The Hot Pilots (47 page)

To Steve, the idea that he’d personally caused all this was mind-boggling to say the least. It seemed a little funny … but
mostly appalling—

Actually, the incredible ramifications of what he’d done were scaring the hell out of him. Sure he’d ruffled a few feathers,
maybe made a few waves, and maybe pissed off a few people in his life … But this was the first time he’d ever caused entire
goddamned
nations
to sever ties with one another …

Well, Benny told me so
, Steve reminded himself. Now the dirty deed was done. If his government found out what he’d done, he was prepared to accept
the consequences. Meanwhile, Steve would look forward to Pop’s reaction when he heard all about it …

The strikes flown against the other Arab air bases that Monday had all gone as successfully as the one against Abu Fayid in
which Steve had participated. Within hours the air forces of Israel’s various Arab enemies had ceased to exist. The Star of
David ruled the sky.

Ironically, a lot of very important people in the IAF thought that a good deal of the credit for their success over the Arabs
belonged to Steve, due to the job he’d done training the IAF fighter pilots. Steve wasn’t totally convinced. As he’d told
Rivka, he’d taught those pilots what he could, but they’d brought their own drive and determination—their own heart—to the
job their country had asked them to do.

Nevertheless, some of the IAF bigshots were insisting on comparing Steve to David Marcus, the American Army colonel who had
done so much for Israel’s ground forces during its ‘48 war of independence. Privately, Steve thought that his being compared
to a legend like David Marcus was a bit much. On the other hand, he just now wasn’t inclined to argue with his IAF fans because
in their enthusiasm they had prevailed on their government to protect him. The official line coming out of IAF headquarters
in response to Washington’s inquiries concerning Nasser’s charges was that no Americans had taken part in combat.

Now Steve didn’t think that Washington was totally buying the line they were being handed, but the Israelis’ goodwill efforts
on his behalf had at least created some doubt in the minds of his superiors. Steve had been in the military long enough to
know that where there was doubt, there was usually room to worm out of a predicament—

Maybe I’ll get out of this without being branded the man who pissed off 110 million Arabs after all
, Steve thought as he continued packing.
If not, well, screw the camel drivers if they can’t take a joke
…

The truly important thing as far as Steve was concerned was that the war had continued to go so well for the Israelis. On
that first day of fighting, Israeli armor had been able to advance thirty miles into the Sinai. On Tuesday, the Israelis had
captured important Jordanian cities, and taken the high ground north of Jerusalem. On Wednesday, the U.N. proposed a cease-fire
that Israel tentatively accepted and the Arabs rejected. The Israelis then proceeded to take Gaza, advance across the Sinai,
and capture the West Bank of the Jordan River, uniting Jerusalem under the Star of David. That ended things on the Jordanian
front.

The only real blot for the Iraelis came on Thursday
, Steve mused as he finished packing the last of his bags and set them with his others by the door. It was on June 8 that
IAF jets mistakenly attacked an American Navy communications ship, the
Liberty
, killing thirty-four Americans, and wounding many others. It truly had been a terrible mistake, and one for which Israel
had quickly apologized, offering financial compensation for the loss of lives and damage to property.

Later that same day, Egypt and Syria accepted the U.N. proposed cease-fire.

Isolated skirmishes continued throughout Friday, and part of Saturday, but for all intents what the international press was
dubbing the “Six Day War” was over as of yesterday. Last night, people here were rejoicing; dancing in the streets. Meanwhile,
news reports had it that the Arab world was in turmoil. Their defeat had been astonishing, humiliating, a total wipeout on
every front.

There was a knock on Steve’s door. It was the IAF man Steve was expecting. The airman was here to collect Steve’s luggage
and ferry it to the airport. Steve himself would be leaving for the airport around three. Rivka was going to come by in the
Citroën, to give him a ride.

Once the IAF man had left with his bags Steve decided to go out for a final walk around the city. He’d be back in plenty of
time to meet Rivka. He grabbed his leather A-2 jacket and left the apartment. He was surprised to bump into Rivka in the building’s
front vestibule.

“What are you doing here so early?” Steve asked. “I wasn’t expecting you for a few hours yet.”

“I know, but I thought that before you left Israel you might like to do a last bit of sight-seeing …”

She was giggling, which was odd … Rivka was not the giggly type. For a moment Steve thought that she was drunk, but then he
decided that she was just in a giddy mood like the rest of the city because of Israel’s miraculous victory.

“Speaking of sight-seeing,” Steve began. “That’s quite an outfit you’re wearing …”

Rivka’s obviously unfettered breasts were straining the buttons of her white blouse. Steve could clearly see her dark nipples
pressing through the thin cotton fabric. Her navy skirt fit tightly around her fine hips and sassy rump. The skirt’s hem banded
her smooth, tawny thighs at least five inches above her knees.

Very nice
, Steve thought. He had seen other Israeli girls wearing miniskirts, but never Captain Rivka Yakkov…

“You don’t like this outfit?” she asked nervously.

“Oh, I like it fine.” Steve chuckled.

She blushed furiously, and made a furtive attempt to tug down the hem of her skirt to cover a bit more of herself but quickly
give
that
up as a lost cause.

“But what
other
lovely sights did you want to show me?” Steve asked.

“Well …” She seemed unable to look him in the eye. “For instance, my flat,” she said softly.

“Your flat …”

She nodded, still looking down. “It has a beautiful view of the sea, you know…”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that.” Steve smiled. He could feel his heart begin to pound and his groin stir. “But I think that view was
from the
bedroom
…?”

Rivka looked up at him, her eyes shining. “Yes.”

The sun-splashed living room of her flat had white stucco walls hung with colorful Arab prints. Fresh flowers in vases were
everywhere. The worn, wide floorboards were covered with scatter rugs, and she made do with big pillows on the floor for furniture.
There was a beaded curtain hanging in the doorway to her small kitchen, where atop the refrigerator her languid cat the color
of champagne watched with golden eyes as Steve put his arms around Rivka and kissed her.

“Come, Steven,” she whispered, her breath moist against his ear. “To the bedroom, come …”

Steve shrugged off his leather jacket and let it fall to the floor. The cat leapt gracefully off the refrigerator and padded
over to the jacket to curl up on it. Rivka took Steve’s hand to lead him out of the living room. He walked beside her in a
daze of passion, hypnotized by the sensual flow of her body beneath her scant clothing. He couldn’t believe that this beautiful
angel was about to be his …

Her white stucco bedroom was carpeted with a blue and gold threadbare Persian rug. There was little furniture: only a chest
of drawers, a nightstand, a mirror on the wall, and her bed, which was narrow, and covered with a pink and black print cotton
spread. It had only a single, thin pillow.

It reminded Steve of a young girl’s bedroom; a child’s place to sleep. The room seemed a stranger to lust. It seemed as pure
and innocent as its owner.

The bed was positioned beneath the wide casement windows that overlooked the great expanse of sea. On this warm June day the
windows were swung open, letting in the tangy ocean breeze along with the shrill clatter of the gulls swooping over the waves,
and the crash of the surf clamoring against Jaffa’s ancient stone piers.

Rivka turned to him, her eyes locked with his as she slowly unbuttoned her blouse, then let it fall from her shoulders. Her
breasts were large and round, her nipples startlingly dark against her breasts’ alabaster skin. She shyly stepped close, hesitating
an instant before she put her arms around his neck, pressing herself against him. Steve held her gently, his hands caressing
the strong, supple curve of her back. He buried his face in her thick hair, inhaling her spicy scent. His knees grew weak.
The aching swell in his groin was both delicious and unbearable.

“Oh, I’ve wanted you for so long,” he whispered, his voice thick with passion, the blood pounding in his veins. “Oh, you are
so beautiful and I’ve wanted this for
so long—
”

She tilted up her head, smiling at him, taking her time doling out kisses. Her tongue tasted cool and sweet. Her pearly teeth
nibbled at his lips.

“Steven, you are my first,” she murmured. “My first. My hero—”

What?
Steve thought.
Hero—? Is that what this is about?

She’d unbuttoned his shirt. Her fingers were fluttering across his chest and stomach. Her touch dropped to his belt buckle.

“Rivka, tell me,” he pleaded. “What do you mean I’m your hero?”

“You know…” She laughed softly. “You know what they are saying about you, about what you’ve done for my country. You are a
great hero. They compare you to David Marcus!
David Marcus
—” She took his hands and began to pull him insistently toward the bed.

And Steven looked at the bed again—the child’s bed—and he thought about how lovely Rivka was, and how his own life was passing,
and how there wouldn’t be many more girls like this leading him to love … He thought about how much he wanted her, and what
difference did it make why she wanted him—

Why she wanted him …

I’m not a man to her at all
, Steve realized.
I’m a legend. I’m not desirable for who I am, but for what I symbolize; like David Marcus—Goddamn it, like Golda Meir!

It made him want to laugh when he thought about it. It made him want to weep when he looked in the mirror and saw a man holding
a girl young enough to be his daughter; a girl who would always remember him, although how and what she remembered depended
on what he did next. Depended on what he was willing to deny himself. What he was willing to
give
—

“Steven? What is it?” Rivka asked as he gently, sadly, extricated himself from her heavenly embrace.

“I’m—I’m going to leave.” The confounded look in her eyes made him smile. “Yeah.” He nodded. “I’m not sure I understand why
either, but I am sure that I’ve got to go.”

“But I thought you wanted me.” She shook her head, her dark eyes growing wet. “I thought
you
thought I was beautiful—”

“I do—” He was fumbling at buttoning his shirt with fingers grown too clumsy for the job. His groin was aching. Her taste
was in his mouth, her scent in his nostrils, her touch seeping into his pores.
Got to get out of here
, he thought.
Got to go before I surrender to my greed, before I take what isn’t mine
—

“I thought you wanted to love me—” she whispered pleadingly.

“Maybe if I could stay, Rivka, darling …” He paused, chuckling ruefully. “No, it’s too late for that, as well. But maybe if
I were fifteen years younger…” He shrugged. “I don’t expect you to understand—hell,
I
didn’t, until just now—so you just listen. I’ve been a go-as-I-please, selfish sonofabitch my entire life, but it’s time
for me to make a change. You are one wonderful thing I’m going to leave for someone else. You find someone you really love,
Rivka. If not forever, at least for that instant, but the important thing is that you should love him for who he
is
, not what you think he
stands for
. That’s what you deserve, and so does some lucky guy somewhere in the world.” He sighed. “When you
do
find yourself that guy, chances are that he’ll have a few less miles on him than
me
…”

“You really are a hero …” she said, awestruck.

“You put on your blouse now,” Steve told her. He felt heartbroken because the look in Rivka’s eyes told him that he was doing
the right thing. Told him too much about the roads of his youth so recklessly well traveled; the roads he wouldn’t be going
down again.

Dressed, she followed him out to the living room. “Don’t you want me to take you to the airport?”

“No.” He smiled, shaking his head. “I’d rather say goodbye to you here. Anyway, I’ve got plenty of time. I think I’ll go walking
for a bit, and then I’ll grab a taxi.”

She nodded. The cat scooted away as Steve bent to pick up his flight jacket. He slung it over his shoulder. He was at the
door when he stopped, looked at the jacket for a moment, and then at Rivka.

“Here,” he said, tossing the jacket to her. “Catch!”

“You are giving it to me?” she asked as she caught it.

“It’s got that Vigilant Virgins logo on the back, right?” Steve shrugged. “Remember what you said when we first met?”

She nodded, her eyes growing wet all over again as she murmured, “I said I could use a jacket like this to discourage …” Her
voice changed, melting down the scale into something that was half laughter and half a sob. She only shook her head, rubbing
her teary eyes.

“You let that jacket keep you safe and warm,” Steve said. “Until you find the right guy to take over the job—”

“And even then,” Rivka said adamantly, hugging the jacket. “Even then—”

Steve nodded. “Well, I guess I
would
take it kindly if from time to time, you could see your way clear to favor me with your thoughts …”

He felt something warm and furry against his ankles, and looked down to see the champagne cat with the wise eyes weaving between
his feet. “And if this cat doesn’t like the guy you’re thinking of, you boot him right out of here.” Steve winked. “Because
it’s plain this animal knows how to judge a man who’s got the right stuff.”