told the Syrians of British interest in that mission. If the Syrians can make an equation between the mission and the killings at Yalta then they will know the target. They will remove the target from view, and also they will ambush your man and my man.
If the Syrians make the equation then the mission is lost, our men are lost."
Martins murmured, "God, I am so sorry."
"Pray that the Syrians are as idiotic as you are.
Myself, I do not think it likely."
There was the scratching of Major Zvi Dan's chair as he stood up. The door opened. The two men led Martins away to confinement, his head sagging.
They had studied the map, they had covered the trail they would use and the position of the rally points.
"How long tonight?"
"Eight hours."
"And then the camp?"
"In eight hours we should be above the camp, youngster."
"How are the eyes?"
"Just stick to worrying about yourself, whether you'll recognise the target. I don't need your worry."
"You should come back with me, Mr Crane, afterwards, back to England."
"You talk too much, Holt."
"I've done nothing in my life. If I'd done everything you've done in your life there's nothing I'd want more than to go away, bury myself, live on the moor, walk beside the rivers, know the peace of where I live. I haven't earned that peace, Mr Crane. You have."
"Is it that good there?" Crane asked.
"You could walk free. The animals are free, the people are free, the light and the air are wonderful. No rifles, no fighter bombers, no bloody minefields, you deserve that peace, Mr Crane. Will you think about it?"
"Might just."
They had the Bergens high on their backs. Holt let Crane get fifteen yards ahead, then moved out after him.
The start of the last night march.
As a matter of routine, Major Said Hazan received in the early evening a report covering the previous 24-hour period as prepared by army headquarters at Chtaura.
He read every detail of the report, as he always did. Far down in the list he read that a patrol in position west and south of the Beqa'a village of Aitanit had fired flares in response to unidentified movement further west of them. The report stated that a follow-up search in daylight centred on an animal track, but had failed to provide evidence that would justify further sweep searches of the area.
The major went to his wall map. He put a red-headed pin into the map over the area of the U N I F I L sector through which it had been reported that an infiltration had been made. He drove in another red-headed pin at the point of the unconfirmed contact with the patrol.
He stood back. He extended a line from the infiltration point to the supposed contact. They were going north, the shortest possible route into the foothills on the west side of the Beqa'a.