Free Leon Uris by Exodus Page B

sipped his coffee, wiped his lips with his napkin, and then stared over Kitty’s shoulder intently at the figure who had entered the doorway. A tall man was whispering into the ear of the headwaiter, and the waiter pointed to Mark’s table. Mark’s eyes widened as he recognized Ari Ben Canaan.
    “Mark, you look as though you’ve seen a ghost,” Kitty said.
    “I have and he’s just about here. We are going to have a very interesting evening.”
    Kitty turned around to see Ari Ben Canaan towering over their table. “I see that you remember me, Parker,” he said, taking a seat without invitation and turning to Kitty. “You must be Mrs. Katherine Fremont.”
    Ari’s and Kitty’s eyes met and held. Several awkward seconds of silence followed, then Ari looked around for a waiter and called him over. He ordered sandwiches.
    “This is Ari Ben Canaan,” Mark was saying, “he is a very old acquaintance of mine. I see that you seem to know Mrs. Fremont.”
    “Ari Ben Canaan,” Kitty said. “What an odd name.”
    “It is Hebrew, Mrs. Fremont. It means ‘Lion, Son of Canaan.’ ”
    “That’s quite confusing.”
    “On the contrary, Hebrew is a very logical language.”
    “Funny, it didn’t strike me that way,” Kitty said, with an edge of sarcasm.
    Mark looked from one to the other. They had only met, and yet they were already engaged in the verbal fencing and maneuvering he himself so often played. Obviously Ben Canaan had struck either a sweet or a sour chord in Kitty, Mark thought, because she had her claws bared.
    “Strange that it wouldn’t strike you as logical,” Ari was answering. “God thought Hebrew was so logical he had the Bible written in that language.”
    Kitty smiled and nodded. The orchestra changed to a fox trot. “Dance, Mrs. Fremont?”
    Mark leaned back and watched Ben Canaan walk Kitty onto the floor, hold her, and lead her about with smooth gliding grace. For the moment Mark didn’t like the spark that had obviously struck the second they met: it was hard to think of Kitty as a mere mortal playing mortals’ games. They danced close to his table. There seemed to be a dazed look on Kitty’s face and it was unnatural.
    Then Mark began thinking of himself. He had had the feeling that something was brewing on Cyprus from the moment he landed. Now it was confirmed by Ben Canaan’s appearance. He knew enough of the Palestinian to realize he was one of the top Mossad Aliyah Bet agents. He also knew that he was going to be approached for something, because Ben Canaan had sought him out. What about Kitty? Did he know of her only because she was with him or was there another reason?
    Kitty was a tall girl but she felt lost in Ari Ben Canaan’s arms. A strange sensation swept over her. The appearance of this strapping, handsome man had thrown her off guard. Now, in his arms only a moment after their meeting, she felt—unraveled. The sensation was attractive—it had been many, many years. But she felt rather foolish at the same time.
    The music stopped and they returned to the table.
    “I didn’t think you Palestinians danced anything but a hora ,” Mark said.
    “I’ve been exposed to too much of your culture,” Ari answered.
    His sandwiches arrived and he ate hungrily. Mark waited patiently for him to reveal the nature of his visit. He looked at Kitty carefully. She seemed to be regaining her composure, although she glanced at Ari from the corner of her eye as though she were wary and ready to strike.
    At last Ari finished eating and said casually, “I have something I want to talk over with both of you.”
    “Here, in the middle of the British Army?”
    Ari smiled. He turned to Kitty. “Parker didn’t have a chance to tell you, Mrs. Fremont, that my employment is considered sub rosa in some quarters. Every so often the British even glorify us by calling us ‘underground.’ One of the first things I try to impress a new member of our organization with is the danger of making