Exodus - Leon Uris [97]
Ten-twenty. The phone rang!
Mark and Kitty looked at each other for an instant. Mark wiped the sweat from the palm of his hand, sucked in his breath, and lifted the receiver.
“Hello.”
“Mr. Parker?”
“Speaking.”
“Just a moment, sir. We have a call for you from Famagusta.”
“Hello ... hello ... hello.”
“Parker?”
“Speaking.”
“Mandria here.”
“Yes?”
“They have just passed through.”
Mark replaced the receiver slowly. “He got them out of Caraolos, all right. They’re moving down the road to Larnaca now. In about fifteen minutes they’ll fork off and make a dash north. They’ve got about fifty miles, mostly flat country with only one mountain pass if they don’t have to use alternate roads. They should be here a little after noon ... if everything goes all right.”
“I’m almost hoping that something will go wrong,” Kitty said.
“Come on. No use waiting here.”
He took his field glasses and walked with Kitty downstairs to the reception desk and asked for a cable blank.
KENNETH BRADBURY
CHIEF, AMERICAN NEWS SYNDICATE
London
HAVING A BALL. REQUEST TWO WEEK EXTENSION OF MY VACATION. ADVISE.
MARK
“Send this through, urgent. How long will it take?”
The receptionist read it over. “It will be in London in a few hours.”
They walked from the Dome toward the quay.
“What was that about?” Kitty asked.
“My story should be on the wires from London tonight.”
They stood on the quay for several moments and watched the rickety salvage tug tie up at dockside. Mark led Kitty away. They crossed the harbor and climbed to the ramparts of the Virgin Castle. From here they could see both the harbor and far down the coastal road where the convoy was due to pass.
At eleven-fifteen Mark focused his field glasses on the coast road. He slowly scanned the road that hugged the shore and wove in and out of the hills. The mountain pass was too far off to see. He froze! He had sighted a tiny trail of dust and a line of trucks which appeared as small as ants. He nudged Kitty and handed her the glasses. She held them on the trucks as they wove in and out the snake-like turns and inched toward Kyrenia.
“They are about half an hour away.”
They came down from the rampart, crossed the harbor once again, and stood at the end of the quay, which was only five walking minutes from the Dome Hotel. As the convoy passed the hospital at the edge of town Mark took Kitty’s hand and started back to the hotel.
In a phone booth at the Dome, Mark put in an urgent call to British Intelligence in Famagusta.
“I wish to speak to Major Alistair,” Mark said, disguising his voice by putting a handkerchief over the mouthpiece and speaking with a British accent.
“Who is calling, please, and what do you wish to speak to Major Alistair about?”
“Look, old boy,” Mark said, “three hundred Jews have escaped from Caraolos. Now just don’t ask any damned fool questions and give me Alistair.”
The phone on Major Alistair’s desk rang.
“Alistair here,” he said in his whispery voice.
“This is a friend,” Mark said. “I am advising you that several hundred Jews have broken out of Caraolos and are boarding a ship in the Kyrenia harbor at this very moment.”
Alistair clicked the receiver several times. “Hello ... hello ... who is this? I say ... hello.” He closed his own phone and opened it again. “Alistair here. I have a report of an escape of Jews. They are supposed to be boarding a ship at Kyrenia. Sound an alert, blue. Have the Kyrenia area commander investigate at once. If the report is true you’d better advise naval units to move for that area.”
Alistair put down the receiver and rushed down the hall toward Sutherland’s office.
The convoy rolled to a stop on the quay. Ari Ben Canaan got out of the lead jeep and its driver drove it off. One by one the lorries rolled up to the Exodus. The youngsters responded automatically as a result of Zev’s training. They moved quickly and quietly from the truck to the ship. On board, Joab, David, and Hank Schlosberg, the captain, moved them into their places in the hold and