A kilometre from the border, Luke pulled over. There was no cover in the vicinity, and he was forced to ditch the car among the brush just four or five metres from the road. He looked at Finn, his face grim, and nodded.
‘Get out!’ he told Abu Famir.
‘What is happening?’
‘Get out!’
‘I refuse to…’
Luke held his Sig up against the Iraqi’s head.
‘I’m not fucking around, old man. If you want to shoot the shit with Allah, stay where you are. Otherwise, get out of the car. Now.’
Abu Famir stared at the silenced Sig, his eyes bulging. His hand felt for the door lever and he quickly scrambled out of the car, slamming the door behind him. He went and stood about five metres away, close enough for Luke to keep an eye on, far enough away to be out of earshot.
There was a moment of silence. And then, from behind the veil of the burka, Amit spoke. ‘You’re going to… to kill me now?’ His voice was thin and shaky. It was clearly a struggle for him to say even a single word.
‘We have to go cross-country,’ Luke said. ‘You’re too weak. You won’t make it.’
Amit’s body was trembling. ‘Take this thing off my head,’ he said.
Luke pointed his weapon at Amit and nodded at Finn to do as the man had asked. Even in the darkness of the car they could tell that Amit was on the way out. His eyes were glazed, his skin corpse-white. He appeared to be staring into the middle distance, every breath an effort, and for a moment Luke thought the delirium had returned. He became horribly aware of the cars passing them, just five or six metres from their position. Each time one went past, the interior of the Toyota lit up, then faded into darkness. It would only take one of them to stop and see if they needed help, and then…
Amit spoke again.
‘Abu Famir has to get out.’
‘That’s the plan, buddy,’ said Luke.
‘You’re… you’re British special forces, right?’ Neither of them replied. It didn’t seem to bother Amit. ‘Can you do it? Can you get him across-country?’
‘We can try.’
A passing car slowed down, but then sped up again.
‘I’m going to die, aren’t I? Of my wounds, I mean.’
A pause.
‘You’re in bad shape, buddy.’ Luke glanced at Finn, then back at Amit. ‘You want me to end it now? It’ll be quick.’
Amit swallowed. His breath became a bit shorter, and he shook his head. ‘It’s my job to ensure Abu Famir is safe.’
‘Who are you working for?’ Luke demanded. ‘You might as well tell us, mate. Seems we’re both trying to do the same thing.’
Amit closed his eyes. ‘For the Institute… Mossad. For Israel.’
Luke’s mind began to click through the gears. Israel was top of Saddam’s hit list. He’d demonstrated that before Desert Storm, when he’d started chucking scuds in the general direction of Tel Aviv.
‘Saddam would bomb my people again if he could,’ said Amit. ‘It’s my duty to ensure that the West invades…’ He opened his eyes again. ‘Perhaps you do not understand…’
It didn’t matter if Luke understood or not. This was only going to end one way. ‘You’re not coming with us, buddy. I’m sorry…’
‘For fuck’s sake, Luke,’ Finn cut in. ‘We can’t hang about.’
Luke nodded. What Finn hadn’t said — what he hadn’t needed to say — was that they couldn’t leave Amit alive. It would be easy for the enemy to torture their plans out of him.
‘Do it,’ Finn said.
‘Wait…’ Amit’s plea left him breathless. ‘I can help you.’
‘You’re a bit past that, mate.’
‘Listen to me. I can drive the car to the border. Cause a distraction.’
Luke and Finn exchanged a glance. ‘Go on.’
‘Do you have explosives?’
Luke nodded.
‘What do you have?’
‘C4. Frags. White phos.’
Amit nodded. His eyes flickered from one man to the other. And then, in his breathless, stilted way, he continued to speak.
Two minutes later Luke and Finn were standing five metres from the car, rifles slung round their necks and frowns on their foreheads. Four or five klicks to the east, they could see a chopper still circling, and on the highway one or two vehicles were still passing every minute.
They spoke in low whispers. ‘Do you trust him?’ Finn asked.
‘We haven’t got much choice.’ He looked towards the border. ‘There’s no way we’ll get through there. We either slot Amit now, or we…’
Or we what? The checkpoint was a kilometre to the west. If he, Finn and Abu Famir headed in a north-westerly direction, they would have to cover about a klick and a half if they wanted to intersect the border a kilometre to the north of the checkpoint. That would take about fifteen minutes, but the choppers and border-control vehicles would have a high chance of finding them. They needed a distraction. Something to focus the attention of the enemy on a position where the SAS men and their Iraqi passenger wouldn’t be. Something to give them a window of opportunity. And it was exactly that which Amit was offering.
‘He’s a good man,’ Luke murmured. ‘Don’t know if I’d have the balls…’
‘We need to make a decision now,’ Finn said.
A pause.
Luke nodded. ‘Let’s do it.’
Abu Famir was standing by the car, waiting for them. ‘What is happening? I demand to know what is happening.’
‘Get ready to walk,’ Luke told him. ‘We’re heading cross-country.’
‘What about my deputy? He is too sick to…’
‘You can drop the deputy bullshit now. He’s come clean…’
Finn was opening up the boot. He started moving all the ammunition, explosives and grenades they had into the front passenger seat, while Luke bent down to speak to Amit. ‘It’s time,’ he said.
Amit grabbed Luke’s arm and turned his ghostly face to look at him. ‘I have a sister,’ he whispered. ‘You must find her. You must tell her what I did, and that I did it for my country.’
‘Course I will, buddy,’ Luke lied.
‘You must. Otherwise she will not understand.’ Amit took a moment to catch his breath. ‘Her name… her name is Maya Bloom.’ His face became anguished. ‘You must find her.’
Luke looked over his shoulder to see Finn standing just by him. He had two white-phosphorus grenades in his hands.
‘Come on,’ Luke said to Amit. ‘Let’s get you into the front.’
It wasn’t easy. Amit’s legs were too weak to carry him, and his knees buckled the moment he tried to stand. Another car slowed down and pulled up alongside them. The driver shouted something in Arabic.
‘Tell them we’re fine,’ Luke instructed Abu Famir, who shouted out a response and the car drove away.
By the time Amit was in the driver’s seat, he was coughing badly — a dreadful hacking, wheezing sound.
‘Get Abu Famir away from the car,’ Luke told Finn, taking the grenades from him and turning his attention back to Amit. The Israeli was slumped forward, his forearms flat against the steering wheel and his body shaking violently.’
‘Quickly,’ he murmured. ‘Quickly…’
Luke turned the ignition key. He wound down the windows, then carefully removed the pin from one of the grenades, but kept the safety lever tightly squeezed.
‘You sure you can grip it?’ he asked. Amit nodded, and Luke curled the fingers of the dying man’s left hand around it. If Amit lost his grip, Luke would only have a couple of seconds to get the hell away. He primed the second grenade, then carefully placed it in Amit’s right hand.