Killing for the Company (38 page)

He walked back to Stratton’s Merc and opened the back door to see their man sitting serenely, face forward. ‘OK, sir. Let’s go.’

Stratton got out of the car and walked towards the gate, with Luke shadowing him just a metre behind. As they approached, the guards stepped back to allow the peace envoy through. Luke stuck close, sensing Finn just behind him. The three of them walked through the gate and several metres into the garden before Stratton stopped.

He took a deep breath and appeared to be soaking in the atmosphere of the place.

‘Leave me,’ he said.

Luke and Finn glanced at each other.

‘Our instructions,’ Luke replied in a level voice, ‘are to provide close protection. The close bit is important.’

Stratton turned to them, and his eyes shone.

‘At the other end of this garden,’ he said, ‘is the Church of St Mary Magdalene. If you think I am going to allow you into such a sacred place carrying weapons . . .’

Luke saw red. ‘If
you
think I’m going to try and defend you armed with a fucking prayer book . . .’

Stratton’s lips thinned. ‘You forget yourself, soldier.’

The two men stood their ground for several seconds. Finally Luke turned to Finn. ‘Check the church,’ he instructed. ‘We’ll guard the entrance while he’ – he glanced at the peace envoy – ‘while he does whatever he has to do.’

Finn didn’t look too happy. ‘Luke, mate, we . . .’

‘Just do it.’

Finn nodded, strode across the garden towards the church and disappeared inside, leaving Luke and Stratton to stand awkwardly together, surrounded by the distant noise of the East Jerusalem traffic and the cheeping of the birds in the olive trees.

Five minutes later Finn returned. ‘It’s clear.’

Luke nodded at Stratton. ‘All yours.’

Stratton surveyed Luke with a mistrustful glare before marching up to the church with the two Regiment men following behind. The façade of the building was highly ornate, with three large arches forming its entrance. He disappeared into the gloom, while Luke and Finn took up their positions outside.

‘I don’t know why you’re winding the fucker up,’ Finn said. He sounded almost as pissed off with Luke as Stratton did.

‘I’m just a bit fed up with the holy-man act,’ Luke replied.

Finn shrugged.

Luke glanced into the temple. ‘No one diverts from a meeting as important as the RV with Hamas just to kneel before a fucking altar. Holy man or no holy man.’ He turned back to his mate. ‘Wait here,’ he said. ‘I’m going in.’

He made to enter the temple, but Finn grabbed him by the arm. ‘Mate, what’s going on?’

For a moment Luke thought of telling him. But where the hell would he begin? No. Now wasn’t the time or the place. He pulled away from his friend. ‘I don’t want a bollocking from the Ruperts for leaving him alone. He doesn’t have to know I’ve got eyes on.’ Without another word, he slipped into the church.

It was musty, thick with incense, all gold and marble. The ceiling was vaulted and the air colder than outside. Stratton stood about twenty metres ahead at the altar, his head bowed. He looked very small in the large chamber of the church, and he stood very still. Luke crept to the left-hand side of the building, much as he had done in St Paul’s two nights previously, only this time he had his 53 in his fist and his Sig strapped to his body. Stratton did not notice his presence as he crept silently up the church, before stopping behind a metre-thick pillar, out of the peace envoy’s view.

Luke had heard a noise.

Footsteps.

He barely breathed. His back was pressed against the pillar, so he was looking towards the front entrance of the church. On the ground to his left, the stained-glass window behind the altar had cast a colourful arrangement of reds and blues and greens on the marble floor. Luke looked down at it. A dark shadow there would give him a split-second warning of anyone approaching; and it was difficult, in the echoing acoustic of the church, to work out from which direction the footsteps were coming, or where they were headed.

They stopped after a few seconds and for a moment there was silence.

Someone spoke. A woman. She had a husky voice and a pronounced Israeli accent.

‘This had better be important,’ she said, speaking only just loud enough for Luke to hear. ‘You know Jerusalem isn’t safe for me.’

‘You don’t need to worry,’ Stratton replied. ‘The church is empty. So is the garden. I’ve seen to it.’

‘Obviously. But if
I
know about the tunnel to the crypt, other people will know about it too.’

‘Right now this is the most secure place in Jerusalem. We can talk freely here.’

‘I don’t like it.’

‘I didn’t ask you to like it.’ Stratton’s voice was sharp now, like he was reprimanding an employee. ‘That little bit of housekeeping in London. Ostentatious, wouldn’t you say?’

There was a pause. Luke could feel his blood pumping in his veins.

‘I thought you’d be pleased,’ she said, though her voice didn’t indicate that she cared either way. ‘And you should know I don’t like loose ends.’

‘Was the kid really necessary? The old woman? And the priest, for heaven’s sake?’

The woman made a sound almost as if she was spitting. ‘Don’t give me that,’ she said, her voice full of derision. ‘What difference do they make?’

‘Four bodies attract more attention than one,’ Stratton retorted.

‘It would be better,’ the woman said, ‘if
I
worried about what
I’m
good at.’

‘Are you sure nobody saw you?’ Stratton persisted.

A pause.

‘Don’t try my patience, old man.’

‘
Are you sure nobody saw you?
’

‘Have I come all the way to Jerusalem to hear you complain?’

‘You’ve come to Jerusalem because I told you to.’ Stratton had raised his voice slightly. ‘Don’t forget who you are working for.’

‘
Quiet!
’ The woman’s voice was little more than a whisper.

A brief silence. ‘For crying out loud, woman. Put that weapon away.’

The woman didn’t reply. Suddenly Luke heard her footsteps again. They were coming in his direction.

He moved his left arm very slowly, so as not to make a noise, and felt for the safety catch on his 53. His fingers pinched the switch and turned it very gently.

The footsteps grew nearer, perhaps five metres. Luke saw a shadow on the colourful pattern of the stained glass. He could determine the outline of a person, with a weapon in their outstretched hand. He prepared himself for it to go noisy.

‘
Maya!
’ Stratton sounded almost schoolmasterly. ‘There’s nobody in this church. It’s been checked. Now get back here. We haven’t got much time.’

Silence.

The shadow receded, but one word echoed in Luke’s head just as surely as it echoed softly around the church.

Maya.

For a moment he was no longer in Jerusalem. He was many miles further east, by the side of the road in Iraq, at night. A gravely wounded Mossad operative was shaking in the car. He was close to death, and knew it.

You must find her. You must tell her what I did.

Luke shook his head as the memory came flooding back. What did it mean?

And then Stratton was speaking again. ‘Do you know where we are?’

‘Of course I know where we are,’ the woman replied.

‘But do you
really
know? Here, at the foot of the Mount of Olives. Do you
really
know where you are, Maya?’

‘What are you talking about?’

Footsteps again. But not towards Luke this time. Away from him. He pictured Stratton hurrying up to the altar. ‘The Book of Daniel,’ he announced loudly. ‘It tells us it is here that the End Times will start. It’s quite clear about that, Maya. Quite clear.’

‘Keep your voice down,’ the Israeli hissed.

‘There are two bone-headed men with guns obeying my orders to guard the entrance,’ Stratton replied. ‘Nobody will come.’

‘You don’t know the risk I take being here.’

When Stratton spoke again, there was a quiet fervour in his voice. ‘Tell me, Maya. Do you want to be part of history?’

Footsteps again – quick and deliberate, but this time most definitely heading away from Luke.

‘
Move!
’ Maya Bloom said. ‘There’s a room at the back. If you trust your two guards, you’re an idiot.’

There was a shuffling sound.

And then silence. A thick, impenetrable silence that seemed to suffuse the whole place. Luke realised he was sweating profusely. He returned his 53 to the safe position. Then, very slowly, he peered round the corner of the pillar. Stratton was nowhere to be seen. Nor was Maya Bloom.

Luke wanted to follow them, but something held him back. Stalking Stratton was one thing; stalking a Mossad agent was quite another. Maya Bloom must have heard or seen something just now. If he pushed his luck, they’d be on to him. Given what he’d just heard, that wasn’t an option.

But something was happening. Luke didn’t know what, but it involved Alistair Stratton and it involved Maya Bloom. With Suze McArthur dead, he was the only one on to them.

Luke looked back towards the entrance to the church. He should get out of there – he’d pushed his luck already and if those two caught him there’d be fireworks. But something held him back. He had to know more. It was ten metres from here to the altar, to the left of which he saw a wooden door. He moved quietly towards it; seconds later he had his body pressed against the front wall of the church and was listening intently.

Maya Bloom was silent, but Luke could hear Stratton’s voice. He was talking quietly and the sound was muffled. Luke tried hard, but he couldn’t make anything out. Silence. Bloom spoke. Her voice was slightly clearer. ‘Where?’ she said.

It was about five seconds before Stratton replied, and because his response was just two words, clearly spoken, Luke reckoned he caught it: ‘Here. Jerusalem.’

Another silence, longer than the last.

‘When?’

The reply was indistinct again. If he hadn’t heard the word spoken at the briefing back in Hereford he’d probably have missed it.

‘Hanukkah.’

Another pause.

Stratton’s voice again: ‘The first day of the celebrations. One hour before midday.’

And then footsteps.

Luke sprinted lightly back to the column where he’d been hiding, then gave himself five seconds to listen. Nothing. And so, keeping in the shadows along the side of the church, he hurried silently back to the entrance.

A noise from the altar end. He froze. Stay fucking still, he told himself. If he moved, even slightly, he’d be clocked.

They were re-entering the main body of the church: Bloom first, Stratton second. Bloom was moving swiftly and even from this distance Luke could see that her face was severe. She turned to look at Stratton. He was strangely expressionless and for a few seconds an unanswered question seemed to hang in the air.

And then she turned. Without saying a word, she disappeared into the shadows beyond the altar. Stratton watched her go. For a dread-filled moment, he thought Stratton would see him. But he didn’t. Instead he faced the altar and bowed his head in quiet reverence.

Luke took his chance. He slipped towards the exit and seconds later he was outside, in the bright sunlight.

Finn looked narked. He raised an eyebrow, clearly waiting for some sort of explanation of what his mate had just seen. But at that very moment Stratton stormed out of the church. He walked straight past them both without acknowledging their presence, and headed towards the exit of the Garden of Gethsemane.

‘Wanker,’ Finn muttered.

‘Wanker doesn’t come close.’ Together they followed their principal through the gnarled olive groves. As they went, Luke activated his comms. ‘Zero, this is Tango 17,’ he spoke into his radio mike. ‘The Cardinal’s leaving the garden now. We’re on our way.’

A brief pause and his earpiece crackled again.

‘Tango 17, this is Zero. Understood.’ A pause and then: ‘Get a fucking move on, Tango 17. This little detour’s already cost us two hours.’

Ten metres ahead, Stratton was walking through the gate and out into the street.

‘Roger that,’ Luke said. He gripped his 53 a little firmer. A voice in his head told him he might be needing it very soon.

TWENTY-FOUR

The young Palestinian crouched deep underground. He was sweating. Not because he was hot – there was no warmth down here – but because he was scared.

He could hear the scratching of rodents both behind him and up ahead, and occasionally he would see a scrawny rat scurrying in the beam of the battery-operated torch he was using to light his way. He didn’t like rats. The thought of their long, sinewy tails brushing against his skin made him shudder and he knew the stench that reeked in his nostrils was their droppings.