It was 06.30 hrs by the time they pulled up outside the Sheraton. Quite why Stratton wasn’t staying at the British Embassy was anyone’s guess. Certainly if Luke had been in charge of his security, he wouldn’t be staying somewhere that any Tom, Dick or Harry could walk straight into. The Sheraton was situated right on the beachfront, and the sun was now lighting up the sky. Luke didn’t have to examine the concourse in front of the hotel for more than a few seconds before he clocked the two plainclothes Israeli operators standing on either side of the revolving doors, their shoulders a little too broad for their dark suits and open-neck shirts. These two men had clearly clocked the Land Cruiser too. One of them put his sleeve to his mouth and spoke into a concealed mike.
Part of the concourse was covered by a solid canopy with the name ‘Sheraton’ in solid red letters. There was only one other vehicle parked there — a black Mercedes. Its rear door was being held open by a chauffeur. A suited businessman climbed in and the Merc slid away. Fozzie manoeuvred the 4 x 4 into its place.
‘OK, fellas,’ Luke muttered, ‘me and Finn’ll go and make contact with the Cardinal.’
‘Roger that,’ Fozzie replied. ‘Mind your p’s and q’s, boys. Very important man, that Alistair Stratton. Doesn’t want to be bothered by a couple of plebs like you.’
The security men gave them only the most cursory of nods as they entered the hotel. They weren’t leaving their posts for anyone. Inside, the foyer was deeply carpeted and there were plush leather sofas and armchairs dotted around, but Luke was more interested in the four security cameras he spotted hanging from the ceiling. Two of them were pointing at him and Finn. A handful of guests were milling around — no more than six — and the three receptionists behind the faux-mahogany counter were chatting idly. Their day had not yet begun in earnest. As Luke scanned the foyer, he was aware of one of them — a heavily made-up woman in a blue uniform — tugging on her male colleague’s sleeve and pointing in Luke’s direction. Luke ignored them and continued to scan. He was looking for their point man and he picked him out five seconds later. The guy was sitting in a comfortable armchair in the far left-hand corner of the foyer, a Washington Post that he wasn’t reading spread out in front of him. He put one hand to his ear, then looked directly at Luke and Finn. Someone had just alerted him to their arrival. He stood up and walked in their direction.
‘Gentlemen,’ he greeted them in a thick Israeli accent. Luke immediately noticed the covert earpiece in his right ear, and a tiny microphone clipped to the lapel of his suit.
Luke and Finn nodded at him.
‘I’ll need you to surrender your weapons while you’re in the building, gentlemen.’
They’d left their 53s in the Land Cruiser, but were still carrying their Sigs, and as far as Luke was concerned, it was going to stay that way. ‘Sorry, buddy,’ he told him. ‘No can do.’ He gave the Israeli intelligence officer a flat stare and there were a few seconds of impasse. The officer turned and walked about ten metres away from them, and Luke could see him talking quietly into his mike. A minute later he returned, an unfriendly look on his face.
‘All right,’ he told them. ‘Follow me.’
He led them behind the reception counter where two lifts were already waiting at the ground floor. The three men stepped inside the left-hand one, the Israeli pressed the button for the twenty-third floor and the doors hissed shut.
‘He’s a handful, your man,’ he commented as the lift lurched upwards.
‘Not my man, buddy,’ Luke replied.
‘Are you taking him into Gaza?’
Luke said nothing.
‘Rather you than me.’
But Luke wasn’t in the mood for small talk. The lift came to a halt, the doors opened and the men filed out.
It was clear which suite was Stratton’s: it was at the far end of the corridor, manned by another two guards in pale khaki uniforms. A lot of muscle for a peace envoy, Luke thought to himself as they approached. A nod from the Israeli intelligence man and one of the guards knocked on the door.
‘Come,’ a voice called from inside. The guard opened the door. Luke and Finn exchanged a look, then the three men walked inside.
As he entered the room, Luke squinted. The far wall was a floor-to-ceiling window, looking out over the Mediterranean, where the early morning sun was by now blindingly bright. A figure was standing with his back to the window, silhouetted by the sun, so it was impossible to see his face or even the full shape of his body. But Luke knew who it had to be and his skin prickled.
The door shut behind them.
Silence.
It was only when the figure walked to the left, out of the glare of the sunlight, that Luke made out his features. Stratton looked thinner than he did on TV. Smaller. Gaunt. He was wearing a grey business suit with a red tie and he looked unusually relaxed, given what the day ahead held.
He stepped towards Luke and Finn.
‘SAS?’ he asked. His voice was very soft.
Luke and Finn nodded.
‘Are we ready to go?’
‘Ready, sir. Israeli secret service officers will take you as far as the border. We’ll follow as a counter-attack-team escort. Once we cross over into Gaza, you’ll be with us.’
Stratton nodded, then turned his back on them to look out over the sea.
‘We’ll be making a diversion,’ he said.
The three men looked at each other.
‘With respect, sir,’ Luke replied carefully, ‘diversions aren’t a good idea. Our route has been carefully planned.’
A pause, and then Stratton turned round again. He walked straight up to Luke — who was almost a head taller than him — and looked the SAS man up and down. ‘With respect, sir,’ he said, ‘you’re here to escort me. Not advise me.’
The two men stared at each other, while Finn and the Israeli looked on.
‘Where are we diverting to?’ Luke asked finally. ‘Sir.’
‘Jerusalem.’
Luke recalled the mapping he’d examined. Jerusalem was about twenty-five klicks south-east of Tel Aviv. It would only take them an hour to get there, but it knocked the whole fucking op out of shape. He heard Finn swear under his breath.
‘Can I ask,’ Luke said, his teeth gritted, ‘whereabouts in Jerusalem?’
‘Of course,’ Stratton replied mildly. He smiled a dazzling smile. ‘The Garden of Gethsemane, at the foot of the Mount of Olives.’ He paused. ‘The name means nothing to you?’
Luke shook his head. ‘Should it?’
‘It certainly should, if you’d listened to the scriptures at school.’ He inclined his head. ‘Perhaps you weren’t the type.’
‘Perhaps I wasn’t.’
‘The Garden of Gethsemane is where Our Lord prayed on the night he was betrayed.’ He turned to look out of the window again. ‘The world,’ he said, ‘is on the brink of war. If my negotiations go well, perhaps it can be avoided. I shall go there for a few moments of quiet reflection before we enter the lion’s den.’ Suddenly the smile was gone and he started walking towards the exit of the room. ‘We leave now.’
Luke, Finn and the Israeli officer gave each other a look. But Stratton had already left the room and they had no option but to follow him.
‘Zero, this is Tango 17.’
‘Tango 17, this is Zero. Send.’
‘The Cardinal’s demanded a diversion. Requesting permission to travel via East Jerusalem, Garden of Gethsemane.’
A pause. ‘What the fuck…?’
Luke scowled at Stratton, who was striding on ahead through the hotel foyer. ‘Tell me about it,’ he muttered. He and Finn followed him through the doors of the hotel and out to where the Land Cruiser was waiting, along with a black Mercedes and two police outriders. ‘You’d better come back with that permission sharpish, buddy,’ he said. ‘Or even better than that, refusal. He looks pretty eager to move.’