Negotiations Preceded Attack On Convoy of Fleeing Lebanese

The U.N. armored personnel carriers pulled up near Hasbaya, about five miles north of the departure point, because that was the end of their authorized area of operations. But under Daoud's leadership, the convoy inched on, increasingly fractured as cars sought to work around bombed-out bridges, cratered roads and rubble-strewn village lanes.

"People were in every direction, trying to find their way," said Hamra, 58, an engineer who recently retired after a career in the Persian Gulf.

By the time the first cars approached Kefraya, the convoy stretched for miles in the darkness and had broken up into several groups, according to a number of participants. When the first missile streaked in, what had become a disorganized string of cars turned into a madhouse.

Fawaz Deeba, who runs a grocery store in Marjayoun, said he quickly exited his car when the first explosion occurred. "I stop. I open the door. I hear the noise, then a silence. Then came another bomb," he said.

The second missile, about three minutes after the first, sliced into a car in the middle of the convoy, witnesses said, and by that time everybody understood what was going on. Drivers began to panic as several more missiles crashed in. Some drivers tried to speed away but bumped into their neighbors. Others hit trees. People jumped out of their cars and pushed their children into the ditch, holding their hands over their heads.

"It was total chaos," recalled Daher. "Women were weeping. It was awful. There were cars running into each other. They were crashing into trees. It was crazy."

Daher said Elie Salameh, a well-known Marjayoun resident, got out of his car to ask a neighbor for gasoline when the second missile landed, ripping his head, shoulders and chest to shreds. Salameh's 16-year-old daughter, Sally, jumped out and ran toward Daher, he recalled, crying, "I want my dad. I want my dad."

Daoud, meanwhile, was on the ground trying frantically to call Beirut for help. He had one cellphone in each hand, pressing numbers as fast as he could, witnesses said, but the network wouldn't connect.

Daher tried to carry his mother to a nearby field for safety, he said, but she could not bear the pain in her arthritic legs. So he put her back in the passenger seat and waited with her for the attack to end. "We just sat there, not looking at death, but living it," he recalled, sobbing at the memory.

After about seven missiles had landed, the explosions stopped. Silence returned to the Bekaa Valley. After only seconds of peace, it was shattered by cars racing with the wounded toward a hospital at Dib Jenine, about five miles back down the road.

Correspondent Doug Struck in Jerusalem contributed to this report.