‘OK, buddy,’ he said. ‘You’re good to go.’
‘You will find Maya?’
‘You got it.’
‘In London.’ His weak voice was hardly audible above the noise of the engine.
‘I’ll find her.’
‘Then leave me.’
Luke didn’t need telling twice. He stretched over Amit’s body, put the vehicle’s transmission into drive, then shut the door and sprinted away from the side of the road. He was at least thirty metres away when he turned to look back.
The Toyota had moved off. It was going very slowly, but it had joined the main carriageway and had started on the final kilometre before the border.
Abu Famir stared at the car. ‘He did this of his own free will?’ he asked.
‘Hundred and ten per cent. A lot of people want you out of the country, my friend.’ He watched the car until it disappeared.
‘Think he’ll make it?’ Finn asked flatly.
Luke sniffed. ‘Probably not,’ he said. ‘He’s pretty fucked up. But even if he goes bang before he hits the checkpoint, it’ll be a diversion.’ He looked due north-west. It was dark, of course, but he’d seen the satellite imagery and he knew there was open ground here. ‘I reckon we’ve got fifteen minutes. Let’s not hang around.’
‘Roger that.’
The three men turned and started to walk across the desert.
Amit shook.
The pain was everything. It was no longer just the wound that hurt. Now it felt as if the pain had seeped into his blood and melted through his whole body. It was all-consuming. So intense that movement or even speech felt like obstacles he could never scale. He wanted it to be over. Finished. Gone.
But through the pain, one thing was clear to him. If he must die, let it be for a purpose. In a corner of his mind he saw a scene of devastation. It was an image that had haunted his dreams since he was a child: the aftermath of a Palestinian suicide bomb on the streets of Tel Aviv, his own parents the victims, torn — quite literally — limb from limb.
If he must die, let it be for a purpose. Not like them.
It took all his strength to clutch the safety levers of the grenades. He steered with his forearms, which had the full weight of his body behind them, but the car required little steering. The checkpoint was straight ahead. He could see it, even though his vision was blurred, but he was too confused to work out the distance. All he knew was that he had to make it, however far it was.
And he had to keep gripping the safety levers.
He couldn’t allow the final remnants of strength to drain from his body too soon…
The rear lights of the cars that passed him drew long, red-neon lines through space. Amit felt as though a mist was gathering all around him. The closer it came, the less strength he had.
A car overtook, the driver beeping his horn at Amit’s slowness. He barely noticed. His concentration was all used up.
How far to the border? Harah, how much further could he last?
Time passed. He had no conception of it.
He saw Maya in his mind. His sister. He saw her as a child, kneeling on the pavement by their mother, shrieks of indescribable grief reaching to the rooftops. And he saw her now. So ruthless. So angry. When she learned what he had done, she would be proud of him. That thought alone gave him a little extra strength. A little extra resolve.
The lights outside were brighter. More numerous. There were people. Uniforms. Men with guns. He removed his foot from the accelerator and pressed the brake a little too sharply. The Toyota juddered to a halt. Ahead of him there was a queue. Three vehicles, perhaps four.
He closed his eyes, panting, trembling. He had to wait until he was closer to the barrier, twenty metres ahead, where he could cause maximum damage. Through the open windows he heard noises. Vehicle engines. Voices shouting harshly to each other in Arabic. Bustle. People. The queue crept forwards. Slowly. So slowly…
There was only one car ahead of him now. His body was shaking even more violently. The strength was leaving his wrists. He mustered his determination and moved one arm down to rest on the ammo boxes on the passenger seat.
The lights were getting dimmer. He could barely breathe — just short, desperate gulps.
The car ahead had moved off. Amit advanced a final few metres towards the barrier.
Figures surrounded the Toyota, shadowy and indistinct. Amit had no idea how many there were. He was past counting. Past caring.
But he knew there were only seconds left.
‘Barukh atah Adonai, Elokaynu, Melekh ha-Olam,’ he prayed with the last remnants of his breath. ‘Barukh atah Adonai, Elokaynu, Melekh ha-Olam…’
It wasn’t a conscious decision to let his grip on the detonation levers slip. His strength had come to the bottom of the tank.
Amit didn’t hear the explosion of the grenades, or of the ammunition stash in the passenger seat. He didn’t see the burning white fluorescence that filled the car and burst out of the open windows, or the way the hot phosphorus sprayed over the faces and uniforms of any border guards within twenty metres of the Toyota.
And he was dead before the car exploded, throwing shrapnel, rounds, fire and burning chemicals high into the air, and raining down on the border post and the soldiers who guarded it.
In the darkness of the desert, Luke, Finn and Abu Famir heard the explosion — a single boom, followed a series of aftershocks. They turned in the direction of the border. It was a little less than a klick away, and they could see a distant glow — the remnants of the Toyota, of their weaponry and of Amit.
Abu Famir shook his head in disbelief, visibly moved. ‘Who was he?’
Luke wiped a trickle of sweat from his forehead. ‘A decent guy,’ he replied quietly.
A pause.
‘In your world,’ Abu Famir said, ‘do decent guys always cause such destruction?’
From the opposite direction, they saw the lights of a chopper burning along the highway towards the border. The Iraqis’ resources would now be concentrated on the location of Amit’s makeshift suicide bomb. For a short while, at least. That would leave the three of them free to find a place to cross into Jordan on foot. Luke estimated that the border was now 800 metres north-west of their position. If they could reach the fence in the next ten minutes while the Iraqis were looking the other way, and with a bit of luck, they should be able to find a crossing point.
Luke turned his back on the explosion. He nodded at Finn, who nudged Abu Famir with the butt of his M4.
‘Get moving, sunshine,’ he said. ‘We’ve got a border to cross.’
THIRTEEN
Chet woke up with a start.
It was a thunderclap that had roused him. He was lying on the bed, with Suze’s naked body beside him, one slim arm over his chest. He checked his watch without waking her. 02.23 hrs. He cursed himself for having fallen asleep, but then what did he expect? He’d hardly had any shut-eye for nearly two days.
The room was dark and the rain hammered against the window. Suze murmured something in her sleep. He couldn’t tell what it was, but she was clearly disturbed by her dreams. Her body jolted, like she’d received an electric shock, but she remained asleep.
He lay there, his mind churning. He heard the tape in his head. Stratton’s voice, and the American’s. The evidence that Britain’s Prime Minister was being bribed to go to war.
He remembered the firm handshake the PM had given him thirty-six hours previously.
He saw Doug’s broken body.
He saw the face of the woman who wanted to kill him. The wavy black hair. The black eyes.
It was a noise that brought him back to the here and now. It wasn’t loud. Quieter than the thunder and almost masked by the torrent of the rain. He could easily have missed it. He got out of bed, dressed quickly and went to the window.