operation had been tightly held, known to only a few people in South Africa and those at the highest level of his own government. Yet it had been compromised all the same.
Then there was Yosy’s phone call, right before Slaton had departed England for the mission. It had seemed harmless enough at first, but then Yosy dropped the name Sheena into the conversation, a fictitious character they’d devised years ago while working together in southern Italy. The name was a flag, their personal warning code. It had never gotten used in Italy, but last week Yosy brought up the name during an otherwise casual conversation — twice. Extreme danger. Slaton had been thrown quickly into the Polaris Venture mission, and was unable to contact Yosy by a more secure means. Once briefed on Polaris Venture , he never considered that it might be the subject of Yosy’s warning, given the level of secrecy around the project. Now he saw that was clearly a mistake.
Yosy might not have known specifically about Polaris Venture, but he’d seen a danger and tried to give warning. Slaton decided that as soon as he was safe, the first order of business would be to get in touch with Yosy. He could be trusted. Everywhere else there were doubts. Slaton had to be careful, because somewhere there was a traitor, and he had a bad feeling it was on the Israeli side of the fence. At the moment, however, he held one distinct advantage. Only one person in the world even knew he was alive, and she didn’t know who he was.
Slaton took one last look at the small sailboat. She was standing astern with an arm raised, holding onto a stanchion. At this distance her figure was nothing more than a silhouette. A strange corollary flowed into his mind as he decided she was an exceptionally attractive woman, from any distance. It was a plain beauty, simple and unadorned by cosmetics or trappings. She was average in height and build, with a distinctly athletic carriage, fluid and steady, never bothered by the movement of the boat. The hair was straight and brown, with lighter streaks from the sun, the skin clear and tan. His mind held a vivid image.
It was, however, an impression that could not be permitted to linger. It bothered him and he pushed it away. There was no place for it. There had not been for a very long time. Slaton looked again over his shoulder to evaluate the task at hand. He spied the small house atop the bluff, the one that undoubtedly commanded a breathtaking view of this craggy coastline. He had spotted it with the binoculars from Windsom. A vacation home, with any luck abandoned this time of year. That was where he was headed. David Slaton reestablished his grip on the oars and pulled hard. Now it was time to work.
Chapter Five
He dragged the dinghy up a steep pathway, thankful it wasn’t any heavier. Slaton’s bare feet slipped now and again on loose stones, and he had to grab at the bases of the sturdier shrubs for leverage as he lugged his load uphill. The path rose from a tiny patch of sand and pebbles — what must have passed for a beach along this rugged stretch of coastline — which had fortunately been accessible during the low tide. If he had arrived six hours later he might still be rowing up the coast, looking for a place to put in. Even better, the footpath eventually led to the very house that had piqued his interest. Slaton had already been up the path once to do his reconnaissance. The house was vacant, as he’d hoped.
Finally reaching the top with the dinghy in tow, he stopped for a moment to catch his breath. The house lay in front of him. It was a boxy, two-story structure with a small shed off to one side, the type of quaint summer residence common to the area, and probably used only a few months of the year.
He grabbed the dinghy again and dragged it to the shed. There, he tipped it up on one side and leaned it against the wooden building. No better place to hide something than right out in the open. Slaton went around
Then there was Yosy’s phone call, right before Slaton had departed England for the mission. It had seemed harmless enough at first, but then Yosy dropped the name Sheena into the conversation, a fictitious character they’d devised years ago while working together in southern Italy. The name was a flag, their personal warning code. It had never gotten used in Italy, but last week Yosy brought up the name during an otherwise casual conversation — twice. Extreme danger. Slaton had been thrown quickly into the Polaris Venture mission, and was unable to contact Yosy by a more secure means. Once briefed on Polaris Venture , he never considered that it might be the subject of Yosy’s warning, given the level of secrecy around the project. Now he saw that was clearly a mistake.
Yosy might not have known specifically about Polaris Venture, but he’d seen a danger and tried to give warning. Slaton decided that as soon as he was safe, the first order of business would be to get in touch with Yosy. He could be trusted. Everywhere else there were doubts. Slaton had to be careful, because somewhere there was a traitor, and he had a bad feeling it was on the Israeli side of the fence. At the moment, however, he held one distinct advantage. Only one person in the world even knew he was alive, and she didn’t know who he was.
Slaton took one last look at the small sailboat. She was standing astern with an arm raised, holding onto a stanchion. At this distance her figure was nothing more than a silhouette. A strange corollary flowed into his mind as he decided she was an exceptionally attractive woman, from any distance. It was a plain beauty, simple and unadorned by cosmetics or trappings. She was average in height and build, with a distinctly athletic carriage, fluid and steady, never bothered by the movement of the boat. The hair was straight and brown, with lighter streaks from the sun, the skin clear and tan. His mind held a vivid image.
It was, however, an impression that could not be permitted to linger. It bothered him and he pushed it away. There was no place for it. There had not been for a very long time. Slaton looked again over his shoulder to evaluate the task at hand. He spied the small house atop the bluff, the one that undoubtedly commanded a breathtaking view of this craggy coastline. He had spotted it with the binoculars from Windsom. A vacation home, with any luck abandoned this time of year. That was where he was headed. David Slaton reestablished his grip on the oars and pulled hard. Now it was time to work.
Chapter Five
He dragged the dinghy up a steep pathway, thankful it wasn’t any heavier. Slaton’s bare feet slipped now and again on loose stones, and he had to grab at the bases of the sturdier shrubs for leverage as he lugged his load uphill. The path rose from a tiny patch of sand and pebbles — what must have passed for a beach along this rugged stretch of coastline — which had fortunately been accessible during the low tide. If he had arrived six hours later he might still be rowing up the coast, looking for a place to put in. Even better, the footpath eventually led to the very house that had piqued his interest. Slaton had already been up the path once to do his reconnaissance. The house was vacant, as he’d hoped.
Finally reaching the top with the dinghy in tow, he stopped for a moment to catch his breath. The house lay in front of him. It was a boxy, two-story structure with a small shed off to one side, the type of quaint summer residence common to the area, and probably used only a few months of the year.
He grabbed the dinghy again and dragged it to the shed. There, he tipped it up on one side and leaned it against the wooden building. No better place to hide something than right out in the open. Slaton went around
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