Leon Uris Read Online Free PDF

knowledge of the British and set up schools, hospitals, and synagogues, built sanitation facilities, and organized light industry. The refugees who had been turned back from Palestine to Cyprus were hopeless people. The appearance of young Palestinians of the Jews’ army infused new hope and morale. David Ben Ami and the other Palmachniks gave military training to several thousand men and women among the refugees, using sticks as rifles and rocks as grenades. Although he was but twenty-two years of age David was the Palmach commander in Cyprus. If the British had gotten wind that there were Palestinians inside the camps they kept quiet about it, for they did their guarding from the outside—having no desire to go into the hate-riddled compounds.
    “How many people do you want to escape?” David asked.
    “Three hundred, more or less.”
    David shook his head. “We have a few tunnels dug but those lead to the sea. As you know by coming in here tonight, the tides are treacherous and only strong swimmers can make it. Second, we move in and out through the garbage dumps. They are loosely guarded, but we could never get that many people through. Third, British uniforms and false papers ... again, we can only get a few in and out at a time. Last, we crate some of our members up in boxes and send them to the docks. Mr. Mandria here owns the shipping company and his dock hands are on the alert for these crates. At this moment, Ari, I see no way to pull a mass escape.
    “We will find a way,” Ben Canaan said matter of factly, “but we only have a few weeks to complete this job.”
    Mandria, the Greek, arose, sighed, and shook his head. “Mr. Ben Canaan, you have swum ashore tonight and asked us to do the impossible ... in two weeks, yet. In my heart,” Mandria said, touching his heart, “I say that it will be done, but! ... in my head”—and Mandria tapped his skull with his forefinger—“it cannot be done.” The Cypriot clasped his hands behind him and paced the dining room. “Believe me, Mr. Ben Canaan”—he swung around and made a bravado sweep of the arm—“you Palmach and Mossad people can count on the Greeks of Cyprus to back you to the last drop of blood. We are for you! We are with you! We are behind you! Nevertheless ...! Cyprus is an island and it is surrounded by water on all sides and the British are not stupid or asleep. I, Mandria, will do everything for you, but still you are not getting three hundred people out of Caraolos. There are ten-foot walls of barbed wire around those compounds and the guards carry rifles ... with bullets in them.”
    Ari Ben Canaan arose and towered over the other two men. He had ignored much of Mandria’s dramatics. “I will need a British uniform, papers, and a driver by morning. You can start looking for a boat, Mr. Mandria. Something between a hundred and two hundred tons. David, we will need an expert forger.”
    “We have a boy out in the children’s compound who is supposed to be a real artist but he won’t work. The rest of the stuff is primitive.”
    “I’ll go out to Caraolos tomorrow and talk to him. I want to look over the camp, anyhow.”
    Mandria was elated. What a man of action Ari Ben Canaan was! Find a ship! Find a forger! Get me a uniform and a driver! Life was so exciting since the Mossad and Palmach had come to Cyprus, and he so loved being a part of the cat-and-mouse game with the British. He stood up and pumped Ari Ben Canaan’s hand. “We Cypriots are with you. Your battle is our battle!”
    Ben Canaan looked at Mandria disgustedly. “Mr. Mandria,” he said, “you are being well paid for your time and efforts.”
    A stunned silence fell on the room. Mandria turned as white as a sheet. “Do you believe ... do you dare believe, sir, that I, I, Mandria, would do this for money? Do you think I risk ten years in prison and exile from my home? It has cost me over five thousand pounds since I began working with your Palmach.”
    David stepped in