The Hijack (33 page)

Her eyes flickered as she fought to open them, but it was incredibly difficult, as if she had gone far too deep beneath consciousness to ever climb back above it.

The presence felt neither good nor evil, but it drew her out of the depths.

She finally managed to open her eyes and fought to focus on the cracked, brittle ceiling where tiny stalactites formed along the lines where the rain leaked in.

The presence was at the door and she concentrated hard to turn her head on the pillow and look towards it. The light was bad as was her eyesight but there was a figure standing in the doorway, she could tell that much.

The figure took a step towards her, and she could discern it was a man but not clearly enough to make out any features. She wondered why any man would be in her house. The doctor had left hours before and would not return until she was dead. Women like her died in the company of women and no man would venture to enter her house even to say farewell, no man save one perhaps. Her heart suddenly fluttered and raced in expectation and she struggled to find the oxygen to fuel the strength she needed to push death away, if only for a moment. She attempted to raise a hand and move her feet but the effort was futile. Nothing worked. Her limbs had atrophied to the point of uselessness. She tried to utter her son’s name but there was not enough breath to form a word or moisture to lubricate her tongue.

As the figure stepped forward, the other women in the room moved back as if in fear.The man reached the mattress. As he crouched by her side he came into focus, and Abed’s mother stopped breathing for a moment as the shock hit her like the blow from a hammer.

Her eyes remained fixed on him as he got down on his knees and placed a hand on one of hers. She had recognised him instantly, though he looked much older than she would have imagined, but then it was almost twenty years since she had last seen him. The memory of those days flooded through her as she recalled them without effort, especially that very last day. He was holding Abed in his arms, talking to him, and then he gave him a soft toy he had brought as a present, hidden under his tunic so that none of the other soldiers would see it. She recalled the heart-breaking words as he explained that he could never see them again. As she lay there staring up at him she wanted to cry, but she was spent and could not summon one more drop of sorrow, as if a lifetime of pain and tears had finally emptied her of those resources. All she could do was look at the Israeli she had once loved, the father of her son, and accept that he was here at her side. He had come to say goodbye and despite everything that had happened over the years, she was glad.

She tried once more to say something, but the words would not come.

‘Give me some water,’ he said to one of the women who quickly obeyed, handing him a small cup. He placed the edge against her lips and allowed a little liquid to trickle into them.

‘David,’ she suddenly murmured, as if the word had come from elsewhere other than her lips.

‘Don’t talk,’ he said softly and with deep affection as he took hold of her thin hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. ‘It’s been a long time,’ he continued after a thoughtful pause. ‘I never thought I would see you again . . . I’m glad I came.’

She thought about the other women in the room, what they might make of this, for he was without a doubt Israeli, but then almost immediately she realised how pointless her fears were. It was not twenty years ago. What did it matter? David was old, Abed was gone and she was dying.

It felt strange being called David after so many years, for that was not his real name. He could never have risked telling her who he was for many reasons, but primarily because of his own survival. Israelis did not fraternise with Palestinians without great personal risk, especially Israelis like him. He wondered if she had an inkling of who he was now. His picture had been in the papers on occasion, which had never been wise considering his position, but it could not always be helped. But then again, she probably never read the Israeli papers, since they were unwanted and not sold openly in Gaza. Perhaps she was wondering how he had the ability to enter this camp since it was illegal for Israelis to cross into Palestinian territory. But she was so close to death, why should he expect her to be cognisant enough to consider any of that.

He looked at her, frail beyond her years, unable to see the beautiful girl he had fallen in love with all that time ago. She could not be much more than forty, if that, but she looked much, much older. He could only wonder at the life she must have led in this hellhole that had turned her into this pitiful wretch. He knew she was dying from utter despair. She was not the first in these camps and would not be the last.

‘Abed,’ she suddenly uttered. Perhaps it was a question, or she was trying to tell him their son was not here. He knew Abed had gone from Gaza, and much more than that, for it was his business to know.

‘It’s okay,’ he said softly. ‘Don’t worry about anything . . . Be at peace, my darling.’ He smiled.

She was comforted by his words, why, she did not know, but he always had that power. Those nights, when she would meet him in secret, though she was always fearful of being found out, he would talk to her and make her feel at ease. When they were together it was just them, he used to tell her, and the whole world did not exist. She had believed him because she had wanted to, and she believed him now.

A slight smile formed on her lips and spread to her eyes, and at once he could see her, the little girl he had loved, and his heart was suddenly filled with sadness and pity. These were emotions he had managed to stifle his entire professional life and now he was unable to halt them. ‘I am sorry,’ he said. ‘Sorry for everything . . . I have always loved you.’

She closed her eyes and drifted away but he knew she had not died. The slight smile remained on her face and he wondered if, like him, she was thinking of those days they had together. He had given her the only happiness in her adult life and she had been his only true love. Despite feeling the world was a vile place his smile remained as he watched her and realised it was people who brought true happiness and gave value to everything else that was good in life.

He remained with her for just a while longer; too long would have been dangerous, and, besides, important work beckoned and there was somewhere he had to be. When he replaced her hand by her side, she exhaled, barely perceptibly, and he wondered if that was her last breath. He did not want to know and he stood and went to the door. He paused a moment, then without looking back walked away and out of the house.

The C130 banked high above Tel Aviv turning on to its final heading while gradually losing height to approach Ben Gurion airport. Stratton looked down on the city through the small window. This was his first trip to Israel and as he studied the sprawling, modern city that hugged the Mediterranean coastline, he thought about the crusades and how this stretch of land was once owned by European kings and princes. Coincidentally, the last chapter he had read of his book was about Richard the Lion Heart and his great nemesis, Saladin, the two military giants of their day: the Christian known for his tactical brilliance and reckless bravery, and the Muslim for his exceptional magnanimity as well as courage. Stratton wondered where Jaffa was, an ancient harbour the modern city of Tel Aviv was built on, for it was there, a little less than a thousand years ago, that Richard had stormed ashore, leaping into the water from a boat, to take back the town that had been captured by Saladin. During that battle, which on this occasion Richard had won, Saladin watched in angry admiration as the Coeur de Lion repulsed wave after wave of his Saracen hordes. Even then, on learning that Richard’s horse had been killed under him, the paragon of Islamic chivalry dispatched two fresh steeds as a gift for the English king. Looking down on the sprawling metropolis with its towering glass-and-steel structures it was impossible to imagine how it looked in those ancient times or what it must have been like as a European soldier on horse-back wearing armour and wielding a heavy sword.

Saladin’s famed chivalry in war was not lost on Stratton. Despite his own ignoble reputation, deserved or not, graciousness in battle was a more natural impulse in him than those who thought they knew him would have imagined, but, then again, he had made a conscious effort to appear to have dispensed with it. Fair play was as out of date in warfare nowadays as the siege tower and if anything was seen as a weakness.

The loadmaster entered the cabin from the cockpit and signalled those he passed to buckle their seatbelts. Stratton watched him help Gabriel locate his belt and wondered how seriously Gabriel’s dream of death had affected him. Under normal circumstances Gabriel’s condition would have been enough to see him pulled from the field as an operational risk but since there was no one to replace him, Stratton knew Sumners would keep him on for as long as he could, to his death if need be. Considering the gravity of the situation that was an acceptable price to pay and the CIA would concur in a heartbeat. However, there was a point of exhaustion beyond which Gabriel could become a liability and Stratton wondered if he was not already close to reaching it.

The cabin suddenly shook and jolted as the wheels hit the runway and the engines immediately screamed louder as the pilot threw the propellers into reverse thrust. The craft lurched several times as the brakes were touched and the plane quickly decelerated. After taxiing for a few minutes, it came to a stop on the edge of the airfield far from the arrivals building and prying eyes, and the loadmaster opened the rear side door letting a thick beam of sunlight stream into the cabin.

Sumners climbed out of his seat, leaned over to Gabriel and said something, then walked up the cabin without so much as a glance at Stratton and began a conversation with his boss. Stratton expected to be called to attend a final brief any moment and was still in a quandary as to what to say or do regarding Gabriel’s fear.

Stratton had not come up with an alternative solution to quitting the assignment but he had spent some time on the one major weakness of Gabriel’s vision and a possible way through. Since it was in the future, and since it was not a viewing by the definition he understood, and Gabriel had supported that much, then surely it could be changed.

Stratton unbuckled his seatbelt and got to his feet to look out of the window. It was decision-making time and this was not an easy one.

A nondescript car approached with two men inside and came to a stop just beyond the wingtip.The men remained inside the car watching the aircraft. If they were customs or immigrations, they would most likely have been in uniform and walking over to the aircraft by now. The way they sat silently watching with the patience of those who do it for a living left Stratton with little doubt they were Israeli intelligence.

The aircraft’s engines finally died, plunging the cabin into a relative calm and a welcome relief after the hours of constant drone.

‘Stratton?’ It was Sumners calling him over.

Stratton stepped to the table where Chalmers was still tapping away at his keyboard, Sumners’ boss beside him on a phone.

‘Well,’ Sumners began with one of his thin smiles which characteristically masked something new and unexpected. Stratton was not to be disappointed. ‘You’ll be happy to know you’ll be home before the end of the day and you can take that holiday you’d planned. You might need a new pair of skis though - we seem to have lost yours. You were insured I take it?’ ‘I’m off the op?’ Stratton asked, taken by surprise.

‘I think you’ve done more than enough, don’t you?’ Sumners said.‘You’re probably relieved, I’m sure. Damned fine job, by the way.’

‘The op’s cancelled?’ Stratton asked, confused, and at a loss as to what the new developments might be.

‘Gosh, no. Op’s still very much on. We’ll be taking it over from here.’

‘We?’ Stratton asked, looking around as if he had missed someone on the plane capable of running the operation in the field.

‘Well, me, actually,’ Sumners said, his smile starting to wane as Stratton’s expression clearly telegraphed his disdain.

It was immediately clear to Stratton what was going on. Sumners had been a desk operative since he joined the firm God knows how long ago; he had not been promoted in years and had been passed over for several younger, better-connected players, a trend that had no reason not to continue. If he wanted to move any further up the ladder the only way he was going to do it was to broaden his experience base. Sumners had obviously decided this was a perfect opportunity to get his field wings. Stratton was appalled at the timing and lack of thought this supposedly intelligent and experienced man had put into the move. He wanted to say as much, and on any other occasion he would have voiced his disapproval, but something was holding him back and he knew what it was. Survival. Sumners’ move was the simple and convenient God-given solution to his problem. It was proof Sumners knew nothing about Gabriel’s fear. Stratton would sit back, let him take over the op, and, if Gabriel were correct, Sumners would die in Stratton’s place. Even if it was discovered that Stratton knew about Gabriel’s viewing, he had been ordered off the op and that was that. There would be no comebacks.

‘That’s fine,’ Stratton heard himself say almost immediately.

Sumners’ smile regained some of its vigour as if he had misread Stratton’s initial look and that this response was one of approval. ‘I was going to have you come along as an assistant,’ Sumners said buoyantly. ‘But let’s be honest, you are rather headstrong, and since you’re used to working alone it might not be such a good idea . . . Make sense?’

‘Perfect.’

‘Good. Well, you stay aboard and make yourself comfortable and go home knowing you’re on a recommend for a job well done.’

Sumners’ boss was wearing one of his cold smiles as he put down the phone and stared at Stratton as if examining him. Stratton gave nothing away.