Newton’s Fire

industrial foam.

Avram plucked at Danel’s sleeve while this was going on. ‘I need a word,’ he murmured.

‘About what?’

‘About Ana and Ruth. Our friends tonight won’t have women.’

Danel scowled. Like many settlers, he despised the Haredim as parasites and cowards. Only by assuring him that Shlomo and his friends had been volunteers in the IDF’s Yeshivat Hesder had Avram persuaded him to accept them as allies at all.

‘Ana is the best I’ve got,’ Danel protested. ‘And Ruth is hungry. They murdered her man.’

‘She’ll still get to eat,’ said Avram. ‘But with the Predators instead.’

Danel nodded. It wasn’t exactly a surprise, for they’d discussed and planned for the possibility. ‘I’ll let them know.’

‘Thank you.’

They returned to the others. Avram checked the supplies against his list. No point taking more than they needed. They returned the surplus to the sump then packed everything but the missiles into a mix of tourist and army backpacks. The tourist backpacks went onto the minibus, so that a cursory inspection would find nothing more sinister than a group of kibbutzim on their way for a night or two in Jerusalem. He turned on the Predators, entered the GPS coordinates for their targets, then had them loaded, along with the three dust carts, onto the back of his own truck. They packed the army backpacks into the dust carts then laid the assault rifles, handguns and spare clips on top of them, before covering them up with sanitation workers’ jackets, caps and bibs. It was a tight fit, but Avram had calculated well. They packed all this contraband as far inside the truck as it would go, then hid it behind a false wall of old white goods and second-hand furniture.

Avram checked his watch. By some miracle, they were half an hour ahead of schedule. Just as well, considering Jerusalem’s traffic. ‘We should leave,’ he said.

Danel shook his head. ‘Not yet. You still owe us something.’

‘The rest of your money?’ Avram pulled a face of distaste. ‘I told you: after this is done.’

‘I’m not talking about the money,’ said Danel. ‘I’m saying isn’t it time you told us the fucking plan.’

III

Climbing the steps to the dome was like fighting a waterfall, hundreds of tourists pouring down on them, many a little bit panicky from the continued shrieking of the alarms. Luke forced a passage for himself and Rachel, ignoring the guides and wardens who kept trying to stop them, making theatre with his hands, pointing upwards and shouting that they were looking for a friend. They reached the Triforium door, slipped inside, and walked briskly along the deserted corridor to the library. But it was closed and locked and there was no sign of Trevor, no sign of anyone.

A door banged behind them. They turned to see the fair-headed man walking purposefully towards them along the corridor, shouting into his mobile to make himself audible over the still-clamouring fire alarm. Luke swore as he and Rachel hurried away. The door to the rear gallery was locked, so they went left instead and found themselves at the top of a spiral staircase with a dizzying view down to the ground below. They’d barely started down it when Blackbeard appeared at the foot and began climbing. Luke hesitated. He didn’t much fancy taking on fair-hair, but he had far more chance against him than against Blackbeard.

‘Back up?’ asked Rachel.

‘Back up,’ he agreed.

There was a small fire extinguisher on the stairs. Luke grabbed it to use as a weapon. Fair-hair stopped when he saw them, even took a step backwards, doing wonders for Luke’s confidence. But then he drew his taser and a moment later the bruiser appeared behind him at the far end of the corridor. They were cornered.

A large oak door had a vast No Entry sign on it. It looked as though it hadn’t been used in decades. Rachel slid the bolts, lifted the latch and pulled it open. The reason for the No Entry sign immediately became apparent. There was an organ on the other side. She got down onto her hands and knees and crawled beneath the keyboard, Luke following immediately behind. He stood up on the far side and found himself on the balcony that girdled the inside of the cathedral like a belt. Far below, two guides were helping the last of the stragglers out the main doors. Luke shouted for help, but the alarms drowned out his voice. And then they were gone.

The balcony to their left was blocked by fat organ pipes, so they headed right instead. But then a door opened ahead of them, and the bruiser came out. They turned back. They couldn’t escape back beneath the organ, for fair-hair was on guard with his taser. Luke looked over the railings. The balcony floor jutted out a couple of inches or so. Not much of a toehold. But by clinging to the rail, they could crab their way along it, bypassing the organ pipes to reach the rear gallery. And from there they could cross to the other side of the cathedral and make their escape. It meant braving an eighty-foot drop to the cathedral floor, however, and one false step would be the end of them.

Rachel shook her head. ‘I can’t,’ she said.

‘We have to,’ he said. ‘We’re out of options.’

Her face was pale, but she nodded. He clambered over the rail first, then helped her. He let her go first so that she could set her own pace. The narrow stone ledge was hard on their toes as they sidled along. Organ pipes protruding over the balcony forced them to hunker down like backstroke swimmers before a race. The sharp edges of the wrought-iron stanchions were cruel on their fingers. Still crouched, they reached the junction with the rear gallery. Rachel slipped as she made the awkward turn, lost her footing. She clung to the stanchions and scrabbled stonework with the sides of her shoes. Luke anchored himself with one hand, grabbed her wrist with the other. He tried to lift her but he didn’t have the right posture. She’d have to do it herself. She hooked one foot back up, then the other. But she slipped again and the jolt ripped her grip from the stanchions. She’d have plunged to her death had Luke not had her by her wrist, but her sudden weight forced him down onto one knee on the narrow ledge, so that now he was holding her swinging above the drop, screaming and screaming. He tried to lift her back up, but he couldn’t, not with just one hand. The strain on his fingers, arm and shoulder was extraordinary. His tendons stretched; his grip grew weaker. He grimaced and cried out with the unbearable knowledge that this was a battle he couldn’t hope to win.

Throughout it all, he’d been vaguely aware of scrabbling noises at the rear gallery’s locked door. He’d hoped the lock would buy them time to make good their escape, but now the hinges creaked and he looked up to see Blackbeard arrive on the other side of the balcony. All he had to do now was break Luke’s tenuous hold on the stanchion to send both him and Rachel plummeting to their deaths.

That decision was evidently above his paygrade, however. For, even as Luke watched, he glanced across at the balcony behind him, for all the world like a gladiator looking up from the Coliseum floor for his emperor’s thumb.

THIRTY-THREE I

‘You know the plan,’ said Avram. ‘We’ve been through the plan a dozen times.’

‘We know the plan for getting in,’ said Danel. ‘We know the plan for placing the charges so that they bring down the Dome. What we don’t yet know is the plan for getting away afterwards. It seems to us that if we’re still inside when it comes down, we’ll be crushed to death. It seems to us that if we’re not inside, then we’ll be outside being ripped limb from limb by ten thousand Arab scum. You may think us cowards, Avram, but neither of those options exactly appeal.’

‘And neither will happen.’