darling? David gave a small breathless moan of agony as he saw the
blood-glutted eye sockets, the dark gelatinous mess that congealed in
the thick dark eyelashes and turned the lovely face into a gory mask.
Is that you, David? she asked again, her head cocked at a blind
listening angle.
Oh God, Debra. He stared into her face.
I can't see, David. She groped for him. Oh David I can't see.
And he took her sticky wet hands in his, and he thought that his heart
would break.
The stark modern silhouette of Hadassah Hospital stood upon the skyline
above the village of Em Karem. The speed with which the ambulances
arrived saved many of the victims whose lives were critically balanced,
and the hospital was geared to sudden influxes of war casualties.
The three men, the Brig, Joe and David, kept their vigil together all
that night upon the hard wooden benches of the hospital waiting-room.
When more was learned of the planning behind the attack, a security
agent would come to whisper a report to the Brig.
One of the assassins was a long-term and trusted employee of the
catering firm, and the other two were his cousins who had. been
employed as temporary staff on his recommendation. It was certain that
their papers were forged.
The Prime Minister and her cabinet had been delayed by an emergency
session, but had been on their way to the wedding when the attack was
made. A fortunate chance had saved them, and she sent her personal
condolences; to the relatives of the victims.
At ten o'clock, Damascus radio gave a report in which El Fatah claimed
responsibility for the attack by members of a suicide squad.
A little before midnight, the chief surgeon came from the main theatre,
still in his theatre greens and boots, with his mask pulled down to his
throat. Ruth Mordecai was out of danger, he told the Brig. They had
removed a bullet that had passed through her lung and lodged under her
shoulder blade. They had saved the lung.
Thank God, murmured the Brig and closed his eyes for a moment, imagining
life without his woman of twenty-five years. Then he looked up. My
daughter?
The surgeon shook his head. They are still working on her in the small
casualty theatre. He hesitated.
Colonel Halmin died in theatre a few minutes ago The toll of the dead
was eleven so far, with four others on the critical list.
In the early morning the undertakers arrived for the bodies with their
long wicker baskets and black limousines. David gave Joe the keys of
the Mercedes, that he might follow by the hearse bearing Hannah's body
and arrange the details of the funeral.
David and the Brig sat side by side, haggard and with sleepless bruised
eyes, drinking coffee from paper cups.
In the late morning the eye surgeon came out to them.
He was a smooth-faced, young-looking man in his forties, the greying of
his hair seeming incongruous against the unlined skin and clear blue
eyes.
General Mordecai?
