Becker smiled. “All right. . . . I . . . I’ll see you around.”
Kahn looked at him. “Right. See you around, Captain.”
Becker turned toward the ramp and slowly mounted, oblivious to the rounds whistling through the air around him.
He walked across the wing and passed into the cabin. He had to pick his way through the wounded to reach the flight deck.
Inside the flight deck he took his seat next to Miriam. “It’s done.”
“Thank you.”
There was a long silence. Becker finally spoke. “I always knew I’d die in this thing.”
Miriam reached out and touched his arm. “I think you’re the bravest man I’ve ever met.”
Becker looked down at the control panel. He felt that he should be doing something, but he had orders from Hausner to stay in the cockpit no matter what happened. He turned the radio up and began scanning the frequencies. He would do that until someone put a bullet in his back. He felt sorry for Miriam—for all the women. He was certain the Ashbals had a special fate reserved for them. “Do you want to stay here? I mean . . .”
“I’m under orders, too.” She smiled.
He looked out the windshield. “There are people gathering in the shepherds’ hut. I think they are going to—”
“Yes, I see them. I’ll stay with you, if you don’t mind.”
He hesitated, then reached out and took her hand and squeezed it.
The group of Israelis who were intent on suicide gathered in the blood-soaked, fetid shepherds’ hut after the wounded had been removed.
Arabs, as a people, did not often take their own lives, but no one in the hut was surprised when Abdel Majid Jabari and Ibrahim Arif entered. It was understood that these two, above everyone else, were far better off dead.
The hut was completely dark, and that made things easier for everyone. There was little talking, only some dangling, whispered half-sentences as someone new entered.
After a few minutes, it became apparent that no one else was coming, but no one present knew what to do next, and a stillness fell over the hut.
In all, there were eleven men and women gathered in three small groups in separate corners. In one group was Joshua Rubin, who was the prime mover behind the suicide pact. Lying on the floor near him was Yigael Tekoah. Tekoah was bitter over the fact that he had not died when the Arab bullets cut him down as he shouted the warning from his outpost. Now he had to face death again. With Rubin and Tekoah were four young Knesset aides, two men and two women, all members of the Masada Defense League.
In another corner was the steward, Yaakov Leiber, and the two stewardesses, Beth Abrams and Rachel Baum. Beth Abrams had spent the last two days caring for the wounded and watching them suffer. She had changed from a happy girl to a despondent one in a very short time. Rachel Baum was lying on the floor between Lieber and Abrams. She, like Tekoah, had refused to be moved to the Concorde with the rest of the wounded. She was in terrible pain from her wounds and didn’t see much sense in waiting on the Concorde for more pain. She had nursed Kaplan and had heard him die, and she was frightened enough to take this way out.
Yaakov Leiber had considered his three children before he made his decision, but Rubin had convinced him that no one would survive what the Ashbals had planned for them. Still, he was having second thoughts about it. He could see that the two stewardesses needed him there. He spoke softly to them in the dark. Beth Abrams was crying but Rachel Baum was quiet. He knelt next to her and took her hand. Beth Abrams also knelt and took both their hands.
In the third corner, Abdel Jabari and Ibrahim Arif sat back on their haunches. They had lived alone among these people for over thirty years, and now they were to die alone among them.
Jabari lit his last cigarette and whispered to Arif. “You know, Ibrahim, I always knew that I would not die a natural death.”
Arif was pale and shaking. He, too, lit a cigarette in the black room and drew heavily on it. He tried to make a joke. “I may die of a heart attack yet.” He drew again on the cigarette. “How are we going to work this?”
“I think there are two or three pistols. They will pass them around.”
Arif’s hands were shaking so badly he could barely hold the cigarette. He didn’t see how he was going to hold a pistol. “I don’t think I can do it, Abdel.” He stood.
Jabari grabbed his arm and pulled him violently back into the corner. “Don’t be an idiot,” he hissed. “Did you hear what they did to Moshe Kaplan? Can you conceive of all the things they will do to you? Save yourself from that, old friend.”
Arif began to cry, and Jabari comforted him. Jabari’s only regret was that he had not said good-bye to Miriam. In fact, he had hardly seen her at all in the past two days. He had not wanted to burden her with his company, but now he wished that he had spent more time with her. He suspected that she was in love with Jacob Hausner, and he had been concerned over her choice. Jabari believed that there was an actual place called Heaven, as the Koran so vividly described, and he believed he was going there, but he could not believe that Miriam Bernstein would not he there, too. “Come, Arif. Calm yourself. It’s a better world on the other side. Cool gardens, fountains, flowing wine, and virgins. Is that a reason to weep?”
Yigael Tekoah, who did not like Arabs and did not like the idea of having them on the peace mission, called softly across the room. “Abdel. Ibrahim. Courage.”
Jabari called back. “We are all right, Yigael. Thank you.” Jabari was still troubled that he could not see Miriam before he died. He was tempted to leave the hut and look for her, but he did not want to leave Arif alone. The Ashbals were too close. He wanted to make certain that he cheated Rish of his fun. But this waiting was not good for anyone. Finally, he broke the silence and asked what was the procedure. No one answered.
The sounds of firing got closer, and the Israelis who were still returning fire took up positions not far from the hut. A burst of rounds slammed into the mud wall outside. This acted as a catalyst for action, and Rubin walked into the middle of the hut. He cleared his throat and spoke. “We must act soon.” He waited. “If it will be easier, I will do it for you. I have the two pistols.”
Jabari stood quickly and walked to the center of the room. “If you please. Quickly.”
Rubin did not answer, but raised one pistol and held it up between the two points of light that he knew were Jabari’s eyes. He kept the pistol from touching Jabari and fired a single bullet into his forehead.
When the loud report died away the sound of praying could he heard along with soft sobbing.
Rubin was covered with wetness and instinctively wiped it from his face and arms. He began to shake and couldn’t trust himself to speak. He didn’t know what to do next. His resolve to finish the job for everyone left him, and he turned the pistol and shot himself through the heart. He fell backwards into the corner and landed among the four young aides. One of the girls screamed and fainted. The three others laid him gently on the floor. The two young men recovered the pistols. They whispered hurriedly between themselves, then rose and walked over to the corner where Leiber, Abrams, and Baum were huddled together. They lit cigarette lighters and aimed the pistols, then extinguished the lighters and began squeezing on the triggers. Beth Abrams let out a sob and Leiber threw his body between the two girls and the men. One of the men fired but didn’t appear to hit anything. The other young man lit his lighter again to fix his aim.
Rabbi Levin burst into the hut and saw all he wanted to see before the cigarette lighter went out. He grabbed the two young men by the collars and threw them to the floor. He screamed and swore as he delivered kicks and punches in the dark. “Did you think you could outwit me? I found you! I knew what you were up to! Out! Out! Get out!” He ran around the small hut in a frenzy, kicking and punching blindly in the dark. He tripped several times over the bodies of Uri Rubin and Abdel Jabari. He repeatedly kicked both bodies until he realized they were dead. “Out! Out! Get out of here! How dar
e you! How dare you do this! Take the wounded into the plane! Out!”
As soon as he had entered, his presence broke the strange spell that had hung over the room, and everyone who could move quickly ran out.
Rabbi Levin was left standing alone in the center of the hut, his body shaking and tears streaming down his face. He had done what he had to do, but he was in no way certain that he was right and they were wrong. He wondered how he was going to get the two bodies buried in the short time remaining. He wondered who they were.
The Foreign Minister, Ariel Weizman, assembled a small, lightly armed group on the west side of the perimeter near McClure’s foxhole. Weizman saw Richardson lying at the bottom of the hole, a layer of dust already covering his blue uniform, but he did not have time to speculate on the meaning of that or on McClure’s absence.
Ariel Weizman was determined to lead his small group down the steep glacis. His plan was to drop quickly down the slope and vault into the river the way Dobkin had done. Without wounded, it might be possible. He wished that Miriam Bernstein would reconsider and join him, but she was very much under Hausner’s influence and would not budge from the Concorde. He lined up his group of men and women, all of whom were wearing the orange life jackets from the Concorde, at the edge of the steep drop. He crouched in a runner’s stance and instructed them to do the same. “When I count to three, we go. Steady. Wait for my count, now.”
Few orders were coming from the command post. The runners who were still operating brought only bad news to Hausner and Burg and carried away no commands, only suggestions and encouragement.
Hausner and Burg had agreed that there came a time when the best orders were no orders, and so they let the civilian instincts for individual action and survival take over.
Hausner turned to Burg. “Would you want to take complete charge now, Isaac? I’m ready to step down.”
Burg smiled wryly and shook his head. “No, thank you.”
“Do you believe there was anything that I could have done that I did not do?”
Burg thought a moment. “No. Frankly, you did an excellent job. You might have been a touch more diplomatic . . . maybe not.” He listened to the approaching gunfire. “Our people were marvelous, too.”
“Yes. They were.”
The last two of Hausner’s men who were in action, Marcus and Alpern, came up to the command post. Marcus gave a half salute. “What should we do now, boss?”
Hausner didn’t know what to tell him. He felt obligated to say something, but couldn’t think of an order to give or an expression of gratitude to pass on. “Just take as many of the bastards with you as possible.” He paused. “And thank you. You were the backbone and the heart of this defense. You did a hell of a job here. No one who survives will forget that.”
The two men nodded and moved off into the darkness.
Burg put his hand on Hausner’s shoulder. “I think you’d better get to the Concorde before you get cut off. You promised, and she’s waiting for you. I’ll stay here and try to do what I can.”
Hausner shook his head. “No. I don’t want to see what they’re going to do to her any more than she wants to see what they’re going to do to me. She knows that and she’s not expecting me.”
“I see. Are you going to—you know.”
“No. I’m not the type. I have a few things I want to say to Ahmed Rish before I go.”
Burg nodded. A crooked smile passed across his face. “We did do one hell of a job, didn’t we?”
“Yes, we sure as hell. . . . Listen!”
“What?”
“Did you hear—?”
“Yes. Yes!”
Hausner stared upward. He thought he saw a flash of light. He could hear the distant shrill whining of jet engines. He yelled to Burg. “They found us, Isaac. They found us, damn it!”
Burg began gesticulating wildly. “Here! We’re here!” Hausner forced a smile. “They’re too late to help us but not too late to blow away Rish and his gang.” He turned to Burg. “My faith in Israeli military intelligence is restored.”
Burg was so excited he could hardly comprehend what Hausner was telling him. Then he understood. The air force had arrived—Israeli or Iraqi—but they were too late. Burg calmed down and his body seemed to sag. He nodded. “I hope Dobkin made it,” was all he could think to say.
Hausner and Burg stared upward and saw the fiery trail of a missile cut across the sky.
33
The first thing Laskov did was the last thing he had promised Becker he would do. He fixed the Lear on his radar and engaged it with the long-range Phoenix missile at 160 kilometers.
The Lear pilot yawned as he looked sleepily out the windshield. The automatic pilot had kept the craft in a continuous left bank for longer than he cared to remember, and he thought he was developing vertigo. Below, the ground was obscured by the dust, but up here everything was very clear and moonlit. The dawn was creeping out of Persia, and it looked as if it would be a good day to fly. In a while he might have to fly to their camp in the Shamiyah Desert, refuel quickly, and come back—unless those fools on the ground could get it over with. He yawned again.
He glanced out of his left window and noticed a flame streaking across the sky. A second later he realized with astonishment that the light was coming toward him. He tapped the sleeping copilot on the shoulder, and they both watched the thing change course and follow them as they moved in their circle. The pilot let out a long shrill scream when he realized what it was. The Phoenix flamed up at them and seemed to hang outside their cockpit. The Israeli armorers had painted a likeness of the beautiful phoenix on its terrible namesake. The great bird seemed to smile in the first rays of sunlight, and an eye on the warhead appeared to wink at the two pilots in that split second before it consumed itself and its prey in an awful orange ball of flame. Unlike its namesake, however, there was no chance that it would rise up from its own ashes and begin a new life.
Laskov had guided his squadron in with radar. Their computers had enabled the automatic pilots to hug the terrain during the entire night flight, and they had flown under Jordanian and Iraqi radar. They had very little time to familiarize themselves with the terrain, but each pilot knew what he lacked from the briefing could be made up in skill and desire. The Mach 2 flight across Jordan and western Iraq, a thousand kilometers’ distance, had taken less than forty-five minutes. Except for Laskov’s craft, which carried two Phoenix missiles, the fighters carried only air-to-surface ordnance.
As soon as the Lear disappeared from his radar, Laskov spoke into his mouthpiece. “Concorde 02, this is Gabriel 32. Can you hear met?”
Miriam Bernstein heard the explosion overhead as she sat alone in the flight deck and couldn’t imagine what it was, but didn’t really care, either.
“Concorde 02, this is Gabriel. Do you hear me, Concorde?”
She thought she heard a faraway voice. It sounded vaguely familiar.
“Concorde 02, Concorde 02, do you hear me?”
She looked down at the radio as though she had never seen one before.
“Concorde 02, this is Gabriel 32. Can you hear me? Come in, please.”
She fumbled with the volume dials and the microphone but really didn’t understand the procedure. She yelled at the console. “Teddy! Teddy! I hear you!” She dropped the microphone in frustration and rushed from the flight deck. She yelled into the darkened cabin filled with nurses and wounded. “They’re here! The air force! The air force!” The cabin erupted with noise, and she stood there for a second, transfixed. From behind her she could hear Teddy Laskov’s voice as if from a dream. “Concorde 02, this is Gabriel 32. Can you hear me? Can you hear me?” She rushed out onto the wing and shouted. “David! Captain Becker!”
Becker had gone under the craft again to try to talk Kahn into coming up on the flight deck, or failing that, to say a proper good-bye. He had heard the sound of the rocket and the explosion and had known immediately what it was. He was already halfway up the earth ram
p when Miriam called him. He pushed past her, tore into the cabin, and fought his way through the crowded aisle into the flight deck.
“Concorde 02, this is Gabriel 32. Concorde 02. Concorde 02. Acknowledge, please.”
Becker grabbed the microphone with a trembling hand and squeezed the button as his other hand worked the dials. He squeezed so hard on the talk button that he was afraid the plastic instrument would cave in. “Loud and clear, Gabriel! Loud and clear! Position critical! Critical! Arabs inside perimeter! Can you read me, Gabriel?”
Laskov almost came out of his seat. “Loud and clear! Loud and clear! Understand situation critical, 02. Hold on. Hold on. Charlie-one-three-zero on the way with commandos. Can you hold?”
Becker’s voice was quavering. “Yes. No. I don’t know. Can you give support?”
“I’m a little far out yet, and I have to pull off speed to come in on you. I’ll be on station in . . . four minutes. Can you mark your position with illumination?”
“Yes! I’ll turn on my landing lights.”
“Roger. How about JP-4?”
“Yes. Yes. We have Molotov cocktails. Will mark boundaries of our positions with fire. Also, look for tracers, Gabriel. Heavy incoming theirs—light outgoing ours.”
“Roger that.”
Several lightly wounded men and women were jammed into the flight deck behind Becker. Hausner’s man, Jaffe, wounded but ambulatory, pushed his way out of the flight deck, through the cabin and out onto the wing. He stood on the wing and yelled out into the storm. “The air force is coming! The air force is coming! Mark our positions with kerosene! Where’s Hausner? Where’s Burg? Hold on! They’re coming!”
Esther Aronson ran past Jaffe and jumped down off the wing. She stumbled, fell, and rose to her feet again. She raced west across the hilltop to try to stop the Foreign Minister and his group from fleeing down the west slope.
There was a lot of shouting on the hilltop and within a few minutes the Ashbals, as well as the Israelis, knew what was happening.
By the Rivers of Babylon Page 39
