By the Rivers of Babylon (17 page)

Kaplan cocked his pistol and crouched in a moon shadow.

Brin watched the Palestinians come up the hill. They were less than a hundred meters from the last place he had seen Hausner and Kaplan. The Palestinians were not offering good
targets this time. They were practicing cover and concealment techniques like trained infantrymen. Brin swung the rifle and scanned for Hausner. He saw a man crawling over a bare spot between the piles of earth. A man with a dark
kheffiyah.

Hausner whispered. “I’m here. I’m here.”

The wounded Arab squinted into the darkness.

Hausner moved faster toward him.

Brin watched through the scope as the Arab in the slightly irregular
kheffiyah
traveled across the ground like a lizard. He noticed now the wounded Arab whom the crawling man was approaching. The wounded man must be the one he had hit before, the one who had made the sound that alerted the others. He swung the rifle and put his cross hairs on the crawling man. He began squeezing on the trigger. He hesitated. There was something dishonorable about shooting a man who was risking his life to help a wounded comrade. Yet he could see no alternative. He compromised. He would shoot the crawling man, but he wouldn’t hit the wounded one again. Why that convoluted decision should satisfy the god or gods of war that put men in these situations, he didn’t know. He only knew that it was important that you try to play the game fairly. He scanned the slope again quickly. He couldn’t see Hausner or Kaplan. He did see the advancing Arabs who were less than fifty meters from the wounded man and his crawling comrade. But they still didn’t present good targets in the terrain they were moving in. Brin aimed at the crawling man in the open.

Hausner whispered. “It’s all right.” He could hear the sounds of men rushing up the slope.

The wounded Arab picked himself up on one elbow. He forced a smile as Hausner came near. He looked at Hausner from a distance of less than a meter. He let out a surprised sound and raised his rifle. Hausner leaped at him.

Brin eased off on the trigger.

The Arab yelled again. Hausner’s hand found a half brick in the dust. He gripped it and swung at the Arab, catching him full in the face.

Kaplan dashed across the open space. He located the two dead Arabs and collected their automatic rifles and several
banana clips of ammunition for each. Hausner took the wounded man’s rifle and ammunition.

Brin waited until the lead Arab was into the clear area, then fired. The silencer coughed gently. The man pitched backwards.

Hausner and Kaplan looked toward where they heard the noise of the falling man. They could see the Arabs now, coming over and around the piles of earth and clay not twenty meters away.

Brin fired again, and the Arabs scattered as another of them fell.

Hausner hefted the wounded Arab onto his back and passed the rifle and ammunition to Kaplan. They began running up the hill under their heavy burdens. They wove around ridges of earth and then through erosion gullies, bent down below the hard crust of the slope. Automatic fire suddently burst out behind them. Earth, clay, and and brick splinters flew up around them.

Kaplan could never forget that distinctive, hollow popping sound that an AK-47 makes, like a string of Chinese firecrackers. His blood ran cold as he heard the whistling go by his ears. Several times he thought he was hit, but it was only flying earth or ricochets, hot but spent. “Put him down!” he yelled at Hausner. They weren’t going to make it with the Arab.

“No,” panted Hausner. “Need him. Go on ahead.”

“My ass!” Kaplan turned and leveled one of the AK-47’s. He fired off a complete banana clip of thirty rounds. From the crest of the hill, he could hear the pathetic sounds of Smith & Wesson .22’s. Then came the more authoritative sound of the Uzi submachine gun. He turned and caught up to Hausner. They were less than fifty meters from the crest now. Several men ran down the hill. Someone took the Arab from Hausner. Kaplan stumbled and lay, sweating and exhausted, on the ground. Someone helped him up. They ran a zigzag course as the earth kicked up around them. Near the crest of the hill, Kaplan could see Brin slowly aiming and firing with that terrible silent gun. Kaplan felt something hit him. Not a clay chip or a ricochet this time, but something searing and hot. He lost consciousness.

Hausner lay on the ground fighting for air. He put his arms out to each side and felt that he was on level ground. He’d made it. He could hear Dobkin calmly giving orders concerning the
placement of the three AK-47’s. He heard the gunfire coming up the slope and then the answering fire from their own positions. As soon as the three AK-47’s cut in, the Arab fire stopped abruptly. Then all the firing stopped, and as the reports died away there was an eerie silence on the hill.

Dobkin leaned over Hausner. “That was damned foolish, Jacob. But they won’t try that again for a while.”

“Kaplan?”

Dobkin crouched down beside him. “Hit. But not bad. In the butt.”

Hausner sat up. “He called that shot. Last thing he said to me was ‘my ass.’ Where is he?”

Dobkin pushed him down with one big hand. “Get your breath first. Don’t want you having a heart attack.”

The big man blotted out Hausner’s whole view of the sky. “All right.” He felt foolish lying on the ground. “Did we hit any? Take any weapons?”

“We hit a few. But they didn’t make the same mistake again. They took their wounded and all the weapons. They’ve left a few dead, though.”

“My prisoner?”

“Alive.”

“Talking?”

“He will.”

Hausner nodded. “I’d like to get up and check on my men.”

Dobkin stared at him. “All right. Easy now.”

“Right.” Hausner got up slowly. He looked around. “Anyone else hurt?”

“Moses Hess is dead.”

Hausner remembered the shattered windshield. “Anyone else?”

“A few people got banged up in the landing. Becker and Hess did an unbelievable job.”

“Yes.” Hausner took a few steps toward Brin, who was still looking through the starlight scope. Brin’s position was the key defensive terrain feature on the east slope. It was a sort of promontory of earth that jutted out from the side of the hill. There was a low ridge of earth around it that would have to be heightened and thickened. It looked like a balcony and was a perfect sniper’s perch. Hausner put his foot up on the earth bank and looked out over the dark countryside, then back to Dobkin.
“Where are we?”

“Babylon.”

“Be serious.”

“Babylon.”

Hausner was quiet for a moment. “You mean as in ‘Babylon is fallen, is fallen’? Or ‘By the rivers of Babylon’?”

“That’s the place.”

Hausner’s senses reeled. A few short hours ago he had been in a comfortable, modern aircraft flying to New York City. Now he was crawling in the dust of Babylon. It was surreal. Dobkin might as well have said Mars. “Babylon,” he said aloud. It was one of those evocative names in the lexicon of world geography. A name that was more than just a name. A place that was more than just a place. Like Hiroshima or Normandy. Camelot or Shangri-La. Auschwitz or Masada. Jerusalem or Armaggedon. “Why?”

Dobkin shrugged. “Who knows? Some sort of joke on Rish’s part, I suppose. The Babylonian Captivity and all that.”

“Odd sense of humor.”

“Well, not a joke maybe, but some sort of historical—”

“I understand.” Hausner turned to Brin. “You hear that, Nathan? You’re a Babylonian captive. What do you think of that?”

Brin lit a cigarette cupped in his hand. “Captive, hell! At sunrise I am personally going down to those sons-of-bitches and give them an ultimatum to surrender.”

Hausner laughed and slapped him on the back. He turned to Dobkin. “You see? My men are ready to take on these bastards, General.”

Dobkin had little patience with paramilitary outfits like police and security men. He just grunted.

“What’s our position?” asked Hausner. “Tactically, I mean.”

“It’s a little early to tell. I made a quick recon of this hill while you were doing your John Wayne.”

“And?”

“Well, this is an elevation of about seventy meters. I suspect that it’s not a natural hill at all, but a tell, a mound covering a structure. You can see it’s fairly flat on the top like a table mesa—like Masada.” The analogy was inevitable. “I think this used to be the citadel on the northern city wall. It’s covered with drifting dust, but if it were excavated, you’d see walls and
towers. That small hillock over there was probably the top of a tower. And this promontory where Brin is standing was a tower coming out of the side of the wall.”

Hausner looked at him. “You know this place.” It was more a statement than a question. “How?”

“From maps and models. I never thought I’d ever get to see it. It’s a Jewish archeologist’s dream.” He smiled.

Hausner stared at him through the dark. “I’m really happy for you, General. I must remember to congratulate El Al for taking advantage of an unexpected situation and arranging this excursion. Maybe we’ll put it on our regular schedule. Crash and all.”

“Take it easy, Jacob.”

Hausner let the silence drag out, then let out a long breath. “All right. Can we defend this place?”

Dobkin ran his hand through his hair. “I . . . I think so.” He paused. “It’s an oblong-shaped mound, about the size and configuration of a standard race track. It runs north and south along the bank of the Euphrates. The river is at full flood this time of year and the waters come up to the western slope of this mound. The Arabs have put some men down by the flood bank. The American, McClure, took a few pot shots at them before. He has some sort of big cowboy six-shooter. Colonel Richardson is with him.”

“They are the only ones there?”

“I have lots of sentries posted along the crest, but McClure is the only one with a gun. It’s an open, exposed slope and very steep. It was, I think, the river wall of the citadel about 2,500 years ago. What we call in military engineering a glacis. I don’t think we can expect a serious attack from there now that we’ve shown we’re watching it and can shoot back.”

Hausner lit a cigarette. “How about this side of the hill?”

“That’s the problem. From north to south it’s about half a kilometer. The slope is gradual down to the road and plain. There are erosion gullies and earth formations in some areas, as you well know. Those are the most likely areas of approach. In other places it’s very exposed with clear fields of fire for us. I don’t think we could expect an attack from those areas. I’ve placed the three AK-47’s to cover those most likely avenues of approach. Three of your men are handling them. Another of your men, Joshua Rubin, has the Uzi, and Brin here has the 14. Your men have passed their .22’s to passengers whom I’ve
designated, and they’re supplementing this defensive perimeter. I’m going to place combination observation posts and listening posts further down the slope.” He took a deep breath. “Still, it’s a thin line. If it weren’t for the AK’s, I’d have to recommend asking for terms.”

Hausner took a long pull from Brin’s cigarette and handed it back. He looked to Dobkin. “Do you think they’ll attack again tonight?”

“Any military commander worthy of the name would. The longer they wait, the more organized the defense becomes. A half-hour ago the odds against us were overwhelming. Now, we might just make it through the night.”

“They wouldn’t attack at daylight, would they?”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Is Becker sending out an SOS?”

“He’s operating the radios on batteries. Let’s get back to the Concorde. The Foreign Minister wants you at a meeting.”

“Even here,” said Hausner wryly.

Brin was scanning through the starlight scope. Every few minutes he would shut it off to save the batteries and rest his eyes. Hausner patted him on the shoulder. “I’ll have someone relieve you later.”

“He’s going to have to be very big to take my rifle away.”

Hausner smiled. “Have it your way.” He followed after Dobkin.

The Concorde sat near the middle of the flattened mound. At the north and south extremities of the oblong-shaped mound were the ruins of the river walls that now formed ramps leading up to the mound. It was the southern ramp that the Concorde had taken to the top. Hausner and Dobkin intersected the plowed furrow made by the Concorde’s nose cone and walked in it toward the aircraft. Hausner had trouble keeping up with the big man. “Who’s in charge?”

Dobkin didn’t respond.

“Let’s get down to it now, General. Chain of command. You understand that. There can only be one head man.”

Dobkin slowed down. “The Foreign Minister is the ranking man, of course.”

“Who’s next?”

“I suppose Isaac Burg.”

“Who’s next?”

Dobkin let out a sound of exasperation. “Well, a politician would be next.”

“Who?”

“Bernstein. She’s in the Cabinet.”

“I know that. But that hardly qualifies her here.”

Dobkin shrugged. “Don’t get me involved. I’m just a soldier.”

“Who’s next?”

“You or me, I guess.”

“I have six men, all armed. They’re loyal to me. They are the only effective fighting force on this hill.”

Dobkin stopped. “One of them has a bullet in his ass. And it remains to be seen how effective the rest are. Those two actions tonight were only probes. The next time it will be an all-out attack.”

Hausner turned and began walking again.

Dobkin came up beside him and clapped him on the back. “All right. I understand. But you’ve already atoned, Jacob, and you almost got killed in the process. Calm down a little, now. There are going to be a lot of tough hours ahead of us.”

“More like days, I think.”

“No way. We couldn’t hold out much past sundown tomorrow. If that long.”

“We may not be rescued by then.”

Dobkin nodded. “You’re right. This is the worst time of year to be here. The spring floods make the area damn near inaccessible. The tourist season won’t start for a month. If Becker can’t raise someone on the radio, it could very well be days before anyone realizes we’re here. And more time before they act.”