‘That’s what we saw at RAF Wittering,’ Silva said. ‘Weapons from Allied American Armaments.’
‘Unbelievable.’ Itchy turned to Silva. ‘If you had any doubts, the crate should banish them.’
‘The only doubts I have are over the intel. There’s no sign of Hope, is there?’
‘The target’s in there.’ Nasim knelt behind them. He tapped a chunky fake Rolex on his wrist. ‘You patient, please.’
They resigned themselves to waiting, ate some more food and kept hydrated. The van had been gone an hour now and Silva was beginning to wonder if they’d been sold some kind of dummy. Perhaps Hope had got wind she was in danger and had sneaked out in the back of the van. Perhaps she’d never been here at all.
Silva tried to relax. She shifted her position and peered through the rifle scope. She had a clear view of the rear veranda; if Hope came out it was a relatively simple shot. If she came out.
‘What the…’ Itchy prodded her arm and pointed. ‘What the heck are they doing here?’
Halfway up the side of the ravine that cut below the farmhouse, two figures were scrabbling across a scree face, small pieces of stone skittering down as they attempted to stay upright. Silva reached for her binoculars.
‘Shit,’ she said. ‘It’s the guys we saw at RAF Wittering.’
They’d kipped in the car, Holm having found another track running parallel to the one the van and the SUV had gone up. He reckoned they were well hidden from both the road and the settlement, but still the night was an uncomfortable one and neither he nor Javed had slept much. By six it was light and they could see the lie of the land. Fortuitously, they’d managed to park in a deep wadi that led in the general direction of what they could now see was a farmhouse with assorted buildings. Holm broke out the water and snacks and stood looking towards the farm. Karen Hope was up there. Karen Hope. Holm had to repeat the name to himself just to make sure he’d got it right and the whole thing hadn’t been a bad dream.
‘Now what?’ Javed said, munching on a dry flatbread.
‘We head up there.’ Holm gestured to the valley. ‘We need to get closer and we can’t very well go sauntering along the track.’
‘It’s like the Grand Canyon.’
‘Nonsense.’ Holm quickly judged the distance to the farm and the depth of the rift. ‘A mile along the bottom of the wadi and a short climb up. We’ll be totally out of sight all the time.’
‘And when we get to the top?’
‘We spot the weapons and see if Taher’s there. Then we call Palmer on the sat phone.’ Holm cocked his head. ‘You set?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good. Let’s go.’
An hour and a half later Holm was regretting his earlier optimism. He’d seriously underestimated the amount of effort needed to navigate their chosen route. Low scrub filled the bottom of the wadi and every step was a fight against thorns and briars. Once they were through the scrub it was no better. The sun streamed in from the southern end of the ravine, leaving no shade, and the light shale reflected the glare into Holm’s face. The heat was intense. A few metres away, Javed was moving easily across the slope of the ravine, sure-footed and seemingly expending little effort, while Holm was struggling to stay upright as the loose rock shifted beneath his feet. He turned and looked to his left where the gradient steepened. At some point they needed to go up there and he was beginning to wonder if he’d have to admit to Javed he wasn’t going to make it.
Ahead, Javed stopped. A gully ran diagonally across the face of the slope before turning upwards and disappearing into the dark shadow of a series of rock pillars.
‘There, boss.’ Javed pointed to the top of the cliffs where a cluster of olive trees stood near the edge. ‘Those trees are close to the farm. If we can manage to get up the gully we’re home.’
Home. Bloody hell, Holm thought. That’s where he’d like to be right now. Miles Davis floating through the speakers, a glass of something in his hand, a cool breeze coming in through the balcony windows of his flat.
‘Right.’ He staggered along until he was next to Javed and peered up the gully. Jagged towers of rock offered something to hold on to and provided some welcome shade. ‘Of course if someone happens to be standing at the top we’ve had it.’
Javed shrugged. Self-evident. Nothing they could do. Go on or go back. He waited until Holm nodded and began to climb.
The going wasn’t too bad to start with, but when they reached the section below the cliff face Holm found himself struggling. The rocks had appeared chunky from below, but now they were up close the hand holds were no longer so obvious. At one point he looked back the way they’d come and regretted it. Climbing down now would be next to impossible.
‘You go first.’ Javed flattened himself against a large boulder to let Holm climb past. ‘I can guide your hands and feet.’
Holm stood with one hand jammed tight in a rock crack for support. Sweat ran down his face and his shirt was sodden. If he wasn’t shot at the top or didn’t fall to his death he figured he’d have a heart attack. He nodded at Javed again, unable to speak.
After a couple of minutes to get his breath back, Holm pressed on. One step at a time, one handhold at a time.
‘A foot up and a little to your right.’ Javed’s encouragement was gentle. ‘Just below your hip.’ A nudge or a suggestion every few seconds. ‘To the left of your shoulder there’s a small ledge, see it?’
Holm nodded or grunted his replies. He focused on the rock within his immediate reach, only
