Oh, love, he thought, if only you knew how close a thing it was. How I had to use Matt to get the Israeli lobby in Congress off my back so I could maneuver. It wasn’t by pure chance he was sent to Israel. And then the way the Israelis fed him information thinking that would influence me. It would have been all right except that grandson of ours has a penchant for getting into trouble. And finding pretty girls.
“What’s going on behind those steely blue eyes of yours?” Tosh asked.
“Thinking about Matt.”
“And how you used him,” she said.
Pontowski sighed. He couldn’t hide anything from his wife. “Yes, but I hadn’t planned on him getting involved with theraid on Kirkuk. That just happened because his unit was ready to do it.” Pontowski shook his head. “It seems that Matt’s deputy for operations was a wild man who got ready for any fight he thought might come his way. Matt just happened to be there. I thought about getting involved, but I couldn’t. You know Matt, he would’ve never forgiven me if I had sidelined him.”
“I suppose,” Tosh said. “That happens when you stand too close to a fire. They can burn uncontrolled and drag you in.”
“Then we need bigger firebreaks,” the President decided.
The vice president for F-15 production at McDonnell Aircraft Company slipped into the flight simulator unobserved. He watched the two men at the console as they went through their well-practiced routine of teaching humility to some fighter pilot inside. “What have you two been up to now?” he asked, capturing their attention. Leander immediately froze the sim and told the crew inside that they would continue in a moment.
“Well?” the vice president demanded, working to keep a straight face.
“Nothing, sir,” Stigler answered.
“You two clowns are always up to something.”
“Meatheads, sir.” Leander said. “We’re not clowns, we’re Meatheads.” He pointed to a prominent plaque above the console that announced MARTIN’S MEATHEADS.
“At least,” the VP continued, “can you cut the next congressman who comes through here some slack?”
The two young men hung their heads, trying to act ashamed.
The vice president relented. “When you’re finished here, the Old Man wants to see you. Says he wants to shake your hands. It beats me why …” He grinned and left, leaving them to their work.
The battered jeep made its way down the dusty road, skirting the burned-out hulks of tanks, armored troop carriers and trucks that had been pushed to the side. Matt had to leave the road, detouring around a patch of uncleared mines. He almost drove through a collection of temporary graves-Syrians. All the scars of heavy fighting assaulted him, drivinghome the grisly reality of war’s destruction and after-birth. In the distance, he could see the ruins of a destroyed kibbutz nestled against the western hills of the Huleh Valley.
Matt stopped to get his bearings. I flew up this valley, he thought, when Furry and I took out that command post. He checked his map and found the Huleh Valley. What had Avi Tamir called it, “the jewel of Israel"? He looked up the steep escarpment to the east. It was a cliff that rose fifteen hundred feet to a plateau — the Golan Heights. No wonder it is so vital to control the Golan, he decided.
Some hard fighting went on here, he thought. Maybe someone was at that kibbutz…
In the confusion of the war’s aftermath, the search for Shoshana had been, by turns, frustrating, confusing, and hopeless. It had taken a major effort just to wangle a hop aboard a U.S. Air Force C-5B hauling relief supplies into the devastated country. The harried Israeli officer who had met the airplane had ordered him not to deplane and to fly out on it. Rather than argue, Matt had simply walked off the cargo plane when no one was looking and started his search.
His first stop had been the Tamirs’ apartment in Haifa. Instead of the woman called Lillian and her mob of children, he found the apartment occupied by two families of refugees from the West Bank, none of whom spoke English. He was about to give up when a well-meaning neighbor relayed a rumor that Avi Tamir was working at his old kibbutz in the Huleh Valley.
The jeep ground up the road to the fourth kibbutz he had found.
Surprisingly, he saw only one girl on guard duty as he approached. Since he didn’t look like an Arab and was driving an Israeli jeep, the bored teenager waved him in. Children were playing in the yard of a freshly completed school building and their shouts and laughter offered a welcome change from the devastation on the road. Matt switched off the engine and leaned over the steering wheel. He was dirty, thirsty, and tired from his search. And I’m only fifty miles from Haifa, he told himself.
Fifty miles! he thought. Fifty miles of mute testimony to the death and destruction of war. And in the end, what had he accomplished? He had found three kibbutzim and no trace of Avi or Shoshana Tamir. This kibbutz had been the hardesthit of the lot. But the place swarmed with kibbutzniks and was full of life and purpose. They’ve got their priorities straight, he decided; rebuild the school first.
A young couple swung past holding hands. Both were tired and dirty from work and more engrossed in each other than where they were going. “Need help?” the boy asked. Matt told them whom he was looking for. The girl pointed to a new building under construction. The boy laughed. “Take a hammer. He needs help.” Their laughter joined and they wandered off, still holding hands.
Matt found Avi on a ladder installing electrical wiring in the ceiling. “Mr. Tamir.” It was almost a question, but not quite. He recognized the scientist but he had changed. He was lean, not pudgy, and his skin had been burned brown from the sun.
The man recognized him but said nothing and continued to work. Matt waited. Finally, Tamir climbed off the ladder. He held onto it for a few minutes, resting. Fatigue etched lines across his face. “Come, it’s time for supper.” He led Matt to a washhouse where they joined a line of men and women waiting for a turn at the wash-basins. “Water is still a problem,” Tamir told him. After washing, they entered the new schoolhouse that doubled as a mess hall and waited their turn in the serving line.
Lillian was serving food behind the counter. A look Matt did not recognize shot across the woman’s face when she saw him. She methodically filled his tray and said nothing. They squeezed onto benches at a crowded table. Animated conversation in Hebrew went on around them as the diners talked about what work would go on after dinner. “Our discussions sound like arguments,” Tamir explained. “Three Israelis equals four opinions.” Thanks to the meal, his natural good humor was returning. “The lack of electrical lights and outlets is holding up work. I’m fixing that first.” After eating, Matt joined Tamir and the two worked together, the scientist barraging Matt with a constant stream of instructions. It was after eleven o’clock when they quit.
Tamir found a bench in the schoolyard and sat down. He was obviously exhausted. “Why?” was all he asked, now ready to talk.
“I’m looking for Shoshana,” Matt said, staring into the night.
“There’s nothing here for you.”
There, it was out. Now Matt knew. Shoshana was dead — the one thing he feared most but had half expected. The reality of her death drove a deep cold wedge into his emotions and he could feel tears well up in his eyes. “I want to visit her grave.”
Tamir said nothing. Finally, he turned and looked at Matt. “What do you see here?”
Matt was surprised by the question. He could hear singing and music coming from the schoolhouse. “Life going on,” he said. Silence. “It’s amazing,” he continued, “war is so impersonal and antiseptic from the air. You don’t see the destruction and waste from up there.” He was looking at the stars. “You know what’s so wrong about war?” He answered his own question, not expecting an answer. “We forget the horrors and if it doesn’t kill or maim you, it’s the most exciting thing that can happen to a person. No wonder we can’t get away from it,”