Free The Mormon Candidate - a Novel by Avraham Azrieli Page A

in pieces. Someone must have left the armored door open on the side of the clinic, allowing them to shoot up the inside.
    Back outside, I looked up at the chopper and passed a hand under my throat. To my right, the fire under the tanker raged audibly, as if exerting itself to melt through the steel tank and ignite its content. There was no doubt that the ensuing inferno would turn us into living torches.
    Throwing open the Humvee ’s doors, I yelled, “We ’ve got to walk out of here. Right now! Let’s roll!”
    There was no response. My buddies were either unconscious or incapable of moving.
    Behind me, the Seahawk descended.
    I gesticulated frantically . “Get away!”
    “Take cover ,” said the calm voice on the loudspeaker .
    Hovering low over the front of the tanker, the chopper’s door opened, and boots appeared. Right above the truck’s driver cabin, the pilot maneuvered even lower, and a slim-built man in Marine uniform jumped to the cabin’s roof. He looked toward me, our gazes met, and I recognized the dark-eyed captain from last year’s beachfront drill, who had show n us his Jewish tzitz it.
    My automatic reaction was to salute him .
    He nodded and slipped into the cabin of the tanker through an open window .
    A few seconds later , the tanker jerked and began to move forward , at first slowly, then gaining speed as it roared out of the gas station and up the street, the rear end trailing flames . I followed the truck with my eyes, expecting to see the captain jump out , but the tanker suddenly exploded . Hot air blast ed my face , followed by a thick cloud of bitter smoke .

 
     
    Chapter 15
     
    Ben dropped Zachariah’s iTouch on the desk . He got up, ran out of the study, and pulled open the glass doors to the balcony. Leaning against the doorframe, h e gulped in the cold air, inhaling as deep as he could .
    In a second-floor window of a townhouse across the way, the blue glare of a TV was a lonely sign of life. Otherwise t he street was qui e t, the air still.
    But in his mind, there was no peace. T he fiery image s from Zachariah’s journal replayed — the last salute to the Marine captain, the gasoline tanker blow ing up, the dark smoke taking over everything .
    Back inside, he opened the c ontacts folder on his iPhone, searched for mother , and clicked on her e-mail address — [email protected] . He typed a short message:
     
    Hi Mom,
    I heard you’re making soup. Just what I need!
    We’ll be at your place around 6 p.m. or so.
    Love,
    Ben

 
     
    Chapter 16
     
    Z.H. Journal Entry # 6 :
     
    Writing about it now, two decades later, the events of February 28, 1991 , are still fresh in my mind. The skeletal remains of the gasoline tanker w ere still burning when an infantry company evacuat ed us after setting up a perimeter to keep off the Arab insurgents, who tried to come back at us with renewed v igor after the tanker failed to incinerate us.
    I woke up three days later in a field hospital. Army s urgeons had removed three bullets from my body , screwed together various bones, and put my shattered right foot in a steel contraption . I asked about the c aptain who had saved us, and a nurse told me that n othing was left of him —not even his dog tags. She had heard that he was awarded a second Medal of Honor in recognition of his bravery .
    After a few weeks at a US military hospital in Germany, I arrived at the Bethesda Naval Hospital , where Palmyra was wai ting with our newborn son, Paul . I began a long process of surgical procedures, rehab , physical therapy , and endless sessions with a kind navy psychologist.
    Meanwhile Palmy ra took care of Paul and , after I started coming home for weekends, became preg nant again.
    T hrough it all, not only did Palmy ra’s immediate family help us , but all the members of the Silver Spring Ward stepped forward to support us in every respect . Brothers and sisters we barely knew began to bring over home-cooked meals, provide transportation and