Chris Ryan - Killing for the Company

There was a pause. Luke could feel his blood pumping in his veins.

‘I thought you’d be pleased,’ she said, though her voice didn’t indicate that she cared either way. ‘And you should know I don’t like loose ends.’

‘Was the kid really necessary? The old woman? And the priest, for heaven’s sake?’

The woman made a sound almost as if she was spitting. ‘Don’t give me that,’ she said, her voice full of derision. ‘What difference do they make?’

‘Four bodies attract more attention than one,’ Stratton retorted.

‘It would be better,’ the woman said, ‘if I worried about what I’m good at.’

‘Are you sure nobody saw you?’ Stratton persisted.

A pause.

‘Don’t try my patience, old man.’

‘ Are you sure nobody saw you? ’

‘Have I come all the way to Jerusalem to hear you complain?’

‘You’ve come to Jerusalem because I told you to.’ Stratton had raised his voice slightly. ‘Don’t forget who you are working for.’

‘ Quiet! ’ The woman’s voice was little more than a whisper.

A brief silence. ‘For crying out loud, woman. Put that weapon away.’

The woman didn’t reply. Suddenly Luke heard her footsteps again. They were coming in his direction.

He moved his left arm very slowly, so as not to make a noise, and felt for the safety catch on his 53. His fingers pinched the switch and turned it very gently.

The footsteps grew nearer, perhaps five metres. Luke saw a shadow on the colourful pattern of the stained glass. He could determine the outline of a person, with a weapon in their outstretched hand. He prepared himself for it to go noisy.

‘ Maya! ’ Stratton sounded almost schoolmasterly. ‘There’s nobody in this church. It’s been checked. Now get back here. We haven’t got much time.’

Silence.

The shadow receded, but one word echoed in Luke’s head just as surely as it echoed softly around the church.

Maya.

For a moment he was no longer in Jerusalem. He was many miles further east, by the side of the road in Iraq, at night. A gravely wounded Mossad operative was shaking in the car. He was close to death, and knew it.

You must find her. You must tell her what I did.

Luke shook his head as the memory came flooding back. What did it mean?

And then Stratton was speaking again. ‘Do you know where we are?’

‘Of course I know where we are,’ the woman replied.

‘But do you really know? Here, at the foot of the Mount of Olives. Do you really know where you are, Maya?’

‘What are you talking about?’

Footsteps again. But not towards Luke this time. Away from him. He pictured Stratton hurrying up to the altar. ‘The Book of Daniel,’ he announced loudly. ‘It tells us it is here that the End Times will start. It’s quite clear about that, Maya. Quite clear.’

‘Keep your voice down,’ the Israeli hissed.

‘There are two bone-headed men with guns obeying my orders to guard the entrance,’ Stratton replied. ‘Nobody will come.’

‘You don’t know the risk I take being here.’

When Stratton spoke again, there was a quiet fervour in his voice. ‘Tell me, Maya. Do you want to be part of history?’

Footsteps again — quick and deliberate, but this time most definitely heading away from Luke.

‘ Move! ’ Maya Bloom said. ‘There’s a room at the back. If you trust your two guards, you’re an idiot.’

There was a shuffling sound.

And then silence. A thick, impenetrable silence that seemed to suffuse the whole place. Luke realised he was sweating profusely. He returned his 53 to the safe position. Then, very slowly, he peered round the corner of the pillar. Stratton was nowhere to be seen. Nor was Maya Bloom.

Luke wanted to follow them, but something held him back. Stalking Stratton was one thing; stalking a Mossad agent was quite another. Maya Bloom must have heard or seen something just now. If he pushed his luck, they’d be on to him. Given what he’d just heard, that wasn’t an option.

But something was happening. Luke didn’t know what, but it involved Alistair Stratton and it involved Maya Bloom. With Suze McArthur dead, he was the only one on to them.

Luke looked back towards the entrance to the church. He should get out of there — he’d pushed his luck already and if those two caught him there’d be fireworks. But something held him back. He had to know more. It was ten metres from here to the altar, to the left of which he saw a wooden door. He moved quietly towards it; seconds later he had his body pressed against the front wall of the church and was listening intently.

Maya Bloom was silent, but Luke could hear Stratton’s voice. He was talking quietly and the sound was muffled. Luke tried hard, but he couldn’t make anything out. Silence. Bloom spoke. Her voice was slightly clearer. ‘Where?’ she said.

It was about five seconds before Stratton replied, and because his response was just two words, clearly spoken, Luke reckoned he caught it: ‘Here. Jerusalem.’

Another silence, longer than the last.

‘When?’

The reply was indistinct again. If he hadn’t heard the word spoken at the briefing back in Hereford he’d probably have missed it.

‘Hanukkah.’

Another pause.

Stratton’s voice again: ‘The first day of the celebrations. One hour before midday.’

And then footsteps.

Luke sprinted lightly back to the column where he’d been hiding, then gave himself five seconds to listen. Nothing. And so, keeping in the shadows along the side of the church, he hurried silently back to the entrance.

A noise from the altar end. He froze. Stay fucking still, he told himself. If he moved, even slightly, he’d be clocked.

They were re-entering the main body of the church: Bloom first, Stratton second. Bloom was moving swiftly and even from this distance Luke could see that her face was severe. She turned to look at Stratton. He was strangely expressionless and for a few seconds an unanswered question seemed to hang in the air.

And then she turned. Without saying a word, she disappeared into the shadows beyond the altar. Stratton watched her go. For a dread-filled moment, he thought Stratton would see him. But he didn’t. Instead he faced the altar and bowed his head in quiet reverence.

Luke took his chance. He slipped towards the exit and seconds later he was outside, in the bright sunlight.

Finn looked narked. He raised an eyebrow, clearly waiting for some sort of explanation of what his mate had just seen. But at that very moment Stratton stormed out of the church. He walked straight past them both without acknowledging their presence, and headed towards the exit of the Garden of Gethsemane.

‘Wanker,’ Finn muttered.

‘Wanker doesn’t come close.’ Together they followed their principal through the gnarled olive groves. As they went, Luke activated his comms. ‘Zero, this is Tango 17,’ he spoke into his radio mike. ‘The Cardinal’s leaving the garden now. We’re on our way.’

A brief pause and his earpiece crackled again.

‘Tango 17, this is Zero. Understood.’ A pause and then: ‘Get a fucking move on, Tango 17. This little detour’s already cost us two hours.’

Ten metres ahead, Stratton was walking through the gate and out into the street.

‘Roger that,’ Luke said. He gripped his 53 a little firmer. A voice in his head told him he might be needing it very soon.

The young Palestinian crouched deep underground. He was sweating. Not because he was hot — there was no warmth down here — but because he was scared.

He could hear the scratching of rodents both behind him and up ahead, and occasionally he would see a scrawny rat scurrying in the beam of the battery-operated torch he was using to light his way. He didn’t like rats. The thought of their long, sinewy tails brushing against his skin made him shudder and he knew the stench that reeked in his nostrils was their droppings.