before Desert Storm, when he’d started chucking scuds in the general direction of Tel Aviv.
‘Saddam would bomb my people again if he could,’ said Amit. ‘It’s my duty to ensure that the West invades…’ He opened his eyes again. ‘Perhaps you do not understand…’
It didn’t matter if Luke understood or not. This was only going to end one way. ‘You’re not coming with us, buddy. I’m sorry…’
‘For fuck’s sake, Luke,’ Finn cut in. ‘We can’t hang about.’
Luke nodded. What Finn hadn’t said — what he hadn’t needed to say — was that they couldn’t leave Amit alive. It would be easy for the enemy to torture their plans out of him.
‘Do it,’ Finn said.
‘Wait…’ Amit’s plea left him breathless. ‘I can help you.’
‘You’re a bit past that, mate.’
‘Listen to me. I can drive the car to the border. Cause a distraction.’
Luke and Finn exchanged a glance. ‘Go on.’
‘Do you have explosives?’
Luke nodded.
‘What do you have?’
‘C4. Frags. White phos.’
Amit nodded. His eyes flickered from one man to the other. And then, in his breathless, stilted way, he continued to speak.
Two minutes later Luke and Finn were standing five metres from the car, rifles slung round their necks and frowns on their foreheads. Four or five klicks to the east, they could see a chopper still circling, and on the highway one or two vehicles were still passing every minute.
They spoke in low whispers. ‘Do you trust him?’ Finn asked.
‘We haven’t got much choice.’ He looked towards the border. ‘There’s no way we’ll get through there. We either slot Amit now, or we…’
Or we what? The checkpoint was a kilometre to the west. If he, Finn and Abu Famir headed in a north- westerly direction, they would have to cover about a klick and a half if they wanted to intersect the border a kilometre to the north of the checkpoint. That would take about fifteen minutes, but the choppers and border- control vehicles would have a high chance of finding them. They needed a distraction. Something to focus the attention of the enemy on a position where the SAS men and their Iraqi passenger wouldn’t be. Something to give them a window of opportunity. And it was exactly that which Amit was offering.
‘He’s a good man,’ Luke murmured. ‘Don’t know if I’d have the balls…’
‘We need to make a decision now,’ Finn said.
A pause.
Luke nodded. ‘Let’s do it.’
Abu Famir was standing by the car, waiting for them. ‘What is happening? I demand to know what is happening.’
‘Get ready to walk,’ Luke told him. ‘We’re heading cross-country.’
‘What about my deputy? He is too sick to…’
‘You can drop the deputy bullshit now. He’s come clean…’
Finn was opening up the boot. He started moving all the ammunition, explosives and grenades they had into the front passenger seat, while Luke bent down to speak to Amit. ‘It’s time,’ he said.
Amit grabbed Luke’s arm and turned his ghostly face to look at him. ‘I have a sister,’ he whispered. ‘You must find her. You must tell her what I did, and that I did it for my country.’
‘Course I will, buddy,’ Luke lied.
‘You must. Otherwise she will not understand.’ Amit took a moment to catch his breath. ‘Her name… her name is Maya Bloom.’ His face became anguished. ‘You must find her.’
Luke looked over his shoulder to see Finn standing just by him. He had two white-phosphorus grenades in his hands.
‘Come on,’ Luke said to Amit. ‘Let’s get you into the front.’
It wasn’t easy. Amit’s legs were too weak to carry him, and his knees buckled the moment he tried to stand. Another car slowed down and pulled up alongside them. The driver shouted something in Arabic.
‘Tell them we’re fine,’ Luke instructed Abu Famir, who shouted out a response and the car drove away.
By the time Amit was in the driver’s seat, he was coughing badly — a dreadful hacking, wheezing sound.
‘Get Abu Famir away from the car,’ Luke told Finn, taking the grenades from him and turning his attention back to Amit. The Israeli was slumped forward, his forearms flat against the steering wheel and his body shaking violently.’
‘Quickly,’ he murmured. ‘
Luke turned the ignition key. He wound down the windows, then carefully removed the pin from one of the grenades, but kept the safety lever tightly squeezed.
‘You sure you can grip it?’ he asked. Amit nodded, and Luke curled the fingers of the dying man’s left hand around it. If Amit lost his grip, Luke would only have a couple of seconds to get the hell away. He primed the second grenade, then carefully placed it in Amit’s right hand.
‘OK, buddy,’ he said. ‘You’re good to go.’
‘You will find Maya?’
‘You got it.’
‘In London.’ His weak voice was hardly audible above the noise of the engine.
‘I’ll find her.’
‘Then leave me.’
Luke didn’t need telling twice. He stretched over Amit’s body, put the vehicle’s transmission into drive, then shut the door and sprinted away from the side of the road. He was at least thirty metres away when he turned to look back.
The Toyota had moved off. It was going very slowly, but it had joined the main carriageway and had started on the final kilometre before the border.
Abu Famir stared at the car. ‘He did this of his own free will?’ he asked.
‘Hundred and ten per cent. A lot of people want you out of the country, my friend.’ He watched the car until it disappeared.
‘Think he’ll make it?’ Finn asked flatly.
Luke sniffed. ‘Probably not,’ he said. ‘He’s pretty fucked up. But even if he goes bang before he hits the checkpoint, it’ll be a diversion.’ He looked due north-west. It was dark, of course, but he’d seen the satellite imagery and he knew there was open ground here. ‘I reckon we’ve got fifteen minutes. Let’s not hang around.’
‘Roger that.’
The three men turned and started to walk across the desert.
Amit shook.
The pain was everything. It was no longer just the wound that hurt. Now it felt as if the pain had seeped into his blood and melted through his whole body. It was all-consuming. So intense that movement or even speech felt like obstacles he could never scale. He wanted it to be over. Finished. Gone.
But through the pain, one thing was clear to him. If he must die, let it be for a purpose. In a corner of his mind he saw a scene of devastation. It was an image that had haunted his dreams since he was a child: the aftermath of a Palestinian suicide bomb on the streets of Tel Aviv, his own parents the victims, torn — quite literally — limb from limb.
If he must die, let it be for a purpose. Not like them.
It took all his strength to clutch the safety levers of the grenades. He steered with his forearms, which had the full weight of his body behind them, but the car required little steering. The checkpoint was straight ahead. He could see it, even though his vision was blurred, but he was too confused to work out the distance. All he knew was that he had to make it, however far it was.
