Beneath the Dover Sky (40 page)

“Yes, sir!”

Robbie leaped into an armored car. The engine roared and the car shot forward. The driver threaded it swiftly through the narrow and crooked streets of the Old City. Eventually the convoy and troops were forced to a standstill as hundreds of men in robes called Thawbs jammed the roads and lanes. Robbie saw a Jewish man and his wife hauled from their house and stabbed to death. He unholstered his
Webley revolver and fired two shots into the air. The mob shrank back, shouting. Jumping to the ground, Robbie pointed his pistol at the killers who glared back at him in a mixture of fear and rage, deep and dark frown lines crisscrossing their faces. The rest of the soldiers joined him.

“Corporal Reynolds. Sergeant Ward.”

“Major Danforth?”

“Sir.”

“Arrest these three men on a charge of murder. Chain them and put them in one of the armored cars.”

“Yes, sir.”

The tallest of the three Arabs sneered, bent down and wiped the blood from his knife on the dress of the woman he’d stabbed, and spat at Robbie. “British pig. You and your Balfour Declaration. This is holy war, a
jihad
. Beware.”

“There were Jews living here thousands of years before Mohammed was born. And they shall continue to live here side by side with their Arab neighbors. Drop your knife.”

“In fifty years there will be no Jews in Jerusalem or within a thousand miles of Palestine.”

“They are ‘people of the Book’ according to the Qur’an. They are to be accorded tolerance, respect, and liberty under Islamic law. Have you forgotten the Prophet’s words?”

The man spat again.

Robbie thumbed the hammer back on his revolver. “Are you ready to die for breaking sharia law?”

“You would not do it.”

The mob around Robbie, the armored cars, and the other British soldiers seethed as people shrieked, “Death to the Jews! Kill the Jewish dogs!”

“They are ‘people of the Book’!” Robbie shouted above the clamor. “Do not defile your faith! Obey the Prophet and return to your homes!”

“The Mufti has blessed us!”

Robbie thrust the revolver at the three men. “Corporal Reynolds! Sergeant Ward! Do your duty!”

“Sir!” The corporal and sergeant stepped forward with manacles.

The crowd reacted by throwing stones and sticks at the soldiers.

Robbie swung his pistol quickly over to the men in the mob who were closest to him. “Are you ready to die violating the words of the Qur’an? Are you ready to die defying the words of Mohammed?”

A man lunged at him with a sword. Robbie shot him in the shoulder, and he collapsed with a scream. Then Robbie shot the man next to him in the foot. The mob fell back, cursing and breaking apart as men fled into alleys and arched doorways. Robbie aimed his pistol back on the three killers, including the tall Arab who had spoken before.

“Drop the knife or I will shoot. All three of you—drop your knives. If you do not, I will open fire.”

The tallest man’s eyes remained full of black fire but he laid his knife down on the body of the dead woman. So did the other two. The sergeant and corporal rushed up with the chains.

“You will regret this, British!” the tall man said between clenched teeth as the manacles went on his wrists with a loud snap of iron.

Robbie glanced at the window of the house the Arabs had dragged the man and woman from. A small girl with dark curls and round brown eyes gazed at him. He thought of his daughter’s eyes and face.

“I doubt it,” he replied.

Dover Sky

“Dad! I think you’d better come in the house and listen to this.”

“Yes, what is it, Edward? I’m rather busy here.” Lord Preston was covered in soap and water as he and his grandchildren washed the year-old Belgian shepherds on the lawn amidst loud squeals and shouts. “We’ve decided on a name for the brown one instead of calling him Shepherd all the time. Now he must learn to answer to Charlemagne. Isn’t that a grand name? Doesn’t it suit him?”

“Dad, it’s the BBC,” Edward said, leaning out the window. “They’re announcing a second day of riots in Jerusalem and Palestine.”

Lord Preston hesitated as he was about to run a brush over the
squirming Flanders’ long, black coat. “A second day? Why, we’ve heard nothing about it.” Covered in water, he ran up the steps of the manor and through the front door. The radio was playing in the library. Charlotte was walking up and down in front of the stacks of books, eight-month-old Colm Alexander in her arms. Edward stood near the radio with his hands in his pockets and head down.

We continue to receive cables and signals from the Old City and outlying areas of Palestine. Fatalities have mounted since the unrest broke out into open violence yesterday, August twenty-third. Mobs of Arabs are assaulting Jews in their neighborhoods and homes in Jerusalem. There have also been attacks in Hebron. Dozens of Jews have been killed, the pharmacy in a medical clinic destroyed, and a synagogue desecrated and set ablaze. There are reliable reports of massacres on an unprecedented scale. We shall continue to provide updates as they become available.

“Dear God!” Lord Preston stood perfectly still as the water ran off his clothing and spread across the polished hardwood floor. “We must pray now! Skitt?”

Skitt was right behind him. “My lord?”

“Pray, fetch Lady Preston and other members of the family. Have them gather here.” He looked at Edward. “Please get the prime minister on the phone.”

“MacDonald? Why he’s Labor, Father. He won’t talk to you.”

“Of course he’ll talk to me. He’ll need you and me if he hopes to form a national coalition government in a year or two and stay in power. More to the point, we’ve never had cross words. Ring him, please.”

“All right.”

Lord Preston’s shoulders sagged after Edward left the room. Charlotte moved quickly to his side and put a hand on his arm.

“Da, are you all right?”

“Just overwhelmed, my dear. How quickly we move from happiness to fear.” He leaned over and kissed her infant’s forehead between his wide, blue eyes. “But God is great.”

Old City, Jerusalem

“Get back!” Robbie grabbed a Tommy gun from inside the hatch of the armored car and fired a burst over the heads of the men in the mob. When they failed to react, he sprayed bullets at their feet so that stone chips sprang into the air. Shaking their fists, they retreated.

“Death to the Jews!”

“Kill the dogs!”

“Strike the infidels! Praise Allah!”

The mob surged toward the Jewish shops and houses once again. Robbie, who had only had two hours of sleep in the armored car the night before, saw dead children lying in their own blood in the road. This was the third or fourth time he’d witnessed that atrocity since they’d arrived on the scene. A flame of anger shot through him. “Leftenant Kettle!” he barked.

“Sir?”

“Your men will fire a volley over their heads. If they fail to fall back, aim low and shoot the men in front.”

“Sir.”

Chunks of wood and rocks bounced off the armored cars. The sudden blast of rifle fire made the Arabs in the back of the mob scatter, but the leaders still pushed towards the Jewish homes, trampling the bodies of the murdered boys.

Robbie aimed the Tommy gun at a heavily bearded man holding two swords whose white Thawb was streaked with blood. “Get out of here!
Yella, yella!
Hurry up.”

The man continued to edge past the armored car.

“Leftenant Kettle! Fire at their feet!”

The officer shouted the command, and British rifles blazed. The leaders cringed, suddenly shouted, began to chant, and ran past the armored car—three or four dozen of them, the heavily bearded man in front. Robbie vaulted from his armored car and chased them as they swarmed a house. They broke the door and windows and seized two women by their hair.

Robbie struck several men with the stock of the Thompson submachine gun, knocking them to the pavement. The bearded man swiped at him with a sword, and Robbie rammed the barrel of the Tommy gun straight into his face, crushing his nose. He fired two rounds into another man’s leg and another two into the shoulder of a man who was beating one of the women.

“Kettle! Arrest them! Every one of the devils you can lay your hands on. Knock them flat if they won’t hold still for the manacles!”

“Sir!” The officer turned to his platoon. “Men, seize the Arabs directly in front of you. Stick your gun barrel in their guts if necessary. March each man off to the side and chain him up. If your man won’t go with you voluntarily, give him a rifle butt to the head to wake him up. These are murderers, lads. No kid gloves now. He takes the chains or you flatten him. D’ya hear me?”

As the soldiers sprang forward, the Arabs fled. Several of the privates made rugby tackles and brought their men down. Others chased rioters into back alleys and along empty streets where families cowered behind locked doors. Robbie kicked the bearded man in the ribs as he tried to get up and brandished one of his swords. Robbie placed his boot on the back of the Arab’s head and pressed down with his body weight to keep the man in place. He glanced at the two women who had been assaulted.

“Go to a neighbor’s house,” he ordered. “Bar the door. If you have any weapons, don’t hesitate to use them.”

“We have nothing,” one of them said.

“You have axes to chop wood, don’t you? Knives to slice bread and meat? Use those if you must.”

“Are—are you going to leave us alone, sir?”

“No. A section of my men will stay to guard this street—ten or twelve men. You won’t be left unprotected. I have to go to other neighborhoods to see what is happening. There is rioting everywhere. Where are your men?”

One woman’s face looked as white as snow and ice. “Dead,” she responded. “They were killed at the synagogue.”

Robbie tugged a knife from his boot and tossed it to the woman,
sheath and all. “Keep that by your side. If you have to protect yourself and your children, remember Deborah and remember Jael. Bear in mind how Jael slew Sisera, the enemy general, by driving a tent stake through his head. If you have to do the same, do it. A child’s life is worth a thousand of these murderers’ lives.”

“
Toda raba
. Thank you.”

“How old are you?”

“Eighteen.”

“That’s young to be married.”

She shrugged. “Not among us. In any case, I am one of the daughters—not a wife.”

“I see. Do not lose the knife.”

“I will not.”

“What is your name?”

“Michal.”

“Like the wife of King David.”

She offered him a fragment of a smile. “One of them.”

“A fiery one, if I recall.”

“With good reason, sir.”

“Yes. Well, put that spirit to use if men try to slay you and your household.” He pointed at the knife. “I shall be back for it.”

“I will keep it in my hand until you return.”

“That’s an excellent place.”

Robbie bent down and dragged the bearded man to his feet. The Arab growled through fingers dark with his own blood as he held his nose. Robbie manacled him and then shoved him roughly towards the armored car. Looking back over his shoulder at Michal, he said, “I will not cease to pray for you…and your people.”

She bowed her head briefly in thanks.

Dover Sky

Lord Preston paced his study while Edward and Kipp watched. “A week of killing, rapes, mutilations, and desecrations. Hundreds of people killed, and hundreds of arrests. Still no word from Robbie! The
prime minister assures me there have been no reports of British fatalities. I thank God for that, but what of the others? Mostly women and children—unarmed, defenseless, posing no more threat to the Arabs than a cloud in the sky. Attacks totally unprovoked as far as the reports Mr. MacDonald has read. The viciousness utterly without cause except hatred. Exceptional hate—where does it come from? How does it live in people’s breasts, in people who were made in the image of God, the people who were sons of Ishmael?”

Kipp and Edward kept their eyes on him but didn’t reply. They noticed their father’s face was haggard and gray, his white hair uncombed.

Lord Preston paused in his pacing to look at a painting of Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane. “Well, the worst is over I’m told. The prime minister assured me he would ring us with information on Robbie the moment he hears anything. So we shall wait on that and trust God.” He looked at his sons. “What would I tell the families of the murdered if I were there? What would I say to them of the ways of the world and the ways of God? How might I possibly bring them a morsel of comfort? What words could someone use that could make any difference at all?”

Safed, Palestine

The colonel slipped into the back of the car next to Robbie. He tugged off his leather gloves and stared straight ahead. “How long have you been sitting here, Danforth?” he asked.

“Ten minutes, sir.”

“Saw all you could stomach of Safed and Hebron?”

“Yes, sir.”