through the canal by now. We’ve asked Egypt and Jordan to report in if Zhilev makes port but that would take a month under normal circumstances and there’s no way on earth we can tell them an atom bomb is possibly passing through their borders. The word would be out in a heartbeat and there’d be a mad rush by every Arab state and Islamic organisation to get their hands on it. If they found him, we’d be the last people to know.’
Sumners took the photos out of Stratton’s hands and put them back on the table.
‘One other thing,’ Sumners said. ‘Zhilev withdrew every penny he had in his bank account, the equivalent of several thousand pounds. He was a frugal man who spent little of his pension, which could suggest he’s not planning to return home. He’s committed. All in all, I think we have a rather serious problem on our hands.’
With all the talk about the Middle East, Stratton wondered where the aircraft was heading. The sun was shining in through the starboard window and slightly ahead of the plane. He checked the compass on his watch to confirm they were indeed flying southeast. ‘Where are we going?’ he asked.
‘Tel Aviv. It’s time to bring Mossad into the game,’ Sumners said. ‘We can’t tell them about a nuclear device either, of course. Got to play the Israelis carefully when it comes to threats against Islam. They wouldn’t exactly bend over backwards to prevent a bomb blowing up that lot.’
‘Unless it was made to look like the Israelis did it,’ Stratton said.
‘Horrifying thought,’ Sumners said as he got to his feet. ‘I’m going to grab a nap. Been a long night.’
Sumners stifled a yawn and was about to head towards the seats when he thought of something else. ‘How is he?’ he asked, referring to Gabriel. ‘Fit, you think?’
‘He’s tired.’
‘I expect he wants to see this through though.’
Stratton gave nothing away, looking at the top of Gabriel’s head just visible above his headrest.
‘We’re all believers now, aren’t we, eh, Stratton?’ Sumners said as he walked away.
Stratton watched him step into the row behind Gabriel and plonk himself tiredly into a seat, but his mind was fixed on the most important implication of this entire situation.
‘Stratton?’ a voice called out.
Stratton looked around to see it was Chalmers holding out a pamphlet. ‘The specs on the likely device,’ he said.
How apt, Stratton thought as he reached over, took the pamphlet and flicked through it. He knew a bit about suitcase bombs anyway. It was a requirement for senior operatives to understand at least the basics of them, just in case. It was a crazy world and one could expect to run into anything these days. Explosives were one of Stratton’s fortes anyway.
The implication that remained a painful distraction was Gabriel’s fear that he was going to die by Zhilev’s device. Gabriel did not know it was an atomic bomb. Stratton had never been more than a few hundred yards from Gabriel’s side while on the assignment and was hardly likely to ever be much further since his job was to protect him as well as help in the decoding. The device had a destructive radius of five miles, which did not include the fallout. That clearly meant that if Gabriel was going to be killed by it then so was anyone else with him. Sumners would not tell Gabriel about the weapon in case it affected his will to continue in pursuit of it. The information could only have a negative effect on Gabriel’s performance and so why take the risk? Gabriel was the most important tool in locating Zhilev and his life was entirely expendable in the light of the gravity of the situation. The same went for Stratton. Sumners was unaware of Gabriel’s fears and was clearly optimistic about finding Zhilev and the bomb before it was detonated. Stratton could withhold Gabriel’s fears from Sumners and refuse to continue with the assignment, but that would mean bringing in someone else to take over the operation and Stratton would effectively be sending that person to his death, along with Gabriel.
Stratton tried to tell himself that didn’t matter as long as he lived, but it wouldn’t stick. He couldn’t send someone else to die in his place, nor could he turn his back on Gabriel.They were team-mates now and, like it or not, in this together.
‘Chicken or chicken?’ a voice said, interrupting Stratton’s thoughts.
Stratton looked up to see the loadmaster standing in front of him holding a stack of polystyrene in-flight rations boxes. He was reminded of the standing joke in the SBS about the lack of choice regarding RAF flight meals, which always seemed to be a couple of slightly warmed Kentucky Fried Chicken drumsticks and a serving of soggy chips.
‘I’ll have the chicken,’ Stratton said, and was handed a box.
As the loadmaster moved on to offer the selection to the rest of the cabin, Stratton went back to his thoughts. He had a dilemma to say the least. There were some hard choices to make, and not a lot of time in which to make them.
Abed’s mother lay on a mattress on the concrete floor, a white veil around her pale, wrinkled face which was bathed in the light from several candles flickering in the drab, airless room. A tattered towel hung across a small window high in the wall to cut out the daylight and half a dozen old women, all in black, squatted or stood about, one chanting a prayer while another prepared tea on a small wood-burning cooker in a corner.
She was not dead, though no one expected her to survive for long. Her breathing was so shallow the women frequently used a mirror kept by her side to see if she was still alive. The doctor had said that as long as she did not have the will to live nothing would stop her from dying. Since the day Abed left Gaza, his mother had hardly eaten or gone outside of her house. Neighbours took to bringing food and some spent time with her, cooking and trying to be comforting, but their efforts had been in vain. All meaning had gone from her existence; now that Abed had left, never to return, life had become utterly pointless to her. For the first few months after his departure, she could not resist clinging to the hope that he might one day walk back into the house. She dreamed of the times he used to take hold of her as if she were his daughter, and stroke her hair while holding her face against his chest. Few men showed such affection for their mothers. She had been lucky. Abed was the finest son a mother could ask for. But their luck ran out that night the Israeli soldiers came to Rafah to round up all the men. Frightened as she was at the time, she had no idea it was the beginning of the end for them as a family. As time trickled by, she began to accept that she would never see Abed again and then, as if the truth had tripped something in her body, she began to die.
She knew the end was very near and her thoughts drifted more and more to her childhood, playing in the streets of Rafah, which at that time seemed a normal place to her, as it did to all of the very young. She recalled her days in school and the faces of the friends she had made that she no longer knew.
Then suddenly, despite her low level of consciousness, she sensed a change in the room. It was unmistakable, as if a powerful presence had entered. It was noticeable in the energy of the other women, and the chanting had stopped.
Her eyes flickered as she fought to open them, but it was incredibly difficult, as if she had gone far too deep beneath consciousness to ever climb back above it.
The presence felt neither good nor evil, but it drew her out of the depths.
She finally managed to open her eyes and fought to focus on the cracked, brittle ceiling where tiny stalactites formed along the lines where the rain leaked in.
The presence was at the door and she concentrated hard to turn her head on the pillow and look towards it. The light was bad as was her eyesight but there was a figure standing in the doorway, she could tell that much.
The figure took a step towards her, and she could discern it was a man but not clearly enough to make out any features. She wondered why any man would be in her house. The doctor had left hours before and would not return until she was dead. Women like her died in the company of women and no man would venture to enter her house even to say farewell, no man save one perhaps. Her heart suddenly fluttered and raced in expectation and she struggled to find the oxygen to fuel the strength she needed to push death away, if only for a moment. She attempted to raise a hand and move her feet but the effort was futile. Nothing worked. Her limbs had atrophied to the point of uselessness. She tried to utter her son’s name but there was not enough breath to form a word or moisture to lubricate her tongue.
