moving forward. Colonel Marciano spoke into the megaphone; the rear row of the cordon reversed itself and faced the Gvura people.

'Go ahead,' screamed one woman. 'Shoot Jews! Damned Nazis!'

The soldiers remained impassive. Granite eyes in baby faces.

Daniel walked up to Marciano. The colonel was surrounded by subordinates but acknowledged him with a nod as he delivered order after order in a calm, even voice.

Marciano was a huge man-two meters tall-with an egg-shaped body that seemed to balance precariously on long, stilt-like legs. His head was egg-shaped, too-bald, brown, deeply seamed, with a large, fleshy nose and a chin that could have used some reinforcement. Soft-spoken without his megaphone, he was a career man, a hero of the '67 Sinai assault and Yom Kippur, in charge of Judean security for the past two years. An organized thinker and reader of philosophy and history who seemed to take it all in stride.

When the subordinates had left to carry out his orders, he gripped Daniel's hand and said, 'It's over.'

'The call I received said it had to do with my case.'

'Could be. One second.'

Two soldiers were carrying the dead Arab to the side of the road, holding him low to the ground so that his buttocks dragged in the dirt. Marciano picked up his megaphone, said, 'Lift him,' sharply. Startled, the soldiers complied.

Before the loudspeaker had been lowered, an army lieutenant came over and said, 'What about them, Barukh?' Pointing to the Gvura people, who were still shouting and cursing.

'Inform Shimshon in Hebron that movement north of the city limits is restricted for twenty-four hours,' said Marciano. 'Maintain a line of troops one hundred meters to the south, and see to it that no one without legitimate business crosses it for the rest of the day. Once the line's established, leave them alone to blow it off.'

The lieutenant wiped his brow and left.

'Come on,' said Marciano. He loped to the back of the truck, climbed in, and Daniel followed. The two of them sat on the hot corrugated-steel floor of the truck bed. Marciano lit a cigarette and dragged deeply, then pulled a canteen off his belt, took a swig, and passed it to Daniel. The water inside was cool and sweet.

Marciano stretched out his long legs.

'This is what happened,' he said. 'About two hours ago, one of the Gvuranik women was standing out in front of the settlement, waiting for a lift to Jerusalem-a pregnant one. She had an appointment at Shaarei Zedek Hospital. One of Kagan's deputies-American named Arnon-was on transport duty, supposed to be coming back with a earful of schoolbooks, then making a return trip to pick up a Torah and take her to her appointment. He was late. She waited by herself for a while, knitting booties.

'Suddenly this car drives up.' Marciano pointed to the mud-colored Fiat. 'Three Arabs get out, two with butcher knives. The other's packing a pistol-one of those cheap

Czech jobs, as likely to blow up in your hand as fire. They start moving on the pregnant one. She's terrified, can't move. They're saying something about blood sacrifices and sin offerings, revenge for dead virgins. She starts to scream. They clamp a hand over her mouth, start pulling her into the car.

'Meanwhile Arnon pulls up, sees what's happening, and runs over to help. He's got a pistol, runs toward them waving it but is afraid of hitting the woman. The Arab with the gun starts shooting-misses three times even at close range but finally gets Arnon in the belly.

'Arnon's down. The pregnant woman manages to break free, starts running and screaming at the top of her lungs. The Arabs go after her. Mrs. Kagan happens to be taking a walk near the outskirts of the settlement, hears the gunshots and the screams and rushes over. She's packing an Uzi, pulls it into firing position. The Arab with the gun shoots at her, misses, then starts to run away. Mrs. Kagan goes after all three of them, opens up on the car, kills two of them right away, wounds the third. By now, Gvuraniks are streaming out. They pull the wounded Arab out of the car and beat him to death.'

Marciano paused for a drag on his cigarette. 'Pretty picture, eh, Dani? Wait, there's more. Seems the three Arabs were only part of the gang. There are four others waiting in a flat in Hebron-knives, shroud, looks like they had a revenge party in mind. When the Fiat doesn't show up, these guys drive up the road to investigate, see Gvura people standing over the dead bodies of their comrades, and pull out their Czechis. The Gvuraniks spot them, go after them-lots of shooting, no one hit. The Arabs step on the gas, speed back to Hebron telling everyone that the Jews are on a rampage, murdering Palestinian heroes. To make matters worse, some professor from Bir Zeit- asshole punk named El Said-is visiting an uncle, hears the news, and steps out in the middle of the souq with an impromptu speech that whips up a mob. The rest you saw.'

Marciano smoked some more, took another swallow from the canteen. A chorus of ambulance sirens rose shrilly and diminished, backed by racing engines, the still-lusty epithets of the Gvura people.

'In terms of your case,' said the colonel, 'we found a newspaper article in the Fiat-you know the one I mean.'

'I haven't read the paper today,' said Daniel.

'In that case I'll get it for you.' Marciano got on his knees, stuck his head out of the truck, and called an MP over.

'Get the bag labeled Number Nine out of the evidence case.'

The MP trotted off.

'Where's Kagan?' asked Daniel.

'With his wife. Shooting those Arabs seemed to shake her up. She collapsed shortly afterward-they took her to Hadassah for observation.'

Daniel remembered the woman's quiet grace, hoped she was all right.

'What's the casualty situation?' he asked.

'The three dead ones from the Fiat. The pregnant one received only a few scratches, but it wouldn't surprise

Вы читаете Kellerman, Jonathan
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