convincing though. I think that’s about it.’
‘I don’t know Israel or the West Bank. How do I get into Ramallah?’
‘You’ll have some help, hopefully. At such short notice we’ve not been able to get in touch with our local agent, but we should manage by tonight. Any other questions, ask Chalmers. The little swot knows just about everything . . . Good luck,’ he said with a smile and walked back up the aircraft.
Chalmers took his cue, approached and took out the contents of the bag, handing them to Stratton as he described them. ‘This is a BBC press identity card that allows you to operate as a member of the press in the West Bank. It’ll make it easier for you to move through IDF checkpoints.There are two main checkpoints into Ramallah - there’s a third but it’s not advisable. Kalandia checkpoint is the only route Palestinians are allowed to drive through. The checkpoint on the other side of the town is known as the DCO and they will allow you in on the press pass, depending on the mood they’re in. The soldiers on the checkpoints are usually conscripts and therefore tend to carry the psychological baggage of the pressganged. Kalandia closes around six p.m., the DCO is open twenty-four hours a day. One credit card. Five thousand US dollars. Do you have receipts for the last twenty-four hours? I’ll take them off you now if you have.’
Stratton dug into an inside pocket of his jacket, produced a pile of paper and handed it to Chalmers who took it with a frown.
‘I take it these have not been itemised?’
‘When do you think I had time to do that?’
Chalmers pocketed the papers and handed Stratton the cash. ‘Gabriel doesn’t know about your visit to Ramallah and we should keep it that way. One satellite phone with numbers pre-programmed . . . One passport . . . Give me your other one.’ They exchanged passports. It was obvious they did not want the Israelis knowing where Stratton had been in the past. ‘And a précis on the Israeli intelligence services, which you should read and leave on the plane . . . Any questions?’
‘I was hoping I’d get a gun.’
‘The Israelis won’t let you carry one. Anything else?’
‘Yeah.What was the name of the pope who started the first crusade?’
‘Urban the Second. Anything else?’
‘. . . No.’
‘Good luck then,’ Chalmers said and turned on his heels to head back to his perch in front of his computer.
Smart arse, Stratton thought. With the personality of a turnip he’ll probably go far.
Stratton glanced through the paper on Mossad and Shin Bet. He knew a little about both services having worked on a case two years before of an IRA sniper hired by the Palestinians because their own were so poorly skilled. The sniper hit fourteen soldiers in twenty-five minutes at an Israeli checkpoint in El Arik near the town of Ofra killing ten of them before making his way out of the country using a well-planned escape route. Because of the expert shooting and high-quality design of the hide which had been carefully prepared over several days, and, more damningly, the fact the sniper left his weapon behind, not a Palestinian habit but certainly an IRA modus operandi, Israeli intelligence directed their suspicions towards the Irish Republican terrorist group. British intelligence eventually narrowed it down to two suspects but there was not enough evidence to pin it solidly on either. No further action was taken. A few weeks later, a rumour surfaced that the IRA had warned the Israelis if they attempted any kind of retaliatory assassination, a standard Mossad reaction, it would be brutally answered by a campaign against Jewish interests in Britain. No retribution against the IRA was made.
Stratton put the paper down on a seat, picked up his bag and joined Gabriel at the door.
‘You get any sleep?’ he asked.
‘A little.’
Gabriel looked much the same: tired, red-eyed, stressed. Stratton was almost getting used to the sight of his unhealthy condition and thought of it as normal.
‘You know, if you wanted to pull out of this, you could,’ Stratton said quietly, checking they were out of earshot of everyone.
‘I have to see it through.’
‘Why? If it’s written, if you’ve seen the end, why do you have to go? Let the end come to you.’
‘I don’t claim to understand everything about this phenomenon. We’re here to stop this madman from doing whatever it is he feels he needs to do, and we