FORTY-SEVEN
I
Galia Michaeli had dreamed all her young life of being at the heart of a breaking news story. Now, in just her second week of work experience at the Tel Aviv studios, she was at the heart of the breaking story of the decade. And her main task had been made very clear to her three times already. It was to make coffee on request, and otherwise stay out of the way.
The news channel had a generic email address, but no one ever used it. No one who mattered, at least. It was, however, one of Galia’s jobs to check it every morning, just in case. She did so now. It included another copy of the already notorious email from the Dome assailants. They’d obviously sent it to everyone they could think of. She opened the various attachments out of curiosity. Most were photographs that had already been shown on the news. And there was also the list of prisoners to be released. Without any great expectation, she checked this Word document to see if it had its Track Changes feature on, and whether she’d therefore be able to see earlier drafts. She sat up a little when she noticed a few minor changes in formatting. And then, as if by magic, a whole extra paragraph suddenly appeared.
Her mouth was dry as she copied the aircraft registration number into a search engine. The second result was for a flight-tracking website. She clicked on the link. A map of the eastern Mediterranean appeared, then a dotted line heading straight for Israel. Contrary to what the paragraph claimed, the aircraft hadn’t yet arrived at Ben Gurion.
In fact, it wasn’t due to land for the best part of another hour.
II
Something was going on in the cargo hold. Rachel was sure of it. Something bad. The look on Walters’ face as he’d gone in there; the look on Kieran’s after he’d been turfed out; the way Kieran had gone to Pete, was now murmuring with him and casting worried looks at the door.
She glanced at Luke. He nodded to let her know he’d seen it too.
The door opened. Walters came out, trying to look casual, but failing. She took and squeezed Luke’s hand. His answering squeeze made her feel incomparably better. ‘No hesitation,’ he murmured.
‘No regrets,’ she agreed.
Walters went to join Pete and Kieran. They held an intense conversation in low voices. Kieran shook his head angrily and walked off towards the cockpit, but Pete nodded. Walters passed him the taser and then they came over to Luke and Rachel.
‘Your friend Jakob wants a word,’ Walters told Rachel, nodding at the cargo bay.
‘With me?’ she asked.
‘He has a question about the Ark, apparently.’ He reached into his pocket for the handcuff keys. ‘Didn’t understand it myself, to be honest. But I’m sure he’ll explain.’
‘Maybe I should go,’ said Luke. ‘The Ark’s more my field than Rachel’s.’
‘He asked for her,’ said Walters. He inserted the key into the cuff, turned it and released her wrist. She threw a beseeching glance at Luke; this had to be their moment. It seemed he agreed. He lunged forwards and smashed his knee up into Pete’s crotch. Pete yowled and tried to fry him with the taser, but Luke anticipated him and slapped it against Walters instead. Walters screamed and fell to the ground, convulsing and clutching his chest. Pete tried to turn the taser on Luke, but he managed to hold him off long enough for Rachel to retrieve the dropped handcuff keys and release him. He instantly propelled himself from his seat, crunched his head up into Pete’s jaw, sent him sprawling. He wrested the taser from him as he went down, gave him a squirt. ‘The hold,’ he yelled at Rachel.
She nodded and leapt over the white leather seat onto the carpet behind, heaved the door open. Luke was close behind, but Kieran had obviously heard the commotion for now he charged into the cabin and rugby-tackled Luke, took him down onto the carpet. Luke tried to taser him but Walters was already up again. He kicked the taser from Luke’s hand then laid into him with his boot, and Kieran and Pete quickly joined in.
There were plastic bottles of solvent and sulphuric acid on the floor by the Ark. Rachel picked up one full of acid, uncapped it and swung it in a backhand arc, spraying it over the three men’s throats and faces as Luke rolled away from them. Walters turned his back in time but Pete and Kieran felt the sting of it at once, screaming in pain and rage as it scorched their skin. She grabbed Luke’s hand and dragged him into the hold then tried to slam closed the door behind her. Walters stuck his foot in the gap, however, and hauled it open again, aiming the taser at her. She grabbed a bottle of solvent and squirted it over his chest and face as he fired. The jolt stunned her and flung her onto her back, but what shocked her more was the way the sparks ignited the solvent as it spurted over Walters, erupting into a violent blaze. He shrieked and dropped the taser, tried to slap out the flames on his throat and chin and clothes and hair, but too late, they were already in his mouth, each breath drawing them further down into his chest and lungs.
Luke shoulder-charged him and knocked him backwards out of the hold. He grabbed the door by its interior handle and slammed it shut. Rachel was still trembling from the jolt, but she struggled to her feet to help him hold it. There was no lock on this side, no way to block it, opening outwards into the main cabin as it did; but there was a length of blue strapping on the floor, and Luke used it to tether the door to the base of the Ark, pulling it as taut as it would go. He found two more lengths of tape among some discarded packaging and anchored the door even more firmly.
‘Will that hold?’ asked Rachel.
‘It’ll give us time to find something better.’
‘Like what?’
He waved a hand to indicate the whole cargo bay: the Ark, the pallets of supplies, the overhead lockers and the oak chests. ‘I’ll take a look,’ he said.
FORTY-EIGHT
I
Galia Michaeli printed off the flight map and the amended prisoner release document and hurried into the control room. Everyone was far too frantic to pay any attention to someone as lowly as her, however. They all waved her away. Her nerve failed her. These people were experienced journalists, after all. They knew what mattered and what didn’t. She was probably overestimating the significance of her find, she told herself. She retreated and went back out.
The editor of the morning show was on his mobile in the corridor, bawling out their hapless Jerusalem reporter for letting himself be scooped by Channel 2. He was infamous for his temper, her editor, for firing staff on the spot for the most innocuous offences. For all she knew, he’d seen the extra paragraph when the email had first arrived, had discarded it as nothing. The temptation to pretend she hadn’t found it at all, to keep her head down and not be noticed, almost overwhelmed her. But this was news, she realized; and news was her vocation.
She went to stand in front of him, nervously held out the two pages. He took them, scanned them, frowned. ‘What the fuck are these?’ he demanded.
She did her best to explain, though her tongue was a small mammal in her mouth. He glared at her as she spoke; he looked incandescent.
