“Where exactly do you plan to take me?” Tom asked.
“My instructions are to drive you to the British Embassy where you will be provided for until suitable arrangements can be made for your departure on the next U.K., U.S., or UN flight or vessel. If you prefer, I am to deliver you to the U.S. Embassy, where similar arrangements will be made.”
Tom had been anxious to get out of the hospital, so he eagerly accepted Ambassador Roger’s offer. In ten minutes they were on their way out the front door. There were no lights in Tel Aviv that night except the fires of burning buildings, which reflected against the smoke-filled sky and shrouded the city with an eerie glow.
“Połucki,” Tom said, as his young British escort slowly drove the Mercedes through the abandoned streets, turning his lights on only when absolutely necessary and only for a few seconds at a time. “What’s your first name?”
“Nigel, sir,” Połucki replied.
“Połucki is a Polish name, isn’t it?” Tom asked.
“Yes, sir. My grandparents escaped to Britain when Germany invaded at the beginning of the Second World War. They were part of the Polish government-in-exile, which the British officially recognized as the true government of Poland.”
At that moment the air around them began to rumble and convulse, finally culminating in the sound of an explosion, followed almost immediately by the screaming whine of a disabled Israeli jet as it careened in a tight spiral toward the ground. From inside the car it was impossible to determine what the sound was, but from the unearthly noise that shook the ground around them, it sounded like the gates of hell were opening.
The pilot was already dead as the jet slammed headlong into the side of a six-story office building just two blocks away from where Połucki had brought the car to a screeching halt. His foot was planted firmly on the brake, and his fingers were locked around the steering wheel, but it did little to steady his shaking hands.
Tom was shaking too, but he grabbed his camera and jumped out of the car to get a shot of the destruction. “Wait here,” he told his young escort. Nigel didn’t argue—he needed a few minutes to steady his nerves before he would feel ready to drive again. Tom had gone only about thirty yards when again he heard the roar of jet engines. To his left, the horizon was filled with the wingspan of an oncoming Israeli F-35.
Flying just above the rooftops, the plane’s engine swallowed up huge gulps of air as it passed directly over Tom’s head, followed a moment later by a second jet, a Libyan MiG-31, in hot pursuit. The far more maneuverable F-35 banked sharply to the right but, amazingly, the Libyan followed. The Israeli went left, but the Libyan was right behind him. Then, as Tom recorded the images of the duel on his digital camera, the Israeli made what Tom thought was a fatal mistake: he started to climb. Tom knew the F-35 could never match the MiG-31 in climbing speed. The Libyan closed on his target. As the two planes streaked skyward, the MiG released an AA-6 Acrid air-to-air missile.
The Acrid closed in for the kill and Tom readied his camera to capture the impact. At what seemed the last possible second, the F-35 rolled into a dive. It was a good maneuver, but it had come an instant too late. The heat-seeking missile had caught his scent and turned with him. Downward the Israeli sped, racing for his life against the single-minded Acrid. Soon the pilot would have to pull up, and when he did the missile would easily overtake him.
Closer and closer he came to the ground, maintaining his course as long as possible in order to build speed. A few seconds more and it would be too late to pull up; the F-35 would crash into the earth, followed by the unrelenting Acrid.
The flyer made a valiant attempt, but as he passed the point at which Tom thought he must pull up, it seemed all had been in vain. Tom prepared to record the crash as, finally, the pilot raised the plane’s nose. It’s too late, Tom thought, but to his amazement the pilot raised the machine in a tight arch that missed the tops of buildings by less than fifty yards. The plane shook violently at the demanding effort but the pilot held its course, streaking directly overhead. The missile began to follow but was unable to fully make the radical course adjustment.
As Tom searched the sky for the trailing missile it suddenly came into full view. It was headed directly toward them. The missile pierced the metal roof of Nigel’s Mercedes and exploded in a sun-bright flash, killing Nigel instantly as his body disintegrated into minute particles and joined the wash of other charred projectiles flying in all directions at cyclone speed. Before Tom could even blink, small shards of steel and glass cut painful, bloody paths deep into his body and face, followed an instant later by the car’s hood, which knocked him violently to the street.
Derwood, Maryland
Decker sat at the computer in his study, typing up the profile piece on Ambassador Hansen. It was early morning, a few minutes before six. He would e-mail the article to NewsWorld later in the day, but there was no rush. The real news was the war in the Middle East. Hansen’s profile would probably make for an interesting sidebar story to the war. Decker’s angle was to look at Hansen as the man who had almost stopped the war. It was an exaggeration, but he would tone it down in the body of the story.
In Louisa’s old room, Decker could hear Christopher’s alarm clock ringing. He was starting school in a few days and he wanted to readjust to early mornings. By the time Christopher was dressed, Decker had breakfast on the table.
“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Decker said when Christopher came into the kitchen. “I fixed your favorite: waffles with plenty of bacon and scalding hot syrup!”
Christopher gave Decker a knowing smile and responded, “Uh, Mr. Hawthorne, as I recall, that’s your favorite breakfast. Remember?”
Decker put his hand over his mouth and gasped in mock surprise. “Why, so it is!” he said, continuing the act. “Well, now isn’t that a wonderful coincidence!”
He laughed at his own joke and reached for the remote control to turn on the kitchen TV set. It was six-thirty and the news was just starting. “Our top story,” the news anchor said, “is the war in the Middle East. For two reports we go to Peter Fantham in Tel Aviv and James Worschal at the State Department. Peter?”
“Thanks, John. Today is the Sabbath in Israel, a day of rest, but few are resting. Last night, just after dusk, as the Sabbath began, Syrian, Libyan, and Iraqi jets penetrated Israeli air space, headed for dozens of strategic targets. At the same time, Syrian ground forces crossed into Israel from Syria and Lebanon, supported by additional ground forces from Jordan. Throughout the night and into the late morning, widespread fighting has continued on several fronts, with heavy casualties on both sides.
“Behind me are the still smoldering remains of a Russian-made Libyan MiG-25, one of the most modern planes in the Arab arsenal, shot down last night in a dogfight over Tel Aviv by an Israeli F-15 Eagle. But sources tell CNN that while there may have been far more Libyan and Iraqi MiGs than Israeli aircraft shot down in last night’s fighting, the real story of the first day of this war was not in the air, but on the ground.
“CNN has learned that most of the Israeli Air Force never even got in the air. According to one source, dozens of Israeli fighters and bombers were destroyed and had to be bulldozed off run-ways to allow undamaged planes to take off. The Israeli military has refused comment and has ignored requests to allow our camera crew onto any of their bases, but unofficial estimates of losses range as high as 60 percent of the entire Israeli Air Force. If these figures are correct, Israel may be in a struggle for its very existence.”
The scene switched to another reporter standing in a large hall with flags of various nations behind him. The caption identified the man as James Worschal and the place as the U.S. State Department. “This is the fourth time Israel has been in an actual war with her Arab neighbors,” the reporter began. “Each time before, she has emerged the victor against far superior numbers. But this time the odds seem to have changed dramatically in favor of her Arab neighbors.
“In the past, Israel has depende
d on four basic strategic advantages: superior intelligence capabilities, more highly trained and motivated soldiers and officers, a world-class air force, and distrust and disorganization among Arab allies at the command level. But this morning three of those four strategic advantages seem to have been severely damaged or lost altogether.
“The successful attack not only decimated the machinery of the Israeli Air Force, as Peter Fantham just reported from Tel Aviv, it has also shown that the perennial problem of cooperation between Arab states may have come to an end. Military experts tell CNN that last night’s unified attack was nearly flawless. The level of coordination between the Syrians, Libyans, Iraqis, and Jordanians was a classic display of synchronized modern warfare. In part, at least, the Arab participants can thank the United States for that. U.S. military sources all seem to agree that the experience gained by Syria while working with the U.S. during Operation Desert Storm and subsequent operations played a large role in the success of this attack.
“Finally, John, the key to the success of last night’s attack was surprise. The Arabs successfully launched a massive three-pronged attack in total secrecy. Israel’s intelligence agency, the Mossad, has a reputation second to none in the world, but last night they appear to have been asleep on the job. John.”
The scene switched to a split screen of the news desk in Atlanta and the reporter at the State Department. “Jim, what about Israel’s strategic defense that we’ve heard so much about? Isn’t that a factor?”
“No, John. Although, as you say, Israel is believed to have a highly developed strategic defense—which unofficial estimates say may be more advanced than the U.S. program—this highly touted system is not considered to be a factor in the present conflict. The reason for this is that the Arab attack used entirely conventional forces, while Israel’s strategic defense—as its name implies—is designed to defend against a strategic attack by incoming missiles ranging from SCUDS to ICBMs. Against small, low-flying aircraft and ground forces their strategic defense was useless.”
“What’s the prognosis there at the State Department?” the anchor asked. “Has the possibility of direct U.S. intervention been discussed? And even if the U.S. does become involved, is there much hope that Israel can recover from this?”
The reporter at the State Department adjusted his earphone. “John, no one is talking openly about direct intervention, although it is very likely that both the U.S. and Britain will respond with assistance in the form of military equipment. To answer the second question, no one is making any bets on the outcome one way or another, but there is some quiet optimism being expressed. Despite the successful first strike, it’s important to remember that this is not the first time Israel has suffered a surprise attack. The first time was in the Yom Kippur War—a war the Israelis came back to win and win big. The other point of optimism is still Israel’s air force. Despite the heavy losses, it’s possible that the Israelis may be able to make up in quality what they are lacking in quantity. Two examples have been repeatedly brought up: the first, as I mentioned, is the Yom Kippur War, in which the Israeli Air Force shot down more than two hundred Syrian MiGs without the loss of a single Israeli aircraft. The other example, which in its own way is no less impressive, is that in July of 1970, in their only head-to-head meeting with the Soviet Union, the Israelis shot down six Russian MiG-21s while the Soviets failed to damage even one Israeli aircraft. If the air force can duplicate that kind of record in this war, they may still have a chance of surviving.”
“Thanks, Jim. Now, for more on this story we go to Tom Slade in Jerusalem.” The scene switched to the Temple Mount.
“John, Arabs and Israelis have never really needed a reason to fight, but on this occasion the reason is clear. This is a holy war, a jihad, bringing together Arab countries that only a few years ago were bitter rivals. Surprisingly, their cause is a piece of land only about the size of two football fields.
“Behind me, construction of the Jewish Temple goes on despite the war, on land claimed by both the Jews and Muslims. For nearly twelve hundred years, until it was destroyed by Jewish extremists three years ago, this spot was occupied by the Mosque of Omar, the third most holy shrine in Islam. Before that, on this same spot, stood the ancient Jewish Temple, which was itself destroyed in 70 A.D. by the Roman army.
“Orthodox Jews, who have tried to muster support for rebuilding the Temple since before Israel became a state in 1948, attempted to portray the destruction of the Mosque as a sign from God, but for most Israelis, the Temple was a nonissue.
“For nearly three years, since the destruction of the Wailing Wall by Palestinians and the subsequent destruction of the Mosque by Israelis, the land sat cordoned off, guarded and undisturbed behind Israeli police lines. During those years, Israeli politics has moved sharply to the right in response to continuing Palestinian riots and suicide bombings. Last year Moshe Green-berg’s Ichud party, campaigning on hard-line promises including expulsion of Palestinians suspected of rioting and the symbolic promise of rebuilding the Temple, won a small but solid plurality in the Knesset. Minority religious parties made the reconstruction of the Temple a key issue when they agreed to support the Ichud party in forming a coalition government.
“Today, after years of increasing tensions and violence between Palestinians and Israelis, even many nonreligious Israelis defiantly support the rebuilding of the Temple as a cultural and historic landmark. So, ironically, while fighting goes on all around it, here on the Temple Mount the construction crews continue their work.”
“Tom, aren’t the workmen at great risk of being caught in an Arab air strike to destroy what has already been built?” the anchorman asked.
“Actually, no, John. Remember that even without the Mosque of Omar, this mount is the third holiest location in Islam. For the present, it’s considered highly unlikely that the Arabs will do anything that might damage this site. They will not bomb the construction site, but many have vowed that if they are successful in taking Jerusalem, they will tear down the Temple with their bare hands.”
“Thanks, Tom,” said the anchor as the scene switched back to the studio. “In New York, the United Nations Security Council will meet this afternoon in emergency session to consider what action to take in response to this outbreak of hostilities. British ambassador to the UN, Jon Hansen, has been outspoken in his response to the attack. Hansen, who recently led a UN delegation to the Middle East, called on the United Nations to respond with strict economic sanctions, and suggested that if the fighting continues, he may seek deployment of the UN’s recently commissioned naval forces to blockade the combatants’ ports.
“But with the world still grieving for those who died in the Disaster and awaiting the official report on its cause, there is a sense that while the words and posturing may be the same as in any other war, realities are actually very much changed. Most of the world has seen all the death it can stomach for a while.”
Decker turned down the volume with the remote, “Well, Christopher, it seems our trip to New York allowed you to get a bird’s-eye view of history in the making.”
Christopher looked upset. “‘Holy war,’” he said quoting one of the reporters. “Once again, man uses religious differences to justify his personal desires. Religion should lift men up, not be used as an excuse to kill and destroy.”
Decker was unprepared for such a thoughtful response from his young ward. It took him a moment to shift gears and meet the boy on level ground—ground much higher than his comparatively petty statement about a bird’s-eye view of history. He waited to hear what else Christopher might say, but Christopher seemed satisfied to keep his thoughts to himself and go back to his breakfast. Decker decided to probe. He didn’t know what he expected, but here, sitting at his breakfast table was the clone of Jesus of Nazareth—a fact that seemed strangely easy to forget—and he was talking about religion. Decker wanted to keep him on the subject a while longer.
Decker had already determined never to re
veal to Christopher the secret of his origin. But like most people, Decker thought about things like the meaning of life, whether or not there is life after death, and if so, what it’s like. He really wanted to hear what Christopher had to say on such subjects. As he was about to speak, though, he hesitated. Christopher was, after all, only fourteen years old. How much insight could he really have into such things? It wasn’t as though Decker would actually be talking to Jesus; Professor Goodman had made it clear that Christopher had no memory of his past life. Still, Decker had to ask.
“Christopher,” he began, “I don’t want to pry into your private thoughts or anything, so if you don’t care to talk about it, just say so. But I’m interested in what you were saying about religion.” Yeah, that was pretty good, he thought. Not too pushy; not too probing. He didn’t want to say anything he’d have to explain.
What Decker was about to hear would go far beyond anything he possibly could have expected. Christopher didn’t answer right away. It seemed as though he was deeply considering something. At first Decker thought it was just an answer to the question, but the look on Christopher’s face said it was something altogether different. Could he have understood the real reason for Decker’s question?
“Mr. Hawthorne,” Christopher began, looking as serious as Decker had ever seen him, “I’ve been meaning to talk with you about something, but the time just never seemed right.”
In His Image Page 19