Matt threw the mirror as hard as he could, catching Scarface on the temple. The mirror ricocheted and hit the floor, shattering the glass. No one moved.
Bleeding from the temple, Scarface pressed the barrel of a pistol into Matt’s ear. “Maybe we should just end your miserable life here and now, asshole. You really don’t get it, do you? You’ve got no choice in this matter. You belong to us and you’ll do exactly what we want you to do. It’s as simple as that. So stop trying to act like someone with a semblance of dignity and self-respect. You’ve been a coward and a weakling all your life. You should be thankful we’re giving you a second chance to finally do something with your miserable little life.” He released Matt and stepped back. The pistol slid back smoothly into the hand tooled shoulder holster. “We’ll be back after you’ve had a chance to sleep on it.” He nodded to the doctor. The syringe was already inserted into the IV tube.
Matt started to panic, his heart racing. “So what if I go along with your plan?”
“Several very important people will be extremely grateful, Dr. Richards. That, and your life won’t have been a total waste after all. But we’re not impressed with your sudden change of heart. It’s the only option you’ve got.” They walked out.
Dr. Weissman pulled out the empty syringe. In less than thirty seconds Matt Richards drifted into another drug-induced sleep. The dreams came again.
Beirut, December 29, 1968
The beckoning aroma of thick Arabic coffee floated into the bedroom of the ski chalet in the snow-covered mountains above Beirut. The soft mattress shook. Still half asleep, he sensed Maha’s presence. Her warmth. Her essence. Inhaling the scent of her perfumed skin, he recalled last evening’s lovemaking. His eyes slowly opened. She was over him, the tips of her long red hair tickling his face and eyelids. Matt closed his eyes again, committing every part of her to memory. He wanted to remember this moment forever. Eyes, hair, musky…
“Last night I took the most wonderful journey of my life. I went straight to heaven.” Her sweet breath was warm as her lips caressed his cheek. “I am changed, Matthew. Forever. Now I am a woman. Your woman. I have given to you everything that is sacred to me, willingly and with joy. And what you gave me was fantastic.” They kissed, and he drank her in, only to feel her body move quickly off the bed. “Now,” she giggled, as her large firm breasts bounced up and down. “Let’s see if you can ski as well as you make love.”
The mountains of Lebanon formed a giant barrier running the length of the narrow country, separating the fertile coastal plain edging the warm Mediterranean from the high desert expanses of the Bekka Valley. In Phoenician times, the entire 161 kilometer mountain range was covered with a dense forest of cedar trees, known in Arabic as Arz-ar-Rab, the Trees of the Lord. The huge trees became a valuable source of lumber for building the massive temples of Egypt. Trade with Egypt was brisk, and while the Phoenicians flourished, the cedars rapidly dwindled. Only a small stand of fewer than four hundred trees-some over a thousand years old-now remained. They were the survivors, a lonely reminder of how easily something so noble and beautiful can be lost forever.
“Aren’t these mountains exquisite? A paradise of virgin white snow. And just think, it lasts until May, sometimes later.” Maha laughed with delight as she strapped on her skis just outside the chalet door. It was midweek. The pristine slopes nearly deserted. Matt and Maha had slipped away to spend two days at the large chalet their friend Demetrie had rented for the season. This was their first extended time alone, and their first experience as lovers.
Tears filled her eyes. “Have you ever seen such an inspiring view?” Nearly out of breath she came to a stop, the edges of her Rossignol skis sending up a shower of snow. She was at the beginning of a steep run, about half a kilometer from where the lift had deposited them. Matt was also breathing heavily, having difficulty keeping up as she snaked across the slope, her skis perfectly parallel. Being from Seattle, Matt had grown up skiing, but next to Maha he felt like a rock tumbling down a bumpy hillside. He came to a showering stop alongside her, but his sharp edges struck a small rock and sent him flying onto his back. He looked up and laughed.
“Stop clowning around, Matthew. You must see this view. It’s magnificent. Imagine how the invading armies felt when they reached the mountaintop and looked out.”
Stretched out below them, well over thirty-five kilometers away, lay the city of Beirut. It glowed in the early-morning sunlight. The blue Mediterranean danced and shimmered. Several grey tankers slowly exited the harbor, plodding ahead of their frothy wakes. The Phoenician legacy was still as vibrant as ever. Where the lower end of Saint George’s Bay curved around, they could just make out the red-tiled roofs and lush gardens of the American University of Beirut.
“Wow,” Matt exclaimed, when he’d pulled himself back up. “It’s like we’re gods on Mount Olympus looking down on the world.” Besides biology and math classes, Matt was taking a course in ancient mythology taught by Professor Richmond Hathron, as eccentric as he was famous. Dr. Hathron, an American, had lived in the Middle East for many years. In their classes twice a week, he would often read passages from Homer’s Iliad, from the original Greek, translating the flowery text as he went. It was this class that had opened Matt’s eyes to the profound soul of the Middle East, where first the Greeks and then the Romans had such a strong and lasting influence on the culture.
“Hey,” he said, squinting into the sun, “what’s all that smoke over there? Isn’t that Beirut Airport?”
Maha didn’t hear him. “If you can catch me, you can kiss me.” she yelled, leaping off the snowy ledge. She tore down the steep face, gracefully carving a sinuous trail. Snow erupted at each turn.
Matt was about to race off after her when he noticed two skiers in dark clothing emerge from the left side of a snow bowl and head directly for Maha. They raced closer and closer, flying straight towards their target. She looked over her shoulder, expecting to see Matt. Instead she saw the two men. She slowed down, her skiing more rigid, jerking from side to side as she awkwardly turned. She looked tense and frightened. Matt watched, not knowing what to do. He looked closer. They were on a course that would take them by her. He relaxed.
But suddenly they veered directly in front of Maha and stopped. She tried to swerve out of the way but her ski tips crossed. She tumbled down into the snow, face first. Both skis flew off in opposite directions like feathers from a gunshot bird. He watched anxiously as she slid for twenty yards before coming to a stop next to a small mound of snow.
Matt catapulted off the ledge shouting, “Get away from her,” but they were too far away to hear. Or else they just ignored him. As he headed straight down, the two skiers closed in on either side of Maha, just sitting up and brushing off the snow. One of the men reached down to help her up, but she resisted, lashing out with a ski pole. In a few mad seconds Matt was within earshot. Maha was screaming in Arabic. Matt crouched down and headed straight for the nearest intruder-a human missile flying down the steep slope.
Looking up, Maha saw Matt barreling down towards them. “No, Matt, it’s all right. Don’t-”
The taller of the two skiers stood directly in his path. Grabbing the hood of the stranger as he flew past, Matt jerked him to the ground, then dug his ski edges and swished to a stop a few feet downhill. He yelled at the other man. “Get away from her, you sonofabitch.” Matt began sidestepping up the slope, frantic to reach Maha. The man he’d downed reached into his parka. A Damascus knife glittered in the sun. Matt stared at the deadly curved blade.
“Matt. Watch out.” The skier with the knife lunged at Matt’s back. Maha moved swiftly, reaching out. The deflected blade bit into the back of her hand. Bright red blood splattered across the snow.
“Stop it right now-stop it, all of you.” Maha screamed at the men, then clutched her hand in pain. Matt scooped up a handful of cold snow, packed it down over her wound, then began wrapping it tightly with his bandanna. The two Arabic men had come up alongside, the taller one threatening Matt with the knife.
“What are you doing, Saleem?” Maha screamed. “Are you crazy?”
“You should be ashamed of yourself, sneaking around with this man. We’ve been looking for you all night.” Suddenly he fell to his knees, sobbing. “Father’s dead.”
The color drained from her face. “What?” She was shaking as she gripped her older brother by the arm. “Oh God. What happened?”
“He was at the airport late last night for a flight to Amman when Israeli commandos attacked. They blew up several planes on the runway and shot up the main building. Father tried to duck down behind a ticket counter…” When he looked up, a fierce hatred burned in his dark eyes.
“Zionist pigs. They shot him in the back. He bled to death. And where was the cowardly Lebanese army during all this? Their barracks are only five kilometers away.” He spit into the snow. “I will kill them all.”
