But even if Hassan did not find him, Nat was in danger from the Russians. And if he was forewarned, he could escape both dangers. Perhaps, too, she could get rid of Hassan somehow, before she actually reached Nat What was the alternative? To wait, to go on as if nothing had happened, to hope for a phone call that might never come ... It was, she realized, partly her need to see Dickstein again that made her think like this, partly the thought that after the hijack he might be dead, that this might be her last chance But there were good reasons, too: by doing nothIng she might help frustrate Hassan's scheme, but that left the Russians and their scheme. Her decision was made. She would pretend to work with Hassan so that she could find Nathaniel. She was peculiarly happy. She was trapped, but she felt free; she was obeying her father, yet she felt that at last she was defying him; for better or worse, she was committed to Nathaniel. She was also very, very frightened. She got out of the bath, dried herself, dressed, and went downstairs to tell them the good news.
At four A.M. on November 16, 1968, the Caparelli hove to at Vlissingen, on the Dutch coast, and took an board a port pilot to guide her through the channel of the Westerscbelde to Antwerp. Four hours later, at the entrance to the harbor, she took on another pilot to negotiate her passage through the docks. From the main harbor she went through Royers Lock, along the Suez Canal, under the Siberia Bridge and into Kattendijk Dock, where she tied up at her berth. Nat Dickstein was watching. When he saw her sweep slowly in, and read the name Co. Parelli On her side, and thought of the drums of yelloweake that would soon fill her belly, he was overcome by a most Peculiar feeling, like the one he had when he looked at Suza's naked body... yes, almost like lust He looked away from berth No. 42 to the railway line, which ran almost to the edge of the quay. There was a train on the'line now, consisting of eleven cars and an engine. Ten of the cars carried fifty-one 200-liter drams with sealed lids and the word PLumBAT stenciled on the side; the eleventh car had only fifty drums. He was so close to those drums, to that uranium; he could Woll over and- touch the railway cars-he already had done this once, earlier in the morning, and had thought: Wouldn't it be terrific just to raid this place with choppers and a bunch of Israeli commandos and simply steal the stuff. The Coparellf was scheduled for a fast turnaround. The port authorities had been convinced that the yelloweake could be handled safely, but all the same they did not want the stuff hanging about their harbor one minute longer than necessary. Ilere was a crane standing by ready to load the drums on to the ship. Nevertheless, there were formalities to be completed before loading could begin. 'The fint person Dickstein saw boarding the ship was an official from the shipping company. He had to give the pilots their pourboire and secure from the captain a crew list for the harbor police. The second person aboard was Josef Cohen. He was here for the sake of customer relations: he would give the captain a bottle of whiskey and sit down for a drink with him and the shipping company official. He also had a wad of tickets for free entry and one drink at the best nightclub in town, which be would give to the captain for the officers. And he would discover the name of the ship's engineer. Dickstein had suggested he do this by asking to see the crew list, then counting out one ticket for each officer on the list. Whatever way he had decided to do it, he had been successfuclass="underline" ashe left the ship and crossed the quay to return to his office he passed Dickstein and muttered, "Me engineer's name is Same," without breaking stride. It was not until afternoon that the crane went into action and the dockers began loading the drums into the three holds of the Copareffl. IMe drums had to be moved one at a time, and inside the ship each drum had to be secured with wedges of wood. As expected, the loading was not completed that day. In the evening Dickstein went to the best nightclub in town. Sitting at the bar, close to the telephone, was a quite astonishing woman of about thirty, with black hair and a long, aristocratic face possessed of a faintly haughty expression. She wore an elegant black dress which made the most of her sensational legs and her high, round breasts. Dickstein gave her an almost imperceptible nod but did not speak to her. He sat in a comer, nursing a glass of beer, hoping the sailors would come. Surely they would. Did sailors ever refuse a free drink? Yes. The club began to fill up. The woman in the black dress was propositioned a couple of times but refused both men, thereby establishing that she was not a hooker. At nine o'clock Dickstein went out to the lobby and phoned Cohen. By previous arrangement, Cohen had called the captain of the Coparelli on a pretext. He now told Dickstein what he had discovered: that all but two of the officers were using their free tickets. Ile exceptions were the captain himself, who was busy with paperwork, and the radio operator-a new man they had taken on in Cardiff after Lars broke his leg-who had a head cold. Dickstein then dialed the number of the club he was in. He asked to speak to Mr. Same, who, he understood, would be found in the bar. While he waited he could hear a barman calling out Same's name: it came to him two ways, one directly from the bar, the other through several miles of telephone cable. Eventually be heard, over the phone, a voice say, "Yes? Hello? This is Same. Is anybody there? Hello?" Dickstein bung up and walked quickly back into the bar. He looked over to where the bar phone wa& The woman in the black dress was speaking to a tall, suntanned blond man in his thirties whom Dickstein had seen on the quay earlier that day. So this was Same. The woman smiled at Same. It was a nice smile, a smile to make any man look twice: it was warm and red-lipped, showing even, white teeth, and it was accompanied by a certain languid half-closing of the eyes, which was very sexy and looked not at all. as though it bad been rehearsed a thousand times in front of a mirror. Dickstein watched, spellbound. He had very little idea how this sort of thing worked, bow men picked up women and women picked up men, and be understood even less how a woman could pick up a man while letting the man believe he was doing the picking up. Same had his own charm, it seemed. He gave her his smile, a grin with something wickedly boyish in it that made him look ten years younger. He said something to her, and she smiled again. He hesitated, like a man who wants to talk some more but cannot think of anything to say; then, to Dickstein's horror, he turned away to go. Ile woman was equal to this: Dickstein need not have worried. She touched the sleeve of Same's blazer, and he turned back to her. A cigarette had suddenly appeared in her hand. Same slapped his pockets for matches. Apparently he did not smoke. Dickstein groaned inwardly. The woman took a lighter from the evening bag on the bar in front of her and handed it to him. He lit her cigarette. Dickstein could not go away, or watch from a distance; he would have a nervous breakdown. He had to listen. He pushed his way through the bar and stood behind Same, who was facing the woman. Dickstein ordered another beer. The woman's voice was warm and inviting, Dickstein knew already, but now she was really using it. Some women had bedroom eyes, she had a bedroom voice. Same was saying, '9rhis kind of thing is always happening to me." "Me phone call?" the woman said. Sarno nodded. "Woman trouble. I hate women. All my fife, women have caused me pain and suffering. I wish I were a homosexual." Dickstein was astonished. What was he saying? Did he mean it? Was he trying to give her the brush-off? She said, "Why don't you become one?" 'I don't fancy men." "Be a monk." "Well, you see, I have this other problem, this insatiable sexual appetite. I have to get laid, all the time, often several times a night. Ifs a great problem to me. Would you like a fresh drinkr' Ah. It was a line of chat. How did he think it up? Dickstein supposed that sailors did this sort of thing all the time, they had it down to a fine art. It went on that way. Dickstein had to admire the way the woman led Same by the nose while letting him think be was making the running. She told him she was stopping over in Antwerp just for the night, and let him know she had a room in a good hotel. Before long be said they should have champagne, but the champagne sold in the club was very poor stuff, not like they might be able to get somewhere else; at a hotel, say; her hotel, for example. They left when the floor show started. Dickstein was pleased: go far, so good. He watched a line of girls kicking their legs for ten minutes, then he went out. He took a cab to the hotel and went up to the room. He stood close to the communicating door which led through to the next room. He heard the woman giggle and Same say something in a low voice. Dickstein sat on the bed and checked the cylinder of gas. He turned tke tap on and off quickly, and got a sharp whiff of sweetness from the face mask. It had no effect on him. He wondered how much you had to breathe before it worked. He had not had time to try out the stuff properly. The noises from the next room became louder, and Dickstein began to feel embarrassed. He wondered how conscientious Sarne was. Would he want to go back to his ship as soon as he had finished with the woman?.That would be awkward. It would mean a fight in the hotel corridor-unprofessional, risky. Dickstein waited-tense, embarrassed, anxious. The woman was good at her trade. She knew Dickstein wanted Sarne to sleep afterward, and she was trying to tire him. It seemed to take forever. It was past two A.M. W.hen she knocked on the communicating door. The code was three slow knocks to say he was asleep, six fast knocks to say he was leaving. She knocked three times, slowly. Dickstein opened the door. Carrying the gas cylinder in one hand and the face mask in the other, he walked softly into the next room. Same lay flat on his back, naked, his blond hair mussed, his mouth wide open, his eyes closed. His body looked fit and strong. Dickstein went close and listened to his breathing. He breathed in, then all the way out-then, just as he began to inhale again, Dickstein turned on the tap and clapped the mask over the sleeping man's nose and mouth. Same's eyes opened wide. Dickstein held the mask on more firmly. Half a breath: incomprehension in Sarne's eyes. The breath turned into a gasp, and Same moved his head, failed to weaken Dickstein's grip, and began to thrash about. Dickstein leaned on the saffor's chest with an elbow, thinking: For God's sake, this is too slowl Sarno breathed out. The confusion in his eyes had turned to fear and panic. He gasped again, about to increase his struggles. Dickstein thought of calling the woman to help hold him down. But the second inhalation defeated its purpose; the struggles were perceptibly weaker; the eyelids fluttered, and closed; and by the time he exhaled the second -breath, he was asleep. It had taken about three seconds. Dickstein relaxed. Sarne would probably never remember it, He gave him a little more of the gas to make sure, then he stood up. He looked at the woman. She was wearing shoes, stockings, and garters; nothing else. She, looked ravishing. She caught his gaze, and opened her arms, , offering herself: at your service, sir. Dickstein shook his head with a regretful smile that was only partly disingenuous. He sat in the chair beside the bed and watched her dress: skimpy panties, soft -brassiere, jewelry, dress, coat, bag. She came to him, and he gave her eight thousand Dutch guilders. She kissed his cheek, then she kissed the banknotes. She went out without speaking. Dickstein went to the window~ A few minutes later he saw the headlights of her sports car as it went past the front of the hotel, heading back to Amsterdam. He sat down to wait, again. After a while he began to feel sleepy. He went into the next room and ordered coffee from room service. In the morning Cohen phoned to say the first officer of the Coparelli was searching the bars, brothels and flophouses of Antwerp for his engineer. At twelve-thirty Cohen phoned again. The captain had called him to say that all the cargo was now loaded and he was without an engineer officer. Cohen had said, "Captain, it's your lucky day." At two-thirty Cohen called to say he had seen Dieter Koch aboard the Coparelli with his kitbag over his shoulder. Dickstein gave Sarno a little more gas each time he showed signs of waking. He administered the last dose at Six A.M. the following day, then he paid the bill for the two rooms and left.