EPILOGUE.
06.00pm. Tel Aviv, 11/01/02.
Andy Cunningham and Jim Savage entered the air base commander’s office. They were dusty and still wore their old clothes, but the weapons and the keffiyehs were gone. Mike, Ben and John stood with their backs to them watching a television screen. On the screen the dusty, scratched and bruised features of Najib Shawa were twisted in hatred and anger.
‘But the Israelis insist that it was not them who wiped out your movement,’ the television interviewer replied, ‘and the responsibility has been claimed by a counter-terrorist group calling itself “The Anti-terrorist Army”.’
‘I don’t care what they call themselves, the Israelis are behind it, they had no right to attack innocent people, women and children, heroes of the Palestinian Liberation movement, no right to attack us in our adopted city. It is an outrage.’ Najib Shawa sprayed the presenter with spittle in his indignation.
Ben raised his eyebrows and looked at John as he turned from the set. John nodded, and made a hand up the back of the jacket gesture, Najib Shawa was a puppet, singing to their tune, but his attempt at humor didn’t ease the tension in the room.
Mike turned to greet the new arrivals.
Jim Savage let out an involuntary gasp.
‘Christ Mike, what happened to your face?’
THE END.
SEDITION.