The Templar Heresy

44

Salim’s death had been something of a shock to the other members of the group. But they were freedom fighters, battling for Islam and any paymaster who saw fit to use their services, and in that line of work deaths were inevitable. In fact, they all believed — and hoped — that they would die with a weapon in their hands.

Even so, none of them had ever expected to meet their fate in a dark tunnel deep underground, a tunnel under the control of the Jews, and especially not at the hands of an infidel who was actually unarmed. That seemed to all of them to be a shameful death, dishonourable in almost every way, and the best way to avenge their companion was to find the man who had killed him as quickly as possible, and then ensure that his death would take a long time to come.

So when Farooq issued his new orders, there had been no dissenting voices, and a few minutes after dawn the group split up to begin surveillance on the hotels near the Temple Mount. Khaled had been unable to find a decent photograph of Bronson, but he had obtained several good-quality pictures of his former wife. And in a country where almost every woman had brown skin and black hair, Angela Lewis, blonde and with a fair complexion, unmistakably Western European, should stand out.

‘If you see her, either by herself or with the man Bronson,’ Farooq instructed, ‘do not attempt to kill them immediately. Even after we have disposed of these two we will still have things to do here in Jerusalem, and we must not get involved in a firefight on the streets of the Old City. So if you spot them, do two things. First, follow them and do not lose sight of them, otherwise you will answer to me. Second, call me with the exact location, so that I can begin directing your comrades into appropriate positions. There will be a small bonus for the man who locates them.’ Farooq paused and smiled at the group. ‘This will not necessarily be in the form of money. The woman has to die as well as the man, but her death need not be immediate.’

A couple of minutes later, the five-man group, plus Farooq, slipped out of the café they had selected for their early-morning meeting, each man clutching a street map of the city, a colour photograph of Angela Lewis and a sheet of paper on which Farooq had written the names and addresses of the hotels that they were to check individually, and the streets they were to patrol.

As he stepped out of the building, Farooq glanced up at the sky. It was a powdery blue, and the first rays of the morning sun were spearing over the buildings and craggy terrain that lay over to the east. It was going to be hot, there was no doubt about that, and already he could smell the streets, that strange mixture of ancient dust and humanity crowded together in one spot, a scent that seemed unique to Jerusalem.

If Khaled solved the problem of the key, and he and his men were able to find and take care of Bronson and Lewis, then they could be heading out of Jerusalem that very same day.