“The Israeli penchant for secrecy,” he muttered. Finally, the women relented and told him to try the hospital. “Which hospital?” he asked. Again, he was greeted with silence.
After he had left, the woman made a phone call and identified herself as Lillian. “The young American just left,” she reported. “Yes, he knows where to look.” She paused, listening to the voice on the other end. “No, I’m not stupid. I didn’t make it that easy for him.” She slammed the phone down, hoping it split the Ganef’s ear.
Tara Tyndle recognized the signs immediately. The secretaries were huddled in a corner and whispering to themselves, exchanging worried glances. B. J. Allison was throwing a rare temper tantrum and they were seeking cover until she cooled down. Tara smiled at the secretaries. The youngest one, his boyish face now calm, knocked at Allison’s door and announced her. “Well,” Tara said, “you’ve certainly livened things up around here.” She gave her aunt a beautiful smile and sat down, crossing her long legs and making herself comfortable. “Would you like to hear about our mutual problem, Fraser?”
“Fraser,” Allison snorted, “is not the problem. It’s that dumb Polack, Pontowski. Do you know what he’s done?” Tara knew better than to answer the question — Allison wanted to tell her. “Congress”—Allison was sputtering in her fury—“is going to give him the excess profits tax that he’s asked for.” The old woman paced her office while Tara waited. While Allison’s temper tantrums were legendary among the staff, she usually regained control within minutes.
“You would think we were the enemy and not—” Allison had almost said “the Jews” but caught herself in time. She did not want Tara to think that she was a bigot, but she held deep-seated prejudices that had formed at an early age. “And if that’s not enough, he’s resupplying Israel, not that I’m surprised. Did you know his grandson is in Israel? If that’s not giving aid and comfort to the—” Again, she bit her words off. She had almost said “enemy.” “I can’t tell you how much it disturbs me that the Israelis have a President of the United States in their pocket.” Tara could sense that Allison was spinning down and would soon be rational. “If he’s notgoing to be sensitive to the true concerns of our country, then I’m going to have to see him removed.”
A thoughtful look crossed Tara’s face. “I’m close to finding out how your money was funnelled into Pontowski’s campaign. There’s a key middle man.”
“Hummm. How fortunate,” Allison said. She sat down and ordered tea. “The press is losing interest, what with all the news from the Middle East. We do need to provide them with a smoking gun.”
A secretary knocked at the door and stood there, waiting to be recognized. “Yes?” Allison asked. The young man told her that a certain congressman was on the phone and would like an appointment. Allison turned to Tara and smiled. “Isn’t he that nice Jewish boy who—”
“Yes, Auntie. He’s the spokesman for the Israeli lobby. Fraser was telling me that he is very unhappy with Pontowski.”
Allison sensed an opportunity and she didn’t care why the congressman was in opposition to Pontowski. Just the fact that he wanted to talk to her was ample indication that all was not well between the Israeli lobby and Pontowski. “Oh dear, do you think he would like to know about illegal activities of our President?”
“Perhaps.”
“Of course I could never tell him myself. After all he is-”
“Aunt Barbara, please be careful. He probably suspects that you’re feeding the press, maybe even the source of the money. How well are your tracks covered?”
Allison’s soft southern accent never lost its charm and innocence. “I don’t make mistakes.” Then she smiled. “Dear, I don’t care to meet the young man, but perhaps you’d like to, ah, establish a relationship?”
Tara Tyndle arched an eyebrow. “Really, Auntie! He is-”
“Yes, I know but …”
“Well, I suppose if it’s necessary.” The two women exchanged smiles, understanding each other perfectly.
“He is rather handsome,” Allison allowed.
The woman at the front desk of the first hospital Matt checked told him to talk with the ambulance drivers out back, next to the tents the army had set up. He tried to cut through the hospital, but the halls were jammed with wounded soldiers and civilians. One silent hall was filled with children engulfed in bandages and casts. He stood there trying to come to terms with what he saw. He had never thought of children being casualties of war. Then he realized that his rescue of the trapped girl in the basement had been the exception, not the rule.
A weary nurse told him to leave or start helping. “We’ve got more coming in… A rocket attack on Ofra on the West Bank … the Syrians keep hitting the West Bank settlements … I don’t know why. We’re taking the overflow and the ambulances should be here any minute.” There was no decision to be made and Matt went with the nurse.
The first ambulance backed up to the tent the hospital was using to receive incoming casualties and Matt pulled the door open. The first stretcher out carried a badly burnt child that he guessed to be five or six. He couldn’t tell if it was a boy or girl. An overpowering stench of charred flesh and antiseptic washed over him. He froze. “Move!” the nurse barked. Stung into action, he helped a teenage girl carry the stretcher into the tent to a waiting doctor.
Matt lost count of the number of ambulances he helped unload and soon he found himself carrying the stretchers into nearby homes and office buildings as they ran out of space. Another ambulance pulled up and he stood there, wondering if the chain of shattered children would ever stop. This time, the last stretcher out held a body. Judging from the bandages, the child’s chin and lower jaw had been blown away. “Carry her to the morgue,” a voice commanded. “We need the stretcher here.” It was Shoshana.
“What happened?” he asked, trying to come to terms with the carnage around him.
“A direct hit on a shelter at a school,” she told him. “Probably a Scud rocket. The Patriots can’t get them all.” Shoshana looked at him and knew the inner turmoil that had to be ripping him apart. “Don’t think about it,” she said. “Just do something — anything.” Shoshana had been through the hell he was experiencing and had given him the only advice she could.
Gently, Matt picked the small bundle up off the stretcher and cradled it in his arms. He looked up at her, fighting tears. “Don’t go. I’ll be back in a minute.” She watched him go and sank down on the rear edge of the ambulance and rested her head against the side panel. Four minutes later, Matt was back, still shaken. He sat down beside her and waited. “I was lucky to have found you,” he finally said.
“I know,” she replied. Silence. He turned and looked at her. She had fallen asleep, still leaning against the side panel. He searched inside the ambulance until he found a blanket. Then he eased her onto the floor and spread the blanket over her, willing to wait.
“Tamir!” a voice called. Matt realized he had been dozing and came alert. Shoshana had not stirred.
“Over here,” he answered. A young woman in an unfamiliar uniform materialized out of the dark.
“She’s needed. North this time.”
“She’s bushed,” Matt protested.
“Wake her,” the woman ordered.
“I’m awake,” Shoshana said. “Where to?”
The woman jerked a map off her clipboard and brushed past Matt. The two compared maps. “The Syrians counterattacked and are pushing down the coast. Heavy casualties. Get going.” Shoshana nodded and climbed into the passenger’s seat. She had to wake her partner, a slender, dark-haired thirty-six-year-old schoolteacher from Haifa, to start the engine.