[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
.They were so wide they gave the impression ofa man who didn't blink.Dark irises floated in circular seas of white.A black-and-white-checked kaffiyeh adorned his head.To foreign observers, itseemed to get larger with each passing year.This was obviously a falseimpression.The fact was, Nossur Aruch had been shrinking for much of the pastthirty years.By his calculations, if he lived longer than another decade, hewould disappear into his black army boots.Many people thought that he was an uglier, hairier, dumpier version of Beatlesdrummer Ringo Starr.Not Nossur Aruch, however.When he looked at himself in amirror, he saw a Palestinian matinee idol.Although, granted, a depressedmatinee idol.Lost in thought, Aruch sighed deeply at the growing dusk.His forlornexhalation of air seemed almost like a recrimination.Knotted hands rubbed therough concrete of the balcony rail.Tangles of grapevines ensnared therailing.He stared off into the distant twilight.Less than thirty miles to the north of his secluded balcony sat Jerusalem, afat target waiting to be struck.Yet it was out of reach.Actually, that was only true in the metaphorical sense.In point of fact, itwas infinitely reachable.Nossur pushed away from the rail.Fatang stayed at silent attention just outside the French doors that led intothe PIO leader's office.He watched as his superior squatted near the edge ofthe balcony's sturdy inner railing.In the early nineties, the Nobel committee had awarded the former terroristits coveted Peace Prize.To Nossur Aruch, the million-dollar award had been found money.Splurging, hePage 55ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlhad blown it all on a single special item.A vast section at the center of the balcony seemed to be overgrown with vines.Aruch grabbed hold of a chunk of what appeared to be branches, tugging themaside.They folded with a plastic-sounding crinkle, exposing a heavy blackbase hidden beneath.Aruch pulled back farther, exposing a single white fin.The young soldier wasn't surprised by what he saw.Often on nights like these,Aruch's trips to his balcony would end in a maudlin moment like this.Theex-terrorist would pine over the road not traveled.The camouflage netting Aruch peeled back revealed the rocket boosters of aslender missile.Nossur had used the "mad money" granted him by the NobelCommittee to purchase a surplus British long-range Bloodhound MK2 missile.It was aimed at the heart of Jerusalem.Obscured by trees and vines, the balcony was set back in an alcove at thecenter of the private courtyard.The yard itself was surrounded by a highwall.The missile was well hidden from prying eyes.Aruch had bought the missile on the black market and had it smuggled into theWest Bank piece by piece.An impotent gesture.For, although Nossur Aruch loved terrorism almost morethan life itself, he would never use his weapon.He had employed terrortactics in his younger life, but he was a diplomat now.And diplomats did notdrop bombs on the heads of their enemies.No matter how strong the desire todo so.Tears welled in the corners of his crinkling eyes as he studied themagnificent lines of his beautiful prize.It was a giant paperweight.Nothing more.He drew in a mucousy sniffle as he pulled the camouflage back across themissile's exposed tail section.As he headed across the balcony to the open French doors, Nossur blew his bignose on the sleeve of his fatigues.A honking, wet bray.By the look of thesplotches up and down the arm, it wasn't the first time.Fatang marched in behind him.The leader of the Palestine Independence Organization stepped over to hiscluttered desk.The weight of the world on his drooping shoulders, he slumpedinto his chair.Although the desk was a jumble of half-crumpled papers, Nossur knew whereeverything was.He spotted an unfamiliar sheet atop the pile the moment hisgaze fell upon the desk.He scooped up the note."What is this?" the PIO leader asked."It came while you were napping," the soldier said from his sentry post nearthe open balcony doors.Sounds from the deepening Hebron night filtered inacross the dark yard.Aruch frowned as he quickly scanned the paper.He groaned before he'd evenfinished."Yahrak Kiddisak man rabba-k," he cursed softly."Is something wrong, sir?" Fatang asked.Aruch glared up at the young man, asour expression on his face."Things could not be better," he spit sarcastically.He crushed the paper inhis hand, dropping it to the clutter on his desk."I am to meet with theAmerican secretary of the interior tomorrow morning.""The Americans?" the guard asked.He seemed disgusted at the very prospect."Not the Americans.An American.The fool contacted me several weeks ago.Hesaid something about a secret mission that only I would appreciate.The man isirredeemably stupid.He is what is called an environmental activist.""Ah, I have heard of these." The soldier nodded."Is it not their desire tohave men live in caves like beasts?""That is true," Anuch said."And I am told this Bryce Babcock is one of theworst.In settling their West many years ago, the Americans slaughtered everylast wolf in an area known as Yellowstone Park.Babcock actually had wolvesPage 56ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlflown in from Canada and set them loose in the preserve.This is a spot wherefamilies vacation, mind you, Fatang." The young soldier was incredulous."Were the people not outraged?" he asked, stunned."Americans are apathetic," Aruch explained with a wave of his hand."As longas it is not their child that is mauled, they do not care."Fatang shook his head in disbelief."Americans will forever remain a mysteryto me, sir."Aruch nodded."To me, as well.But I must deal with them, for such is the lifeof a diplomat." As he spoke the contemptuous word, he cast a longing eyebeyond the soldier at the shadowy contours of his precious Bloodhound.Hiseyes grew watery as he studied the tangle of vines painted on the plasticsheet that concealed his balcony missile.The truth was, he didn't really care what Babcock had to say.The meeting wasjust another in a long line of pointless summits he had attended sincerenouncing the use of terror."More of the same," he muttered, thinking of the following day's meeting withBryce Babcock."The fool mentioned something about ushering in a new era ofpeace.The Palestinian people are doubtless about to be asked to capitulateonce more."Fatang smirked."The Americans still believe that Muslim and Jew can livetogether in harmony." Aruch tore his eyes away from his beloved missile."They can," he said softly."As long as the Muslim stands above the ground andthe Jew lies below it."The former terrorist rose to his feet.Shuffling wearily on his black boots,he headed out the office door.He didn't cast a backward glance at his cherished Nobel missile.The thoughtthat it would never be launched against Jerusalem brought him far too muchpain.Chapter 20The plane touched down at the airport that had been constructed on themile-and-a-half-long sandy isthmus that separated the crown colony ofGibraltar from the Spanish mainland.The complaints had started the instant the pilot announced that they werebeing rerouted
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]