Exodus - Leon Uris [209]
One afternoon Sutherland returned from Gan Dafna and was surprised to find his former aide, Major Fred Caldwell, awaiting him.
“How long have you been in Palestine, Freddie?”
“I arrived just a bit ago.”
“Where are you serving?”
“Headquarters, Jerusalem, in Intelligence. I’m doing liaison with the Criminal Investigation Division. They’ve had a shake-up recently. Seems that some of our chaps have been working with the Haganah and even with the Maccabees, if you can imagine that.”
Sutherland could imagine it quite easily.
“Actually, sir, this visit is only partly social, although I certainly intended to drop up and see how you’ve been getting on. General Haven-Hurst asked me to see you personally because I had worked under you in the past.”
“Oh?”
“As you know we are now in the process of carrying out Operation Polly, the evacuation of nonessential British from Palestine.”
“I’ve heard it referred to as Operation Folly,” Sutherland said.
Freddie smiled politely at the jibe and cleared his throat. “General Haven-Hurst wanted to know what you planned to do.”
“I don’t plan to do a thing. This is my home and this is where I am going to remain.”
Freddie’s fingers drummed impatiently on the table top. “What I mean, sir, is that General Haven-Hurst wants it understood that once the nonessentials are gone he cannot assume responsibility for your safety. If you remain here it could pose a problem to us.”
Caldwell’s speech held obvious devious connotations: Haven-Hurst knew of Sutherland’s leanings and was afraid of his working with the Haganah. He was, in effect, advising him to get out.
“Tell General Haven-Hurst I am grateful for his concern and I fully realize his exact position.”
Freddie wanted to press the matter. Sutherland arose quickly and thanked Caldwell for the visit and walked him to the driveway, where a sergeant waited with a staff car. He watched the car drive down toward the Taggart fort. As usual, Freddie had botched his assignment. His delivery of Haven-Hurst’s warning had been clumsy, indeed.
Sutherland walked back to the villa and thought it over. He was in physical danger. The Maccabees could easily take exception to a retired British brigadier with Arab friends living alone on Mount Canaan, although the Maccabees would certainly think twice about doing him in. There was no danger from the Haganah. He had a loose contact with them and they were not only discriminate but did not go in for assassination. On the other side there was no telling what Husseini was likely to do: Sutherland had friends among the Jews. Some of them could well have been Maccabees unbeknownst to him.
Bruce Sutherland walked to his gardens. They were bursting with the early spring roses. He looked beyond the valley to Safed. He had found peace and comfort here. The hideous dreams were gone. No, he would not leave tomorrow—or ever.
Caldwell’s car entered the Taggart fort a few moments after he left Sutherland. The four outside walls held the offices and barracks. The inner court served as the assembly ground and parking lot for vehicles. He was met and asked to report to CID.
“Are you going back to Jerusalem tonight, Major Caldwell?” the Criminal Investigation Division inspector asked.
Freddie looked at his watch. “Yes, I plan to. We can make it back before evening if I leave right now.”
“Good. I have a Jew here I want taken back to CID in Jerusalem for questioning. Maccabee prisoner ... dangerous one. There is a chance that the Maccabees know we are holding him here and will be watching for a convoy to transfer him. That is why it will be safer if he goes in your car.”
“Happy to do it.”
“Bring the Jew boy in.”
Two soldiers dragged in a boy of fourteen or fifteen years of age manacled with heavy chains on hands and feet. A taped gag was over his mouth. His face was