The Israelis had suffered seven wounded; one, Chaim Tamir, a delegate to the peace mission, was hurt badly. They were all resting comfortably with Kaplan in the shepherds’ hut, which Hausner designated as the infirmary, under the supervision of the two stewardesses.
An earth and clay ramp was being constructed up to the leading edge of the starboard-side delta to make access to the Concorde easier. The work was done by sweating, bare-chested men using crude tools made from scraps of the Concorde. Earth was carried in suitcases and blankets and packed onto the ramp by hand and foot.
Hausner stepped onto the partially completed ramp and jumped the remainder of the way onto the wing. He entered the cabin through the emergency door.
Sitting in the back of the aircraft, facing him, were Burg and Dobkin. His court-martial board.
Hausner moved down the aisle. The sun illuminated the small portholes, and a shaft of dusty sunlight streamed in from the gaping hole in the rear bulkhead. “Good morning.” He remained standing in the aisle. The smell of burnt kerosene still permeated the cabin.
The two men nodded.
Dobkin cleared his throat. “Jacob, this grieves us very much. But if there is to be any discipline here, we must be brutal with anyone who disobeys orders.”
“I quite agree.”
Dobkin leaned forward. “Then you concur that we have the authority to try you?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“It’s not important that you do,” said Dobkin. “We are the law here. Whether you agree or not.”
“I agree that we are the law. We can try people and mete out punishment.”
Dobkin frowned. “Jacob, you are drawing a very fine line. Now this is serious. If we try you, it will be in open court, with observers and all of that, but I can tell you already that the verdict will be cut and dry. Guilty. And the only sentence possible under these circumstances is. . . .” He looked toward Burg for support. Burg had instigated this proceeding, but Burg was a pragmatist and a survivor to the core. He sat back and said nothing. He lit his pipe with a lot of flourish and made noncommittal noises. He wanted to see which way it would go. Dobkin was a military man. He was used to demanding total loyalty and getting it. Burg, in his world, accepted disloyalty and compromises that would make the generals reach for their court-martial manuals.
Hausner looked at his watch pointedly. “Listen, the only thing you have wrong here is the fact that I can’t be charged with disobeying an order because I am in charge. Now, if anyone else disobeys an order—including either of you—we will convene this group and try him. Is there anything else?”
Dobkin leaned forward. “Are you mutinying?”
“I wouldn’t call it that.”
“I would. The highest ranking man among us is the Foreign Minister. As an elected member of the Knesset, he—”
“Forget it, General. I have the loyalty of the majority of the armed men out there. The Foreign Minster may be in charge de jure, but de facto we have taken over and you know it. That’s why you didn’t even bother to invite him to this little meeting. The only point of contention here is which of us three is the head man. I say it is me. But if you want the orders to come through the Foreign Minister or through either of you, that’s fine with me. As long as you all understand who’s giving those orders. All right?”
There was a long silence, then Burg spoke for the first time. “You see, it was a classical maneuver, based on the von Neumann-Morgenstern game plan theory, I believe. Jacob usurped the power from the Foreign Minister with our tacit approval. After we had taken that step, there was no going back for us. And now Jacob is finessing us. Very Machiavellian.” Burg’s tone was neutral.
Hausner said nothing.
There was another long silence. Dobkin spoke softly. “Why are you doing this, Jacob?”
Hausner shrugged, “I guess because I’m the only one who understands how to handle this situation. I trust me. I’m a little nervous about you.”
Dobkin shook his head. “No. It’s because you got us here. Now you want to get us out. You want to be the hero so you can face life if—when—we get home. And you don’t care who gets stepped on as long as you can square this thing with yourself.”
Hausner’s face turned red. “Whatever you say, General.” He turned, walked toward the door, then looked over his shoulder. “Staff meeting at noon sharp. Here in the aircraft.” He left.
* * *
On the ground, Hausner found Becker and Kahn. They were sitting over a schematic of the APU. He crouched down beside them in the shade of the delta wing. “Why didn’t we have any luck with the radio last night?”
Kahn spoke. “We were having trouble concentrating with all the damned noise out here.”
Hausner smiled. “Sorry. We’ll try to keep it quiet tonight.”
“I hope to God we’re out of here by nightfall,” said Kahn.
Hausner looked at him. “I think that might depend to a large extent on you two.”
Becker stood. “On me. I’m the captain. If we make radio contact, I’ll take the credit. If we don’t, I’ll take the blame.” Becker’s tone was cool.
Hausner stood also. “Of course. Everyone is looking for planes. As soon as someone spots one they have orders to run at top speed back here and tell you. The ramp up to the aircraft will be finished in a few hours. You can be inside and broadcasting within about two minutes of an aircraft being spotted. Is that satisfactory?”
“Sounds good,” said Becker.
Hausner looked up at the delta wing. He seemed to come to a decision. “I’m draining off the remaining fuel.”
Becker stared. “I need the fuel to run the auxiliary power unit so that we can generate power to run the radios.”
“The APU is not working, nor will it ever work. The first priority is to keep the Arabs out of here. Even if you do get the APU working, it will be damned little use to us with Ahmed Rish sitting in the cockpit. I need the fuel to make things that will explode, Captain.”
“I can’t let you take the fuel.”
Hausner stared at him. Technicians got away with a lot more than ordinary mortals. “You’re wasting time on this APU. The damned thing isn’t worth it. Go back to the flight deck and operate the radios until the batteries are gone. We have no time to worry about generating our own electricity for later. There may not be a later unless we shoot the works with what we’ve got like we did last night.” He looked evenly at Becker, then at Kahn. He lowered his voice. “Besides, I don’t want all that fuel in the wing tanks. One tracer round could set it off and cook you two in the cockpit.”
Becker knew that Hausner had a point. But then again, so did he. For every problem that lay ahead, there were several conceivable solutions. “Look,” he said, “let us try to fix the APU while radio reception is bad. You take the fuel you need. I think there might be more left than we thought. You can only hold so much in the containers available. The rest will stay in the tanks. Agreed?”
Hausner smiled. “When we were up there, you demanded and got complete obedience from me and everyone else with no arguments and no compromise. You were the captain. Now I am the commander on the ground. Why shouldn’t I demand the same?”
Becker shook his head. “It’s different up there. That’s technical. Here it’s all subjective. There’s room for discussion.”
“Bullshit.” Hausner looked up at the Concorde. Its white paint glowed a pale yellow in the rising sun. “I’ll make a final decision later. Meanwhile, I’m going to start making Molotov cocktails with the fuel. See you later.” He turned and walked away.
* * *
Under the damaged tail section of the aircraft, the Foreign Minister sat on the ground with two junior aides, Shimon Peled and Esther Aronson. Also seated with him were two delegates, Ya’akov Sapir, a left-wing member of the Knesset, whom Hausner didn’t care for, and Miriam Bernstein, whom Hausner did care for.
Hausner could see that they had taken a break from whatever they had been d
oing and were engaged in a lively parliamentary debate. He walked over to them.
The Foreign Minister looked up. At first he seemed surprised to see Hausner. Then he nodded to himself. He guessed correctly that Dobkin and Burg had come off second best in their attempt to discipline Hausner. He made a quick eveluation of the situation and stood up to meet Hausner. “I didn’t have time to thank you properly for your role in last night’s action.”
Hausner nodded, “Thank you, Mr. Minister.” He looked down at the four people sitting in the dust, trying to ignore him. “I’m sorry I didn’t have time this morning to assign you any duties.”
“Quite all right. We would be happy to have some direction in the expenditure of our energies and—”
“What I had in mind, Mr. Minister, was this—you should gather all the loose luggage that fell in the wake of the aircraft. Some of it is down the hill, so be careful when you go outside the perimeter. Empty the luggage and sort the contents. Carry all empty bags and clothes to the men and women on the perimeter. They will fill the luggage with sand and clay to make breastworks. Then they will fashion dummies out of the clothes, stuffing them with sand and rags. I want a nice job of it. The dummies will be placed in position at dusk. Save some clothing for bandages and catalogue anything else you find that may be of use, such as liquor, medicines, food, and that sort of thing.” He paused, then spoke in a low voice. “Also, I want you to look among the drugs for one that will kill quickly and painlessly if taken in an overdose. But keep that quiet.” He said loudly, “Is everything clear?”
The Foreign Minister nodded. “Of course. We’ll begin as soon as we adjourn.”
Hausner shook his head almost imperceptibly.
“Well, perhaps we should adjourn now,” said the Foreign Minister. He turned around and faced the group that was still sitting. “All for adjournment say aye.”
A few voices mumbled in return. They all stood slowly and sullenly and walked off, except for Miriam Bernstein.
Hausner turned and began walking in the opposite direction.
Bernstein caught up with him. “You humiliated a fine man back there.”
He didn’t answer.
“Did you hear me, damn you?”
He stopped but did not turn to face her. “Anyone who insists on playing games with me is exposing himself to humiliations, if not worse. And I don’t have the time or patience for one of your lectures, Miriam.”
She walked around him and looked him in the face. She spoke softly. “What’s come over you, Jacob? I can’t believe you’re acting like this.”
He stepped closer to her and stared down into her eyes. There were tears starting to form there, but he couldn’t tell if they were tears of rage or sorrow. It struck him that he could never read her expressions. Sometimes she seemed like a robot programmed to deliver peace and conciliation sermons. Yet he suspected there was flesh and blood there. Passion. Real passion. He had discovered that much while they sat together on the Concorde. But then he had been at a low point and she had become human. She was one of those women who responded warmly to need and weakness. Strength and self-assurance in a man put her off. He supposed it had something to do with the black uniforms of her childhood. God, he would never understand the Jews of the camps. He could understand the arrogant, cocky Sabras, although he wasn’t one of them, either. His own peers were a small group and getting smaller every year. He never felt really at home in the new Israel. He never felt at ease with Jews of the camps like Miriam Bernstein. He looked down, against his will, to her wrist where the numbers were tattooed. Many people had them removed by a plastic surgeon. Hers were distorted and lighter than was usual. The result of growth. The numbers of a child.
“Aren’t you going to answer me?”
“What? Oh. Yes. What’s come over me? Well, I’ll tell you, Miriam. A few minutes ago, General Dobkin and Mr. Burg were at the point of putting me in front of a firing squad.” He raised his hand to stifle her exclamation of disbelief, then went on. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not angry with them. I agree with the thought processes that brought them to that point. I just didn’t agree with their choice of victim. You see, they perceive things a lot more clearly than the rest of you do. They know what has to be done here. I can guarantee you, Miriam, that if this situation lasts another forty-eight hours, you will all be clamoring for the execution of food-hoarders, malingerers, traitors, and people who fall asleep on guard duty. But we don’t have the luxury of waiting for a consensus. What seems brutal to you today will seem lenient to you tomorrow.”
She wiped away a tear and shook her head. “You have very little faith in humanity. Most of us are not like that. I’d rather die than vote for someone else’s execution.”
“You will die if you maintain that attitude. And for a person who saw what you saw, I don’t know how you can have so much faith in the basic goodness of human beings.”
“I said most human beings were decent. There are always a few fascists.”
“What you really mean is that there is a little fascist in all of us. And that’s the part of you that will become dominant when things get tough. The part of me that I’ve called on to survive. Called on knowingly and willingly. The beast. The heart of darkness.” He looked at her. She was pale. “You know, for someone who spends so much time with an Air Force general, I would have thought that some of the hawk would have rubbed off.”
She looked quickly up at him. Color came into her pale cheeks. “You—” She turned and walked quickly away from him.
16
Hausner sat with Brin and Naomi Haber at their firing position. He looked down the eastern slope, smoking a cigarette and speaking to the young couple. “Are you teaching her to use the scope and rifle?” he asked Brin.
Brin shrugged. “She doesn’t want to learn.”
Hausner turned to her. “Why not?”
She brushed some dust off her blue jumpsuit. “I can’t shoot anyone. I’m a good and fast runner, and that’s what I volunteered to do.”
Hausner started to answer her, but Dobkin suddenly appeared. Hausner glanced at him quickly and looked for a gun, but did not see one. Brin tensed up, also.
Dobkin seemed to have forgotten the incident in the Concorde. He nodded and sat down on the ground. No one spoke for a long while.
Hausner turned and pointed across the top of the flat mound toward the southwest. “What’s that?”
Dobkin looked. The morning shadows lay over the brown land. Swirls of mist rose out of the scattered marsh. “The Greek amphitheater. Built by Alexander the Great. When he captured Babylon in 323 B.C.E., the city was already ancient and on the skids. He attempted to revive it, but its day was over. Alexander died here. Did you know that?”
“No.” Hausner chain-lit a cigarette.
“They’ll be coming to parley soon,” said Dobkin.
“Who? The Greeks?”
Dobkin allowed himself a smile. “The Greeks I could parley with. It’s the Arabs I’m worried about.”
Hausner smiled back. There was a little less tension between them. “Maybe they’ll come.” He turned to Brin and Naomi Haber. “Why don’t you two take a break in the shade?”
The girl stood. Brin hesitated, then stood also. He took the M-14 and walked off, followed by the girl.
When they were out of earshot, Dobkin spoke. “No maybes about it. They won’t try a daylight assault, and they don’t want to wait for nightfall to resolve this thing.”
“You’re right,” said Hausner.
“What are we going to tell them?”
Hausner looked at him. “Are you with me?”
Dobkin hesitated. “I . . . the Foreign Minister and Burg are our superiors.”
“We’ll see about that.”
Dobkin changed the subject. “I’m going on a one-way mission tonight.”
“I know that.”
“There isn’t much chance for me to get through. I’m going only so that the people here can keep their hopes and mor
ale up.”
“That’s why I’m sending you. I don’t think you’ll make it either. There are not many people who would go after figuring that out. You’re all right, General.” He looked at him. “So, are you with me?”
Dobkin shrugged. “What difference does it make? You hold all the cards. The political leaders are cowed. Your men hold five of the six automatic weapons.”
“I just want to know for myself.” He pointed to the south. “What’s that, by the way?”
“I’m not going to make you feel good by going along with you. Let’s just say I’m neutral.” He looked to the south. “That should be the Kasr mound. On the other side are the excavations of the palace of Nebuchadnezzar and the ruins of the Hanging Gardens. Close to that is the Ishtar Gate and the museum and guest house.” He paused. “I’m looking forward to seeing it tonight.”
“Glad to hear it,” said Hausner. There was a long silence.
Suddenly, Hausner came to attention. He pointed southwest toward the Euphrates. “Is that smoke? It looks like a village among the ruins.”
Dobkin nodded without looking. “It is. The village of Kweirish.”
“I wonder if they would be of any help.”
“I don’t think so. They’re peasants. They have no connection with the outside world. Besides, I’m sure the Ashbals are running the place.”
Hausner could see the squalid mud huts, huddled like some medieval Italian village in a corner of a ruined Roman city in order to survive.
The whole of the surrounding countryside was a spectacular study of contrasts. Patches of desert and marshland to the east and beyond that the Tigris and then the towering mountains. On the west bank of the Euphrates, endless mud flats stretching to the horizons, wet now, but soon to be cracked by the hot sun like a jigsaw puzzle. A few bulrushes and date palms struggled on both banks of the Euphrates.
In the foreground, around the mound they were on, Hausner could make out bricks and rubble, smaller mounds and marsh. There were the low ridges of straight city walls, punctuated every now and then by higher mounds that had been the watchtowers. Wind, water, sand, and thousands of years of brick quarrying by peasants had combined to obliterate what was once the wonder of the world’s cities. Hausner knew that scenes of desolation such as this were common in Mesopotamia. The largest and most opulent cities of the ancient world lay for thousands of years undisturbed beneath the dust. A sense of emptiness assailed him as he looked out across the Euphrates. Flat, bare plains of wet mud were crisscrossed here and there by the fabled irrigation canals, now disused. The very wildlife that should have flourished here seemed to have abandoned the place. This was a strange and somehow malevolent corner of the world. A place where huge temples had been raised long ago to gods that no one remembered and palaces built for kings and kingdoms that had vanished without a trace.
By the Rivers of Babylon Page 18
