The Chase: One Courageous Skipper Battling The Perilous Evil Out To Destroy Him. (Sea Action & Adventure) (10 page)

"Look Danny," he protested reasonably. "This is not my line. I have no ambitions to join the Mossad. I'm not good at these things. You better find another way. I'm sure the Mossad has more ingenious ways of smuggling things across borders than using an engineer on his summer vacation".

"That’s a fair enough statement, Avri," said Danny patiently, "but this case is different. You see, if an official Israeli, or even a Mossad agent is caught carrying a piece of Russian hardware, a top-secret antenna, that’s an international debacle that will have severe implications for our country. We, Israel, cannot afford such publicity, not with the Russians and certainly not now. It will be very difficult to convince friends and rivals alike that we got this hardware by a mere accident. Our world does not believe in accidents. Your story will gain very little credibility around the intelligence circles".

"So, you see why we'll have to keep our distance," he continued, "You will have to finish this one pretty much by yourself".

There was complete silence, one that seemed to stretch to unbearable lengths. The cabin now felt cramped and uncomfortable. Avri stared blankly at his old friend. Danny's arguments were clear and sound but the conclusion was definitely dire. He felt he was being pushed into a dangerous play for the benefit of others, that he was being used as a pawn in a game that wasn’t his own.

He looked at Amikam, who had been quiet all that time, his face neutral, totally impassive. Clearly, he had no intention of getting involved in the discussion. Avri was irritated at Amikam for being there in the first place.
What the hell is he doing here anyhow? Is he muscle, a part of the cover, an intern on a field trip?
Whatever the reason for Danny’s ‘silent partner’, it didn't really matter. He felt he had more chance of appealing to Danny without the mysterious addition. Amikam’s presence made it all feel so much more official and underhand.

"If this has the potential to cause such serious international consequences, maybe I should just chuck the damn thing into the sea and go on with my holiday".

Danny didn't seem at all comfortable with the direction of the conversation. Amikam kept his poker face.
He is either very smart or very dumb,
Avri thought.

"Can we have some more of your coffee?"

Is he stalling for time?
Avri thought as he headed for the galley.

Danny held his refilled cup with both hands, contemplatively, and said in a low, somewhat secretive, voice "This antenna may be much more important than you think, Avri. You see, for years now, well, actually since the Six-day War our air force has been heavily dependent on electronic warfare to counter Russian-made anti-aircraft missiles. These weapons, used by many Arab countries, constitute a serious threat to our air supremacy in the region".

He sipped his coffee thoughtfully, and continued, "So the guys in the air force, with a lot of help from the electronic industry, have developed a system to defend our planes from these missiles. I don't know, maybe you were involved at some stage?"

"No. I don't know anything about it".

"Anyway," he continued, "They found a weak link in the Russian equipment, and they developed a way to jam it. They call it the D.L.J., which stands for Down-Link Jammer. They have found that the Russian missile keeps in constant RF communication with its launch station, transmitting information about its velocity, altitude and attitude, and this enables the ground computer to calculate and guide it on an interception course with the target aircraft. The smart guys have developed the electronics needed to confound this down-link, the D.L.J."

Avri listened with great interest, he genuinely knew nothing about this system.

"For years it worked well. The Russians tried to outsmart our D.L.J., but our engineers were always one step ahead of them, until recently, that is".

Danny finished his coffee with one long, final sip and continued "About a year ago, one of our KFIR fighter aircraft was shot down in what was described as a missile ambush near the Syrian border. Well, it wasn't exactly an ambush. It was the Russian's answer to our Down-Link Jammer."

It was past twilight. The boat was dark, except for the small reading light; Avri had switched it on while waiting for Danny to show up, totally ignorant of Russian guidance techniques and Israeli D.L.J. systems. Amikam was out of sight in one of the dark corners of the cabin and Avri had almost forgotten about him.

"A good pilot was lost with that aircraft. I believe you knew him. He was Ruth's classmate, Zvi Manor."

Avri's face crumpled with pain. Of course he knew Zvi. He was a pleasant guy and Ruth told him that he was very well liked in the class.

"I didn't know he was killed," Avri said, in a shocked whisper.

"It was kept quiet for a long time because the plane crashed within Israeli territory and intelligence felt that the Russians may be in the dark as to the success of that missile." He looked at his empty cup but said nothing. Avri didn't offer a refill.

"The new Russian system is based on millimeter wavelength down-link technology. The air force has been busy developing a new Jammer and the Russians are busy snooping on it. I am sure your antenna will help a lot in understanding Russian microwave technology."

Avri was annoyed at learning the antenna had been branded 'his'. He damned the curiosity that led him to keep it in the first place.

"I still don't like the idea at all," he protested, but Danny knew the battle had been won, Avri was beaten. This was a protest of defeat. "And I don't even have luggage to pack the antenna in", he remarked in defeat.  "I just have a small carry-on duffle bag".

"Why don't you think about it, you don't have to decide anything now," Danny said softly. "How about a guided tour of your boat, I never had a chance to become familiar with this part of your life".

Avri knew he was being manipulated, but still, he couldn't resist showing off his Galatea. Anyway, it would be a pleasant, if temporary, distraction from his situation.

Danny, to his credit, seemed genuinely impressed. He asked a lot of questions about the rigging and the sails, he cranked the winches and followed Avri's detailed explanation of the wind-vane automatic pilot.

It was near midnight. Avri offered them bunks in the forepeak. He used the convertible settee in the main cabin.

"Tomorrow morning we'll go ashore," Danny said to Avri before turning in, "and Amikam here will give you some free maintenance for your engine. He is a genuine mechanical expert and to make our cover credible, he has some new parts for you as well".

"I'll change your oil and fuel filters. I have a new salt water pump and I'll adjust the valves' clearance and check the timing".

Avri was so amazed to hear that Amikam could actually speak that he didn't pay much attention to what he said.

K.G.B. regional headquarters in Kerch had gone on full alert as soon as first transmission was received from the Slavianka. Any submarine in foreign waters was a sensitive item for the security-minded officers. The Slavianka was a lot more so, and now, having failed to establish communication on two scheduled times they were very worried indeed.

Things started to happen rapidly after the first report came in from the submarine, from First Lieutenant Sasha Gushin. Two special agents were dispatched to the Aegean, one to the Greek side, and the other to the Turkish coast. The K.G.B., through its varied sources in both countries, initiated an extensive and secretive search for the sub and the yacht.

The fact that the Captain of the Slavianka didn't report the incident, any incident in fact, added considerable gravity to the problem. Captain Poliakov's statement - that he failed to establish communication due to heavy freighter traffic in the area, was compared with the night's maritime traffic report, which only seemed to confirm their suspicions of a cover-up.

The K.G.B. had some very good reasons for worrying. The Slavianka was not to be exposed. Categorically so. As a matter of fact, the Captain had orders to destroy the sub, crew and all, rather than expose her to the outside world. They were prepared to torpedo the submarine from the air, but they weren't sure they could do it without creating debris that would, in itself, be embarrassing.

Many cigarettes were smoked, and much sleep was lost at Kerch that night.

A pleasant sun shone brightly over the Aegean islands on this Wednesday morning. Avri Keren was still very unaware and foolishly naïve as he followed Danny's plot, one easy step after another. To him, Danny remained an old friend, a comrade-in-arms, a solution to his present dilemma. He failed to realize that Danny was a professional agent with the Mossad, a spy or a spy catcher, or an assassin, or any of the other things these guys do, that he was sitting here with him not for old time's sake but for some devious reason.

During his sails, when he was alone with the sea and the wind, Avri used to glance at the barometer every time he sensed an impending change in the weather. It was an instinctive, unconscious behavior. Now he was looking for a barometer that wasn't there, over Danny's shoulder, on a silvery cloud or on the taverna's wall. He didn't know why and wasn't even aware of it.

They were having a large bowl of Greek salad with large chunks of Feta cheese on top and black olives all around it. There were fresh onions on the side and hunks of coarse-grained country bread served in a straw basket.

"And how is Ruth now?" Danny asked, dipping his bread in the green olive oil. "I only had short talk with her, briefly when she called me about your message".

"Oh, she is cheerful as ever, busy, as usual, with a thousand and one things happy in her own way. I see her now and then, usually when she needs some help, and that's quite often."

"You don't sound too bitter about it."

"Bitter? Not at all. You see, we were never really angry with each other. We loved, we had fun, but we found that we just couldn’t live together. We were so different that it was impossible to find any real common ground".

"But you got married, and you stayed married for what - a year - wasn't it? We all thought that you were the greatest couple of the bunch. Lots of fun, full of life, and you didn't turn into an old married couple immediately after the honeymoon."

"It was, Danny. It really was fun. We weren't pretending. We just had a year-long honeymoon. It was only when we got stuck into the real stuff, into real life, that we found out it didn’t work at all."

"I was still very surprised when I heard that you had split. I guess we all were."

"Yes. Many of the guys tried to lend a hand. They felt they had to play peacekeepers, to help us stay together. They soon realized though that there was no quarrel, no fight, no one was cheating on anyone. We just decided to become unmarried".

"Become unmarried, that's a new social term".

"Yes. I like it. I think it is the only term to explain our relationship. Most of our friends saw it that way too". Avri hesitated for a moment, pondering about the past as he nibbled on a slice of onion.

"By the way, Danny. You weren't there when we split, where were you? Many of the guys asked me about you but I had no answer. Where were you?"

Danny nodded almost imperceptibly.

"Where were you, Danny?" He insisted.

"Oh, I don't know. I think I was working up north at the time".

"Yeh? How far up north," Avri asked with a smile.

Danny was about to answer when Amikam appeared from the dock and joined them at the table.

Five hours later, Danny and Amikam had boarded the ferry and left Avri Keren on his own with the Russian antenna.
His
antenna.

He was resolved in his line of action. Considering the situation, he felt it to be a reasonable one. His plan called for a rather direct sail down to Rhodes, where he would leave the Russian antenna, well wrapped up, with his friend and partner, Kostas. He would then have at least three more sailing days before his vacation time was over. If he was lucky he might even have five sailing days – that is if he made it from here to Rhodes in three days.

It is possible,
he thought
, but it requires the full cooperation of Neptune
.

He sat down at the navigation table and began to plot the course to Rhodes. He marked many harbors and ports on the way in order to have a shelter available should the weather go bad. It was mid-summer and the Meltami season was around the corner. The summer wind starts blowing in early July and prevails throughout the summer until late September. Usually it is a good sailing wind, but every once in a while it can get out of control and develop into a force seven storm. Avri intended to take advantage of this wind, yet make a plan in case it developed into a tempest. He would sail from Samos to Agios Kirikos on Ikaria Island. From there he would turn Southeast to 210º, pass east of Patmos and then west of Leros, some fifteen miles south.

A straight run south would take him past Kalimnos and Kos, and then, after passing Nissiros on the west it would be a long haul to Rhodes. The lines on the map totaled 180 miles. Ocean racers cover that much in a single day and sailing cruisers typically make it in two.

So it seemed that he might still have some vacation time left. He discarded the Russians, intentionally or subconsciously. 

Avri spent the early hours of that afternoon plotting his voyage, and reading and marking pages in Rod Heinkle’s “Greek water pilot”. Each port and bay was accurately described and every anchorage marked. It was the most thorough and reliable guide of the Aegean available.

At around four o’clock in the afternoon, Avri started preparing the Galatea for the trip. The fuel tank had about twenty five gallons of diesel oil in it – more than enough. He made a short list of supplies to be picked up ashore. The next hour was spent cleaning up the cabin, washing the deck and the cockpit. He inspected the ropes, recoiling the loose ones, checked the rigging and bent the halyards. He examined the bow, the patch he fixed three days ago, and smiled with pride. It looked good, very good.

She was ready to sail, and so was he. A little after six o’clock he went ashore. The shopping list transformed into groceries in the two rattan baskets he carried as he headed toward the waterfront.

A smiling Jim Oakeley waved at him as he approached the taverna.

“Hello Avri,” he called out aloud. “I am so glad to see you. Would you care to join me for dinner?”

“Are you getting too lazy to cook your own meals, Jim?”

“Oh, I don’t know, cooking for one just don’t feel right,” and then, after noticing Avri’s shopping baskets, he added, “or maybe we should make a farewell dinner of it?”

“Well yes, we should,” Avri replied, smiling. “I’ll be sailing off tomorrow morning”.

The old taverna keeper jovially placed two Tuborg beers on their table. They were nearly his regulars by now.

“’Scuse me” he said in a Greek-style English. “I have very good Sinagrida. From today. I fry it or I put over the fire. Very good”.

“It’s a fish,” Avri answered Jim’s questioning gaze. "I recommend we take it”.

“They are first this year,” the old man went on exuberantly. “Vidas, he fished it in the morning,” he nodded toward a young man strolling away from the store, leisurely perusing the boats on the waterfront.

The main dock, stretching along the shore, was lined up with few heavy trawlers and many local caiques. Vidas nonchalantly studied the boats as he paced the dock. There were the bulky Trehandiri fishing boats, too big and often too busy to keep clean. A tourist ferry was being worked on, preparation for the coming season.

They better move their asses or they’ll miss the season all together,
he thought doubtfully.

Vidas reached the north end of the dock and turned left to the new pier. Visiting yachts usually moored here. It was still early season and Samos was not a big attraction with the tourists so this wharf was only half occupied. It was a stopover port rather than a goal.

There were two wooden boats near the corner, the crews gathered sociably in the cockpit of one of them. Next there were five identical Dufor 27s tied together, obviously a charter flotilla. A ten yard stretch of bare pier was followed by a gleaming, white sixty foot monster.

This is living,
he thought as he passed her by. He wondered about the name on her transom – FIVE ANGELS.

Next there was a very solid Australian double-ender Yawl, a masterpiece in mahogany and teak. The next one stopped him dead in his tracks. She was a white sloop, about twelve meters long. She matched Kodos’ description perfectly. True, his description was quite general; it could fit a hundred boats, though this was the first one he found in Samos. ‘Galatea’ he mouthed. He was surprised, almost disappointed to read her home port – Rhodes. Kondos said she was a foreign boat. He looked for damage in the hull, but there was none.

Vidas strolled to the end of the pier, none of the other boats matched Kondos' description. He walked back to the Galatea and looked again for a rupture anywhere in the hull.

It’s beyond a coincidence, damage or not,
he thought to himself. There was a reward at stake here, and he had no desire to miss out on account of negligence.

The boat seemed unoccupied. The gangway was raised a foot off the dock. And all was quiet about her. Vidas took a cautious look around, no one was there. He was alone on the pier. With a swift tug he yanked on the gangway halyard. The boat rattled and a deep sound reverberated throughout her hull. No one came out, no one was there. She was his only suspect and he had to make sure she didn’t leave Samos, not before Kondos or somebody took a look at her.

The prospect of reward never forgotten, the young Greek walked back to his boat which was moored in front of the taverna. He was excited yet not in a rush. No one was ever in a hurry on these Greek islands. His small boat was well kept and good looking. Her hull was painted light turquoise with a dark blue waterline. Her gunwale was dark blue too and it contrasted beautifully with her light green deck. Vidas boarded his boat and spent the rest of the day busy cleaning up the deck, organizing the fishing gear, putting things in order. He kept himself occupied while he waited for darkness.

It was just past six o'clock; the evening hadn’t yet drawn in. Vidas rummaged around a pile of fishing nets and picked up a green one which was made of sturdy nylon thread. It still had many useful fishing days in it, but he sacrificed it with no hesitation. He cut a piece off the net, about six feet long by four feet wide, and put it aside. He then set out to salvage the floats and the sinkers off from the mutilated net. They were well worth salvaging.

By a quarter to eight, darkness had settled over Samos bay and it was dim enough for Vidas to make his move. He picked up two heavy wooden oars, and mounted them onto the oarlocks. He then untied the bow line from the dock and pushed off into the bay. He rowed silently in the quiet night. The taverna lights flickered in the ripples laid behind his boat. Gliding through the darkness of the bay, he knew he was perfectly concealed from the shore.

Twenty minutes of rowing landed him at the North West end of the new pier. He was only six or seven boats away from the Galatea. The end of the pier was an unsightly sprawl of large pillars, iron rods spiking up from jugged concrete blocks, the sight of an uncompleted construction project. Far ends of piers usually have this unfinished look about them because they usually
are
unfinished, the project budget typically being shorter than the length of the pier. The far end of the pier was an ideal place for his ploy.

Vidas secured his boat to a half-sunken steel rod. He changed into short pants and slipped quietly into the water, taking the green fishing net with him. He swam silently, passing under the anchor chains of the mooring yachts.

The Galatea had no damage in the hull, not even a scratch. It was disappointing, but he decided to go ahead anyhow, after all there was nothing to lose. It was worth trying. He dived under her stern and followed the rudder until he reached the propeller. He surfaced briefly for air, and then dived again. He wrapped the nylon net around the shaft, then above one of the propeller blades and over the rudder's pivot shaft. He gave the net one good last tug and shot up gasping for air.

Back on his boat Vidas dried himself off and dressed up and rowed back to his mooring spot. Two figures were strolling leisurely towards the far end of the pier.

Avri Keren wavered at Oakeley's warm invitation for a bon voyage nightcap, but a glance at the watch resolved the matter.

"Thanks, Jim. I'd like to, but it is past nine o'clock and I plan a very early start in the morning".

"No worries," the Aussie said as they shook hands. "Have a good sail and may we meet again upon happy waters".