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

it. Danny surely had some superiors to answer to. What if they wouldn’t let him go to Greece on what could be considered a private rescue mission?
    Life by the waterfront was gentle and calm like the water in the bay, as they had been for hundreds of years. Colorful fishing boats were bobbing casually in their moorings. Fishermen were at work on their boats, while the elders were mending the fishing nets, their thick fingers threading invisible yarns through transparent mesh holes.
    Avri imagined himself to be one of them, content with his lot, with not a worry on his mind. The contemplation was a pleasant diversion, but it didn't last long.
    "Hello again, old chap," a British-accented voice startled him from behind.
    He turned his head, too quickly, he thought. My strain must be obvious .
    The 'British accent' was sitting at the other table, across the entrance. He was alone, except for the three empty beers and a small shopping bag. He was wearing a very ordinary and commonplace sailor's working garb - blue jeans and a worn out short-sleeve shirt. His smile was all of his own though, wide and cheerful, crinkling his eyes down to mere slits, the little of them that was still showing was shining bright.
    Avri felt ridiculous for being startled so quickly, but the Englishman gave no indication of noticing it.
    "Hello," Avri answered with a vague hand wave.
    "Care to join me?" He asked, holding up a can of Lager.
    "Too early for me," Avri answered "but I'll have another coffee," he said, pointing to his empty cup.
    "Coffee please," he called to the taverna keeper and joined the Brit at his table.
    "Avri Keren, from the Galatea," he introduced himself as he extended his hand across the table.
    He was met with a strong, broad but gentle hand, which delivered a very amiable shake.
    "Jim Oakeley. I own the Jay Bee over there,” he said with that smile again, nodding his head toward the east quay.
    Avri followed his nod, but could not make out the boat. His companion noticed the puzzled look and gestured again.
    There was something alarming, or at least strange about this Oakeley. While Oakeley pointed out his boat amongst the towering masts along the quay Avri tried to figure out what is it that alarmed him.
    The Jay Bee was a dark blue Yawl and, from this far, she seemed to be a forty-five or forty-seven footer.
    The taverna keeper called from inside, asking about the sugar in the coffee, and Avri seized the opportunity, got up, and walked in.
    The guy looks like an imposter, he thought. No, he actually seems very ordinary. What is it then? It's his accent. That’s it, it's too stereotypical. They don't talk like this any more in England .
    He sounded like someone trying to imitate an Englishman.
    That's it. He is a phony! But then why should anyone want to pretend to be British? Unless he doesn’t want to be recognized for what he really is. And what could that possibly be? Why should he want to conceal his nationality?
    Unless ... unless maybe… maybe he is a Russian. That’s it. It must be it. He is a goddamn Russian .
    Come now, be calm. Cool it, don't get excited , he told himself, but then he realized that he had already tipped his hand by jumping like a startled cat earlier when this ‘Oakeley’ first addressed him.
    He walked back, carrying his coffee and wearing a smile which he hoped looked common. He was now utterly sure that Jim Oakeley was associated with the submarine. Avri had no idea what to expect next, much less what to do about it. But knowing the score though made him feel much better.
    "She seems solid and fast,” he said as he sat down, pointing toward the Jay Bee.
    "She is solid, very solid indeed," Oakeley responded with a pride reserved only for offspring and boats. "We have been through many waters and a lot of winds together. The old girl hasn’t let me down yet, the beauty".
    Oh boy, what an act, Avri thought. If this is typical K.G.B. training, the guy has no chance sailing through Christmas