Will Adams - Newton’s Fire

‘I think so.’

‘What’s going on? Are we off to Israel?’

‘As far as I can tell.’

‘But why ? All this mayhem, all this secrecy …’ She shook her head. ‘It makes no sense.’

Luke grimaced. ‘There’s a Jewish tradition that the Third Temple won’t be built until the Ark has been found and returned to Jerusalem. But the Ark isn’t enough by itself. The ground has to be cleared first. There’s a Dome on it, remember?’

‘Oh, Christ,’ muttered Rachel. ‘You think that’s what Jay’s uncle is up to?’

‘Can’t you imagine it?’ said Luke. ‘The Ark arriving at the Temple Mount at the very moment Jay’s uncle brings down the Dome? It will look as though it was the Ark that did it, just like at Jericho. True believers everywhere will see it as the will of God.’

‘Muslims won’t,’ muttered Rachel. ‘There’ll be war.’

‘Armageddon, more like,’ said Luke. ‘If ever there’s been a self-fulfilling prophecy, that’s the one.’

‘They can’t be that crazy, can they?’ asked Rachel, looking around. ‘I mean Jay and his uncle, maybe. But these other guys, they hardly seem like religious fanatics, do they?’

‘I guess they do whatever Croke tells them.’

‘But he doesn’t look that way either.’

‘He must have his reasons.’

‘Yes. But what?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Maybe we should ask him when we next see him,’ suggested Rachel wryly.

‘Yes,’ agreed Luke. ‘Maybe we should.’

The al-Haddad Gate was in the Muslim quarter of the Old City, making it more difficult for Avram and his comrades to reach unnoticed. But it was worth the extra trouble, for the approach had a kink in it, depriving the Waqf nightwatchmen of line of sight on the Israeli police guardpost at the other end.

Avram shuffled his way past the mouth of the alley, an old man of no conceivable threat making his way home after a late dinner. A short distance behind, Danel and his teams of street-cleaners rattled their dust carts across the old stones. Danel paused for a cigarette as he passed the guardpost, but his lighter only sprayed sparks. He glanced at the policemen, held up his cigarette, raised an eyebrow.

‘You guys are working late,’ grunted one of them, taking a matchbook from his pocket.

‘This damned earthquake,’ said Danel. ‘No one knows what’s going on any more.’

‘Tell me about it.’

The clatter of carts drowned out the faint noise of Shlomo and his men approaching through the shadows. The guardpost was swarmed in an instant, hands over all the policemen’s mouths.

‘Don’t be heroes,’ warned Danel.

Tranquillizer guns spat into their necks. They held them till they slumped, laid them in the shadows. Up went the dust cart lids, out came the assault weapons and the packs. They peeled off and discarded their outer garb, put on body-armour and infrared bibs that looked dark to the naked eye but which glowed brightly through their night-vision goggles, cutting the risk of friendly fire. They shouldered their packs, tightened straps. The moment Danel gave Avram the thumbs-up, he sent his prepared text message winging through the night to the Mount of Olives, where Ana, Ruth and Nathaniel were waiting.

Just a few more seconds and the fireworks would begin for real.

Walters tried to kill time with a movie, but nothing held his interest. Luke and Rachel were like food stuck between his teeth — impossible to get out of his mind until they’d been dealt with. They’d be landing in Israel soon, and the Israelis weren’t exactly famous for letting aircraft in without knowing exactly who was on board. And how the hell were they going to make Luke and Rachel disappear after that?

He headed forwards, knocked on Croke’s door, and went in. Croke looked up irritably from some paperwork. ‘What?’ he asked.

‘Our guests,’ said Walters.

‘I told you I’d take care of them.’

‘Yes, but if the Israelis find them on board, we-’

‘They won’t. They’ll be gone before then.’

‘How?’

Croke sighed. ‘Haven’t you noticed our cargo hold? We can depressurize at altitude, dump stuff out; stuff that’s been wrapped well and weighted to sink and stay sunk. Then we can pressurize again before we land.’

‘We’re dumping them? Where?’

‘Where do you think?’ His TV was tuned to a 24-hour news channel, its volume down. Now he flipped to a flight map showing their position and course. A single glance was all it took to see that there was only one body of water up to the job: the Mediterranean. ‘The Aegean’s no good,’ said Croke. ‘Too many islands. Too many shallows. So we’ll have to wait until we’re somewhere south-west of Cyprus.’

‘What about Kohen?’ asked Walters. ‘He’ll squeal if his friends go missing.’

‘Not if we dump him too.’

‘What about his uncle?’

‘He won’t give a shit, trust me. He only cares about the Ark. Once he sees it on Jewish soil, he’ll do his part.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘I’m sure.’

Walters nodded. ‘Until the Mediterranean, then.’

Nathaniel had jacked up the right back wheel of the truck in order to change the tyre and so give Ana and Ruth cover to unload the Predator missiles and carry them down into the Jewish cemetery. It was a delicate operation, for a contingent of Israeli Defense Force light infantry were stationed in the Valley of Jehoshaphat, close enough that Nathaniel and the women could hear snatches of their conversation and laughter, see the occasional orange firefly of a cigarette.

Nathaniel had set his cellphone to mute. Now it began to vibrate. His heart seemed almost to vibrate in sympathy with it. He checked the message to make sure. Yes. His hands were clammy as he made his way to join the women.

‘Is it time?’ asked Ruth.

‘It’s time,’ said Nathaniel.

This latest generation of Predator missiles had GPS capability. All nine were already on, programmed and ready to fire. They shouldered one each. The night was sparkling clear, the golden bulb of the Dome brilliantly lit. It usually made Nathaniel feel sick to see it, to see Islam lording it over Judaism like that; but tonight it felt righteous.

Ana gave the countdown in a quiet, calm voice:

‘Three.

‘Two.

‘One.

‘Fire.’

The noise of the triple discharge was quite something. The cemetery lit up orange and the three fat missiles flew with surprising slowness across the valley. They didn’t watch them, however, but threw away the empty Predator husks, shouldered and fired another missile each. Now they unleashed the third and final set. Remarkably, all nine were on their way before the first ones struck.

Electricity for the Temple Mount was routed through two generator buildings on the northern wall. Both buildings were destroyed in an instant by the first salvo. The whole Temple Mount lit up like a fiesta in silent eruptions. The spotlights on the Dome stuttered and went dark. Only now did the triple booms reach them across the valley. By coincidence, they synchronized almost perfectly with the impact of the second volley. The Temple Mount’s Golden Gate had been walled up centuries before. As the second tranche of missiles slammed into it, the vast old stones staggered yet somehow stayed standing. Then the final volley struck and the ancient structure collapsed in an avalanche of rubble that cascaded down through the Arab cemetery onto the road below.

The last of the explosions died away. The noise of gunfire reached them. It sounded strangely trivial in comparison. At first it was erratic but they quickly got a fix on their position. They knelt and raised their hands high above their heads. ‘Don’t shoot!’ they yelled. ‘We surrender! We surrender!’ Their voices were drowned out by the thunder of copter blades. Spotlights dazzled them in the darkness. They braced themselves for bullets; but the bullets never came. Soldiers swarmed up the hillside and slammed them face-first into the ground. They tied their wrists behind their backs with flexi-cuffs and marched them down the slope. But the three of them smiled in triumph as they went. Their job was done.