James BeauSeigneur - In His Image James

Decker dropped to the ground as dirt and fragments of rock landed all around him. In a moment he looked over to see if Tom was all right and, to his surprise, found him standing there taking pictures. Decker mused at how far Tom was willing to go to get a great picture. But Decker was not that much different than his friend: as he got up he thought only briefly about how glad he was to be alive. And though he was sickened by the destruction of this awesome historical site, he could not help but think of what a great article this was going to make. Exclusive coverage! Exclusive photos! No question about it, this would be next Monday's cover story in NewsWorld.

When the police arrived, Decker and Tom told Lt. Freij what had happened and showed him approximately where to find the guards' bodies under the rubble. They did not, however, tell him about the boy; they would talk to him themselves in the morning and maybe come away with a second exclusive.

By the time they left the scene, crowds of Israelis and tourists from the surrounding area had gathered behind the police lines to look in shock and horror at what had been the last remnant of the ancient Temple. The phone caller had been right: there was much weeping that night. The Palestinians had planted far more than enough explosives to do the job. Bits and pieces of broken stone lay everywhere. The earth of the Temple Mount behind the Wall caved down upon the rubble. And of the Wall itself, not one stone was left standing upon another.

When in the Woods and Meeting Wild Beasts

The next morning Decker and Tom got up early and drove to Jenin to talk to the Palestinian boy. On the way there it occurred to them that they really didn't have a plan.

"Okay, so when we get there, then what?" Tom asked.

"We'll just talk to the kid and tell him to tell the people he was with last night that some American reporters want to talk to them. We're not their enemy. They like the media. That's the only way they can get their story out. Besides, if they didn't want coverage they certainly wouldn't have called us on the phone to tell us it was going to happen. The bigger problem will be Lt. Freij wanting us to reveal our sources once the story comes out."

When they arrived at the boy's house, Tom decided to leave his camera in the car – just to be extra sure nobody got nervous. They walked the short path to the house and Decker knocked on the door.

"Do you think anyone's home?" Tom asked after a moment. But before he had even gotten the words out, the door opened and the boy's mother motioned for them to come in. "Great," Tom said, pleased at the reception. "Maybe I should have brought my camera, after all."

As the door swung shut Decker heard a loud crack and felt a sudden intense pain spread through his head as his skull absorbed the impact of a wooden club.

Somewhere in Israel

The pain in Decker's head crawled down his neck and shoulders and came to rest in the pit of his empty stomach. Ropes bound his feet and hands. They were loose enough to allow circulation but no movement. Lying on his side with his face to the floor, he wondered where he was and how long he had been there. The air was stuffy and from the stench and the slight dampness of his pants it was apparent that while he was unconscious, he had urinated on himself. From this he judged that he had been unconscious for less than a day, because any fluids in his system would have been vacated in the first twenty-four hours. After that his body would retain any remaining fluids as dehydration set in.

He could hear two men talking in the room. For right now it made sense to not let them know he was awake. Slowly he opened the eye closest to the floor to a small slit; then just a little more. When it became clear no one had noticed, Decker strained to look around as much as he could, but with each eye movement he winced at the pain in his head. And what he saw told him very little. He was in a room with one small boarded-up window. About five feet away Tom lay on the floor in much the same condition, facing away from him. Two men sat playing some kind of card game on a makeshift table, paying very little attention to their captives. Decker closed his eye and rested from the strain. The men were speaking in an Arabic dialect, so Decker had no idea what they were saying. Still, as he tried to ride out the pain, it seemed somehow reasonable just to lie there without moving, listening to the men in hopes of learning something of his situation.

Some hours later, Decker realized that he had fallen asleep. The nausea had subsided and the pain in his head was somewhat less than he remembered. What woke him was the sound of a door closing and men talking, which he took to be a changing of the guard. With his eyes still closed he could feel the men moving about the room, stopping to look down at him and then moving away. Carefully he opened one eye and saw the men gathered around Tom.

"Wake up, Jew," said one of the men in English. Decker watched as the man pulled back his right foot to get a good swing and then threw it forward with the full weight of his body, landing the toe of his army boot squarely in the middle of Tom's back. The force of the blow drove Tom several feet across the floor. His back arched in agony as he let out a yelp, muffled by the fact that the blow had also knocked the wind out of him.

"Stop!" Decker shouted. The four men looked over at Decker who had somehow managed to sit most of the way up. The man who kicked Tom walked over and looked down at Decker. Decker had the feeling that he was being inspected by the man; he was looking for something. When he failed to find whatever it was, he shoved Decker back to the floor with his foot and went back to Tom.

Tom had caught his breath and a deep, anguished moan issued from within him which seemed to come from his very soul. The man had hurt Tom badly and he was preparing to do it again.

"Stop!" Decker shouted again.

This time the man returned to Decker and kicked him in his left shoulder. It hurt terribly but it was obvious to Decker that the man had not kicked him with nearly the enthusiasm or force he had used to kick Tom.

"Keep your mouth shut, American, or you'll get the same as the Jew dog," the man warned, and then moved back to Tom.

"Wait!" Decker said, sitting up again and failing to heed the warning. The man looked over at Decker who continued, "He's not a Jew!"

For an instant the man's eyes registered uncertainty. He paused, and then looked as though he was going to ignore Decker's infraction of his order and concentrate on Tom.

Decker persisted. "He's not a Jew, I tell you. He's an American, just like me. Check his passport. It's in his pocket."

"We've already seen your passports," the man responded. Decker had at least bought Tom a little time: he had gotten the man talking. "It makes no difference to me whether he is an Israeli Jew or an American Jew."

"But he's not a Jew at all!" Decker said.

"He looks like a Jew to me," the man said, as though that made it so.

"I'm telling you, he's an American and a gentile," Decker responded with the same intellectual level of argument.

Decker knew that, right or wrong, if the Palestinian was really sure, he wouldn't be taking the time to argue about it. But there was another force at work in the room – simple but powerful. Peer pressure. The other men were watching their comrade to see what he would do. His judgment was being challenged and he felt he had to respond.

Tom had stopped moaning and was lying nearly motionless on the floor, taking short, labored breaths. The Palestinian was unimpressed with Decker's response and decided to refocus his attention on Tom.

Decker thought fast and blurted out the first thing he could think of. It was risky but neither he nor Tom had much to lose: another blow from the man's boot might break Tom's back. "If you don't believe me," Decker said, getting his captors' attention again, "pull down his pants."