By the Rivers of Babylon (25 page)

They walked silently, Dobkin taking both a military and an archeological interest in the route. They stopped on a small ridge. Hausner could see the hill where the Concorde rested, about a kilometer and a half to the north. The top of the Concorde was barely visible from here. The hill—or the buried citadel—looked formidable from this perspective, and he could see why the Ashbals wished to negotiate.

To the west was the Euphrates, about five hundred meters further down the goat trail. Hausner could see the squalid village of Kweirish, on the bank of the Euphrates, more clearly now. It was a village of
sarifa—
rough mud huts, unwhitewashed and unadorned. As they came closer, he could see women wrapped to the eyes in long black
abbahs
and men in long shirtlike
gellebiahs,
their heads draped in
kheffiyahs.
Someone was scraping a thin music from a stringed instrument. Goats, the color of the earth, grazed the scrub and were herded by Biblical-looking figures in long robes and flowing headdresses, doing the same work under the same conditions as their ancestors had done thousands of years before. The whole scene, Hausner realized, had hardly changed in four or five thousand years. The people were Moslems instead of idol worshippers, they no longer kept swine herds, and Babylon was no more. But otherwise, life on the Euphrates went on and, in fact, changed considerably less than the course of the wandering, restless river.

The group turned off the goat trail and began climbing a huge mound. They reached a flight of steep brick steps and ascended further. On the way, they came to a flat area hollowed out of the side of the mound. Here, mounted on a stone plinth, stood the Lion of Babylon. Nothing was known of it, neither its age nor its significance, but it looked awesome, striding perpetually over a fallen victim. Hamadi spoke. “We search you and blindfold you here.”

Hausner shook his head. “No.”

Hamadi turned to Dobkin. “It is standard military procedure throughout the world when bringing an enemy into your lines. You know this. It is no humiliation.”

Dobkin had to agree.

Hausner agreed reluctantly.

They undressed and were searched thoroughly. They dressed again and were blindfolded and taken slowly up the remaining steps. The ground leveled out, but it was covered with what seemed to be clay bricks. They descended a flight of steps and the air suddenly felt cooler. The blindfolds were removed. Hausner strained to see in the darkened room. He heard voices whispering.

“I am Ahmed Rish,” said a soft voice from the shadow in passable Hebrew. “It is an event to see Jacob Hausner—again. And an honor to meet the famous General Dobkin.”

Hausner and Dobkin remained silent. They both sensed that there were other men in the shadows along the walls. The ruined chamber had no roof, but the sun was too low to penetrate into it. They looked around slowly, as their eyes adjusted to the darkness.

Rish spoke again. “We are in the excavated ruins of the South Palace. The throne room where Belshazzar, grandson of Nebuchadnezzar, saw the fatal handwriting on the wall. You will be familiar with the story from the Book of Daniel, of course.”

Silence.

Rish spoke again from the darkness. “I am standing where the royal throne stood, in a recess of the wall. If you squint into the darkness you may visualize the scene of feasting—the gold and silver vessels taken by Nebuchadnezzar when he sacked Jerusalem, the flickering candle, the apparition of the hand that emerged from the shadows and wrote the words of Babylon’s doom upon the wall.” He paused for effect. “That is one of the Jews’ favorite stories. That is why I brought you here. A special treat.”

Hausner and Dobkin did not respond.

Rish went on. “Close by, there has been uncovered a huge furnace. It is no doubt the fiery furnace into which Nebuchadnezzar threw Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-nego. A miracle was wrought by God and they survived. However, the Jews have not always been saved by such miracles.” He paused and the sound of men breathing filled the dark chamber. Rish spoke softly, almost below the threshold of hearing. “Babylon is a place of infinite sadness for the Jews, but it is also a place of miracles. Which will it be this time, Mr. Hausner?”

Hausner lit a cigarette. “You have been very eloquent, Ahmed Rish. I shall be very brief. What do you want?”

“That was foolhardy, landing that huge aircraft on that mound. You could have all been killed.”

“What do you want?”

“Excuse me. I neglected to ask you if you would like some refreshments. Water? Food?”

Dobkin answered. “We have plenty of both, Rish.”

Rish laughed. “I think not.”

Hausner almost shouted. He didn’t have any patience with this Arab habit of circumlocution. “Get to the point. What do you
want
?”

Rish’s voice sounded a little harder. “I want you all to be my hostages while I negotiate with your government. I want to avoid further bloodshed.”

Hausner’s eyes were adjusting to the light. He could make out Rish standing in a recess of the wall. He was wearing a simple white
gellebiah
and sandals. He looked about the same as Hausner remembered him from Ramla. He was exceptionally tall and fair for an Arab. Hausner remembered that he was thought to have some Circassian or Persian blood. “You took a bit of a beating last night. You lost about thirty killed and wounded, I suspect.”

“I am not here to trade after-action reports, Mr. Hausner. And I am not going to go into a long political harangue about why we did what we did, what our objectives are, or any of that with you. I will take those matters up with your government. I am only going to give you one guarantee and one ultimatum. The guarantee is that no Israelis will be killed if you surrender. The ultimatum is that you surrender before sundown. Is that acceptable?”

Hausner spoke. “What if my country rejects whatever demands you make? How then can you guarantee that we will be safe as hostages?”

“If they call our bluff, I will release you anyway. Only you and I know that, of course. But you have my word on it.”

Hausner and Dobkin conferred quietly. Hausner spoke. “I think we know your game, Mr. Rish. Your primary objective was to create an incident to try to wreck the Peace Conference. You may have succeeded there. Maybe not. But your second objective was to grab two planeloads of top-ranking Israelis and interrogate them for political and military intelligence. That
intelligence would be worth a fortune on the open market, wouldn’t it? And your last objective was to hold us hostage for some unspecified demands. And even if you are willing to let us go if those demands are not met, it would not be before we are vigorously debriefed. Am I right? Do I have your guarantee that none of us will be interrogated or subject to duress of any sort?”

Rish did not answer.

Hausner went on. “How about the Israeli Arabs? I don’t think you included them in your guarantee.”

Again Rish did not answer, but Hausner could see, even in the bad light, a remarkable change come over his expression. Rish considered the Jews his traditional enemy. But as nonbelievers, by a curious quirk in Arab and Moslem thinking, they were not liable to the ultimate penalty for most offenses. However, a Moslem, especially if he were also Arab, could expect no mercy for transgressions against his people or his religion. Jabari and Arif were dead men as far as Rish was concerned, and Hausner knew it. Rish spoke. “You are making me angry, Mr. Hausner. The lions’ den is not the place to be when you wish to provoke the lion. Do it from a distance, Mr. Hausner.”

Hausner nodded and looked at Rish closely. He wanted very much to ask Rish about the girl he had seen him carrying away from the battle. But
was
that Rish, and if it was, who was the girl? Was she dead? To ask, however, would confirm what Rish must already suspect about the existence of a night scope. And to ask might send him into an uncontrollable rage. Rish seemed calm enough now, but you couldn’t tell with unstable personalities. And that’s what the psychiatrists at Ramla had labeled him. Unstable and psychopathic. But like a lot of psychopathic killers, he had a certain charm. The charm could lull you, and then you would make a mistake and that’s when he would tear your throat out. “How do I know that you are not so filled with hate that you will not kill us all? What guarantee do I have that you are not . . . insane?”

Dobkin spoke quickly in a low voice. “For God’s sake, Hausner.” He grabbed his arm.

There was a very long stillness, during which time Hausner knew that Rish was trying to overcome his urge to murder them. But Hausner knew, as Rish knew, that to murder them was to end all chances of a surrender.

Rish got his emotions under control with considerable
difficulty, then spoke with an even voice. “I can only repeat my guarantee and my ultimatum. You have until dusk. Not one moment longer. After dusk, as we both know, radio reception is better. So don’t ask for an extension at dusk.” Rish moved a little out of the alcove. “Also, as we both know, it is only a matter of time before the Iraqi authorities discover our little problem here. But don’t count on them to act for at least twenty-four hours after they learn we are here. They will hesitate before they move. I can assure you of that. I have friends in the government. They will delay any move and notify me of all decisions. And when the Iraqi Army does move, it moves with painful slowness, Mr. Hausner. Still, I must consider them in my calculations. And so, again I say—at dusk, if we do not hear from you, we attack.”

Hausner and Dobkin remained silent. Rish held out his hands in a gesture of solicitation. “Think of the consequences of a defeat. My men are all Ashbals. You know this from your captive?”

There was no answer.

Rish went on. “Well, I cannot be responsible for what might happen in the heat of battle. If my men take the hill tonight, they may be carried away with the madness of killing. They lost many friends last night. They would want revenge. Then there are your women to consider . . . you understand?”

Hausner used one of the most offensive Arabic profanities he could think of.

There was silence except for the sound of men murmuring along the walls.

Then Rish stepped a little further out of the shadows. He smiled. “Your command of the more colorful parts of my native tongue is interesting. Where did you learn that?”

“From you—in Ramla.”

“Really?” He moved out of the alcove and stood in the middle of the throne room about two meters from Hausner and Dobkin. “Once I was your prisoner. Now you are about to be mine. When I was in Ramla, you could have had me murdered by my fellow Arabs in exchange for a pardon or an extra privilege. It is done. I know it. But as much as you wanted to have it done, you did not. You had a sense of fair play. Yet I swore to kill you for the insult of slapping me. But really, in a way, I owe you my life. I will be fair with you if you surrender to me now.” He looked closely at Hausner, then stepped to within a
meter of him. “You know that I still burn with that blow, don’t you?” He swung at Hausner and hit him across the face with an open palm.

Hausner was taken aback for a second, then lunged at Rish. Dobkin grabbed him and held him firmly.

Rish nodded his head. “Now that is over. The insult is canceled.
Al ain bel ain al sen bel sen
. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

Hausner regained his composure and pulled away from Dobkin. “Yes, I agree, Rish. But there’s still the small insult of blowing up a planeload of fifty people.”

Rish looked away and spoke. “I won’t discuss that. You have an opportunity to save the other fifty.” He looked at Dobkin. “From a military point of view you must know it is hopeless.”

Dobkin moved closer to Rish. He could hear the sounds of rustling garments in the shadows. Rish made an imperceptible movement with his hand and the shadows retreated back into the walls. Dobkin came within a few centimeters of Rish. “Last night it was indeed hopeless from a military standpoint. Yet we beat you. Tonight the odds will be better.”

Rish shook his head. “Tonight we take the hill, General.”

Hausner grabbed Dobkin’s shoulder. “I’ve had enough. I want to get back.”

Rish nodded. “You will be democratic enough to let everyone vote, I hope, Mr. Hausner.”

“Yes. We do everything by vote up there, Rish. I’ll let you know before sundown. In the meantime, I’m sending our prisoner down to you. He needs medical attention. Are you equipped?”

Rish laughed. “That is a clumsy way of finding out about our medical situation. But we will take the man. Thank you.” He looked slowly from one to another. “Again, I must warn you that if my men take the hill in the dark I cannot control them.”

Dobkin spoke. “You’re either a bad commander or a bad liar.”

Rish turned and walked back into the shadow of the alcove. His retreating voice echoed through the throne room. “I am a realist, gentlemen. Which you are not. Save those people, General. Save their lives, Mr. Hausner.”

“I’ll do that,” said Hausner. He turned to leave.

“Oh. One more thing,” said Rish. “This might help you reach
a decision. I have some information that some of your people might find interesting.” He paused.

Hausner felt a cold chill of apprehension run up his spine. He did not turn around and he did not respond. Dobkin stood with his back to Rish also.

“Some of your people have members of their families—loved ones—who are in Arab countries. I know the fates of those people. Would
you
like to know them? If you surrender, I will give your people true accounts of each one of them. It would end so much suffering and uncertainty for them. The knowledge of their whereabouts, if they are alive, might help their families to secure their return to Israel.”

Silence.

“Abdel Jabari’s family, for instance. Or Rachel Baum’s brother, missing in action since 1973.”

Hausner began walking away. Dobkin followed.

“Wasn’t one of your wife’s cousins missing in the Sinai since 1967, General?”

Dobkin continued walking without a falter in his step.