Zhilev stepped through the Zion Gate and stopped to look around. To his surprise there were no soldiers in sight. He had originally planned to enter by the Damascus Gate after completing his reconnaissance the day before, but as he walked through the entrance hall, he saw a group of Israeli soldiers and police checking people’s bags. He stopped dead. Zhilev could not afford to let anyone inspect the log now that the panel cover had broken off. He turned around, pushed through a crowd and made his way back out on to the street. Entering the city was probably the final obstacle to his target and he wanted to avoid all risks where possible. He consulted his map of the old city and considered the eight gates. It was worth checking the other seven.
He headed east towards the Herod Gate, decided to ignore it because it was too close to the Damascus Gate and turned the corner of the city walls towards the Golden Gate. That entrance was closed and so he continued south to the next corner and then west towards the Dung Gate.
A couple of soldiers were sitting outside the gate enjoying a smoke and although several people passed through without being stopped, Zhilev decided to carry on and check out the last four. If they were fouled, he would head back to the Dung Gate and try his luck with the smokers.
At the southernmost point of the city, the Zion Gate was practically deserted. He had not reconnoitred this section but the map was detailed enough to lead him to where he wanted to go. It showed he was in the Armenian quarter and he set off, following the walkways east a few yards then turned north for several hundred more until he reached the Holy Sepulchre, the church built around Calvary and where Jesus was nailed to the cross.
Zhilev stopped to check his map, completely ignoring a man trying to get him to step into his shop to look at his selection of carpets. Zhilev did not have far to go. He looked ahead to where the short walkway disappeared around a corner and set off, leaving the carpet salesman, already depressed by the scarcity of tourists, to limp back to his shop. This was a quiet part of the city with no one else around and as Zhilev turned the corner, he literally bumped into a couple of soldiers coming in the other direction, nearly knocking one of them over.
‘
The soldier regained his composure as his two friends looked on, one somewhat accusingly at Zhilev, the other grinning at his friend’s misfortune.
‘
‘Yes,’ Zhilev replied. ‘I’m sorry,’ he repeated. ‘I did not see you.’
‘Where are you from?’ the soldier asked in a guttural accent. It was obvious to Zhilev this boy had not learned his Russian in the Motherland and was no doubt the son of one of the many immigrants who had come to Israel.
‘Latvia,’ Zhilev said.
‘So you’re not real Russian then,’ the soldier said with an attitude.
It did not faze Zhilev in the slightest, and not just because he wanted to be on his way as soon as possible and without any fuss. He hated being talked to rudely by children, especially when they carried guns, but his contempt for this little one was such that he was not inclined to waste any anger on him.
‘I feel Russian,’ Zhilev said, forcing a smile which did not produce a likewise response from the soldier.
‘Where are you going in such a hurry?’ the soldier asked.
‘I’m not in a hurry. I was reading my map and did not see you.’
‘What are you looking for?’
Zhilev glanced around at the other two soldiers who had continued on their way behind him and did not appear to share their friend’s interest.
‘Nothing in particular,’ Zhilev said. ‘I’m just enjoying the city.’
‘What’s in the bag?’
Zhilev’s temperature went up a notch though his eyes remained steady. He took the bag off his shoulder. ‘Memorabilia.’
‘You know there are some things you cannot take out of Israel,’ the soldier said, being a pain.
‘No, I did not.’
‘Holy relics. Everyone comes here expecting to take something home but for some pieces you need special permission. What have you got?’
‘A piece of wood,’ Zhilev said, his smile appearing again.
‘Wood?’
‘Yes. I picked it up from a forest by the Dead Sea. My sister likes to carve and I thought it would be nice to have something carved from a piece of wood from the Holy Land.’
The soldier was untouched by Zhilev’s efforts to portray himself as a sensitive individual.
‘Let me see it,’ the soldier demanded.
Zhilev held the neck of his bag open. The soldier leaned over to examine the contents but was not satisfied, that or he was being deliberately obtrusive.
‘Take it out,’ he said coldly, transferring his Uzi sub-machine gun to his left hand so that he could wipe his nose with the sleeve of his right.
Zhilev didn’t move, staring into the soldier’s eyes. ‘Yoni, let’s go,’ one of the other soldiers called out from behind Zhilev. They had moved further around the corner and were only just in view.
‘One minute,’ the soldier said to them. ‘I want to see it,’ he said to Zhilev.
Zhilev slowly bent over and put the bag on the floor, glancing to his side long enough to see the other two soldiers inching away around the corner, engrossed in their conversation. He reached into the bag with both hands, gripped the log, slowly pulled it out and stood upright.
The soldier looked at the log and then at Zhilev with a smirk. ‘You’re carrying around a block of wood,’ he said, emphasising the stupidity of it.
The soldier put his hand on the log and rubbed the bark then pulled on the bottom of it to turn it over, but Zhilev held it firmly. The soldier looked at him with an annoyed expression.
‘Turn it over,’ he said.
Zhilev glanced over his shoulder to see the other two had moved out of sight and he did not waste a second. With lightning speed his hand gripped the soldier around the throat so strongly the man’s tongue flew out and he dropped the Uzi on its harness to grab Zhilev’s hands. Zhilev walked quickly forward, pushing the soldier ahead of him who stumbled backwards trying desperately to pull the vice from his throat. Zhilev held him like a rag doll and shoved him round a corner into a narrower walkway. The soldier could feel the life draining from him as his brain screamed for the oxygen that was being restricted because of the grip on his carotid artery. His hands flicked down to his Uzi and fumbled to get a hold of it but they were torn between removing the hand around his neck and gripping the gun. Before he could wrap his fingers around the weapon grip, Zhilev raised the log and brought it crashing down on to the soldier’s skull with tremendous force, splitting the skin open and severing the artery that runs around the outside of the skull.The blow cracked the log open and a chunk of it flew off to expose a dull metal sphere. Blood immediately spurted over Zhilev and he raised the device to hit the soldier once again, but he felt the man’s weight increase as his knees gave out. The soldier let go of his weapon and his hands dropped to his sides as the nerves ceased to send signals to his muscles.
Zhilev had to move quickly. He let the soldier drop unconscious to the ground, blood seeping from the wound on his head, and unceremoniously yanked the Uzi strap from around his neck, then ran past the walkway where the other soldiers were standing, and through an arch that led to the market beneath the buildings.
The soldiers, who had returned to see what was keeping their colleague, saw the walkway empty, then Zhilev run across the end of it. Their instincts immediately cried alarm and they hurried to the junction. On seeing their colleague lying on the ground they ran to him to find he was not breathing. One pulled the soldier on to his back to try and revive him while the other set off in pursuit of Zhilev.
The soldier ran into the market tunnel, the M16 in his shoulder ready to fire, and stopped to scan about. The tunnel ran straight in both directions and was not very crowded in this section, a handful of Palestinians going about their business, but there was no sign of the large Russian. It seemed impossible in the short space of time, but he had disappeared.
Raz’s car arrived at the street above the Damascus Gate and pulled to a stop, blocking traffic. Ignoring the honking horns he climbed out and made his way to the top of the steps. He was met by one of his agents who
