Dark Rising

ELEVEN

Ben Gurion Airport

Zach sighed as he saw the size of the crowd in the departure lounge and gave up any thought of finding a seat. He felt shabby and moth-eaten among the herds of affluent and well-fed Israelis and returning Americans. Funny, he thought, he only ever noticed his own clothing when he went out in public.

He hoisted his backpack into a more comfortable position and took a few more steps around the lounge. He felt weighed down – every one of his pockets bulged with sweets, eye drops, nose spray, and the myriad other medications he needed to survive a long flight. There were even wads of American money his aunt had pushed in quickly as he left – she was sure it was some sort of ‘reward’ holiday he was going on.

In one of his hands he held a curling copy of Clarke’s 2001: A Space Odyssey – his much loved travel read. In the other he tried to control all his other travel documents… unsuccessfully. They all dropped to the carpet in a sliding rush, and as he bent to retrieve them, his water bottle flew from his backpack and bounced off the back of his head to roll slowly across the floor. ‘Aiiysh,’ he whispered.

He put his hand out for the bottle just as a small hiking boot trapped it and held it. He looked up slowly. A young woman stood looking at him with her hands on her hips and one eyebrow raised. ‘Dr Shomron?’

Zach looked back down at his water, decided to ignore it and stood up. She was tall; not as tall as he, but tall for a woman. And fit – he could see the muscles in her neck, and her upper body looked athletic beneath a camel-coloured shirt. She had a military bearing.

She still hadn’t moved, or blinked, but continued looking at him as though he had broken a law and she was about to arrest him.

Suddenly he remembered the contents of the letter he’d been given. My assistant, of course – Adira something. He stuck out his hand. ‘Yes, yes, that’s me. Zachariah Shomron. But please call me Zach.’ He tried to smile, but still felt a little nervous and awkward.

He’d had assistants before – usually awestruck or intense young students – but this woman looked like no assistant he had ever encountered. She grasped his hand firmly, sandwiching his knuckles between strong, callused fingers.

‘Dr Shomron, I am Adira Senesh, and we need to get a few things clarified. Please follow me.’ She still hadn’t smiled; she dropped his hand and led him through the airport.

‘Uh, we only have twenty minutes until departure,’ Zach said while making a show of looking at the large-faced watch on his skinny wrist.

She didn’t turn around. ‘They’ll wait for us.’

He’s more of a boy than I expected. Achhh, I hate babysitting jobs, Adira thought as she looked up into a lens beside a door with no markings and no handle. In a moment it buzzed open and she led the young man in, nodding to a seated, severe old woman who glanced up briefly, and then motioned to one of three doors.

Inside there were two chairs and a table – that was it. Adira pointed at one of the chairs and the young man sat down with eyes wide behind his spectacles. She looked at him again. He’s nervous – good. She could hear his feet tapping, and his fingers steepled, flexed and danced on the table in front of them.

‘You are Dr Zachariah Ben Shomron.’ She paused for a moment and leaned forward. ‘You are twenty-four years old, have doctorates in gravitational astrophysics, particle physics, quantum and pure mathematics. You have written numerous papers on black holes, strange particles and cosmic dark matter. You are currently a tenured professor at Tel Aviv University…’ Adira recited by heart another few minutes of detail about his life, some of it not on public record, which left the young man in no doubt about her command and influence. She knew when people heard the minutiae of their life being revealed by someone they didn’t know it usually created a sense of exposure, anxiety and helplessness, which made them open and receptive to authority.

The professor cleared his throat and asked quietly, ‘You’re not really my assistant, are you?’

Adira smiled without humour and sat forward even further. ‘To anyone who asks… yes I am, and I’m also a Middle Eastern linguistics specialist.’ Her smile evaporated. ‘But really, Professor, you will be assisting me. My underlying role is to ensure that Israel’s interests are protected and defended. I am about to describe our primary objectives to you, Dr Shomron, and you will not say anything to anyone, or go anywhere, or do anything, without first checking with me.’

Adira stared into the young man’s face for several seconds before speaking evenly. ‘Be without any doubt, on this mission, you report to me.’

Zachariah looked pale. ‘This is a mission?’