The Spear of Destiny

by Julian Noyce

  The Hercules was now moving slowly along the sand runway, the ramp slowly raising. Von Werner’s men running after it and jumping in one at a time. Dennis picked up an AR-15 from the back of the defender, pointed it out of the window and killed three of the men in camouflage.

  “Catch up to that plane,” Dennis shouted.

  “You got it,” Hutchinson said, looking into the rear view mirror at the gunmen now being left behind.

  The land rover was gaining on the Hercules which was now also gaining speed.

  “What are you going to do?” Hutchinson asked.

  “I didn’t get a chance to get that tracker on board. Try and catch up to it before that ramp fully closes.”

  “I’m on it!” Hutchinson yelled above the noise of the screaming land rover engine.

  The Hercules was now approaching take off speed and Hutchinson pushed the land rover to its limits. Dennis climbed over into the front passenger seat and got a magnetic tracker ready. Hutchinson was directly behind the Hercules now as it kicked up a cloud of dust from its wheels.

  “Whatever you’re going to do you’d better hurry,” the American said looking at the speedometer which was hovering over the sixty miles per hour mark, “I don’t think this thing can go any faster.”

  Dennis opened the passenger door and began to climb out.

  “Pete! What the fuck are you doing?”

  “Just get me closer.”

  Dennis was holding onto the door, his feet still inside the vehicle, the ground beneath him whipping by in a blur. The land rover hit a bump and he was nearly thrown out. Hutchinson grappled with the steering wheel and brought the vehicle back to his control. Dennis readied the tracker by switching it on. He waited for the optimum moment to throw, then drew back his arm and launched it. For a brief moment Dennis thought it would miss. The ramp was almost closed and he saw with relief as the tracker entered the space between the ramp and the fuselage and disappear from view just as the ramp fully closed. Dennis climbed back into the defender and slammed the door shut.

  “It’s in!” he shouted, “I just hope no one saw it.”

  The small tracker had shot through the small gap left as the ramp was closing. It had struck one of the six pallets that had been loaded and had bounced off and settled underneath another pallet.

  Hutchinson brought the land rover to a stop and Dennis searched for the tracker on his I-phone. The Hercules got up to take off speed and lifted off the desert. It took a minute and Dennis shouted excitedly as a red dot appeared on the smart phone’s screen.

  “We’ve got them,” he said, watching as the Hercules was climbing into the evening sky.

  Hutchinson looked into the rear view mirror. Men were running up the runway towards them. Dennis turned and looked out of the back window. He saw the running men and behind them the four army lorries turning and heading towards them. The gunmen running alongside and jumping up into them as they passed.

  “We’d better get out of here,” Dennis said, “There’s a place in the city we

  can hide. I’ll show you the way.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The land rover bumped and jarred its way along the road across the desert. For once Natalie was at the wheel. Dennis was riding shotgun with her and Hutchinson was trying to have a short nap on the back seat.

  They had spent an uncomfortable night in the land rover in an area of abandoned factories that were derelict to the north of the Gaza strip. Dennis had gone out alone armed with a screwdriver and had returned over an hour later with two number plates he’d stolen from a car parked in a residential area of the nearest town.

  “What are they for?” Hutchinson had asked as the Englishman had set to work removing the front plate from the defender.

  “In case our number was taken and reported,” he’d replied.

  “Do you think it will be?”

  He shook his head.

  “No I don’t think so. I’m ninety nine percent sure Von Werner was in Gaza illegally and whoever he was supplying guns to certainly isn’t going to complain and if they did they’d have to complain to Hamas who would almost certainly confiscate everything and jail them or worse.”

  “And how are we going to explain the bullet holes?”

  Dennis stopped to scratch his head with the philips screwdriver.

  “It was like it when we bought it.”

  “And do you think we’ll get away with that?”

  “I hope so,” Dennis had replied.

  They had woken to a chilly morning and stiff necks and after a small breakfast of now rapidly hardening bread and cheese they had moved onto the border crossing at Erez. They had been allowed into Israel without any difficulty. Something that had surprised Dennis. It had actually been too easy.

  “What are you complaining about?” Hutchinson had asked once they’d cleared customs, “Maybe lady luck is going to start running in our favour.”

  “No,” Dennis had replied, “It’s not luck. It’s never that easy to get in or out of this country. It’s almost as if it was a set up.”

  Dennis had been expecting Mossad, the Israeli national intelligence agency, and the whole of the Israeli military to come crashing down on them at any moment.

  “Well we’re here now,” Hutchinson had said, “Just need to find where that tracker is.”

  The small tracker Dennis had thrown into the back of the Hercules was still transmitting, giving its position sixty miles from their current location. Dennis tried to bring the map on his phone up bigger. Then the tracker stopped moving.

  “It’s stopped,” he told them.

  Hutchinson suddenly jumped up from the back seat. He’d been unable to doze and was fully awake.

  “Where is it?” he asked excitedly.

  “Just getting a fix on its location.”

  It took a couple of minutes for the position to lock, then Dennis confirmed.

  “The tracker is currently in the southern Hebron mountains.”

  “Just north of Bethlehem?” Hutchinson asked.

  “Yes. Why, do you know it?”

  “I think so. Or at least I hope so. There’s an old crusader castle up there built on the ruins of one of Herod‘s palaces. It was once thought to contain a very important tomb, believed by the knights templars to have been the final resting place of the messiah himself, Jesus Christ.”

  “Why the bloody hell haven’t you mentioned it before?” Dennis asked.

  “Why? Because it’s just a myth. An easily disproved myth. Learned scholars will tell you that Christ was buried in Jerusalem Pete!”

  “Well it looks like Von Werner may have heard of your myth too. Though there’s no mention of it in Von Brest’s journal, and why a crusader castle. That doesn’t make sense.”

  “The crusader’s often built castles over ancient sites to protect their identity.”

  “Oh boys,” Natalie said, “I think we’ve got company.”

  Dennis and Hutchinson looked out of the windscreen at the Mitsubishi Pajero that was broadside, blocking the road. One man in Arab dress was frantically waving them down while another had his back to them and was working away under the raised bonnet.

  “Shall I go round them?” Natalie asked.

  Dennis looked into his mirror. The road behind was empty. The road ahead beyond the Pajero he couldn’t see. The vehicle was blocking the view.

  “Shall I go round,” Natalie asked again.

  Dennis watched the man who’d been waving start to walk towards them. He didn’t appear to be in a hurry.

  “Peter. Should I go round them?” Natalie asked for a third time.

  Dennis unclipped the holster on his thigh and put his hand on the butt of the Sig-pro ready to draw the weapon.

  “Pete something doesn’t feel right here,” Hutchinson said.

  The Arab was almost at the defender now. He had a red keffiyeh on his head which was covering his neck and one shoulder. He was wearing large dark sunglasses and had a week’s stubble on his
chin.

  “Please friend. Push!” he said. He gestured with his hands, “Push!”

  Dennis eased his hand off his sidearm and answered in Arabic. The man gestured again for a push.

  “Come on Jim. He wants a push to the side of the road.”

  Dennis and Hutchinson got slowly out of the defender. The man who’d asked for help was walking slowly away from the pair.

  “Leave the engine running,” Dennis instructed his girlfriend.

  They hadn’t gone more than a few paces when Hutchinson nudged Dennis’ arm and pointed at the Arab’s feet. Dennis looked but didn’t notice anything. Then he saw the british military issue boots.

  ‘What the fuck is going on’ he was thinking.

  The man stopped near the Pajero.

  “Push! Push!” He said in a heavy accent.

  “Yeah! Push. Push.” Dennis replied.

  The man under the bonnet turned suddenly and pointed an Ak-47 straight at the pair.

  “Hands up!” he yelled.

  Dennis and Hutchinson put their hands on their heads. The other man produced an AK-47 from under his robe. He levelled it at the windscreen of the defender and strode towards Natalie. Dennis could see the terror in her eyes.

  “Bastards! If you hurt her?”

  “Shut it!” the man covering them said. He took their handguns from them then told them to sit. Reluctantly they obeyed.

  The other man opened the driver’s door of the land rover.

  “Step out of the vehicle please Miss.”

  She did as she was told. He lowered the gun.

  “You can join your friends.”

  As she walked towards Dennis and Hutchinson he rifled through their belongings in the land rover until he found what he was looking for. He climbed into the driver’s seat, started the engine, and drove the defender to the Pajero and switched it off. He got out and kept the AK-47 pointing at the ground.

  “If this is a car jacking it’s pretty sloppy.”

  “Just keep quiet can you,” the man covering them said, “Miss you sit there please.”

  “You’re English,” Dennis challenged him, “Would you mind telling us what the fuck is going on.”

  “In about thirty seconds I will mate.”

  He spoke into his collar and Dennis now noticed this man’s gun was also pointing at the ground, no longer threatening. A low humming sound could now be heard. It got closer and louder. They could all now see a black dot in the sky that was getting bigger. It came in low, barely feet off the desert floor. As it got closer Dennis could see it was a Boeing MH6 little bird helicopter, also known as a killer egg because of its shape. Now he knew for sure who was detaining them.

  “British special forces,” he said to his companions.

  The little bird touched down on the road and the four men who were sitting half in half out of the small helicopter stepped out and walked swiftly towards the vehicles on the road. The helicopter lifted off again almost instantly and was soon just a speck in the sky again. One man clearly in command approached ahead of his men. None of their weapons were pointing in a threatening manner. The man who’d got Natalie out of the land rover came forward and handed over passports. They were quickly thumbed through. The man glanced at each face as he found each photograph, comparing the likenesses. Then he nodded at the man who been under the bonnet of the Pajero. This man slung his AK-47 over his back and offered his hand to Dennis to pull the journalist up.

  “Sorry about that mate.”

  Dennis swatted the hand away and got up. The passports were offered.

  “Mr Peter Dennis.”

  “Yes,” Dennis replied snatching the passports.

  “Those fake Australian passports are very good.”

  “How do you know they’re fake?” Dennis asked, knowing the copies were perfect.

  “Because if our intel is correct you are Peter Dennis and Natalie Feltham, both british nationals and Jim Hutchinson of the united states. We’ve been tracking you since you entered and left Egypt. Mossad has been tracking you since you entered Gaza. We are with the british SAS. I’m Tosh. That there’s Deano, Smithy, Tommo, Richie and the jock with the ginger goatie is Angus.”

  “What are your real names?”

  “Those are our real names.”

  Dennis smirked. Then asked.

  “Where did you come from. I know that little helicopter has a range of over two hundred miles but there isn’t a base near here.”

  Tosh now smirked at Dennis.

  “Like I said. We’ve been tracking you since you left Egypt.”

  “Did you say Mossad were watching us?” Hutchinson asked dusting the palms of his hands off. Natalie looked into the back of the Pajero and saw a pack of mineral water on the back seat. She opened the door and helped herself to a new bottle.

  “Do you mind?” she asked the two who had been introduced as Deano and Smithy.

  “Not at all darlin’,” Smithy replied eyeing the beautiful archaeologist up. Dennis chose to ignore it.

  “Yes Mossad are tracking you also. They know about your meeting with Khalil Al Massri. They were watching you via satellite and were preparing to take you out with a single rocket strike. MI6 were able to convince them that you were working for us and that you were operatives in an undercover mission. Israel of course questioned your Australian passports and we were able to convince them that it was part of your cover. You should have been allowed into Israel without a hitch.”

  “We were,” Dennis confirmed, “I knew there was something funny about that. Didn’t I say it was too easy?”

  “You did,” Hutchinson replied.

  “Well it’s bought us some time,” Tosh continued, “But not much. Israeli forces are planning to capture and arrest you anytime now.”

  “How did they? You? Know that we visited Al Massri.”

  “You were being tracked on your mobile phone signals. They now have a lock on Al Massri’s position. For all we know he may be dead already. Israel is using air strikes to eliminate insurgents.”

  “So I may have sealed his fate.”

  “Maybe mate. That’s for Israel to decide. Not up to us. Britain doesn’t get involved in that one, Israel’s problems I mean.”

  “Only because they can’t,” Hutchinson said.

  “I’m sure your government is itching to have a go though mate isn’t it.”

  Hutchinson ignored the sarcastic comment.

  “So what do you want with us?” Dennis asked.

  “The british government want the German count Otto Brest Von Werner under the terrorism act. You were leading us to him but with the impending action by Israel, MI6 has decided that we come in as an extraction team. Our mission here is to locate you, apprehend Von Werner, alive if possible, dead if necessary and get out before we’re discovered.”

  “Could we not just take him to the Israeli authorities for extradition?” Hutchinson asked.

  Dennis looked at his friend.

  “You really don’t know anything about Israeli politics do you.”

  “We’re not exactly here legally either mate,” Tosh added.

  “What?” Hutchinson didn‘t understand.

  “Our presence here is not exactly known. Deano and Smithy have been out here for a couple of months now providing intel on various terrorist organisations but we’ve just nipped in over the border to complete our mission.”

  There was a distant sound of Israeli fighter jets.

  “And our helicopter was probably picked up on radar. It won’t be long before they coming looking for us. Let’s get ready to move out. Deano, Smithy, Tommo, Richie, Pajero. Mr Dennis, Hutchinson, miss Feltham, Angus and I are in the land rover with you. Oh and by the way,” Tosh said stopping the three of them, “Sorry for scaring you.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The Pajero and the land rover had been climbing steadily into the Hebron mountains all afternoon. Captain John ‘Tosh’ Mackintosh of the british SAS had been receiving intel on the ar
ea from the british tri forces base in Cyprus via his wireless headset. He and his team of british special forces had flown in earlier that day by helicopter from a british warship patrolling the eastern Mediterranean.

  Their mission to capture the international terrorist Count Otto Brest Von Werner. To capture or kill his army of private mercenaries and to evacuate the journalist Peter Dennis and archaeologists Jim Hutchinson and Natalie Feltham before a diplomatic incident between Britain and Israel developed.

  Tosh finished loading all the data he’d received into the Panasonic tough book on his knees. Then, finished, he thanked the person on the other end with whom he was in direct contact with. He turned the tough book screen towards Hutchinson and Dennis who were sitting behind him.

  “Now Jim if you could help me to learn the layout of this place. Intel is a little sketchy on such an unimportant site.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Whatever you remember.”

  “I haven’t been up there since the 70’s. I think it became something of a tourist attraction.”

  “Not any more. Since Hamas took control tourism has been almost at zero. The only people up here are religious pilgrims. According to my people nobody has been up here in years, decades even.”

  “If there is anyone up there these maniacs would have killed them already.”

  “That’s a possibility. Just be prepared that when we get in there, there may be casualties already and it may not be pretty.”

  “Don’t worry,” Dennis answered for them, “We’re getting used to Von Werner’s methods. We’ve seen what he’s capable of.”

  “If I can remember the site exactly,” Hutchinson put in “And it’s been almost forty years, but the whole site sits in a large depression in the mountains but also on its own large plateau. A bit like Macchu Pichhu in Peru.”

  On the tough book screen was a slowly, spinning, cut away computer image of the site.

  “These are the remains of a crusader castle built on top of one of Herod’s lesser palaces, a palace that is relatively unknown.”

  “Relatively unknown?” Angus said, “It’s supposed to be the final resting place of Jesus christ.”