‘When do you think I had time to do that?’
Chalmers pocketed the papers and handed Stratton the cash. ‘Gabriel doesn’t know about your visit to Ramallah and we should keep it that way. One satellite phone with numbers pre-programmed . . . One passport . . . Give me your other one.’ They exchanged passports. It was obvious they did not want the Israelis knowing where Stratton had been in the past. ‘And a precis on the Israeli intelligence services, which you should read and leave on the plane . . . Any questions?’
‘I was hoping I’d get a gun.’
‘The Israelis won’t let you carry one. Anything else?’
‘Yeah.What was the name of the pope who started the first crusade?’
‘Urban the Second. Anything else?’
‘. . . No.’
‘Good luck then,’ Chalmers said and turned on his heels to head back to his perch in front of his computer.
Smart arse, Stratton thought. With the personality of a turnip he’ll probably go far.
Stratton glanced through the paper on Mossad and Shin Bet. He knew a little about both services having worked on a case two years before of an IRA sniper hired by the Palestinians because their own were so poorly skilled. The sniper hit fourteen soldiers in twenty-five minutes at an Israeli checkpoint in El Arik near the town of Ofra killing ten of them before making his way out of the country using a well-planned escape route. Because of the expert shooting and high-quality design of the hide which had been carefully prepared over several days, and, more damningly, the fact the sniper left his weapon behind, not a Palestinian habit but certainly an IRA modus operandi, Israeli intelligence directed their suspicions towards the Irish Republican terrorist group. British intelligence eventually narrowed it down to two suspects but there was not enough evidence to pin it solidly on either. No further action was taken. A few weeks later, a rumour surfaced that the IRA had warned the Israelis if they attempted any kind of retaliatory assassination, a standard Mossad reaction, it would be brutally answered by a campaign against Jewish interests in Britain. No retribution against the IRA was made.
Stratton put the paper down on a seat, picked up his bag and joined Gabriel at the door.
‘You get any sleep?’ he asked.
‘A little.’
Gabriel looked much the same: tired, red-eyed, stressed. Stratton was almost getting used to the sight of his unhealthy condition and thought of it as normal.
‘You know, if you wanted to pull out of this, you could,’ Stratton said quietly, checking they were out of earshot of everyone.
‘I have to see it through.’
‘Why? If it’s written, if you’ve seen the end, why do you have to go? Let the end come to you.’
‘I don’t claim to understand everything about this phenomenon. We’re here to stop this madman from doing whatever it is he feels he needs to do, and we must continue to try.’
‘But you said you saw the end.What does it matter? We will fail.’
‘You obviously understand this better than I do,’ Gabriel said harshly.
‘Then tell me.’
‘I did see the end. An end. My end. And it will come, and soon. But that is all the more reason why we must find him. Why do you look so worried, Stratton? I did not see your end.’
Stratton wanted to tell him that where Gabriel went, he went, and that if he saw the light, heard the pop and felt the wind, then he would too, but Stratton didn’t want to even hint at the calamity. ‘As long as you’re okay to continue . . . Let’s go.’
They stepped down out of the aircraft and on to the tarmac. It was sunny but not as warm as Stratton had expected, even for a Middle East winter.
Manachem Raz sat beside his driver, both watching the two men leave the aircraft and walk towards them. Raz climbed out of the car and his driver did likewise.
Raz had been told he would be meeting two men, one British intelligence, the other American, and the Brit had the seniority. As Raz watched them approach, however, it was an unexpected picture. He had an image in his head of a slick pair of polished prep-school types but that was completely erased as this odd pair walked towards him, one old and the other more like a field operative than an intelligence officer. Raz’s eyes never left Stratton, dissecting and gauging every aspect of him, and continued to do so even when his face broke into a smile and he offered his hand.
‘Welcome to Israel,’ Raz said in strongly accented but confident English. Stratton shook his wiry hand.
‘My name is Manachem Raz.’ The words rolled off his tongue as if through a gorse bush. ‘I am head of Shin Bet, Islamic Division, Jerusalem.’
‘John Stratton, and this is Gabriel Stockton.’
Raz shook Gabriel’s hand and immediately noted how unwell and distracted he looked. ‘Can I have your passports, please?’
Stratton and Gabriel dug their passports out and handed them to Raz who quickly flipped through them, examining the pictures and details and finally checking the stamps. He looked at Stratton as if he knew the passport had just been manufactured on the C130.
‘Are you carrying arms or anything that could be considered as contraband?’ Raz asked.
‘No,’ Stratton replied.
‘Please excuse me, but we all have rules to live by.’ The driver stepped forward holding a metal detector and moved the device over Stratton, then did the same to Gabriel. He checked each time the bleep went off before continuing, finding nothing illegal. Raz kept his smiling eyes on Stratton, both aware he was merely pissing on his territory and ensuring Stratton understood who was in charge. When the driver finished, Raz stepped aside and gestured towards the car.
‘Let’s go,’ he said brusquely. ‘We can talk in the car.’
Gabriel was about to follow Raz when Stratton put a hand on his arm to stop him. ‘We’ll be there in a minute,’ he said, looking Raz in the eye. Gabriel looked between the men.
Raz understood the move was simply intended to snatch the control away from him, if only for a moment, to make a point. He admired anyone who took a stand against him but only if they could carry it off. It remained to be seen if this younger man had any metal to him.
Raz stepped away and stood beside his car out of earshot while the driver climbed inside.
‘Did Sumners ask you not to confide in the Israelis about any aspect of this operation?’
‘Yes,’ Gabriel said, then he turned to glance over at Raz who was watching them.‘This a power-pissing contest?’ Gabriel asked, seeing through Stratton’s reason for holding back a moment.
‘Something like that.’
‘He’s a pushy-looking son-of-a-bitch,’ Gabriel agreed.
‘I did want to say something to you,’ Stratton said.
‘I think you’re a brave bastard for continuing with this op, in the light of what you know. A lot of people would have folded. I’m still not sure why I’m here.’
‘Don’t bullshit me, Stratton. Anyway, this might be a bit premature. I’d like to run for the hills, and I just might yet.’
‘I’m coming with you if you do.’
Gabriel smiled, this time looking Stratton directly in the eye. Whatever he felt about Stratton, he knew he was not the kind of man who would desert a partner under any circumstances. That was no small thing. In fact it was pretty damn big in his eyes.
‘We pissed on him long enough?’ Gabriel asked, good humouredly.‘I’m looking forward to a nice bath and a comfortable bed.’
‘Yeah,’ Stratton said, tapping him on the side of his shoulder, and they headed for the car.
As Manachem Raz watched them he wondered how he was going to deal with this unexpected and, frankly, strange development. That morning, during the weekly meeting between senior members of Mossad, Shin Bet, the army and police, he had been handed this assignment which required him to look after two characters from MI6 and the CIA arriving in Israel on the scent of a Russian mercenary explosives expert. The unofficial feeling of some of the council members was that the visit was another example of the post-9/11 programme of commitment by the
