to give it an hour before looking for a petrol station and if it was not open he would park and wait until morning.
As he drove over the crest of a slight hill, a cluster of lights appeared up ahead and he tensed when he realised it was a military checkpoint. Adrenaline trickled into his veins but he remained calm and did not alter his speed until he was close, then he began to slow down.
A soldier with a rifle across his back was standing in the road by a barricade system that narrowed oncoming traffic to a single lane. As Zhilev approached, the soldier stood to the side watching him. Several metres from the barricade Zhilev slowed, preparing to stop alongside the soldier, but he waved him through.
Zhilev maintained his speed and waved as he went by the soldier, then kept an eye on his rear-view mirror as he accelerated up the road. The soldier walked casually away from the barricade towards a hut on the side of the road and disappeared from view.
Zhilev went through the relaxing process once more and concentrated on the road ahead. A couple of distant red tail lights showed that it continued straight for several miles and he suddenly felt a burst of exhilaration. He was in Israel, having covered thousands of miles from his home in Riga, by car, ferry, on foot, by boat and then swimming. Despite his belief in himself he was still impressed he had got this far and with an atomic bomb. It was not that he ever had doubts about the effectiveness of his plan, but there were so many things that could have gone wrong, even relatively small things such as a car accident, or the boat breaking down, any one of a dozen things that could have meant the end of the mission. But none of them had happened and he was within reach of his goal. The next couple of phases would be extremely tricky, with the added danger of the Israeli police and an extremely paranoid military defence force. But then, if the checkpoint he just went through was anything to go by, perhaps that was not going to be as much of a factor as he initially feared. Then again, Elat was a tourist resort. Things would be very different the closer he got to the West Bank and Jerusalem.
Despite his efforts to relax he could not release the tension in his shoulders and the pain in his neck increased. He felt his breast pocket for the small packet of painkillers and thought about breaking his rule, part of him arguing that under the circumstances it would be forgivable. This was not the time to show vulnerability, but as the pain increased, the temptation grew stronger.
Zhilev opened the window, removed the pills from his pocket and tossed them out where they bounced off the black tarmac and rolled into the barren desert.
Stratton heard the creak, opened his eyes and focused all his senses outside of the room. He was a light sleeper at home, but abroad he was overly sensitive to any change around him. He felt certain the sound came from within the house but was not completely sure. The creak came again - the stairs - and he sat up in the bed. It was getting lighter outside but dawn had not yet reached the island. He checked his watch. The time was a few minutes after six. It could be Gabriel looking for the toilet, which was the last door on the landing, or perhaps he was heading out of the house for some reason.
Stratton climbed out of the bed and quickly pulled on his trousers and shirt.The creak came again, closer, further up the stairs. He pulled on his boots and tied up the laces.
As he stepped to the door, he could feel someone on the other side of it. It was bred in him not to overreact and in situations like this, if a threat was on the cards, his actions would always take the form of a counterattack.
The door handle moved, then began to turn.
Stratton stepped behind the door as it slowly opened and the tip of a head came into view, peering at the bed.
‘Mr Stratton?’ It was the Greek army captain.
‘Morning,’ Stratton said.
The captain looked around the door as Stratton stepped into view. ‘Oh,’ he exclaimed in a most apologetic manner. ‘I am sorry to disturb you.’
‘That’s okay. What can I do for you?’
‘I have come to collect you,’ the captain said, looking as humble as he sounded, a stark contrast to his superior attitude of the night before.
‘Collect me?’
‘Yes, you and your friend Mr Stockton.’
Stratton did not remember Gabriel giving anyone his last name during dinner.
‘It is very urgent. I have a vehicle waiting for us.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Stratton said.
‘I am simply obeying orders. I received a call a short while ago from my divisional commander, General Stanopis. I have never personally spoken to him before. In fact, I have only ever seen him once. He instructed me to tell you that a British air force plane has been granted permission to land on the island and that I am to personally escort you both to it.’
Stratton’s mind raced. His eyes flicked to the satellite phone on the small table beside his bed. He had checked the signal before going to sleep and it was weak but workable. It was close to the French windows, which were open, and should have been able to receive a call. But then, why would the captain lie?
‘I am told to tell you that a Mr Sumners will be meeting you on the aircraft.’
That instantly gave the captain full credibility and Stratton finished getting dressed, tucking in his shirt and pulling his jacket off the bedpost. ‘Is there anything else?’ Stratton asked, as he stuffed his ablutions bag into his small holdall, put the sat. phone in his pocket and scanned around in case there was anything he had forgotten.
‘Nothing,’ the captain said. ‘I take it you know what it’s all about,’ he said, more in hope that it might be revealed to him. He had been completely overcome by the request. Nothing like it had ever happened to him in his career. It was obvious that this Englishman and his friend were of great importance for the general to call him personally. Not only that, the general was insistent that this small but important task was carried out with the utmost efficiency and safety.
Stratton went to Gabriel’s door and knocked once before opening it.
To his surprise, Gabriel was fully dressed and sat on the edge of his bed looking out of the window. He turned to look at Stratton long enough to see who it was and then went back to contemplating his view.
‘We have to go,’ Stratton said to him.
‘I know,’ Gabriel said.
Stratton glanced around at the captain knowing he had not stopped at Gabriel’s room before coming to his. ‘You know about the plane coming to pick us up?’
‘No,’ Gabriel said, without any change in his voice or reaction. He remained still, without urgency, as if nothing else mattered in the world.
‘I’ve seen how it ends,’ Gabriel said.
Stratton walked into the room to where he could see Gabriel’s face. He seemed the same, older perhaps, and tired as always.
‘What are you talking about?’
‘The end. You know what the end means, don’t you?’
‘How does it end?’ Stratton asked, wondering if Gabriel had flipped.
‘My end . . . My death.’
The urgency left Stratton as he focused on the situation. Whatever was going on, it had to be dealt with calmly. ‘Do you want to tell me about it?’
‘I saw it. A bright flash, like the sun itself. A loud boom. A rush of violent air. Everything tearing apart, ripped to pieces . . . But I’m not alone. The air is filled with souls.’ Gabriel looked at Stratton. ‘Do you really expect me to be enthusiastic about going anywhere?’
Stratton stared at Gabriel, wondering if he had indeed gone mad. ‘I didn’t know remote viewing was also about seeing into the future.’