Chris Ryan - Killing for the Company

Twenty seconds later Maya Bloom was standing right in front of him. ‘If you try to run,’ she shouted, ‘they’ll shoot you.’

‘What the fuck have you told them?’

‘The truth,’ she replied loudly. ‘That you’re a terrorist.’ She nodded at the guards, who pushed Luke away from the wall towards her. She was close now, less than half a metre. ‘If you don’t do what I tell you,’ she said so that only Luke could hear, ‘neither of us will get out of the plaza alive. I promise they’ll kill you if I give the word.’

Luke believed her.

They moved in convoy — the two soldiers a metre behind Luke, Maya a metre in front, barking instructions at the crowd to let them through. The terrified people parted when they saw that the soldiers had a prisoner. It took less than thirty seconds to cover half the length of the plaza, by which time the chopper had set down ten metres to Luke’s right. He saw troops spilling out from either side: their cutaway Kevlar helmets, M4s and chest rigs confirmed that they were SF. He briefly considered getting their attention, but as soon as the thought entered his mind, Maya Bloom was alongside him. ‘Don’t make a mistake,’ she spat. ‘One step wrong and I’ll tell them to shoot you.’ She looked back over her shoulder and barked at the soldiers, who prodded Luke like he was cattle, urging him to move faster.

Forty metres from the wall and suddenly another six soldiers, wild-eyed and confused, were in front of them. Maya Bloom issued more instructions, and immediately they marched ahead, screaming at the crowds to let them through. Luke barely heard the chopper or the crowds. All his attention, all his focus, was on the woman. What was she doing? What was she orchestrating? Why was she setting things up to allow Luke to escape too?

Perhaps she didn’t want him to start telling the authorities what he knew about her. Even if he were dead, his corpse would be identified and this might set up a trail that would lead to her.

Luke saw the security gates twenty metres ahead. People crowding to get out. The six new IDF men rushed forwards and started clearing the way; as they did so, Maya Bloom looked back at him. It was a deadly look. He decided she intended to get him out of the way, so she could dispose of him.

The convoy triggered the alarm on the security gates as it went through, which did nothing but add to the general sense of panic. On the other side, the area between the plaza entrance and the Dung Gate was a confusion of people — families and friends looking for each other, kids on their own crying, traditionally dressed Hassidim hurrying away from the danger area. There had to be more than a couple of hundred people, Luke reckoned, and he could lose himself among them in seconds, safe in the knowledge that the soldiers wouldn’t open fire on the public.

But he wasn’t going to do that. Lose Maya Bloom now and he’d never find her again. She had too many questions to answer.

She was clever. She’d manoeuvred them out of the plaza — a place they’d never otherwise have escaped from. Now he had to second-guess her next move. If he could escape into the crowd now, so could she. But if she wanted him dead, she had to do it before she disappeared.

If Luke was right, she was about to make an attempt on his life.

She barked at the soldiers to stop when they were fifteen metres from the security gates. She turned to face them and there was a brief moment of stillness that allowed Luke to take in his position.

Maya Bloom didn’t hesitate. She strode up to one of the two soldiers who had Luke at gunpoint and barked at him. He and the other soldier looked at each other nervously. When she shouted again, to Luke’s amazement the first soldier lowered his weapon and handed it to her.

She turned, assault rifle in hand. Passers-by, when they saw what was happening, moved quickly from the area and now there was a clearing a good fifteen metres in diameter around them. Maya Bloom continued to speak to the soldiers. All eight of them had her attention now and it was clear from her voice and their movements that she was instructing them to return to the plaza.

The ranking Mossad agent, organising the troops while she arrested the enemy.

Only Maya Bloom wasn’t Mossad. Not any more. And her attention wasn’t really on the IDF soldiers. It was firmly fixed on Luke.

‘Move,’ she said. ‘Hands on your head.’ She nodded in the direction of the Old Town.

Luke was at gunpoint. He had no option. He turned and walked.

Twenty seconds later they were in a long, narrow street and moving against the crowds, who clearly knew something was going down and were rushing to get out of the Old Town. Luke heard people shouting as they saw him being marched down the road at gunpoint, but no one tried to step in. They weren’t that stupid. They just wanted to get away.

Luke knew he only had minutes. Maya Bloom wouldn’t execute him in front of everyone, but the moment they were alone he was a dead man unless he did something…

They passed a side street to their left. It was deserted, and Maya Bloom shouted at him to turn into it. And when a long, narrow alleyway — much like the one where Luke had cached his Sig the night before, and completely deserted — emerged fifty metres down on their right, she again ordered, ‘Turn!’

Luke felt himself tense up. As he rounded the corner he suddenly crouched, turned and jutted out his right foot so it connected sharply with the woman’s left shin. Gunshot. The noise of the round echoed, but by that time Luke was on her. He hurled himself forward and thudded the heel of his fist directly against her right breast. She gasped and for a fraction of a second she was disabled.

And that was all Luke needed.

He pulled the rifle from her grasp and quickly, brutally, whacked the butt against the side of her head. Maya Bloom staggered. By the time she had her balance again the tables were turned. Luke was in control. She was at gunpoint.

Luke said nothing. He just pointed down the empty side street and she understood. She walked slowly until she couldn’t walk any more: a dead end, twenty-five metres further down.

Maya Bloom stopped and turned. She looked up and around, taking in her new surroundings: the cobbled ground; the ramshackle buildings on either side, three storeys high; the metal bins stashed outside the doorways on either side, each one about ten metres apart; the thin dog sniffing around one of these bins, oblivious to everything.

‘Get to your knees. Hands behind your head,’ Luke said.

She did it slowly. With him standing five metres from her, the rifle aimed at her face, it was clear she had no choice.

There was a moment of silence.

‘Who the hell are you?’ she demanded. ‘Why did you attack me on the roof?’

‘Why did you take out the last bomber?’ Luke retorted. ‘I was with Stratton in Gethsemane. I heard you planning this.’

She sneered. ‘You’re even more of an imbecile than I thought. I would never be involved in something like this…’

‘Bullshit. The train bombings,’ Luke replied flatly. ‘You were there. I heard you discussing them with Stratton.’

Maya Bloom’s face suddenly filled with fury. ‘The train bombings,’ she spat back, ‘were different.’

‘Suicide bombs, hundreds dead. Can’t see the difference myself.’

‘You wouldn’t understand.’

‘Try me.’

She stared defiantly at him. When she spoke it was in little more than a whisper. ‘I was helping Israel’s enemies attack her allies. That way the world would turn against them…’

Luke stared at her. ‘I don’t believe you.’

Suddenly, though, she was raging. ‘Why would I attack my own people on their most sacred site? What do you think I was doing on the roof in the first place? If you hadn’t fucked things up, I could have taken out the bombers before they even got through the gate.’ Her eyes were filled with contempt. ‘I thought Stratton had the same agenda as me. That’s what he told me. To mobilise the West against the Arabs. But in Gethsemane…’ Luke saw her nostrils flare. ‘In Gethsemane it turned out he’s out of control. He wants to start a war in Jerusalem. He’s a madman… a fucking millennialist… he thinks he can bring about the Second Coming. I told him I wanted nothing to do with it.’