Twin pips on the officer's shoulder, but Benitz remained unimpressed with the lieutenant's deference as he was ushered into the hallway, ground floor, of the tower; perhaps a curl of amusement at his mouth at the flamboyance of the Fusilier's cockade, with the hackles of red and white set to the front of the beret. They had allocated a room for him, he was told. But first perhaps he would care to come to the Control Room, where the Emergency Committee had their Operational Centre? Seemed quite proud, this young man, that they had things so sorted out. But it takes more than tides and labels, that was what Benitz had learned.
It had been slack in the control tower, their anxieties unrewarded, ever since the day's early communication with the Ilyushin, and Charlie had felt free to leave his chair at the console desk and walk around. He remained never more than a few feet from the microphone, but it was still something of an opportunity for him to stretch the perpetual stiffness from his legs, flex his cracked muscles. He was close to the door when the army officer brought in the visitor.
Something in the complexion, the tan of the Mediterranean, and the close, quiet confidence of his eyes; Charlie knew from his instinct the origin and homeland of the stranger.
He hung back as the introductions started. The Assistant Chief Constable had his hand out, Clitheroe examining and looking on with interest, new species, Home Office team in a line waiting for the exchange of names and rank.
'Someone to see how things are going. Colonel Arie Benitz of the. ..' the lieutenant tailed away, conscious of the radio and television equipment operators, anxious to avoid indiscretion.
' I think we call it Dixie, don't we? In these circumstances,' Charlie said. 'Colonel Benitz from Dixie.' The usual way of covering embarrassment. Confused Clitheroe though – hadn't an idea what was meant – but the policeman had got the message. Mutual caution in the greetings until it was Charlie's turn. Men of a kind in a way. Charlie still without his wash and brush up, stubble on his chin and the tired, far-away looseness of his eyes, and the trousers that had forgotten their creases and the shoes that had scuffed their shine. Benitz wary, the jut of his jaw showing that he was not prepared to be pushed about, aggressive because he knew that the clothes he had exchanged for his battledress were a poor fit, and a man in clothes not his own is seldom at ease.
' It's been quiet overnight, but it's freshening up a bit out there right now. They have been told this morning that there's no petrol for the onward flight, that they won't see Dixie this afternoon.
They're not happy about it, and the one of them who stands out from the mob is threatening dire things for ten hundred this morning. You've seen the pictures that the Russians have sent us?'
Charlie motioned to the indifferent snap shots, taking them one at a time. 'This one we know as David; doesn't seem to have much left in him, morale's all over the place. We can talk to him, and work at him. This one's Isaac, and he's the headache; we think he stood watch through the night and is therefore tired, but he's the strong boy, the one who's throwing his weight about. Leaves us the girl, Rebecca; unknown quantity, quality as well. We can't say yet which way she'll fall if the two fellows start arguing. We don't expect them to hold together that long – too few of them, too exhausted, and it's spelled out that there's no future in it for them. David might see reason. Isaac looks as though he's going to try and elbow us.'
Charlie directed Benitz towards the television screen, read the hostility in the other faces at the interloper in the pen. Screw them. He went on: ' I don't know whether you've seen these things before, but they take the pain out of sieges, cut the sweat out. It's a fish-eye lens with a one hundred and eighty degree arc. Means you can watch them and they're blissfully unaware of it.
Let's you know when things are heating up and gives you an idea of where everybody is. We haven't seen Isaac for around thirty minutes, hence the assumption he's sleeping. Both David and Rebecca are out of sight at the moment, one at each end of the passenger cabin where they watch from, watch us and the passengers.'
' I heard that similar equipment is being prepared for us; we don't have it yet.'
Charlie denoted the hint of envy, fractional and disguised.
' We rely in these times on the skill of the manpower, not of the equipment.' What you'd expect him to say, a man who did real soldiering, knew what a front line was about and an enemy that hit and slugged with you; not going to be publicly impressed, not by gadgetry. He remembered when he'd been young, and his people had taken him out to Christmas morning drinks, and his own present that day had been a secondhand bike that worked but was short of paint and full of rust, and the kids of the house they'd gone to had shown off their new ones, wheeling them round, bright and shiny and pricey, and he hadn't spoken of his own present. Knew how the Israeli felt.
Charlie said, 'We know it's not the end of the world, but it's useful.'
The Israeli wasn't listening, not giving the appearance of it anyway, and Charlie saw that his cheeks were drawn in and his shoulders hunched low, and turned himself to the screen. The one they called David was in the picture; the girl wasn't with him, and his head was down, and he cradled the snub- nosed gun as a mother might a new-born baby, trying to win strength for herself from the child. In the brief moments that the camera showed the young Jew, caught his expression, he gave to his watchers the impression of deep misery, the caged rat caught in the trap in the barn that knows when morning and the farmer come it will drown in the rain butt.
Still watching the set, Arie Benitz said quietly, 'Do you expect their surrender soon?'
'They're still talking hard, giving us a rough line. There's the ultimatum at ten, and they hint of bad things to the passengers. They're not on the boil yet, but far from cooled down' – Charlie at his shoulder.
'And the tough one, the fighter, the one who makes the threats: you say he is resting?'
'We think so.'
Arie Benitz straightened, looked round the room, said out loud so that all could hear and none could misinterpret, the surgeon who had examined and would now pronounce diagnosis. 'Why don't you go in there and take them, put them out of their shame?'
'What do you mean?' the Assistant Chief Constable spun towards him, pirouetting in his polished shoes, smarting that no one had informed him of the Israeli's arrival and his role.
' I mean, why don't you go and finish the thing?'
"And have half the passengers shot up, have a bloodbath on our hands?'
' If that one is anything to go by it would be over in ten seconds, and you have solved your problem.'
'You can't attack in daylight…'
'Rubbish. We had daylight in Tel Aviv when we freed the passengers of the Sabena jet. Even the Egyptians can do it- Luxor two years ago when they took out the Libyans. At Tel Aviv we had four to cope with, grown-ups compared with these children, and the hard one by your own admission is sleeping. Of course it can be done.'
The Assistant Chief Constable fastened on the luckless lieutenant who was Arie Benitz's escort. Fighting for self- control, Charlie saw, hating the eyes that were on him. ' I think we should see if Colonel Benitz has been allocated a room in the building. Certainly he would not want to impede our work in this already crowded space.' Embarrassment, and plenty to spare, hands masking faces, discreet coughs as the Israeli left. Smiling, wasn't he? And a half wink at Charlie.