THIRTY SIX.
Something wasn't
right. David's eyes fluttered open for a second and then snapped
shut. The air was thick with dust and his ears were ringing. Having
no idea where he was or what he'd been doing, David tried to sit
up, but couldn't. Again he blinked his eyes open, this time only to
a thin squint. All of his senses seemed to be off with the
exception of his sight, and even that was a little blurry.
David rolled his head
to his left and saw nothing, and then to his right, where through
the clouds of dust and smoke he saw fire. The flames jogged his
memory. He was in Hebron at the meeting. The attaché cases were
filled with the Iraqi counterfeit money. He had stepped outside and
climbed into the armored car with Mohammed Atwa and then detonated
the cases. A smile crept onto his lips as he remembered the look on
Atwa's face when he'd stabbed him in the neck.
David remembered the
blood spraying from the man's throat. What a joy it was to see
genuine horror on the face of a man who had brutalized
thousands.
His eyes fluttered.
The haze lifted a bit. He tried to move his left arm but it didn't
budge. He struggled with his right arm and after a moment it broke
free. David lifted his head and realized that his lower body was
covered in rubble. His thoughts again returned to the attaché cases
and the explosives. The technicians at Mossad must have packed even
more C-4 than he'd expected into the cases. The entire house where
the meeting had taken place appeared to be leveled.
David held his head
up and looked up and down the street. The destruction was massive.
Half the block appeared to be destroyed. The attaché cases could
not have done all this, he thought to himself. Then he remembered
the noise. A noise he had only heard once before, but a noise that
was impossible to forget.
With one of his arms
free, David propped himself up and looked around. His head was
awash with pain and either his ears were ringing very loudly or
there were sirens blaring not so far away. From his new vantage
point he took in the devastation and was shocked to see the utter
destruction. At least three homes in addition to the one where the
meeting had taken place were completely demolished; piles of
rubble, with pockets of smoke and flames.
The reality of what
had happened hit David like a building had fallen on him. He did
not mean for all of these innocent people to be harmed. The attaché
cases would have been more than enough to handle the job, but that
bastard Ben Freidman wanted to make absolutely sure that he killed
everyone.
He'd tracked him to
the meeting. This was not a surprise to David.
The fact that
Freidman would try to follow him was a foregone conclusion, but
David felt the man would not press too hard for fear of blowing
what already amounted to the best gift he had ever been given.
Somehow he'd managed to follow him, and then to make sure no one
made it out alive, including David, he'd launched missiles into the
neighborhood. That was the noise he'd heard right before everything
went black. The horrible shrieking noise of a missile, a harbinger
of death and destruction.
David cleared several
smaller stones from his legs and then a few larger ones. Where his
black dress pants were torn he could see blood mixing in with the
dust from the stones that had covered him. Slowly and carefully he
pulled himself out from under the remaining rubble and took an
inventory of the various pains that were shooting through his
body.
The ringing was still
in his ears. David looked around in search of an emergency vehicle
but saw none. He came to the conclusion that the explosion had
probably damaged his hearing. Carefully, he tried to stand, but
quickly found that all was not well with his right leg. David
placed only a fraction of his weight on it and hobbled over to what
was left of a parked car.
The destruction was
horrendous. Half of the block was leveled and of the homes that
were still standing, most were either burning or in danger of
catching fire. The number of innocent people killed would be
enormous. It was time to flee. He did not want to be around to
answer the questions of whoever it was who showed up, whether it
was the Palestinian Authority or the Israelis. As David limped
gingerly down the sidewalk, skirting rubble and leaning on whatever
he could find for assistance, he saw an opportunity. Ben Freidman
undoubtedly thought he was dead. Maybe there was a way to use that
to his advantage.
David picked up the
pace, wincing in pain as he put more pressure on his bad leg.
Through the smoke and the dust he spotted a woman wandering toward
him with a blank expression. As he neared her he noticed she had
something in her arms. The look on her face told him she was in
shock. Resisting the urge to approach her, he pressed on.
When they were within
a few feet of each other he glanced at what was in her arms and
instantly wished he didn't. He wanted to believe the tiny frail
body was that of a doll, but he knew better. It was a baby and
David knew the poor infant would be visiting him in his dreams for
years to come.
Peace did not come
without a price, he told himself. He continued saying this over and
over as he hobbled away from the scene of devastation.
Ben Freidman would
someday answer for his callous brutality. It didn't have to happen
this way. The children did not have to die. David knew the perfect
way to hurt such a man. All he had to do was get to America. Once
there he would put into motion a series of events that would bring
about the birth of a Palestinian state and the end of Ben
Freidman.