Killing for the Company

As it shattered she felt a hot stinging as the sharp edge of the glass remaining round the edge cut into the skin on the back of her legs. She quickly realigned her body so that she was lying on her back diagonally across one corner of the skylight. Fumbling blindly, she manoeuvred her wrists so they were touching a jagged shard, and started to make small movements back and forth.

It was impossible to slice just the bootlaces and not her skin. As she rocked her wrists back and forth, she felt flesh tear and moisten. But she barely noticed the pain. She rubbed away at the laces and in just over a minute she felt the tension around her hands suddenly release. Rolling off the glass, she brought her hands round to the front. They were gashed and bloodied, but that didn’t slow her down at all. The knot around her ankles she couldn’t untie, so she broke a shard of glass off the remnants of the skylight. It was about the size of her palm and shaped almost like an arrow tip with an evil-looking point, which she used like a saw to hack away at the second bootlace.

Seconds later she was free.

She jumped to her feet just as she heard the shofar ring out a second time. The image of her assailant rose in her mind.

He was going to ruin everything.

She wasn’t going to let that happen.

Maya Bloom stashed the piece of glass in a pocket and rethreaded the remnants of her laces into her boots, ignoring the way the blood oozed over her hands and nails.

That done, she ran to the other side of the rooftop and started climbing down the ladder. She was at ground level in thirty seconds, and already sprinting.

THIRTY-ONE

10.49 hrs.

Luke pushed through the crowd. Those waiting patiently to approach the wall shouted at him in Hebrew, but he ignored them. Luke was a head taller than almost everyone else here, and a lot stronger. There was nothing anybody could do to stop him barging through.

Ten metres from the wall he halted. The strange sound of the horn had filled the air again, and for some reason it chilled him.

He scanned around. More men in traditional dress.

Stop, he told himself. Think.

He’d seen four people emerge from the van. Four bombers, he reckoned. But they wouldn’t be together. That would be a tactical fuck-up, because if one was caught, they’d all be caught. No, Luke’s targets would be spread out, along the wall. He looked forward and to the left, where he saw the entrance to the tunnels. There’d be fewer people there. Easier to spot one of his targets.

Luke started shoving his way through the crowds again. Thirty seconds later he was at the entrance to the tunnels. He burst into the room that led into them. There were about twenty-five men in here, talking to each other quietly. Those who paid Luke any attention frowned at his appearance. He scanned their faces, trying to recognise one of the people he’d seen at a distance, or to identify anything suspicious about any of them.

Nothing.

He hurried through the room and took the tunnel leading north.

His field of vision was full of people. Many stared at him as he headed along the tunnel, keeping the covered section of the Western Wall to his right, and he just stared back at them, occasionally wiping away the sweat that ran into his eyes.

Peculiar glances.

Suspicion.

Once or twice one of the celebrants said something to him in Hebrew. He hurried past, every sense heightened.

Luke was fifty metres along the tunnel when he saw him. There were fewer people here now. The tunnel had just opened up slightly and there was a single Hassid facing the wall. His head was bowed, his eyes closed and his lips were moving silently. Luke stopped five metres from the man and didn’t have to look at him for more than a couple of seconds to know something was wrong. The guy was shaking. A thin trickle of sweat was dripping down the side of his face — a face whose skin was several shades darker than that of any of the Hassidim he’d seen so far.

And in his right hand there was a mobile phone.

Luke instantly recalled the tourist sign he’d seen yesterday in the plaza: ‘on the sabbath and holy days, smoking, photography and cellphone use are strictly forbidden.’ Surely a devout man would know that?

He slid the ceramic knife from behind his belt; just as he did this, the guy opened his eyes and raised his left hand to look at his watch. But then he noticed Luke.

His eyes widened and a look of panic crossed his face.

He glanced down at the phone in his right hand.

But by then Luke was on him. He hurled himself towards his target, thrusting his left hand up to his neck and slicing the knife across the back of his right hand. There was an eruption of blood; the man cried out in pain and his fingers spread out of their own accord as the blade severed his tendons. The phone hung loosely from the wire that was threaded up his sleeve and the man grabbed at it with his left hand.