set him up and that this man had come to execute him. Abed had accepted the probability of one day paying for his crime and was strangely prepared for it.

‘I led the mission,’ Abed said firmly but without any hint of pride.

Stratton walked across the room and joined Abed at the window as he pondered this information, searching for a use for Abed. One thing immediately struck him. Abed might have seen the engineer; Zhilev was virtually his twin. It was always difficult to identify a person from a photograph unless that person had some highly distinguishing features. Zhilev and his brother were large, powerful men, but someone who had seen them in the flesh, the way they moved, their features from angles other than that in the photograph, would have an advantage when it came to recognition. He was clutching at straws, but he could see no other use for Abed at the moment.

Stratton reached into his pocket and took out the photograph of Zhilev. ‘Do you recognise this man?’

Abed took the picture, studied it, then handed it back to Stratton.

‘He looks like the engineer on the tanker. Is that who it is?’

Stratton stared into Abed’s eyes, looking for something, and he was sure he had found it when Abed could not hold his gaze. A picture flashed into his head of the engineer, draped over the pipes, his neck cut to the bone and almost beheaded. A feeling of disgust grew in him but he could not bring himself to feel hate, which he should have done. It was more than just the guilt in Abed’s eyes that mellowed Stratton. Even though they had exchanged but a few words, Stratton could sense a strength in him. He stood confidently, but not defiantly, and he spoke softly without guarding his words, as if he had nothing to hide. It was an honesty that came only with youth.The Arab did not appear to be a cold-blooded, fanatical killer. But then again, Stratton asked himself, what did he know about these people? He fancied himself a good judge of character in the business of soldiering and terrorism. He had had enough experience. But he had also made mistakes in the past.

It suddenly dawned on Stratton Abed’s true value, and why Sumners’ boss had brought him so hurriedly on to the assignment.Abed had killed Zhilev’s brother and was the reason why the Russian was walking around with a nuclear bomb looking to blow it up somewhere in the Middle East. If the opportunity arose, Zhilev might take the Arab in exchange for the bomb. Abed was a tool, and in the right circumstances, a very useful one.

‘This man is the engineer’s brother,’ Stratton said. ‘I need your help in finding him.’

Abed looked at Stratton, suddenly curious about him on a different level. He looked tired, but not for lack of sleep. It was the fatigue of someone old who had seen enough of life, but this man was young.The eyes were a window to a man’s soul, and Stratton’s were strong and unwavering, those of a man who led rather than followed; but there was something else in them that he had seen in only a few men before. He was inviting and approachable, but there was an undeniable warning not to cross his line. Everything about him, his strength, his spirit, the way he stood, threatened to ruin anyone who tried.

‘Why?’ Abed asked.

‘Because of what you did to his brother he has become very dangerous.’

‘How is he dangerous?’

‘I believe he wants to start a holy war between Islam and the West.’

‘He’s too late,’ Abed said, without intending to sound flippant.

‘This isn’t a war. It might be the beginning of one, but it’s not war. Not yet. This man can start one.’

Abed believed what the Englishman was saying and wanted to ask how one man could achieve such a powerful thing, but he knew he would not find out now, not here at least. He had no choice, no matter what this man wanted of him. He was here to barter for his freedom, and that meant servitude. They held his life in their hands and he had to do their bidding whether he liked it or not, trusted them or not, whatever the task.

‘Can I see the picture again?’ Abed asked.

Stratton handed it to him and Abed studied it more closely.

‘His name is Zhilev,’ Stratton said. ‘He’s a little broader than his brother and far more dangerous.’

‘More dangerous?’ Abed said. ‘I hope you have a gun when you meet him.’

No, but I have you, Stratton thought to himself.

Finding this man was obviously of great importance to the English and if Abed could help them, he would be helping himself. ‘Where do we start to look?’

‘We have to get to Jerusalem first.’

Abed ignored the fears he had of staying in this country where he was exposed to his greatest and most dangerous enemy, and concentrated on the positive aspects of succeeding in this mission.

‘Where do you live?’ Stratton asked.

‘Lebanon.’

‘How did you get into Palestine?’

‘I have false papers.’

‘You couldn’t have known about this meeting more than twenty-four hours ago. What are you doing here?’

‘My mother has been ill. She died yesterday,’ Abed said, unable to conceal his sadness. ‘I could not risk trying to get into Gaza but friends are bringing out some things from our house and I came to take them home with me.’

Stratton did not care about Abed’s loss and paused to consider his next move. ‘Let’s go,’ he finally said, and headed for the door. Abed followed.

Five minutes later they were back at the car where Morgan was waiting for them. Stratton climbed in and did not introduce Abed who got into the back.

‘We need to get back into Jerusalem but not through the checkpoint,’ he said to Morgan.

Morgan glanced over his shoulder at the Arab just long enough to be able to recognise him if he saw him again.

‘There’s only one way I know of,’ Morgan said. ‘Through the old quarry. It comes out right behind the Kalandia checkpoint - the Jerusalem side of it.’

‘Problems?’ Stratton asked.

‘I’ve never done it but I know people who have. A couple of Brit peace nuts who are banned from Ramallah by the IDF got in a few nights ago. The soldiers don’t watch it because it passes right under a settlement. Those fucking settlers are more dangerous than the soldiers. They shoot first and don’t even bother to ask questions later.’

‘Anyone done it in daylight?’

‘A year ago four Frog journalists tried it. All of ’em were shot and they only lived because the IDF came along to check on the settlers’ handiwork and found ’em.’

This was not sounding encouraging. ‘Any other options?’ Stratton asked.

‘None that I know of. I could find out.’

‘We don’t have time. Let’s take a look.’

Morgan started the engine, turned the car in the road to avoid the busy marketplace and cut down a rugged, trash-strewn side street, scattering several skinny dogs fighting over a chicken carcass.

Five minutes later they arrived on the edge of the northern part of the town. Morgan killed the engine and they remained in the car.

‘That gap in the wall,’ Morgan said, indicating the other side of the road with a jut of his chin. ‘Go through it and just follow the track and after a couple hundred yards you’ll find yourself overlooking the quarry. Head down into it soon as you can and follow the lowest line through.You can’t miss the settlement. It’ll be right above you surrounded by a big fuckoff wall and razor wire. That’s your main problem. Once that place is out of sight you’re laughin’.’

Stratton looked at the gap in the wall, then over his shoulder at Abed who stared coldly at him.

Stratton opened the door and paused to look back at Morgan, studying his nose and ears. ‘Nice job,’ he said.

‘I saved ’em for you,’ Morgan said, indicating a chewing-gum wrapper on the dash with a pile of curly black hairs in it.

‘You’re a pig, Morgan.’

Morgan grinned.

‘Let’s go,’ Stratton said to Abed and climbed out of the car. Abed made his way across the road to the gap in

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