Newton’s Fire

III

There were advantages for Avram in leaving the assault until the last moment before the first call to prayer of the new day. People would be at their sleepiest. It would mean having to hold the Dome for a shorter time before dawn and Croke arrived. But there was one major disadvantage too. Jerusalem’s Old City virtually closed down by night, so that the later they left it, the more conspicuous they’d be, the more likely to attract the attention of the IDF and the police.

‘It’s time,’ he said.

They headed out in small clusters, leaving Benyamin behind with Shlomo and his men. Ana and Ruth were waiting by the truck. Danel told them what they’d seen in London, but the two women weren’t overly impressed. They had their own motivations for being here. Avram drove the truck into a darkly shadowed area of the car park and opened up the rear. They shifted furniture and fridges, heaved the dust carts down onto the tarmac. They armed themselves and put on sanitation worker jackets and caps.

Nathaniel, Ruth and Ana were taking the truck on for their own part of the mission. They all now hugged farewell and wished each other luck. Avram led the way into the Old City. He passed safely through Zion then called Danel with the all clear. He kept the line open in case of mishap, but luck was with them. He reached the basement apartment without incident, nodded down to Shlomo. A deep breath, then a deeper. A last check of his watch. After all these years, it seemed extraordinary to Avram that the time of preparation should finally be over and that the time of truth had come.

But it had.

FORTY-ONE I

The intercom came on and the pilot announced departure. Walters leaned forwards to pull down the window blind. ‘Don’t want us waving to the crowds, eh?’ asked Luke.

‘Something like that,’ agreed Walters. He fastened his seat belt, ostentatiously nestling his taser in his lap. Lights dimmed. A lurch of movement, though their engines weren’t yet on, then a soft bump of wheels as they were towed over the hangar’s door-rails. They stopped again. Now their engines came on, whining like teenagers on a museum trip. They began to move under their own power and were soon taxiing briskly. They turned into the runway, paused. Their engines roared and they hurtled into take-off. Acceleration pushed Luke a little from his seat. His heart sank as hope faded of some last-moment miracle intervention. Rachel slipped her hand into his. He interlaced his fingers with hers, gave a gentle press of gratitude and reassurance. They lifted sharply. Walters pushed the blind back up. The scattered lights of East London shrank beneath them. They banked into a turn that stole the city from their view and gave them night sky instead. It was moonless but spilled with stars, and just for a blink Luke was back beneath the Ashmolean, staring up at the wondrous galaxies of its ceiling. Then the cabin lights came on, extinguishing the night and prompting Rachel to take her hand from his, as though suddenly feeling shy.

Walters stood and stretched. ‘Champagne, wasn’t it?’ he mocked.

‘And some dry-roasted peanuts, if you’ve got any.’

Walters laughed. ‘Back before you know it.’ He went to the bar to fix himself a drink, then settled down across the aisle with his mates and Jay. He didn’t have their company long, however, for Jay said something to Kieran and the two of them stood and made their way to the rear of the cabin. There was a door there with an embedded handle that Kieran had to pull out and twist to unlock and open. It was thick and heavy and surrounded by rubber seals; and it swung out towards him when surely a sliding door would have made a better use of space.

Luke frowned. Air pressure at altitude was so much greater inside a modern passenger jet than outside that their external doors and hatches invariably opened inwards. That way, even if someone tried to open them during a flight, whether by mistake or in an act of sabotage, they simply wouldn’t have the strength. So that door seemed designed to separate a pressurized from an unpressurized compartment. But if that were truly the case, then Kieran and Jay wouldn’t have been able to get through to the cargo hold at all. He was still puzzling over this when Rachel touched his arm. ‘It’s back there, isn’t it?’ she asked. ‘The Ark?’

‘I think so.’

‘What’s going on? Are we off to Israel?’

‘As far as I can tell.’

‘But why? All this mayhem, all this secrecy …’ She shook her head. ‘It makes no sense.’

Luke grimaced. ‘There’s a Jewish tradition that the Third Temple won’t be built until the Ark has been found and returned to Jerusalem. But the Ark isn’t enough by itself. The ground has to be cleared first. There’s a Dome on it, remember?’

‘Oh, Christ,’ muttered Rachel. ‘You think that’s what Jay’s uncle is up to?’

‘Can’t you imagine it?’ said Luke. ‘The Ark arriving at the Temple Mount at the very moment Jay’s uncle brings down the Dome? It will look as though it was the Ark that did it, just like at Jericho. True believers everywhere will see it as the will of God.’

‘Muslims won’t,’ muttered Rachel. ‘There’ll be war.’

‘Armageddon, more like,’ said Luke. ‘If ever there’s been a self-fulfilling prophecy, that’s the one.’

‘They can’t be that crazy, can they?’ asked Rachel, looking around. ‘I mean Jay and his uncle, maybe. But these other guys, they hardly seem like religious fanatics, do they?’

‘I guess they do whatever Croke tells them.’

‘But he doesn’t look that way either.’

‘He must have his reasons.’

‘Yes. But what?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Maybe we should ask him when we next see him,’ suggested Rachel wryly.

‘Yes,’ agreed Luke. ‘Maybe we should.’

II

The al-Haddad Gate was in the Muslim quarter of the Old City, making it more difficult for Avram and his comrades to reach unnoticed. But it was worth the extra trouble, for the approach had a kink in it, depriving the Waqf nightwatchmen of line of sight on the Israeli police guardpost at the other end.

Avram shuffled his way past the mouth of the alley, an old man of no conceivable threat making his way home after a late dinner. A short distance behind, Danel and his teams of street-cleaners rattled their dust carts across the old stones. Danel paused for a cigarette as he passed the guardpost, but his lighter only sprayed sparks. He glanced at the policemen, held up his cigarette, raised an eyebrow.

‘You guys are working late,’ grunted one of them, taking a matchbook from his pocket.

‘This damned earthquake,’ said Danel. ‘No one knows what’s going on any more.’

‘Tell me about it.’

The clatter of carts drowned out the faint noise of Shlomo and his men approaching through the shadows. The guardpost was swarmed in an instant, hands over all the policemen’s mouths.