Newton’s Fire

FORTY-TWO
I

Walters tried to kill time with a movie, but nothing held his interest. Luke and Rachel were like food stuck between his teeth — impossible to get out of his mind until they’d been dealt with. They’d be landing in Israel soon, and the Israelis weren’t exactly famous for letting aircraft in without knowing exactly who was on board. And how the hell were they going to make Luke and Rachel disappear after that?

He headed forwards, knocked on Croke’s door, and went in. Croke looked up irritably from some paperwork. ‘What?’ he asked.

‘Our guests,’ said Walters.

‘I told you I’d take care of them.’

‘Yes, but if the Israelis find them on board, we-’

‘They won’t. They’ll be gone before then.’

‘How?’

Croke sighed. ‘Haven’t you noticed our cargo hold? We can depressurize at altitude, dump stuff out; stuff that’s been wrapped well and weighted to sink and stay sunk. Then we can pressurize again before we land.’

‘We’re dumping them? Where?’

‘Where do you think?’ His TV was tuned to a 24-hour news channel, its volume down. Now he flipped to a flight map showing their position and course. A single glance was all it took to see that there was only one body of water up to the job: the Mediterranean. ‘The Aegean’s no good,’ said Croke. ‘Too many islands. Too many shallows. So we’ll have to wait until we’re somewhere south-west of Cyprus.’

‘What about Kohen?’ asked Walters. ‘He’ll squeal if his friends go missing.’

‘Not if we dump him too.’

‘What about his uncle?’

‘He won’t give a shit, trust me. He only cares about the Ark. Once he sees it on Jewish soil, he’ll do his part.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘I’m sure.’

Walters nodded. ‘Until the Mediterranean, then.’