Exodus - Leon Uris [237]
“I am not interested,” Dov said firmly.
“Ah, hah,” the old man teased, “perhaps you already have a girl you have been holding out on us.”
“I had a girl once,” Dov said, “but no more.”
“I must tell Ben Moshe to find you a new one and you will go out and enjoy yourself.”
“I don’t want one and I’ll stay in headquarters. It is the most important place to be.”
The old man lay back again and he meditated. At length he spoke. “How wrong you are, Little Giora. How very wrong you are. The most important place to be is awakening in the morning and looking out at your fields, working in them—and coming home at night to someone you love and who loves you.”
The old man is getting sentimental again, Dov thought. He tried the paper and found it dry. He fitted the passport photo into place. As Akiva dozed on the cot, Dov began his pacing again. It was worse now that he had sent the letter to Mrs. Fremont. He wanted to go on raids. Another raid and another and another. Sooner or later the British would get him and hang him and it would be all over with. They didn’t know that his bravery came from the fact that he didn’t care. He almost begged to be hit by enemy gunfire. The dream was bad these days and Karen was not there to stand between him and the gas-chamber door. Mrs. Fremont would take her to America now. That would be good. And he would keep on going on raids until they got him, because it was no good to live without Karen.
Outside of the apartment fifty plain-clothed British police intermingled with the crowds near the bus station. They moved quickly, picking up the Maccabee lookouts and whisking them out of the area before they could give a warning. Then they cordoned off the entire block.
Fifteen police armed with shotguns, tear gas, axes, and sledge hammers slipped down to the basement apartment and stationed themselves around the door.
There was a knock.
Akiva’s eyes fluttered open.
“That must be Ben Moshe and Nahum. Let them in, Dov.”
Dov slipped the chain latch into place and opened the door a crack. A sledge hammer crashed into the door, ripping it open.
“British!” Dov screamed.
Akiva and Little Giora captured!
The word was on every lip in Palestine! The legendary Akiva who had eluded the British for more than a decade was now theirs!
“Betrayal!” cried the Maccabees. They placed the blame on the Haganah. Ben Moshe and Nahum Ben Ami had been meeting with Zev Gilboa. Either Gilboa or some other Haganah person had followed them to learn the Maccabee headquarters. How else could it have been found? The two factions were again at odds. The Maccabees voiced accusations. A hundred rumors circulated purporting to reveal how the Haganah had managed its alleged sellout.
The British High Commissioner for Palestine moved for an immediate trial to produce a quick sentence which would further demoralize the Maccabees. He felt that swift justice for Akiva would restore British authority and curtail the Maccabee activities, since the old man had long been the spiritual force behind the terrorists.
The high commissioner arranged a secret trial. The name of the judge was withheld for his own safety. Akiva and Little Giora were sentenced to be hanged within a fortnight of their capture.
They were both incarcerated in the impenetrable Acre jail.
In his eagerness the high commissioner had made a disastrous mistake. Newsmen had been barred from the trial, and in the United States in particular the Maccabees had powerful friends and financial aid. The guilt or innocence of Akiva and Little Giora were lost sight of in the passionate outbursts that followed. Like the Exodus incident, the sentencing of the pair was being turned into a focus for violent protest of the British mandate.