Verse (19 page)

Chapter 85

We drive to Damascus and board Urdunn’s Gulfstream jet.

I sit in the chair across from Awadi.

We take off and I go to the head.

I pee and wash my hands and check the mirror. I could grab a knife. Awadi’ll never fire his gun on here. I could kill him, then beat Urdunn till he tells me who they are.

Awadi could rip me apart. He probably knows that terrorist martial art and he’s like fifty pounds heavier than me, most of it height and muscle.

I leave and look in the food prep area.

The stewardess is preparing the food cart. “Yes?” she says.

“Just wanted some water,” I mutter. She pours me a plastic cup and I go back to my seat.

We land in Doha and drive to Urdunn’s huge mansion. We go in and he has a maid show me to a guest bedroom. I flop down on the king-sized bed and turn on the TV.

It looks like it’s constant coverage of the war on the cable news channels.

standing here in the Golan Heights where the Lebanese army has advanced

I go to the bathroom, pee, and wash my face. I look in the

Manuel Kadur

Huh?

is still missing presumed dead, the White House could not be reached for comment.

I run out of the bathroom and look at the television.

On screen, hundreds of people hold candles and pray at the Wailing Wall.

Vigils for him are being attended by thousands every night. The Israeli government has warned that these ceremonies are potential targets and has thus advised citizens not to attend. In other news, Egypt has made indications of

I shut off the TV and walk downstairs to the kitchen.

I open drawers till I find the knives and grab one, a small meat carver, and stick it in my sock and cover it with my pants.

Someone’s coming, I go to the fridge and look for food.

Urdunn says, “You want to go out?”

I close the fridge and say, “Yeah.”

He gives me some dressy clothes and I go to my room to get ready. I stash the knife between the mattress and the headboard, shower, and get dressed.

We take his limo into the city center. We pull into an alley and up to the backdoor of a nightclub. We get out and go in.

It’s dark and flashing colored lights move around the room. A hostess leads us through the crowd to a roped off VIP section. I take a seat on a couch next to Awadi and Urdunn sits across from us. Electronic dance music throbs the whole place and I can’t hear anything else. That’s good, I don’t want to talk to these guys.

Girls come over, three of them, two join Urdunn and one squeezes between Awadi and me. Prostitutes I guess? The guys know them.

A waitress brings some bottles. They pour me a drink and I sip it. Then I have another and another.

It helps me relax, at least. It’s nice to not have to fake being comfortable.

I feel fine.

I have to pee.

I head for the WC and Awadi follows.

I pee, but he doesn’t. Has he not been drinking?

No wait, that’s the wrong question.

I zip up and turn to him and say, “Are you Urdunn’s bodyguard or mine?”

He shrugs and smiles.

I say, “Wouldn’t want me running away.” I wash my hands.

He says, “That’s not even a question though, right?”

“Nope.”

We leave, but I head for the terrace and Awadi follows.

Outside I ask him for a cigarette. He gives me one and says, “They’ll let you smoke inside.”

I shrug. “I’m American.”

He lights it for me and I look out at the city. I guess I won’t get a chance to see much of it.

I look inside through the window at Urdunn, he’s talking with some guy in robes. Where’d he come from?

“Who’s that?” I say.

“Prince Akhmed. Khaled came here to meet him, to make a deal.”

“He’s from Qatar? The king’s son?”

“No, from… another country.”

“What kind of a deal are they making?”

“For support.”

“You mean military support? In Israel?”

He shrugs.

I say, “Is that why we came here?”

“Khaled doesn’t like nightclubs.”

I turn back to the city.

The azan begins. I perform salat, the only one. The others watch me.

I finish and go back inside. Awadi follows.

Chapter 86

Morning, we head back to the airport. Walking across the tarmac, I say, “Where are we going now?”

Urdunn says, “Bethlehem.”

“Bethlehem?”

“The closest city in the West Bank to Jerusalem. We’ll stage there.”

We fly to Jordan and are smuggled in the back of a cargo truck into the West Bank.

We’re safely through the border and Awadi pulls aside the back flap of the truck. I watch the countryside as we drive.

We drive into Bethlehem. It’s a hilly, rundown town. The walls are covered in graffiti and ads for Christian tourist sites.

We pull into a gated compound, bustling with people, and get out. Men carry boxes around, loading trucks.

Awadi shows me to my room.

I wake up. Out my window, it’s clearing out as the trucks leave, full of soldiers. On the television, I watch news of the invasion. I can hear bombs going off to the north.

Awadi knocks on my door and brings me down to Urdunn in the courtyard, who says, “You have become a hero to your people, do you know this?”

I shake my head. “I saw something about it on TV.”

“Tomorrow we will take television news station in Jerusalem. We want you to ride with our forces. Make a speech for your people to surrender. Maybe some will listen. You will save lives this way.”

“All right.”

“Do you agree?”

“Yeah.”

He says, “Good,” and motions for me to go back to my room. He heads over to a group of men and one of them is the man who killed Iris.

I nearly stumble over my feet. I keep walking. I could grab Awadi’s gun. No way. Disarm him and shoot him and Urdunn in time? Never never never.

I go inside, climb the stairs, and go into my room.

I look out the window. Urdunn and two other men, the one who stabbed me in my eye and one of the others are all getting into a car. Awadi is talking with the man who killed Iris.

Urdunn says, “Malak!”

The man who killed Iris raises a hand to acknowledge Urdunn, shakes Awadi’s hand goodbye, and heads to the car and gets in.

They drive out of the compound. That was it. That was my chance and I blew it.

Chapter 87

I put on the suit and the dress shoes and tie. Cheap polyester, but I guess it’ll look good on television. I’m gonna stink in this heat, though. I leave my room, meet Awadi in the lobby, and leave the hotel. The sun is just rising over the hill. I follow him to a jeep and he introduces me to Farid, a guy in his thirties.

Awadi drives, I sit shotgun, and Farid sits in the back.

We follow a tank toward the north wall facing Jerusalem. Awadi picks up the radio and says something in Arabic into it.

The ground vibrates and there’s a roar as a jet strafes the wall and a BOOM as a section explodes in a cloud of dust.

The jet strafes it again and again and once the dust settles men begin clearing out the rubble.

Finally, we follow the tank through the hole.

We go down a hill and up another and then we’re onto the deserted highway, heading into Jerusalem.

I turn and look behind us, at the other cars and jeeps full of soldiers, coming with us.

I look back toward Jerusalem as we draw closer. There are more planes flying over it and helicopters buzzing through it. I try to listen over the engine noise and can hear the faint rumbles of explosions.

My heart flutters and I feel queasy.

There are abandoned cars up ahead and we weave through them. No, not abandoned. Dead bodies inside.

I turn to Awadi and say, “What are we doing when we arrive at the TV station?”

He indicates Farid with his head.

I turn around in my seat and say, “Do you speak English, Farid?”

“Yes, I speak,” he says.

“Do you know what to do when we arrive?”

“Yes, I know. I am journalist in Ramallah. I work with TV system. And you know what to say?”

“Yeah, they wrote me a speech. I don’t think it’s gonna help much, though.”

“Why you say this? You are hero to Jewish people, no?”

“That’s what they tell me. I’m guessing it’s just the ultra-Orthodox. Everyone else probably hates me.”

“I see.”

“I don’t know. But I don’t think they’re all gonna surrender, just cause I say to.”

“I see.”

“If anything, that’ll just make me stop being their hero.”

“Anything you can do for help is help. We can’t say who will win, so maybe one person will surrender, it can matter.”

“Okay.”

He says, “Help us. You are still hero for them. Be hero for us. Help us. Anything you are able to do. Help us.”

I nod.

We meet eyes, it gets uncomfortable, so I turn back around in my seat.

We reach the city and our jeep breaks off from the convoy and heads down an entrance ramp into West Jerusalem.

We get onto a street and there are soldiers fighting ahead, we go around the block to avoid them, passing debris and bodies.

We come to the TV station and stop in front. The three of us get out and run inside.

The door shuts behind Farid and it’s eerily quiet.

Farid says, “The studio is on the eighth floor.” We walk through the lobby, our shoes on the tile the only sound.

The security desk is abandoned. Awadi calls the elevator and it dings open.

We ride it up and it opens on the eighth floor and we get out. We walk down the carpeted hall. We go into an empty control room facing a news set with two desks.

Farid checks the equipment and points at a monitor that shows a title card in Hebrew and says, “They’re playing it on a loop. I’ll prepare to broadcast.” He goes into the set and I follow and Awadi follows me. Farid picks up a lavalier mic off the desk and says, “Let me put this on you.”

I say, “I worked in TV, I got it, no problem.”

He hands it to me and says, “Okay, when you are ready, get in position.”

I attach the mic to my shirt, run the wire under my jacket, attach the battery pack to my belt, and turn it on. I stand in front of the desk, facing the camera.

Farid adjusts the camera. “You’ll stand there?” he says.

I nod.

He goes into the control room.

I pull out the speech Urdunn gave me.

It’s in Romanized Hebrew. I read it over.

I check Awadi, he’s standing behind the camera, holding his Uzi, watching me.

I look at Farid. He’s got a questioning look in his eyes.

I nod at him.

He hits some buttons and holds up his left hand, fingers spread for five.

He ticks down the index finger, four.

Middle finger, three.

Ring finger, two.

Pinky, one.

Thumb, zero, a closed fist.

He nods at me and puts his arm down.

“Shalom,” I say to the camera. I glance at the paper.

Ani Manuel Ka

The world erupts in fire.

The ground smacks into me, knocking my breath out, and I choke and gasp for air, sucking in smoke and coughing.

I crawl for the door, into the control room, the air is better, I gasp on it, breathe it in, it’s sweet.

Farid’s corpse is slumped over a monitor, his stomach torn open, his small intestine sagging from it, dripping bile and blood.

It’s getting smokier, I go to the door and get on my knees and turn the knob and open it.

Fresh air rushes in. I crawl into the hall and just lie there.

Catch my breath.

Okay.

Just a minute.

Okay.

Okay.

I stand up and look around. The smoke is only coming from the studio.

There’s a fire extinguisher on the wall, I grab it, pull the ring, put my shirt over my mouth, and go back in. It’s thick with smoke, there’s a fire on the back wall, I aim the hose at it and spray it.

Foam covers it and it dies out.

Through the smoke, there’s a hole in the back wall and a broken window in the next room, a conference room. Must have been a rocket or something. What are the odds of that?

Awadi groans.

I drop the extinguisher and run to him, where he’s lying against the wall at the front of the room. I kneel down and pull the crook of his arm over my shoulder and drag him into the hallway and lay him on his back.

He’s not conscious, bleeding from a head wound, his skull is half-caved in.

His right hand is gripping his Uzi, squeezing the trigger, must be stopped by the safety. I grab it by the barrel and take it from him.

I turn his head slightly.

The dent in his skull is deep. He needs a hospital. If there were one around here. And I could get him to it. There’s brain matter in that wound.

I look at the gun. Find the safety. Click it off.

Aim it at him.

It’s merciful.

It’s the right thing to do.

I squeeze the trigger and FIRE.

My hand jerks up, and I’m deafened by three bangs.

One hole in Awadi’s skull, two in the floor.

I kneel and check his pulse on his neck.

I don’t feel anything.

Is that the right spot?
I put my hand over his mouth.

No breath.

He’s dead.

I go to the wall and sit down and lean against it.

Killing someone is supposed to be one of those profound things, right?

I’m supposed to have a reflective moment, I think.

Awadi’s cell phone rings.

I crawl over to him and check his jacket.

It rings again from his pants.

I pull it out of his right front pocket and look at it. The name’s in Arabic.

It rings again and I sit back down against the wall.

It rings again.

I answer, “Hello?”

“Alo? Salaam, Awadi, haadhaa Malak,” and he continues in Arabic and says something about “Mazal Ravid.”

I say, “Malak?”

“Naam, haadhaa Malak.”

I say, “You killed the only person I ever loved.”

“Awadi?”

“No, this is Immanuel Kadur.”

The line goes dead.

He wanted to tell Awadi something about the prime minister.

I don’t know.

I look down the hallway, toward the elevator, doors on the right and left.

I dial Erwin.

“Hello?”

“Erwin, it’s Manuel.”

“Manuel! You’re alive! I saw that video of you, we all though you might be— Where are you?”

“I’m in Jerusalem. Where are you?”

“I’m in Jerusalem too, with my unit.”

“Erwin, maybe this is a stupid question, but do you know where the prime minister is?”

“He was in the bombing of the Knesset. He’s alive but in a coma. He must be in a hospital. I don’t know, why?”

“Can you ask somebody?”

“Hold on.”

I crawl back to Awadi and dig into his other pocket. Wallet. Keys. Cigarettes. Lighter.

I take the cash, keys, cigarettes, and lighter and put them in my coat pocket.

The phone dings and I check it, there’s an address.

I stand up and head down the hall, putting the phone back to my ear.

“Erwin?”

“Did you get it?” he says.

“Yeah, thanks.”

“Sure, one of my buddies has a buddy on guard duty there. What’s this about?”

I call the elevator. “Maybe nothing, I don’t know.”

“Or maybe…?”

“Maybe some men are going there to kill him.”

“I’ll tell my commander.”

“Erwin, don’t do that.” The left elevator dings open and I get on.

“Why not? Manuel, I have to—”

“Erwin. Please. For me. Trust me.” I press

0

and the doors shut.

“Wait, what are you going to do?”

“I’m on my way there.” The elevator hums and moves down.

“Manuel, that’s crazy.”

The elevator stops with a slight bounce. “I know.”

The door opens and I walk through the lobby. He says, “Manuel, what are you going to do?”

“I haven’t decided yet.” I open the door and walk outside.

“You’re not a soldier.” I get into the jeep.

I say, “It’s in God’s hands,” and hang up and toss the phone in the passenger seat and then set the gun next to it.

I put the key in the ignition, turn it, start the jeep, and drive off.