truck had a Palmachnik dressed like a British soldier as driver. They sped out of their camp and twenty minutes later halted before the administration building at Caraolos, outside the barbed-wire compounds.
Ari entered the administration building and knocked on the door of the commanding officer, whose acquaintance he had carefully made during the past three weeks.
“Good morning, sir,” Ari said.
“Good morning, Captain Moore. What brings you up here?”
“We received a special dispatch from headquarters, sir. It seems that they are getting the Larnaca camp ready faster than they expected. They want me to transfer some children today.” Ari lay the forged papers on the officer’s desk.
The CO thumbed through the sheets. “This isn’t on the schedule of transfers,” he said. “We didn’t expect to start moving the children for three days.”
“That’s the Army for you, sir,” Ari said.
The CO bit his lip and meditated and stared at Ari and looked through the transfer papers again. He reached for the phone. “Hello. Potter here. Captain Moore has orders to move three hundred children out of Compound 50. Dispatch a detail to help get them moved.”
The CO picked up his pen and initialed the papers. He signed half a dozen other sheets authorizing entrance into the compound and removal of the children. “Move them along, will you, Moore? We have another load to be transferred in an hour and the roads could be clogged.”
“Yes sir.”
“Oh, uh … Moore. Many thanks, old man, for the whisky you sent up to the club.”
“My pleasure, sir.”
Ari gathered up the papers from the CO’s desk. The CO sighed. “Jews come and Jews go,” he said.
“Yes sir,” Ari said. “They come … and they go.”
The breakfast table was set in front of the window in Mark’s room. He and Kitty nibbled at their food. Mark’s ash tray brimmed over. “What time is it now?” Kitty asked for the fifteenth time.
“Almost nine-thirty.”
“What would be happening?”
“If they’re running on schedule they’re loading the children aboard the trucks right now. Look,” Mark said, pointing out to sea. The salvage trawler Aphrodite/Exodus turned and moved slowly toward the harbor entrance,
“Good Lord,” Kitty said, “is that the Exodus!”
“That’s her.”
“My God, Mark. It looks like it’s ready to fall apart.”
“It is.”
“But how on earth are they going to get three hundred children on her?”
Mark lit another cigarette. He wanted to pace the room but he did not wish to show Kitty how frightened he was.
Nine-thirty.
Nine-forty.
The Exodus passed between the lighthouse and the castle, through the narrow opening of the two arms of the sea wall, and into the Kyrenia harbor.
Nine-fifty.
“Mark, please sit down. You’re making me nervous.”
“We should be getting a call from Mandria soon. Any minute now … any minute.”
Ten o’clock.
Five past ten.
Six past ten.
Seven past ten.
“Dammit! Where is that coffee I ordered? Kitty, phone from your room, will you. Tell them to get that coffee up here.”
A quarter past ten. The fresh pot of coffee arrived.
Seventeen past ten. Mark’s jitters abated. He knew that if he did not hear from Mandria in the next ten minutes something had gone wrong.
Ten-twenty. The phone rang!
Mark and Kitty looked at each other for an instant. Mark wiped the sweat from the palm of his hand, sucked in his breath, and lifted the receiver.
“Hello.”
“Mr. Parker?”
“Speaking.”
“Just a moment, sir. We have a call for you from Famagusta.”
“Hello … hello … hello.”
“Parker?”
“Speaking.”
“Mandria here.”
“Yes?”
“They have just passed through.”
Mark replaced the receiver slowly. “He got them out of Caraolos, all right. They’re moving down the road to Larnaca now. In about fifteen minutes they’ll fork off and make a dash north. They’ve got about fifty miles, mostly flat country with only one mountain pass if they don’t have to use alter-
nate roads. They should be here a little after noon … if everything goes all right.”
“I’m almost hoping that something will go wrong,” Kitty said.
“Come on. No use waiting here.”
He took his field glasses and walked with Kitty downstairs to the reception desk and asked for a cable blank.
KENNETH BRADBURY
CHIEF, AMERICAN NEWS SYNDICATE
LONDON
HAVING A BALL. REQUEST TWO WEEK EXTENSION OF MY VACATION. ADVISE.
MARK
“Send this through, urgent. How long will it take?”
The receptionist read it over. “It will be in London in a few hours.”
They walked from the Dome toward the quay.
“What was that about?” Kitty asked.
“My story should be on the wires from London tonight.”
They stood on the quay for several moments and watched the rickety salvage tug tie up at dockside. Mark led Kitty away. They crossed the harbor and climbed to the ramparts of the Virgin Castle. From here they could see both the harbor and far down the coastal road where the convoy was due to pass.
At eleven fifteen Mark focused his field glasses on the coast road. He slowly scanned the road that hugged the shore and wove in and out of the hills. The mountain pass was too far off to see. He froze! He had sighted a tiny trail of dust and a line of trucks which appeared as small as ants. He nudged Kitty and handed her the glasses. She held them on the trucks as they wove in and out the snake-like turns and inched toward Kyrenia.
“They are about half an hour away.” ,
They came down from the rampart, crossed the harbor once again, and stood at the end of the quay, which was only five walking minutes from the Dome Hotel. As the convoy passed the hospital at the edge of town Mark took Kitty’s hand and started back to the hotel.
In a phone booth at the Dome, Mark put in an urgent call to British Intelligence in Famagusta.
“I wish to speak to Major Alistair,” Mark said, disguising his voice by putting a handkerchief over the mouthpiece and speaking with a British accent.
“Who is calling, please, and what do you wish to speak to Major Alistair about?”
“Look, old boy,” Mark said, “three hundred Jews have escaped from Caraolos. Now just don’t ask any damned fool questions and give me Alistair.”
The phone on Major Alistair’s desk rang.
“Alistair here,” he said in his whispery voice.
“This is a friend,” Mark said. “I am advising you that several hundred Jews have broken out of Caraolos and are boarding a ship in the Kyrenia harbor at this very moment.”
Alistair clicked the receiver several times. “Hello … hello … who is this? I say … hello.” He closed his own phone and opened it again. “Alistair here. I have a report of an escape of Jews. They are supposed to be boarding a ship at Kyrenia. Sound an alert, blue. Have the Kyrenia area commander investigate at once. If the report is true you’d better advise naval units to move for that area.”
Alistair put down the receiver and rushed down the hall toward Sutherland’s office.
The convoy rolled to a stop on the quay. Ari Ben Ctnaan got out of the lead jeep and its driver drove it off. One by one the lorries rolled up to the Exodus. The youngsters responded automatically as a result of Zev’s training. They moved quickly and quietly from the truck to the ship On board, Joab, David, and Hank Schlosberg, the captain, moved them into their places in the hold and on deck. The operation was effected calmly and wordlessly.
Along the quay a few curious onlookers stood and gaped. A few British soldiers shrugged and scratched their heads. As quickly as each truck was unloaded it was driven off toward the mountains around St. Hilarion to be abandoned. As of that moment, the 23rd Transportation Company had fulfilled its purpose and was going out of existence. Joab left a note in his truck thanking the British for the use of their lorry.