Read By the Rivers of Babylon for Free Online Page B

look.”
    People from the café were hurrying into the street.
Approaching Lod Airport from the north were two Concordes. As the first aircraft began its descent, the crowd could see the blue Star of David against the white tail. There was some scattered applause from the mixed Arab and Jewish crowd.
    Miriam Bernstein shielded her eyes as the Concorde dropped lower and approached from out of the sun. Beyond the airfield, the Samarian hills rose up off the plain. She noticed that new almond blossoms had come out during the night and the hills were smudged with pink and white clouds. The rocky foothills were softly green and carpeted with brilliant red anemones, cream-colored lupins, and yellow daisies. The yearly miracle of rebirth had returned, and along with the wildflowers brought into bloom by the
Hamseen
, peace was breaking out in the Holy Land.
    Or so it seemed.
     
    Tom Richardson and Teddy Laskov left the café in Herzlya and got into Richardson’s yellow Corvette. They hit the heavy Friday traffic of Tel Aviv and the car slowed to a crawl. At a traffic light a block from The Citadel, Laskov opened the door. “I’ll walk from here, Tom. Thanks.”
    Richardson looked over. “O.K. I’ll try to see you before you scramble.”
    Laskov put one foot out of the door, then felt Richardson’s hand on his shoulder. He looked back at Richardson.
    Richardson regarded him for a long second. “Listen, don’t get trigger-happy up there. We don’t want any incidents.”
    Laskov stared back with cold, dark eyes. His brows came together. He spoke loudly, above the noise of Tel Aviv’s traffic. “Neither do we, Tom. But the best we’ve got are going to be on board those birds. If anything that looks military gets on my radar screen, and if it’s in missile range, so help me, I’ll knock it out of the goddamn sky. I’m not putting up with any fly-bys, reconnaissance, or harassment horseshit from
anyone.
Not today.” Laskov slid his big bulk out of the low-slung car and moved as if he were heading for a barroom brawl.
    The light was green, and Richardson edged ahead. He wiped the sweat from his upper lip. At King Saul Boulevard, he made a right turn. Laskov, big and burly, was still in his mind’s eye. He could actually see the great burden on the man’s broad shoulders. There wasn’t a top military commander in the world who didn’t wonder if he was going to be the fool to start World
War III. The old warrior, Laskov, liked to bellow, but Richardson knew that if and when a quick, tactical decision had to be made, Laskov would make the right one.
    Richardson turned onto Hayarkon Street and stopped in front of the American Embassy. He finger-combed his damp hair in the rear view mirror. The day had gotten off to a bad start.
    Through the car’s sun roof, he could see two white Concordes overhead. The bright sunlight gave them an ethereal glow. One was in a holding pattern, heading out to sea. The other was heading in the opposite direction as it began its final descent to Lod. For a split second, the aircraft seemed to cross paths and their delta wings formed the Star of David.
     
    Sabah Khabbani chewed slowly on a piece of pita bread as he stood looking through his field glasses at Lod Airport. He shifted the glasses. Below, on the Plain of Sharon, the plowed earth was a rich chocolate. Between the cultivated fields, the Rose of Sharon and the lilies of the valley flowered as they had done since long before Solomon. A distinctive grey area marked Ramla Military Prison where so many of his brothers were wasting away their lives. To the south, the rocky Judean hills, brown a few days before, had turned red and white, yellow and blue, as wildflowers blossomed. Around him, the Jerusalem pines, part of the reforestation program, swayed as the
Hamseen
came over the crest. The old Palestine of his boyhood had been beautiful in a wild way. He had to admit the Jews had improved on it. Still . . .
    Khabbani removed his