Jericho 3 (37 page)

Omid laughed.

“Yes, I’ve really developed my cricket skills as of late and was hoping you could arrange a try-out with the Yankees.”

“The Bronx Bombers are always looking for a good second baseman in a pinstriped burka,” Finn added.

The three enjoyed some small-talk banter as they drove up Highway 65. They talked about the Hindu Kush, US Army Major Dean Banks and the latest sports news. The northern most end of Highway 65 was coming into view as dirt roads started to split off on each side.

“This is the end of the road, Finn. I’ve been up here before,” Omid said as he examined the countryside outside of his backseat window.

“Officially or unofficially?” Camp asked.

Omid smiled. “Seriously, we need to pull-over and talk. I’ve got some things I need to talk through with you both.”

Finn turned west onto a dirt road as Camp pulled out his phone. A woman answered the call.

“Tell Molly Bloom that we’re ready for lunch,” Camp said as he closed the phone.

Finn pressed harder on the accelerator.

“There’s no restaurants out here, Camp,” Omid said with tension rising in his voice.

“Not true,” Camp said as Finn’s speed increased.

Omid was panicked.

“What the hell are you doing? There’s an Israeli check-point in less than a mile.”

“Gesher?” Camp asked.

“Yes, Gesher…PULL OVER!”

The car cleared the narrow dirt road and into an open clearing that was blocked by a fully-armed Israeli checkpoint. Omid slid down to the backseat floorboard. Finn slowed the car and cautiously approached the first security officer. The man did not approach the car. He didn’t even look inside the vehicle. The first gate was raised. Finn drove slow to the second gate which was raised as well. Finn drove the rental car through a zigzag pattern of cement barriers where two men stood in front of the third and final gate.

Finn stopped the car.

Three black Suburbans were parked just beyond the third gate. Camp opened his car door as did Finn.

“Get up, Omid,” Camp said.

Reuven and Yitzhak were expressionless as Finn and Camp approached.

“I thought you had three to-go orders today,” Reuven said with a raised eye-brow for Camp.

“I do.”

Camp looked back at the rental car as Omid’s face finally emerged from the floorboard. Yitzhak pulled his sunglasses off and squinted in disbelief. Reuven looked at the man exiting the car and walking toward him, then back at Camp.

“Now this
is
impossible,” Reuven said.

Yitzhak motioned to Finn. “You ride with me and my driver in number one. You two with my colleague here in number two.”

Omid had an evil, almost terrifying look on his face. Camp wondered if he felt completely betrayed by himself and Finn, the two men that he thought he could trust. Reuven got into the front passenger side of the number two Suburban. Camp sat behind Reuven; Omid was behind the driver.

“If it’s any consolation…the American didn’t tell me either,” Reuven said as he continued to look straight out the front window.

“You didn’t even check me for weapons?” Omid finally said as he gazed out at Israel.

“We may be enemies, but neither of us are fools. Camp here has given us thorough instructions. We’re going for a short ride, then lunch. Hope you’re hungry.”

“I know it’s probably not a good idea to use names so, ah…
Randy,
this is Omid; Omid this is
Randy
,” Camp said as he tried to break the ice and the anxiety.

“So this is the friend you were telling me about, Camp? Is this the famous Omid from the Hindu Kush? Now that I finally get the chance to meet your friend Omid in person, he looks a lot like Colonel Farid Amir, military intelligence, the Iranian Revolutionary Guard. The resemblance is amazing.”

Omid closed his eyes in disbelief.

“One would expect that a man such as Reuven Shavit, Director of Mossad’s kotsas in the Middle East, would know such things,” Omid said as Reuven finally relaxed and smiled, a smile that cut the tension in the Suburban 10-fold as they drove through the Gesher kibbutz near the Beit She’an Valley in northern Israel.

Within minutes the three Suburbans came to a stop on the edge of an outlook. The view was expansive ahead of them as a fertile valley sprawled out for nearly 20 miles.

“This is it, US Navy Captain Campbell. This is where you wanted to eat. We have baskets of food, drinks and sweets in the third car. Shall we? I’m already fully amused with this adventure,” Reuven said as he opened his door.

Camp and Omid got out along with Reuven and his driver. Finn and Yitzhak joined them looking out over the valley as the others got the food out of the last car.

“Where we’re standing, right now, this ridge…what is it called?” Camp asked.

“In Hebrew, it is
har megiddo
, the Mountain of Megiddo. But as you can see, it’s not much of a mountain, more of a vantage point, a rising really. Anglicanized, you know it as Armageddon, and spreading out before us is the Jezreel Valley,” Reuven said as baskets of food were placed on the hood of his Suburban. “Shall we eat? I’m sure there’s something you want to tell us Camp…now that we’re all here.”

“Can we walk, down into the valley? Maybe take some food to go?” Camp asked.

“As you wish, this is your order.” Reuven and Camp selected some sandwiches, fruit and water and loaded them into the small bags that were inside the basket.

“Go on,” Finn said to Omid who was still stunned. “You three go for your walk. Yitzhak and the rest of us will stay up here and eat.”

Omid moved slowly to the food, and somewhat begrudgingly filled his bag.

The three men started to walk down slowly into the Jezreel Valley. There was silence. More tension. Reuven and Omid seemed to be waiting for Camp to say something profound.

“This reminds me of a joke,” Camp finally said.

“A joke?” Reuven asked.

“I don’t remember how it ends, but the beginning is hysterical.”

“Then humor us. Let’s hear the beginning of your hysterical joke, Captain Campbell.”

Camp stopped, turned and faced both Reuven and Omid.

“So…one day a Christian, a Jew and a Muslim were walking through the valley of Armageddon to have a picnic…”

Camp stopped. It was the end of his joke. Reuven looked at Camp, then at Omid. Omid looked back at Reuven, then Camp. At first there was just a smile, then two. The more he thought about it a laugh rumbled out of Reuven’s mouth, then Omid. Before they knew it, all three were doubled over in laughter.

They found a nice grassy knoll with rocks, suitable for sitting, eating and enjoying the beauty of Jezreel.

“This place must have incredible history,” Camp said as he looked out over the wheat, cotton, sunflowers and corn. “Can you tell me some of it?”

Reuven swallowed some of his sandwich then took a long swig from his bottled water.

“Jezreel means ‘God sows.’ Since ancient times, this area has been the most fertile agricultural land in all of Palestine. It has always been strategic land. Jezreel and the Esdraelon plain is the only east-west access between the Mediterranean and the Jordan Valley. This was the major north-south trade route between Mesopotamia, or ancient Greece and Egypt. With the desert to the east and both sides of the Jordan River blocked by highlands – and access to the Jordan valley quite minimal thanks to the Dead Sea – most travel ran through the Valley of Jezreel.”

“And wars,” Omid added.

“Yes, and wars. It became a corridor for invading armies. It was the most level land in the area, perfect for battles.”

“From Gideon to World War I,” Omid added to the history. “This land was once controlled by the Canaanites who had chariots, mighty chariots. The Canaanites were people from the Gaza Strip, West Bank and Lebanon.”

“It was Gideon, the mighty warrior, the destroyer, the judge of the Hebrews, who defeated the Midianites and Amalikites right here,” Reuven said.

“But Gideon tested God twice, first with a fleece of wool that was wet, then one that was dry the next morning,” Omid said filling in the details.

“Gideon was facing a mighty enemy, but he had 32,000 men among the ranks of his army. God said he had too many men. If Gideon won the battle with an army that large, the men would claim victory because of their sheer numbers and because of their might. So Gideon allowed all those who wanted to go home, the permission to leave. More than 22,000 went home. But God told Gideon that 10,000 soldiers were still too many.”

Omid finished the story.

“Gideon took his men down to the water to let them drink. God told him to watch and separate those men who lapped the water with their tongues like dogs, from those who kneeled down to drink. Only 300 men lapped the water to their mouth from their hands. So Gideon marched this army of 300 to the enemy camp. Everyone was given a trumpet and a clay jar with a torch hidden inside. Trumpets blew, and fires raged, as Gideon and his 300 men defeated a far superior army, the Midianites.”

All three men fell silent.

“You share a common knowledge of history,” Camp said.

“We share much of the same history,” Reuven said.

“We shared both sides of many wars,” Omid punctuated.

“Too many wars,” Reuven concluded. “King Solomon fortified the ancient fortress of Megiddo to guard the pass. It was here that Jehu’s army defeated the armies of Jezebel which started bloodshed in the Northern Kingdom that lasted for years. And it was at Megiddo that King Josiah was killed as he tried to block the Egyptians from marching through the pass to save the Assyrians who were, themselves, trapped by the Babylonians.”

“Perhaps nowhere else on earth has there been as much bloodshed and violence than right here in this peaceful valley,” Omid said. “Megiddo is still the name used…your
har megiddo
, Reuven, and your Armageddon, Camp…the ultimate symbol for war and conflict.”

Camp stood and stepped up on a rock. He held out his arms and embraced the warm breeze as it hit his face.

“Does it really have to be this way?” Camp asked.

“I don’t wish for your annihilation, Reuven; most Muslims don’t either. The vast majority of Muslims are willing to live in peace. Yes, we’d like a Palestinian state, but we don’t need Israel to be destroyed.”

“What about the Twelvers?” Reuven asked. “Don’t they need Israel to be destroyed, in order to usher in the Twelfth Imam?”

“Their theology is bent; it doesn’t feel right. Not all Twelvers believe this, Reuven.”

“Most?”

“Yes, most of them do,” Omid finally conceded. “But I don’t want the blood of Iran, or Israel, to flow through the Valley of Jezreel up to the horse’s bridle.”

“What about the nuclear program, colonel? What will that mean for Israel?” Reuven asked.

“You have the power to kill me right now, Reuven. Israel has the power to destroy all of Iran and our Persian homeland. America and Russia could destroy both of us if they chose to. If I tell you something…can you assure me that Iran will not be destroyed?”

“I don’t have that kind of power, Farid…you know that,” Reuven said sincerely.

“If there’s any hope, any hope that we can all live as neighbors in this holy and ancient land, I believe there must be an Islamic Reformation, where faithful Muslims can reject radical thought while remaining faithful to Allah. But we need a Palestinian homeland, too.”

“Share the plan, Omid. The three of us are standing in Armageddon. Let’s not fill this valley up with blood,” Camp pleaded as he sat down.

Finn and Yitzhak watched from the ridgeline of Megiddo as Omid spoke for nearly two hours. He shared every detail of the plan he had heard during the meeting in Qoms. He told them about Kazi and the Unity Festival, the MISIRI and their plans for the King of Saudi Arabia, nuclear warheads, a thousand Shahab missiles, a million men on the Iraqi border, and the 8-minute and 53-second clock that would become Armageddon.

The three men, a Christian, a Jew and a Muslim, discussed ways to neutralize the plan, though each knew that even if the plan receded temporarily, the mutual hate would not. The tension might subside, but a new plan would emerge.

The three-Suburban convoy returned to the Gesher gate where border soldiers manned the post and kept a close eye on Finn’s rental car. The driver got out as Camp, Omid and Reuven soaked up their meeting in silence.

“There’s one more thing that I must mention,” Omid said as Reuven turned around to look at him. “Kazi is my cousin…our fathers were brothers. Our fathers rejected my grandfather’s thoughts…he was too extreme…his heart was filled with hate…our fathers moved to Pakistan, just to get away from Qazvin, my grandfather…I was only six years old, Kazi was barely a year old…terrorists broke into our house where both of our families lived together under one roof…Kazi’s mother and father were killed…I watched as my mother’s throat was slit and a single gunshot entered the back of my father’s neck. Kazi and I, along with our sisters, were orphans…grandfather Qazvin came to Islamabad and took us back to Markazi Province in Iran…grandfather allowed me to visit every year where he thought my father lived in a home for several months before he finally died…to this day, I have never told Qazvin that my father died way back then…he despised his two sons for not accepting his brand of Islam…there was no reason for him to feel sympathetic when one son was killed and the other son was severely wounded.”

“Can you reason with Kazi?” Reuven asked.

“I don’t think so. He is very radical. He was Qazvin’s favorite. He spent every day in Qazvin’s lab at the university. Since he was born in Pakistan he had dual citizenship and was able to study in the states, become a microbiologist and earn his PhD in The Netherlands.”

“This is the man who killed our Army doctor?” Camp asked.

“Kazi would never pull a trigger. That’s not his style. But the SkitoMister we found…that’s Kazi.”

“Please, Farid, can you try? For the sake of the children in both countries?” Reuven dismantled his eccentric disposition and spoke with a hint of desperation and humility. “He is your cousin.”

“I will try.”

The three men got out of the SUV. Camp shook Reuven’s hand, said goodbye to Yitzhak and headed over to the rental car where Finn had the engine running.