‘Don’t be heroes,’ warned Danel.
Tranquillizer guns spat into their necks. They held them till they slumped, laid them in the shadows. Up went the dust cart lids, out came the assault weapons and the packs. They peeled off and discarded their outer garb, put on body-armour and infrared bibs that looked dark to the naked eye but which glowed brightly through their night-vision goggles, cutting the risk of friendly fire. They shouldered their packs, tightened straps. The moment Danel gave Avram the thumbs-up, he sent his prepared text message winging through the night to the Mount of Olives, where Ana, Ruth and Nathaniel were waiting.
Just a few more seconds and the fireworks would begin for real.
FORTY-TWO
I
Walters tried to kill time with a movie, but nothing held his interest. Luke and Rachel were like food stuck between his teeth — impossible to get out of his mind until they’d been dealt with. They’d be landing in Israel soon, and the Israelis weren’t exactly famous for letting aircraft in without knowing exactly who was on board. And how the hell were they going to make Luke and Rachel disappear after that?
He headed forwards, knocked on Croke’s door, and went in. Croke looked up irritably from some paperwork. ‘What?’ he asked.
‘Our guests,’ said Walters.
‘I told you I’d take care of them.’
‘Yes, but if the Israelis find them on board, we-’
‘They won’t. They’ll be gone before then.’
‘How?’
Croke sighed. ‘Haven’t you noticed our cargo hold? We can depressurize at altitude, dump stuff out; stuff that’s been wrapped well and weighted to sink and stay sunk. Then we can pressurize again before we land.’
‘We’re dumping them? Where?’
‘Where do you think?’ His TV was tuned to a 24-hour news channel, its volume down. Now he flipped to a flight map showing their position and course. A single glance was all it took to see that there was only one body of water up to the job: the Mediterranean. ‘The Aegean’s no good,’ said Croke. ‘Too many islands. Too many shallows. So we’ll have to wait until we’re somewhere south-west of Cyprus.’
‘What about Kohen?’ asked Walters. ‘He’ll squeal if his friends go missing.’
‘Not if we dump him too.’
‘What about his uncle?’
‘He won’t give a shit, trust me. He only cares about the Ark. Once he sees it on Jewish soil, he’ll do his part.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘I’m sure.’
Walters nodded. ‘Until the Mediterranean, then.’
II
Nathaniel had jacked up the right back wheel of the truck in order to change the tyre and so give Ana and Ruth cover to unload the Predator missiles and carry them down into the Jewish cemetery. It was a delicate operation, for a contingent of Israeli Defense Force light infantry were stationed in the Valley of Jehoshaphat, close enough that Nathaniel and the women could hear snatches of their conversation and laughter, see the occasional orange firefly of a cigarette.
Nathaniel had set his cellphone to mute. Now it began to vibrate. His heart seemed almost to vibrate in sympathy with it. He checked the message to make sure. Yes. His hands were clammy as he made his way to join the women.
‘Is it time?’ asked Ruth.
‘It’s time,’ said Nathaniel.
This latest generation of Predator missiles had GPS capability. All nine were already on, programmed and ready to fire. They shouldered one each. The night was sparkling clear, the golden bulb of the Dome brilliantly lit. It usually made Nathaniel feel sick to see it, to see Islam lording it over Judaism like that; but tonight it felt righteous.
Ana gave the countdown in a quiet, calm voice:
‘Three.
‘Two.
‘One.
‘Fire.’
The noise of the triple discharge was quite something. The cemetery lit up orange and the three fat missiles flew with surprising slowness across the valley. They didn’t watch them, however, but threw away the empty Predator husks, shouldered and fired another missile each. Now they unleashed the third and final set. Remarkably, all nine were on their way before the first ones struck.
Electricity for the Temple Mount was routed through two generator buildings on the northern wall. Both buildings were destroyed in an instant by the first salvo. The whole Temple Mount lit up like a fiesta in silent eruptions. The spotlights on the Dome stuttered and went dark. Only now did the triple booms reach them across the valley. By coincidence, they synchronized almost perfectly with the impact of the second volley. The Temple Mount’s Golden Gate had been walled up centuries before. As the second tranche of missiles slammed into it, the vast old stones staggered yet somehow stayed standing. Then the final volley struck and the ancient structure collapsed in an avalanche of rubble that cascaded down through the Arab cemetery onto the road below.
The last of the explosions died away. The noise of gunfire reached them. It sounded strangely trivial in comparison. At first it was erratic but they quickly got a fix on their position. They knelt and raised their hands high above their heads. ‘Don’t shoot!’ they yelled. ‘We surrender! We surrender!’ Their voices were drowned out by the thunder of copter blades. Spotlights dazzled them in the darkness. They braced themselves for bullets; but the bullets never came. Soldiers swarmed up the hillside and slammed them face-first into the ground. They tied their wrists behind their backs with flexi-cuffs and marched them down the slope. But the three of them smiled in triumph as they went. Their job was done.
It had started.
FORTY-THREE
I
Croke flipped through channels for breaking news from Jerusalem, but there was still nothing. It should be any moment now, yet he felt too restless to stay watching. He went forward to the cockpit, where he found Manfredo chatting away with Craig Bray and Vig, who had a pilot’s licence of his own and so sat co-pilot on these trips. ‘You need me, boss?’ he asked.
He shook his head. ‘I need our pilot.’
‘Everything’s sweet,’ said Bray, glancing around. ‘We’re even a few minutes ahead of schedule.’
‘It’s not that,’ said Croke. ‘It’s the depressurisation job I mentioned earlier. We’re going to need to do it.’
