announced a day of mourning and called for a special session of the full Knesset as soon as the roads were passable. There would be hell to pay over the botched security job, it was said.
Feldman found appalling the incessant stories of mindless, vengeful rampages across the planet that marked Jeza's passing. Finally, succumbing to acute exhaustion and his painful injuries, he escaped into the kind mercy of sleep.
Hours later, Feldman woke to a clear, sunlit morning, the air washed clean by yesterday's torrent. Turning painfully to his right, he was surprised to find Hunter slouched in a chair next to him, sleeping. The villa awakened early, and yawning cohorts strolled out from their various nests to inquire about the two newsmen's well- being.
Cissy brought out coffee and bakery goods, and checked Feldman's temperature with a cool, soothing hand. “We've got to get you to a doctor this morning and have you looked at,” she said, trying to sound like a Jewish mom. “You may have a broken bone or two.”
He smiled, nodded, and she placed his glasses on his nose, having readjusted their crookedness.
The phone rang and Filson yelled out from the living room, “Hey, Jon, feel like talking to someone from the Israeli Defense Force?”
Feldman pained himself attempting to safely set down his cream cheese bagel. “Ouch! Damn!”
“Is that a yes?”
Filson brought out a phone and Feldman recognized the voice of his mysterious acquaintance.
“Mr. Feldman, I trust I'm not calling too early.”
Feldman detected a tenseness in the voice that was never present before. “No. I didn't get a chance to fully express my appreciation for your help yesterday.”
The voice hesitated for a moment and then responded simply, “Yes.”
“What can I do for you, sir?” Feldman asked.
“I need to see you, Mr. Feldman. This morning. Immediately, if possible.”
“Where are you?” Feldman inquired, unsure that he was fit to travel.
“This must remain absolutely confidential,” the voice insisted. “There's considerable danger involved.”
“You have my word,” Feldman pledged.
“I'm at Hadassah Hospital. I'll send a helicopter for you. And I'd also like to invite your associate, Mr. Hunter, if he'll be kind enough to bring his camera.”
“Can you tell me what this is all about?” Feldman asked, amazed to learn that this call was originating from behind the walls where the Messiah's body now rested.
“I'm sorry, I can't say anything more over the phone. All I can do is assure you that you'll find the trip here worthwhile.”
Putting aside his mood and discomfort, Feldman didn't hesitate further. “We can leave whenever you wish. We're located on the-”
“Yes. I know where you are.”
“Of course,” Feldman smiled drolly. “We'll be ready.”
Hunter looked over with questions in his bloodshot eyes.
“It's confidential till we're in the air,” Feldman explained, “but you and I are going for a little helicopter ride. And you'll need your equipment.”
Hunter grimaced and rolled out of his chair with a grunt.
The helicopter was hardly on the ground thirty seconds. From under a gray and blue flight helmet, one of the air crew looked familiar. It was Corporal Lyman, the female security guard from the Dung Gate. She nodded soberly to the two newsmen, and they nodded back.
Both men and their equipment were quickly hauled aboard and swept airborne. The hospital, located on the northern, more open side of the city, was but a short distance away. Feldman could see a thick crowd of millenarians already congregating outside the tall, stone perimeter walls. The rain and mud hadn't discouraged them for long. A thin row of Israeli guards kept them at bay.
“Look.” Hunter pointed inside the grounds to where patients and medical staff were being loaded aboard military transports. “It looks like they're evacuating the hospital.” Hunter duly recorded the scene on videotape.
The two newsmen were met on the roof heliport by four armed military, who carried Hunter's equipment for him as the cameraman assisted the ailing Feldman. Awaiting them inside was a trim, middle-aged man in the military uniform of an Israeli Defense Force commander. The officer was of medium height, with a tired, strained face, and troubled blue eyes.
He extended a right hand to Feldman, which Feldman had to grasp with his left. “Commander David Lazzlo,” he introduced himself. “A pleasure to meet you.” But there was no pleasure in his voice.
“Likewise,” Feldman returned. “This is my associate, Breck Hunter.”
“Certainly,” Lazzlo took the big man's hand. “Please come with me, gentlemen.”
Patiently allowing for Feldman's restrictive injuries, Lazzlo escorted them down a long hall to an office area where he invited them inside behind closed doors, offering them a seat.
“Can you tell me, Commander,” Feldman asked, “is Cardinal Litti here, and is he okay?”
“Yes to both questions, Mr. Feldman. And if you like, you'll be able to see him shortly. However, I'm afraid we don't have much time, and I really must press forward with several issues.”
“By all means,” Feldman assured him, settling stiffly into his chair. “It's your show.”
Lazzlo looked grim. “Very good. Gentlemen, let me just inform you from the outset that, for what I'm about to disclose, I could be shot. And if either of you are caught with the information I'm giving you, it could cost you your lives, as well.”
“Caught by who?” Hunter wanted to know.
“Let me explain this from the beginning and it will make much more sense to you,” Lazzlo responded. “First, let me tell you that I'm a twelve-year veteran of the IDF, the last four of which I was in charge of intelligence operations, until just recently.
“Let me also say that what I'm about to tell you will no doubt upset you greatly. It upsets
Hunter and Feldman looked at each other and agreed.
“I will confess to you up front that I was well aware of Defense Minister Tamin's secret Negev laboratory experiments. However, beyond the IDF high command and the scientists who worked at the institute, no one else knew the true nature of what went On there. Tamin had to make damned certain that neither the Ben-Miriam administration nor the Knesset were ever apprised of the facts. Experimental procedures, such as the neurochip implantations and intelligence infusions, are forbidden by the Israeli Constitution unless sanctioned first by the Israeli Medical Board. Which, of course, these weren't.”
“Do you mind if I take notes, Commander?” Feldman requested, fumbling with a pen and notepad.
Noticing his bandaged right hand, the officer smiled dryly. “It doesn't look like that's a viable option for you. You can record this if you wish. I'm no longer concerned with the consequences.”
“And why is that, Commander?” Feldman asked, as. Hunter fired up his camera.
“You will learn soon enough.” Lazzlo kept control of the agenda.
“There's been much speculation regarding the actual cause of the Negev Institute's destruction. Let me tell you, as the chief investigating officer, I was unable to come up with a definitive answer.
“I can at least tell you what it wasn't. It was not sabotage, as some of the media have claimed. The destruction was caused by a projectile originating from beyond Israel's borders, due east. It wasn't a missile. At least not of any conventional design we've ever seen. There was no detectable propulsion system or warhead, We know that the projectile was a solid, superheated mass, approximately two feet in diameter at its widest composed of forty percent iron, six percent nickel and fifty-four percent silicates, weighing approximately one quarter ton.
“The most logical explanation we could arrive at is that the projectile was delivered by a super cannon, such as Iraq had been developing at one time before your country kindly destroyed it.”
