Lieutenant Peled’s orders are to take us to Ben-David without delay. She has three Humvees waiting outside. Expect a trip, she says, of about two and a half hours. When I address her as “Lieutenant,” she says, “Please call me Dana [pronounced DAH-na].” Her garb is red boots, khaki trousers, and shirt. Over her shoulder, on a sling, she carries a folding-stock Uzi.

MANNING

I don’t mean to be rude, Dana. But where the fuck is Ben-David? He was supposed to meet us here.

DANA

My apologies, sir. Major Ben-David is with our battalion at a place called Ein Gedi on the Dead Sea.

Manning strides beside Dana into the terminal.

MANNING

What has Ben-David told you? Do you have any idea why my partner and I have come from the States?

DANA

Sir, Major Ben-David is assembling tech gear for the Emergency Eco-Conference in Cyprus in six days. He’s under orders too.

MANNING

In other words, you know nothing?

DANA

About what, sir?

Despite his anger, Manning’s expression softens toward the lieutenant. She’s protecting her superior. She’s a good officer.

MANNING

Who’s with Ben-David now? Is his sister there? Are there soldiers around him? Is he secure?

Dana confirms that Rabbi Rachel Davidson has arrived at the battalion’s location. She is sharing quarters with her brother, Major Ben-David.

DANA

I assure you, sir, he’s as safe as the Pope.

Manning’s anger relents. Dana’s defensive posture abates as well. Dana explains that their battalion is a reserve formation, activated only ten days ago for the climate crisis and the migrant emergencies.

Apparently every Jewish male in Israel under the age of forty serves in one reserve unit or another. The entire country is an army and has been since its founding in 1948.

Dana indicates the direction to Baggage Claim. She makes it a point to stride in step with Manning.

DANA

Sir, if you’ll forgive me for asking . . . what happened to your face?

Manning’s jaw and forehead are still blue-black and puffy from his encounter with Instancer.

MANNING

Someone pushed it through a wall.

DANA

The reason I ask is Major Ben-David’s face looks the same.

MANNING

Same someone.

Manning and I collect our bags. The party troops out toward the Hummers. The airport’s plate-glass windows have been boarded up with heavy plywood—not against terrorists, Dana informs us, but because the glass keeps getting blown in by the wind. The terminal itself is an indoor dust bowl. My tongue is coated already with acrid grit. “What is that taste?” I ask Giora, the male sergeant.

“Air,” he says.

“There’s some good news,” says Dana as we stride past the security line. She declares that Israeli-Palestinian relations have progressed over the past two years from “cordial” (her word) to “fraternal” and now even “communal.”

DANA

The end of the world will do that for you.