Exodus - Leon Uris [229]
They drove another ten minutes and stopped.
Dov accurately pinpointed their position in the Sanhedriya section near the Tombs of the Sanhedrin, the ancient supreme court of Hebrew rabbis, almost to the precise part of the block.
He was led into a house and into a room filled with cigarette smoke where he was made to sit. He sensed at least five or six people. For two hours Dov was grilled. Questions were fired at him from around the room until he began to perspire nervously. As the questioning continued he began to piece it together. The Maccabees had learned through their infallible intelligence sources that Dov had extraordinary talent as a forger, and it was badly needed by them. He had obviously been brought before some of the highest members in the Maccabees, perhaps the commanders themselves. At last they had satisfied themselves that Dov’s qualifications and security checked.
“There is a curtain in front of you,” a voice said. “Put your hands through it.”
Dov pushed his hands through the cloth. One of his hands was placed on a pistol and the other on a Bible. He repeated the oath of the Maccabees:
“I, Dov Landau, do give my body, my soul, my being, without reservation or qualification, to the Freedom Fighters of the Maccabees. I will obey any and all orders without question. I will subordinate myself to the authority over me. Under torture, even to death, I will never divulge the name of a fellow Maccabee or the secrets entrusted to me. I will fight the enemies of the Jewish people unto the last breath of life in my body. I will never cease in this sacred battle until realization of a Jewish state on both sides of the Jordan River, which is the natural historical right of my people. My creed to mine enemies shall be: Life for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, burning for burning. All this I swear in the name of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, Sarah, Rebecca, Rachael and Leah and the prophets and of all the Jews who have been slaughtered and all my gallant brothers and sisters who have died in the name of freedom.”
The blindfold was taken from Dov’s eyes and the candles on the Menorah before him were blown out and the lights went up in the room. Dov looked into the eyes of six grim men and two women. They shook hands with him and introduced themselves. Old man Akiva himself was there and Ben Moshe, their field leader, who had lost a brother fighting for the British in the war and a sister with the Palmach. Nahum Ben Ami was one of seven brothers. The other six were in the Palmach. These men and women banded together because they were neither capable or desirous of the self-restraint of the Yishuv.
Old Akiva stepped up before Dov. “You will be of value to us, Dov Landau. That is why we took you without the usual training.”
“I did not join to draw pictures,” Dov snapped.
“You will do what you are told to do,” Ben Moshe answered.
“Dov, you are a Maccabee now,” Akiva said. “You are entitled to take a name of a Hebrew hero. Do you have such a name in mind?”
“Giora,” Dov said.
There was some laughter about the room. Dov gritted his teeth.
“Giora, is it? Akiva said. “I am afraid there are others ahead of you.”
“How about Little Giora,” Nahum Ben Ami said, “until Dov can become Big Giora?”
“I will become Big Giora soon enough if you give me the chance.”
“You will set up a forgery plant,” Ben Moshe said, “and travel with us. If you behave and do as you are told we may let you go out on a raid with us now and again.”
Major Fred Caldwell played bridge in the main lounge of the British Officers’ Club at Goldsmith House in Jerusalem. Freddie was finding it difficult to concentrate on card playing. His mind kept wandering back to the CID Headquarters and on the captured Maccabee girl they had been interrogating for some three days. Her name was Ayala and she was in her early twenties and fetchingly pretty. She had been a music major at the university. At least she was pretty before the questioning started. Ayala had been another tough Jewess and she had spit defiance at the CID.